"What have you done to Blaise?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Parkinson."

"Oh don't lie to me, Malfoy. You know it never works. I can see right through you, you ugly git. Blaise is in the hospital wing 'cuz he 'fell down some stairs.' Who pushed him, Draco dear, you've gotta know, you're the king, remember?" she spat, her voice soaked through with sarcasm.

"Prince, my love," he pointed out idly.

"Don't you mock me!"

"Oh but I'm so good at it."

"What have you done to Blaise?" Pansy pouted, fuming.

"A better question would be, what has Blaise done to you?" Draco countered, but the humor in his voice was gone and he turned from his breakfast to glare at her. His silver eyes narrowed and she shied away from him.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered, cringing when he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back to his side.

"You were with him, last Saturday was it? Yeah, Saturday. I remember because he missed practice and we always practice on Saturdays," he rambled, going back to his eggs and ham.

"What's it to you?" she said snottily, wrinkling her little nose in disgust and trying to scoot away from him. But not really going anywhere at all.

"Oh Parkinson, you're so thick sometimes I think you ought to be a Hufflepuff. Or even worse, sitting with the Gryffindors."

"Answer the question."

"You know it already, you've always known it," he muttered darkly and he sounded tired, beaten.

"Humor me." She was relentless, as always, just the way he liked it.

"I don't like you being with other boys, Parkinson. You're mine and that's just that."

"I'm not yours!" she exclaimed, indignant. Her pale face, nearly as pale as his, flushed crimson—but not necessarily from anger. "We're not even together, Malfoy."

"Not now, maybe, but we should be."

"Are you asking me out?"

"Any reason I wouldn't be?"

"No… but I don't think it a very romantic way to ask me to be with you, Malfoy. I might have to say no, just 'cuz you don't sound like you mean it."

He pushed his plate away a second time, this time with finality, and grabbed her 'round the waist.

"Of course I mean it, Pans. You know I mean it. And I'm not the romantic sort, you know that too. Don't play games, just don't."

"But I'm so good at it," she told him, her words barely a whisper but making him smirk nonetheless.

"Oh I know you are, so good at it I mean. You're amazing, know that? Even for a Slytherin."

"Of course."

"So what do you say, Pans? Be mine? And nobody else's, not even Blaise."

"You know it already, you've always known it."

"Humor me."

"Yes, Draco, I will be yours and nobody else's."
"Good." And he kissed her, right in front of everybody, just the way she liked it.

"Oh, Draco?"

"Yes love."

"Who pushed Blaise?"

"I did, of course," he said matter-of-factly and tugged his long fingers through his honey hair. She reached her own little hand up to his face and played with his lashes.

"For what?"

"For you."