1. Become a better Christian.
2. Fall in love.
3. Go inside a pyramid.
4. Learn how to say "Do you speak english/french?" in the world's top languages.
5. Stop slacking at school and be more studious; put a Katie-like effort into my work.
6. Get accepted to Harvard.
7. Have asthma controlled enough that I can perform in A Chorus Line.
8. Sing "Glitter and Be Gay" -well and effortlessly.
9. Meet Tom Felton.
10. See King Tut in person.
11. Live in Paris.
12. Fix my eating problems.
13. Get married.
14. Have children.
15. Ensure my children's security and preserve my family.
16. Never allow my children to experience poverty first-hand.
17. Do something for myself for one. Because I want to.
18. Read all of Shakespeare's books.
19. Make Distinguished Honors.
20. Study ballet.
21. Train my voice classically/operatically.
22. Play Velma Kelly in Chicago. Invite those who didn't believe in me.
23. Perform on Broadway.
24. Be a better sister.
25. Be a better daughter/friend to my mother.
26. Visit Versailles.
27. Go on a European cruise.
28. Visit the castle of Vlad the Impaler.
29. Visit the REAL castle of Vlad the Impaler.
30. Record a CD that is not bought only by my Grandmother.
31. Teach dance.
32. Be kissed in the snow.
33. Re-do my first date.
34. Be asked to a high school dance or to dance by someone I like.

Diamond Skies

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy.
Prompt: #046 Star
Word Count:  274
Rating: PG
Summary: Pansy and Draco on the night before Draco leaves on his mission at the end of Half Blood Prince.

Of all the times Pansy Parkinson had imagined being proposed to, she had never imagined it like this. She was lying in the grass, staring up at a sky wounded by stars and bleeding stardust. Draco was lying beside her, fingers raking through her hair. “Promise me something.” She whispered to him, her fingers finding that place between his where they fit perfectly.

“Anything.” Draco whispered, his lips caressing the hollow of her neck.

“Come back to me.”

He smiled at her. “Well, I’ll have to.”

 “‘Have to?’” Pansy repeated lazily.

“Yes.” He said, voice rather calmly. “How else will I marry you?”

She rolled over onto her stomach so that she could see his face. “Marry me?”

“Yes.” Draco said again, sitting up a little bit so that he was able to bend one knee up to support himself. “Pansy, if I live through this-,”

“When you live through this,” She corrected.

“When I live through this, then. The point is, when this whole thing is through, will you maybe marry me?”

Pansy took his hand, pulling him back down to lay beside her. “You’re serious?” She asked him.

Draco nodded. “One hundred percent.”

“Then I’ll do better than ‘maybe marry you.’” She smiled, wider than ever before. “I’ll definitely marry you.”

They kissed, arms wrapped around one another, cradling each other in the dewy early-morning grass.

“I didn’t get you a ring.” Draco confessed. “This was kind of…spur of the moment. I could get you a diamond as soon as I-.”

Pansy shook her head, silencing him with a kiss. “What do I need a ring for? The stars are our diamonds.”

 

Diamond Skies

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy.
Prompt: #046 Star
Word Count:  274
Rating: PG
Summary: Pansy and Draco on the night before Draco leaves on his mission at the end of Half Blood Prince.

Of all the times Pansy Parkinson had imagined being proposed to, she had never imagined it like this. She was lying in the grass, staring up at a sky wounded by stars and bleeding stardust. Draco was lying beside her, fingers raking through her hair. “Promise me something.” She whispered to him, her fingers finding that place between his where they fit perfectly.

“Anything.” Draco whispered, his lips caressing the hollow of her neck.

“Come back to me.”

He smiled at her. “Well, I’ll have to.”

 “‘Have to?’” Pansy repeated lazily.

“Yes.” He said, voice rather calmly. “How else will I marry you?”

She rolled over onto her stomach so that she could see his face. “Marry me?”

“Yes.” Draco said again, sitting up a little bit so that he was able to bend one knee up to support himself. “Pansy, if I live through this-,”

“When you live through this,” She corrected.

“When I live through this, then. The point is, when this whole thing is through, will you maybe marry me?”

Pansy took his hand, pulling him back down to lay beside her. “You’re serious?” She asked him.

Draco nodded. “One hundred percent.”

“Then I’ll do better than ‘maybe marry you.’” She smiled, wider than ever before. “I’ll definitely marry you.”

They kissed, arms wrapped around one another, cradling each other in the dewy early-morning grass.

“I didn’t get you a ring.” Draco confessed. “This was kind of…spur of the moment. I could get you a diamond as soon as I-.”

Pansy shook her head, silencing him with a kiss. “What do I need a ring for? The stars are our diamonds.”

 

One More Night

#032 Sunset

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy.

Prompt: #032 Sunset
Word Count:  322

Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy spend one more night together before he has to carry out his assignment for the Dark Lord. WARNING: BOOK 6 SPOILERS

Author’s Note: I kinda always thought that this was the…um *cough* big moment for the two of them. It’s like 1:00am so if it’s awful, I’m so sorry (as usual!) Please let me know what you think!

 

The sky was a sight to see, inky blues mixing with bright pinks and creamy whites. It was getting dark, and she could already feel the dew from the grass below her feet. The sunlight was beautiful, but they would make other memories that night, and the sky would fade to the back of their minds.

 “Draco, what is so important?” She asked.

He stood facing her, dressed in his usual style, though the top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, almost as though he were trying to breath, indeed, he did look nervous.

            “Draco what’s wrong?” She whispered, taking his hand. For the first time, she was genuinely worried about him. Perhaps all his sneaking around this year meant something more than she realized, and with the things he had said on the train… “Are you hurt? Draco, what’s wrong?” Her grip had tightened on his arm, her tone twice as urgent.

            “Nothing. Nothing, Pansy, I’m fine.”

            “You don’t look fine.”

            Draco didn’t even attempt to fight back. He looked positively defeated, as though he did not have the strength to argue with anyone anymore. “Don’t argue, please.” His voice was quiet. He sounded exhausted. “I brought you out here to tell you something…to tell you everything.”

            Pansy hesitated. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know everything. Secrets were fine with her, if it meant keeping him safe. Then again, being the daughter of two Death Eaters had taught Pansy something important: the secrets don’t save lives. “All right.”

            “I’m a Death Eater.”

            She couldn’t say that she was shocked, after all he had hinted at. She cleared her throat. From the millions of thoughts buzzing about her mind, she could only come up with one word of response. “Okay.”

            “My mission is…my mission was, well…”

            “Just say it.” Pansy whispered to him.

            “I-I can’t. I have to do something big to someone important and I don’t want to endanger you.”

            “My parents and my boyfriend are Death Eaters, I think I’m endangered enough.”

            “Exactly. I wouldn’t want to add to that.”

            “Draco-.”

            “Pansy, listen. I’m going to have to go away. For a long time.”

            There was silence.

“Why?”

            “I can’t tell you that.”

            “Draco you’re scaring me.”

            He took her hands again. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you. I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Death Eaters, those He trusts-,”

            “But not those you trust?” Pansy muttered, eyebrow raised.

            “I trust whomever he trusts.” Draco recited.

            “Don’t give me that bull shit, Drake.”

            “Pansy, he may hear you…”

            “He isn’t listening to me, Draco, and if he is I’m not scared. I’m not saying anything that thousands of others aren’t already thinking, anyway.”

            Draco shook his head. “You’re missing the point. Look,” He sighed, stepping closer to her. “I have a few more hours before I have to leave. Let’s not spend it arguing.”

            “Then how should we spend it, Draco?” Pansy asked, her voice hardly above a whisper, although they were alone behind a cluster of trees near the lake. No one could see them, let alone hear them. “I think, no matter what, I’ll cry too much.”

            “Don’t cry,” He answered her, pushing a lock of dark hair away from her face. “We don’t have time for tears.”

            “We don’t have time for anything, Drake. You’re leaving!”

            “In a few hours.”

            “That’s still no time.”

            “There’s time for this,” He whispered, pressing his lips to her’s.
            Slightly taken by surprise, Pansy kissed him back gently, gradually growing more intense as the kiss progressed. He was kissing her neck, and for some reason, her fingers reached forward to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. She kissed down his chest and all the way down his arm, running her fingers over the Dark Mark and tracing it with her lips.

           

            Later that night, when the job had been carried out and the Dark Mark hung in the sky, every Death Eater felt the uncomfortable burning, like that of hot coals, upon their left arm. Everyone, that is, except for Draco Malfoy, who could still feel the cool skin of Pansy Parkinson pressed against him.

The angle I took on this is weird. It's how Blaise was influenced by his mother. Be brutally honest cause I don't know if I like it. :/


Difficult To Please

 

He was sixteen. He liked money, power and girls. He would not trade his blood status for anything.

            She was thirty-three. She liked everything rich: her men, her wine, her chocolate. Money was everything.

            They had rooms on opposite ends of the house and hardly ever spoke. She was not very motherly toward her son, which he appeared to be fine with. Thus, Blaise grew up to become a rather independent and scrupulous individual, all in the pure-blood fashion, of course.

            When he was eleven, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and continued to associate with only a select group of friends for the next seven years. He was quiet, but held a secret brilliance down below. Girls fawned over him, though he was commonly known to decline. As his friend Pansy always joked, he was incredibly “difficult to please.” As a Slytherin, he always brushed it off, but deep down he knew that he was only “difficult to please” because of the environment he had grown up in.

            Blaise had watched seven husbands come in, and seven coffins be carried out. Of course, he could barely remember the first of these coffins, but he knew the names of every “father” he had ever had. He just never knew which to call “dad.”

           

            He had had every kind of father imaginable. Some lasted long, others didn’t. Some beat him, some spoiled him, some pitied him. All of them had one thing in common: Blaise had never wanted any of them. He understood their purpose: to make them rich.

            By the time he was ten, his mother was entering her fourth marriage. “Mother,” He asked timidly, as he stood in the doorway to her bedroom. “Why is it they never stay around?”

            “What do you mean, Blaise?” She asked, never looking up from her bridal magazine. Her dark hair fell in a curtain that hid her face.

            “The men you marry.”

            She looked up, pushing a piece behind her ear. Scanning his face, she saw that he was truly interested. But he is naïve, She thought to herself, he cannot be trusted. Little did she know that in that one conversation, she would force her son to grow up a lot. “Because they are here for one purpose, Blaise: to make mommy rich. It is up to them how long they stay.”

            “But, don’t you like being married?”

            They way Liz lived suited her nicely. She had reversed the traditional order of things, especially they way her pure-blood father had wanted her to live. She had gotten out, gotten pregnant and gotten married multiple times. So what if her motives were suspicious? If people whispered about her wherever they went? Men were ignorant and still flocked to her each time the last husband dropped dead. She could care less about whether she liked being married or not. She was rich and famous, never mind about the rest. “I think marriage is inconvenient, synonymous with sacrifice.” Her tone was clear and clipped. “If there is one thing I want you to learn from me, Blaise, it is that. Do not lose your head with girls. Deny them until you can pull it all out from them and accomplish whatever it is you so desire. Besides,” She smiled at him, “You are too handsome, not to mention rich. They will all be unable to keep their hands off of you, even the pure-bloods, when they find out your blood status. Beware of those vipers. Do not let them turn this game on you. Have your fun but be weary.”

            His brown eyes were large and filled with a million questions, but he did not feel this was a matter his mother would be leaving up to discussion. He nodded. “Yes, mother.”

           

ó       ó      ó

 

            “Come on, Blaise.” She giggled, tugging on his arm. “When are we going to make it official?”

            Blaise had to control himself not to roll his eyes. “Let’s not discuss that tonight.”

            “Oh, come on. It’s a party, we’re together, we’re having fun. Don’t you think we should tell people we are going together?” She giggled again, this time with accompanying snorts.

            “The only place you are going, Daphne, is back to the Common Room.” Blaise said stiffly. “You’re obviously drunk.”

            She pouted. “Well, I guess that means I blew it then, doesn’t it?”

            “Deny them until you can pull it all out from them and accomplish whatever it is you so desire.” His eyes found the large clock in the decorated Great Hall. The Yule Ball did not end for another two hours. Now, it was time to take what he wanted. “Well,” He grinned, “we could go out back and find a carriage to get comfortable in…”

 

ó       ó      ó

 

            In the years that passed since Liz Zabini first slipped in her important piece of advice, Blaise became rather good at living this law to the letter. He was constantly in practice, messing around with girls and taking whatever he wished, leaving them still to be completely in love with him. His mother had been right, though, some were much more difficult than others. Still, he obeyed his mother’s advice:

“You are too handsome, not to mention rich. They will all be unable to keep their hands off of you, even the pure-bloods, when they find out your blood status. Beware of those vipers.”

 

Her eyes narrowed as Professor Snape led him away from the party. She clenched her jaw and crossed her arms until he was out of sight and then tapped her foot temperamentally. “Blaise, let’s go dance.”

He gave a dramatic sigh but indulged her, his hands finding their way to her hips. “You know, Pansy, I didn’t ask you just so that you can order me around. We could have stayed in the Common Room for that.”

“Oh, hush!” Pansy whispered stubbornly, her eyes still lingering on the spot from which he had exited.

“Come on,” Blaise prompted, “You said you two were on a break.”

“We are.”

“Then why are you bothered to see him?”

He had lost her. “What?” Her eyes meeting his as she slowed her dancing.

“Come on, Pans. You’re here with me. You shouldn’t be looking at other boys like that.”

She resumed their slow swaying. “I’m just worried about him, I guess.” She said, shrugging it off. From her view of the hallway, she could see the two of them, in a hushed argument. Her arms wrapped tighter around Blaise’s broad shoulders.

“I’m not going to allow you to use me only to make him jealous.”

“I am not trying to make him jealous.”

“You’re not?” He repeated skeptically.

“Of course not. He’ll come back to me. For the time being,” She smirked dangerously, “it’s you I’m interested in.”

Blaise chuckled. “Are you trying to use me for your purpose and then dump me? No one can beat me at my own game, Pansy.”

Her smirk was wider. “Well, I heard I’m pretty good,” she whispered. “Let’s play.” Her lips were on his in an instant. She could feel him pull her closer with his strong, muscular arms. “Let’s go back to the Common Room.”

He laughed. “Viper!” “Beware of those vipers. Do not let them turn this game on you. Have your fun but be weary.” “Well, I guess a little game wouldn’t hurt.”

 

ó       ó      ó

 

Yes, Blaise had become very good. The student still has far to go before he can surpass the teacher. He thought to himself as he sat in the common room in his sixth year, a piece of parchment crushed in his left hand. In scripted writing, the note read:

 

Inconvenienced to the point of sacrifice, your father took his life last night. Please return home for the funeral.

 

He chuckled to himself. Truly, it seemed, mother really did know best.

 

 

 

To Let Go      

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini.

Prompt: #033 Too Much
Word Count:  1, 173

Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco seems to be smothering Pansy by remaining possessive while the two of them are not together.
Author’s Note: Just saw HBP and had to write some of this. :]

   
           Outside, the wind was biting. Hair blew, cheeks turned rosy and scarves were whipped over shoulders “like continental soldiers.” It was not a day for Quidditch and yet, every student in school had been out for Slytherin’s match against Hufflepuff. Of course, it wasn’t much of a match considering that Hufflepuff played like they sounded.

To sum up:

The match had taken hours.

Slytherin won by 73 points.

And Draco Malfoy had lost his scarf.

He drew back the emerald curtain and stepped into the changing room where the Slytherins met before each and every match or practice. His blasted scarf must be around here somewhere. Briefly, he explored beneath benches and behind brooms for the “ruddy thing.” Deciding he better try his luck on the other end of the tent he turned at the corner and froze, getting a chill that was cooler than the rush of wind itself.

On the opposite side of the room, an emerald robe could be seen, identical to the one that Draco was also wearing apart from a few factors: This robe was emblazoned with the number 4, and the side of the robe was rather noticeable because, out of no where, the edge of the green stood out beside a shockingly pale hand, clutching the robes tightly with thin fingers. Draco looked up, mistrusting his eyes. He could clearly see his teammate and the wall, but there was something rather thin between them, though all that Draco could see was a curl of dark hair and hear a faint giggle.

He knew to whom that giggle belonged.

“Zabini!” He barked, cold and sneering, voice low and threatening.

“Bloody hell!” She shrieked, jumping back further against the wall, bringing her hand to cover her lips, as though by his not seeing them there, burning and chapped, he would forget what they had been doing only moments earlier.

Blaise stepped aside at Draco’s command, though he was far more muscular than he and, it appeared, could have easily bested him in a physical fight.

“What is going on here?” He asked Blaise. It was too painful to look at her.

“We were just-,”

“Just?”

“Studying?”

“Studying?”

“Snogging.” She interjected, becoming a bit defensive.

Draco turned to her. “Don’t interject. I’ll speak with you later.”

“I’ll interject if I want to. We were snogging, Draco, and you need to quit acting like I’m some sort of property that needs defending.”

Draco’s eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

She nodded fiercely, trembling with anger.

Draco’s eyes left her’s for one brief moment to examine Blaise. “May Pansy and I have a moment along, please?”

He nodded and left. The wind lapped at the flap to the tent. Silence bled into the room. Draco leaned his foot upon a bench, closely examining the wand that he had been holding to tightly. Nearly as tightly as Pansy held Blaise, his mind interjected. She did not speak but flounced down to sit on a bench, arms crossed and lips pursed as though holding back many arguments.

“Care to tell me,” He asked, attempting to sound as calm as possible, “what the hell is going on?”

“My relationships are my business.” Her voice was clipped. It was one of Pansy’s voices that he minded hearing. When she was this angry, things did not end well.

“Relationships?” Draco sneered. “Snogging a…a…boy in secret is all of a sudden a relationship to you?”

“You were all right when I was snogging you in secret.” She remarked, crossing her legs and examining her nails.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re such a hoe, Parkinson.”

She said nothing. It was nearly like a term of endearment to her, though she hated when he called her “Parkinson.” It was then that she knew she had done something incredibly wrong. “I told you to call me Pansy.” She muttered, almost too low for Draco to hear.

“That was when it was me you were snogging, remember?”

“Oh, come off it!”

“What, we can’t talk? We can’t have mature conversation about your ‘relationships?’”

“No, I guess we bloody well cannot.”

“All right then.”

 

The whistle of the wind was the only noise to be heard.

 

“Why Blaise?”

“Why not?” She fired back.

“You only picked him cause he’s pure-blood. And rich. That’s all you ever need.”

“Are you calling me a…a…”

Draco turned to her, easily able to face her in his fury. “Yes. I am. You go out, do whatever mummy and daddy tell you. Just because your some rich, spoiled little daddy’s princess you think you can dress up in pink lace and ribbons and think you can get whatever you want.”

“If I recall correctly,” Pansy said, rising with her hands on her hips, “it isn’t that outfit that gets you hot, Draco Malfoy.”

He snorted in disgust.

“And, you are not one to talk. You don’t care about anything but blood status and what your mum tells you to do. You are too sheltered. All of a sudden you grow balls and think you rule this place. Well you don’t own me. Not anymore.”

“So who does? Blaise?”

“Not anymore than anyone else.” Pansy said stiffly.

“I’ll tell him to deposit his five galleons, then.”

She screamed in frustration. “There you go again! Beating me down like I’m some common…filthy…muggle girl, standing on street corners! I have more class than that! I am not some silly prostitute. Your insults are no better than anyone else’s and this is nothing I’ve heard before so why don’t you just leave unless you have something else to say?”

“Something else?” Draco repeated.

“Just admit you’re jealous and you want me back”

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded. How did she always manage to read him so well.

“You heard me,” She whispered, walking forward. Speaking again, she over-annunciated each sound. “You want me back.”

“I do not.”

“You want me, at least. Maybe you’re worried you’ve never even had me.”

“Well I don’t know, if having you is what Blaise was just doing then-.”

In her frustration she took his hands, squeezing his fingers together partly and anger and partly just because she wanted to hang on to him. “Will you forget about Blaise for five seconds?”

The instant they touched he silenced.

“Look. I am not with Blaise. I am not with anyone. I spend every night in my dormitory crying over you.”

He began to speak but she brought a finger to his lips.

“I don’t want you to take me with you now. We need time to work on this. You need to quit acting like I am such a slut and stop smothering me. I need space. I need time. And if I meet a few other boys along the way and break some hearts…that’s just part of the game. I love you, Drake, but this is just too much. You are too much. You need to learn to trust me. You need to learn to,” Her eyes looked down at their hands, clasped firmly together, “to let go.”

            Murder in the Bathroom

            June

 

The basin of the sink was cool beneath his fingertips. The eyes of the immobile snake met his as he gasped and sputtered for breaths through his strained sobs. Yes, the glorious Draco Malfoy had broken down, and was sobbing in a girls’ restroom on the second floor.

            Well, He thought to himself, at least no one can see me here. Wouldn’t Potter love this? “Draco Malfoy had a mental break down. He doesn’t even know which lavatory’s his. Come and see!”  Irritably he straightened up, sizing himself up in the mirror. He looked pathetic. Many sleepless nights had caused him to slip from his usual high regard of self-image and appear dressed in torn jeans, his hair tousled and un-jelled and with rings around his bloodshot eyes.  His pale cheeks were streaked with tears, causing his gray eyes to appear glassy and out of focus. A voice from behind him caught his attention and, being rather jumpy, he turned to face the intruder.

            The ghost of a pale girl floated lazily out of a stall. “So, who is she?” She asked, her eyes unblinking behind her spectacles. For a Ravenclaw, she was obviously not the brightest, for when she attempted to put two and two together, that is, crying plus boy, she found that four equals girl. How wrong she was.

 

            So went his first meeting with Moaning Myrtle and, oddly enough, he was not scared off like the first year girls who, every year, learned the hard way why the second floor bathroom was deserted. Rather, the bathroom had become one of his regular haunts. He took to it whenever he reached a pinnacle of frustration or anxiety, which happened more often than he liked to admit, as he often found himself wandering that way after dinner and in between classes. Myrtle provided him with a strange sort of comfort that none of his friends seemed to match. Crabbe and Goyle were too thick to understand anything, his mother cried whenever he brought it up, and Pansy seemed to be distant lately, because, as she had told him “if you’re going to be sneaking off to meet other girls so often, there is no reason I should not be allowed to follow suit.” Myrtle, however, was there, with her unwavering faith and loyalty. As Myrtle put it, “We have so much in common! We are both soooooooo drearily depressed, and you’re going to be killed by the same person who killed me. Ohh! And we’ll both soon be dead.” Perhaps he had mistaken, but he took it that this sounded far better to Myrtle than to he himself.

            “Draco, tell me what’s wrong.” She implored. He was sitting down on the cold tile flooring, his back against the nearest stall, his eyes closed and his head in his hands. It seemed this conversation would follow the usual pattern it usually took.

            “He wants me dead. I can’t do it.” He chanted, a methodical rhythmic response that made him sound as if he were galaxies away.

            “What else?” Myrtle pressed. “I can help youuuu!” She floated down to perch beside him, lying her head down on his shoulder. “Is it a girlfriend problem?” She asked hopefully, batting her transparent eyelashes.

            Draco looked at her through exhausted eyes, wondering nonsense like if her eyelashes actually broke through her ghostly skin when she did that – which was quite often. After all, did walking through a ghost not feel like receiving not feel like one was receiving an ice-bath? And the specters were, after all, gaseous. Could gas break through gas? Could they place their hand into their stomachs and systematically disembowel themselves? He sighed. This was the sort of pointless morbid nonsense that he came up with these days. “Not much of a girlfriend to be having problems with.” He answered at last.

            This, to Myrtle, was encouraging news. “Oooh, why? Is she horribly dreadful?”

            “She seems to think that I’m sneaking off so much because I am seeing other girls.”

            “Well you are.” Myrtle said, confused. “You’re seeing me.”

            “But I’m not sleeping with you, Myrtle.” Draco stated matter-of-factly.

            “Well, I don’t sleep. But I’ll try anything.” She said with another wink.

            Draco stood up, making his way toward the sink and ignoring her last statement.

            “Well fine!” She sobbed, floating up into the air. “I can see when I’m n-not wanted!” He didn’t answer, walking closer and closer to the mirror.

            It occurred to him that, not only did he not feel or act the same, but that he did not look the same. Last year, his hair never would have appeared as unkempt, his robes would be spotless and his perfect model scowl would be in place at all times. He had ruled the school, or Slytherin, at least. He was always cool, calm, confident and cocky. Now, he was awkward, jumpy, nervous and emotionally devoid. It was hard to describe just what he felt within this empty void. Nothingness, obviously, but what did emptiness feel like? It was awful. It was like running and not being chased, like watching your own death occur from a third person point of view and being able to do nothing about it. He was watching his soul splinter and crack like this mirror, and he found himself hoping that he would not be remembered as this empty shell of a doomed person, if he were remembered at all. Sure, his mother and father would remember him, but for how long? They may even have another child, though, at their age, that seemed unlikely; Crabbe and Goyle could not even remember what they had eaten for breakfast that morning –in their defense, Draco reasoned, that was a lot to remember; Pansy, he realized bitterly, would probably fall in love, get married, and have children that weren’t blonde, weren’t named after constellations and weren’t his. The thought shattered him, and the damn tears began to fall again.

            "Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't. . . tell me what's wrong ... I can help you. . . ."

 "No one can help me," said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. "I can't do it. ... I can't. ... It won't work . . . and unless 1 do it soon ... he says he'll kill me. ..." And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into flu-cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder.

Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own.

Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another — "No! No! Stop it!" squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!" There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried, "Cruci —" "SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

 

"No —" gasped Harry.

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

"No — I didn't —" Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

           

            Draco stared at the blood covering his hands, his chest, soaking his clothing as well as the floor of the bathroom. And something occurred to him:

           

He wished he had been murdered.

ANY DAY, NOW

 

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy.

Prompt: #007 Days
Word Count:  292

Rating: G
Summary: Once Draco receives his, Pansy worries that her Hogwarts letter will never come.
Author’s Note: First 30 DONE. (31, actually) Oh yeah! –dances-

 

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

 

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

 

                        Dear Mr. Malfoy,

                                                We are pleased to inform you that you

have been accepted at Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed

a list of all necessary books and equipment.

                        Term begins on September 1. We await

your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

 

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

 

 

Draco read the letter, astounded. Narcissa hugged him, rejoicing that now “her baby did not have to leave her and go so far away to Durmstrang,” but he was hardly listening to his mother. “Pansy…” He said, eyes falling on the dark haired girl on the other side of the room who’s emerald eyes were swimming with tears.

She turned away from him and left the room silently. Draco struggled from his mother’s grasp to follow after her. “Yours will come any day now. Then we can be best friends forever. Up through seventh year. Just like we are now. I promise.”

                        Pansy shook her head, wiping her eyes with her fist. “No we won’t.”

                        “It’ll come soon, I promise.”

                        She was too overcome with worry to believe him. After all, she did not know that her letter was addressed and in the claws of an eager little owl who had been speedily flying to her house all night. “It won’t come soon enough.”

                        He slipped a hand into her’s comfortingly. “It will. I promise. Someday soon.”

                        She looked up at him, a small smile forming as she began to believe that what he was saying could quite possibly be true. Somehow, these things seemed less daunting when Draco Malfoy was there holding her hand.

Making Time
#009 Months

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape.

Prompt: #009 Months
Word Count:  629

Rating: PG
Summary: During their 6^th year, Pansy sneaks the recipe for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape to give to Draco, hoping to learn something of his activities in exchange.

 

“Professor Snape?”

            The man at the desk looked up at the girl standing before him, giving the usual sigh he delivered to students but to a much less degree –after all, she was a Slytherin and a Prefect. “Yes, Miss Parkinson?”

            “I have a question,” The girl began, “not about Defense Against the Dark Arts, though. It’s about Potions, actually.”

            “Potions?” Snape repeated, with hardly any change to his tone. “That is Professor Slughorn’s department, is it not?”

            “Yes, but well… it’s kind of embarrassing, actually.” Pansy said, giving Snape an awkward smile. “You see, I have a P, currently and-,”

            “You have a ‘P?’” He repeated.

            “Yes sir.”

            “In Advanced Potions.”

            “Yes. Rather embarrassing, as I told you.”

            “Well what do you suggest that I do about that, Miss Parkinson?” Snape asked her, making it obvious that he grew weary of the conversation.

            “Well,” Pansy began, “I plan on doing some extra credit – to make up for it, you know – and I was wondering if you had the recipe for a love potion.”

            “A love potion?” Snape asked, his lip curling as if in disgust.

            Pansy nodded. “It isn’t in our book, Sir.” She was batting her eyelashes and looking down, a blush coming to her face, “I’ve looked.”

            He bent back down to his work. “In the filing cabinet over there, Miss Parkinson. Be sure to return it when you are finished.”

            Hurriedly, Pansy made her way to the filing cabinet, finding the drawer marked L-P. Inside, her fingers slipped around a wrinkled old card. “I will, Sir.” She assured him as she made her way to the door, hands tucked behind her back, fingers firmly clasping the card. Almost out…

            “Oh, and Miss Parkinson?”

            Caught. She whirled around, holding her breath. “Yes, Sir?”

            “If I see Mr. Malfoy, I’ll be sure to warn him.” He was actually, almost, smiling.

            Pansy couldn’t help it. She beamed back at him, looking just the perfect amount of innocent. “Why ever would you need to do that, Professor?” And with one final smile, she turned on her heel and headed for their secret spot.

           

 

            “Pansy!” He grabbed her arm, pulling her into the cramped closet and falling backward against a bucket of mops and brooms, who immediately started attempting to scrub the hundred year old floors clean.

            “Finite.”  Pansy muttered calmly, waving her wand over the cleaning supplies, which immediately ceased their work.

            “Did you get it?” Draco asked her eagerly, holding out his hands as if starving for the card that lie in her’s.

            “Yes…” Pansy began cautiously.

            His eyes lit up. “Give it to me!”

            “First?”

            Draco smiled, coming back to himself, it seemed. “Right.” He said, pressing his lips to her’s in a quick kiss. Pansy sighed and handed over the card, leaning back against the door with her arms crossed.

            “You aren’t going to tell me why you need this.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She knew how this would go. “Aren’t you, Draco?”

            He changed the subject. “How’d you get this?”

            “Slept with Snape.”

            There was silence in the broom closet whilst that statement sunk in. Moments later, Draco looked up, shocked.

            “Kidding, Drake.”

            “Knew that,” He lied with a nod, resuming his reading of the card as Pansy resumed her attempted reading of him.

            “Pansy!” He looked up, alarmed once more. “This is going to take months!” Months. His mind lingered over the word. Did he have months? How much longer until he was killed? His family was killed? Until she was killed?

            “Yeah?” She asked, straightening up to look over his shoulder. “Something wrong? We have time, Drake.”

            Draco shook his head, clearing his throat as he took her hand in his. “No we don’t. We’ll have to make time.”

           

#024 Family

 

Fandom: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, and Scorpius Malfoy
Prompt: #024 Family
Word Count:  305
Rating: G
Summary: On the night before setting off to his first year at Hogwarts, Scorpius worries about keeping with family traditions in the Slytherin House.
Author’s Note: Slytherins can have cute family moments too!!

 

 

“Scorpius, darling, eat your dinner.”

            “I’m not hungry.”

            Pansy looked up at her son. “Are you feeling all right?”

            “Fine.” He lied, looking away from her.

            “Are you sure?” She asked him, not buying it.

            “Pansy…” Draco warned her from across the table.

            “What?” Pansy looked up at him, her brow raised. Was she missing something here?

            Draco sighed and put his fork down. “You’re worried about school, aren’t you?”

            Scorpius hesitated, but then he nodded. He had been sitting there with his mouth firmly closed and now, it seemed, that the moment he took a breath everything would spill out. “Well,” He sighed, “I’m worried that I won’t be in Slytherin. What if I’m in…I dunno…Hufflepuff, or something?” He asked, looking up at his parents, anxiety filling his eyes.

            “Scorpius don’t be ridiculous!” Pansy began.

            Draco nodded, picking up where she had left off. “You’re right. Your mother and I were both in Slytherin. As well as both of my parents.”

            “My dad as well.” Pansy assured him. “Though Grandma was a Ravenclaw when she came to Hogwarts for her fifth year.”

            “And the Sorting Hat didn’t think about placing you anywhere else?” Scorpius asked. He would not be able to sleep until his every worry was at rest.

            Draco shook his head, laughing quietly. “I never even got to wear the Hat. It shouted out ‘Slytherin’ before it even touched my head.”

            Well that was comforting. “Mum?”

            “There was really no where else for me to go, dear. It put me in Slytherin right away.”

            “So I won’t be in Hufflepuff?”

            “How could you?” Draco asked, “You are Slytherin through and through. You’re too pure-blood not to be!”

            “And if not?”

            Pansy shrugged, though a small smile on her face clearly showed that she was joking. “Then don’t bother coming home for Christmas.”