Author: Londra PM
It was like a dream for both of them, and it was too good to be true. Oneshot. DracoPansy.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Angst - Draco M. & Pansy P. - Words: 1,694 - Reviews: 38 - Favs: 28 - Follows: 2 - Published: 09-04-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2565908
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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Summary: It was like a dream for both of them, and it was too good to be true. One-shot. DracoPansy.
Warnings: HBP Spoilers
Beta: The lovely Jenna.
Author's Note: This story is my first attempt at writing Draco/Pansy, please be kind and leave a review.
Neither could quite remember when or how it had started. Their earliest recollections of their friendship were the times they played in the garden together while their parents had tea. They would torture house-elves into walking on their hands, only to trip them over. They would play exploding snap together. Draco would laugh at her whenever she started crying because the explosion was too loud.
They were only babies then.
They grew up to be the best of friends. He remembered comforting her after her cat died. She was always there for him when his father would get mad for his doing something stupid and childish. She would cry on his shoulder. He would pretend to be strong next to her.
They were only children then.
Then the next step - they started school. It was there that they first noticed they were of the opposite gender. Blaise and Millicent would make fun of them because they were constantly around each other. They were teased constantly, simply by being told they were in love. Both were very embarrassed by it at that time. They would both blush and say "nooo!" and "eww!" and deny that each liked the other.
They used to make fun of the stupid Gryffindors together. Potions was both their favourite lesson. They loved the way Snape taunted Potter and his friends. They, like all other Slytherins, adored their potions master. He, also, favoured these two little kids in his class. Draco, of course, was the little prince. But Pansy certainly wasn't far from a princess. Snape would be sure to pair them with each other. So, in a way, he was partly responsible in getting them together.
Their hands would brush against each other – accidentally, of course – while adding ingredients to that day's potion. At first, they could both blush and pretend it never happened. But, after a while, it became impossible to pretend; their hands would touch on purpose. Nevertheless, they both could never admit to liking each other.
When fourth year came, he asked her out to the Yule Ball on the very last day. Crabbe and Goyle had both asked her too, but she had refused. She wouldn't have wanted to go with anyone other than him, of course. And when he, nervous and stuttering, had asked her, she had accepted gladly. She had looked beautiful that night. She'd taken special care with her hair. Her mother had sent her a dress robe of her own, not even understanding why she wanted it so bad. She had almost tripped in her high-heels. But all the effort had been worth it.
She had been on the verge of tears when she saw him starting at that….thing. That veela. She'd thought he liked the thing better than her. She had been ready to slap him. But then, he asked her to dance, and she immediately forgot about everything. The dance was like a dream. They went on to dance three times that night. It was all a blur for her. They had kissed for the first time. Just a chaste peck on the lips, nothing much, but it had been special to her.
Fifth year was a sort of surreal dream for the both of them. Everything had been going so wonderfully, so beautifully, it couldn't have been real. He asked her out to the second Hogsmeade weekend. They went to Madam Puddifoot's together. He held her hand and they kissed again. He told her he always wanted to be with her. No matter what. It was so wonderful, so perfect, that Pansy would have scoffed at it happening anywhere else. But this was HER picture-book-ending.
Two months later, they lost their virginity to each other. Neither of them knowing what to do, it had been very hesitant, very delicate. He didn't know where to touch, where to linger. He had tried to be gentle, but couldn't manage it. It had hurt for her, and she had given him marks on his back when he dug her nails into is flesh from the pain. He never complained, though. Despite the pain, it was dreamlike. Beautiful.
But the beautiful things didn't last very long. His father got thrown in prison, and he changed a lot that summer. He didn't come to cry on her shoulder. He said tears were for the weak. She didn't understand. She thought time would cure it all. When the school year started, on the train, he showed her something that scared her. A lot. She couldn't believe he had done that. Draco, her Draco had become one of them. He had the dark mark.
She couldn't help it though. She still loved him. She didn't object. Soon, he'd become power-crazed. He started to avoid her. He kept on disappearing with Crabbe and Goyle, saying he had important business to attend to. She tried to get word out of Crabbe and Goyle. They were just as clueless as she was. Then, a few weeks later, she saw two girls by the side of Draco. Her Draco. She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't talk to him about it.
One day, she blurted it out by accident. She accused him of cheating on her. And he started laughing. He laughed for two minutes, into her face. She was on the verge of tears. He told her it wasn't what she thought it was. She pretended to believe him. But she knew better than that. He soon became into the dark arts. He would spend hours in the library, in the restricted section searching for some spell. He also was constantly in touch with Borgin and Burkes.
When she demanded his attention, he laughed again, kissed her hard on the lips and said it would be over soon. She believed him. Even though this new Draco scared her, she believed him. But it wasn't over soon. He started disappearing even more frequently. He would come late at night, his face looking paler than ever, and he would go straight to bed, without even acknowledging her presence. She missed their old days, but she didn't speak up.
Next year, he didn't come to school. Voldemort had some business for him, or so he said in his letters. He wrote to her once in a while, saying everything was alright and to write back. She did, she always wrote back, asking many questions. He always avoided answering them. He said it was too dangerous. She never understood him.
Time passed. His letters became less frequent; until the day came that he stopped writing entirely. Then, Pansy finally understood there was no hope left. She started dating other people, none at all important to her. She merely saw them all as a way to take revenge on Draco. She knew she could never love them like she loved Draco.
They were only teenagers then.
On a cold, rainy night some three or so years after her Hogwarts graduation, Pansy's doorbell rang. She didn't know what to expect, so she drew her wand and opened the door. It was him. She was speechless, but welcomed him in. His clothes were soaked. He had a high fever, and was without the strength to move by himself. She stripped him of his clothes, wrapped him in a blanket and put him to bed. She waited next to him all night, finally falling asleep around five o'clock in the morning, half on the bed and half on the floor. He had been long gone when she woke, not a trace of him left behind for to console herself with.
A month later, her doorbell rang again. He was back, soaked and freezing. Again she healed him, and again waited by his bed, determined not to sleep. When he woke up, she was next to him. She asked him what was wrong. He gave no answer. His face was paler than ever, he had gotten very thin, his grey eyes had hollowed. She asked him who had done this to him.
He said nothing, but she knew. He told her to make love to him. She did.
When she woke up this time, he was gone. The morning mail announced the death of Lucius Malfoy. She understood. Two weeks later, he was back. He opened the door himself and kissed a shocked Pansy hard on the lips. They sat down in front of the fire and talked to each other. She was amazed to hear those girls back in sixth year were Crabbe and Goyle. He made fun of her. She asked him what he was doing now. He couldn't tell her. That was top secret. She asked him if he would stay with her. He didn't answer. Before he left, he told her he loved her. And somehow, that was enough for her.
She waited, willing the door to open and show him striding in once more, but he never came back. Six months later, the Ministry was celebrating the death of Voldemort. Potter had finally managed it.
Many Death Eaters were dead too. Later on, she learned that Hermione Granger had been the one to kill Draco. She cried; bitter, sad, angry tears that the most important thing in her world had been taken away by that Mudblood filth.
Three months later, she gave birth to a baby. A healthy boy with light blonde hair, a pale complexion, and light grey eyes. She vowed to raise him to become a proper Malfoy. Just like his father would have wanted.
They were only together then.