August 1st .
Draco/Pansy – Fashionably Late – Girlfriend (Avril Lavigne)
The tempus charm hovering above Binns' desk indicates that it's been fourteen – no, fifteen minutes now, since the start of class. She's starting to wonder if he isn't coming. Every once in a while, her dark eyes flick to the door, hoping to see it open. But thus far, her hopes have been in vain, because no one has come through that door since the last person trickled into the classroom.
Binns has been droning on and on about the second Goblin war for what seems like much longer than a quarter of an hour. Time always seems to go slowly in here, and that's why Pansy wants – no, she needs Draco to be here. Where the hell is he, anyway? She glances towards the door again, but, again, there's nothing there.
Sighing, she rests her chin on her hands, wondering if maybe she could glare a hole into the board she can see through Binns' chest. Do ghosts get that weird feeling that someone is watching them? She isn't sure, but she supposes they don't have nerves anymore, so they can't get that feeling. And they probably can't feel anything anymore.
Merlin's balls, she's bored. She sighs restlessly and chances a glance at Zabini. He looks just as bored as she is, and she considers striking up a note-passing conversation with him. As she pulls out a piece of parchment, however, she notices that his attention has already been captured. His dark face suddenly shifts into a smirk as he tosses a ball of parchment across a few of their classmates, pegging Daphne Greengrass in the back of the head.
Pansy watches as Daphne looks up in surprise, sees Blaise, and her lips form a smirk of her own as she undoes the note.
Just then, she hears the all-too-familiar creak of the ancient wooden door. Binns doesn't look up, but Pansy's eyes snap over to discover a familiar blond head ducking into the room. At first, her stomach does a strange, uncharacteristic little flip. Then it promptly drops like a brick of lead, leaving her feeling a bit hollow.
Draco's usually neat-kept hair is slightly touseled, his pale cheeks are just the tiniest bit flushed, and his grey eyes, paired with the curve of his lips, indicate that he is very pleased about something. He drops into his usual seat beside her, not even bothering to pull out his textbook. She wants desperately to comment. To say something that alludes to the thoughts running through her head, but she bites her tongue, and the lead in her stomach is starting to boil.
Of course he was late. He was with her. That Greengrass whore in the year below them. With her blonde curls, sly eyes, and lineage like that, there was no wonder he'd go for her.
With slightly jerky movements, Pansy undoes the cork on her inkwell and dips her quill inside, furiously scratching away at the clean piece of parchment. She bears down so hard at one point that her quill goes right through, and the ink blots a few times, and she knows that she won't be able to read this later, but it doesn't matter. She pointedly pretends to listen to Binns and his awful monotone, all the while ignoring the boy beside her.
He can smirk all he wants, she assures herself, because he doesn't know what he's missing. Doesn't know how much she could offer him, if only he'd give her another chance. But he won't, and she knows it, so why does she still keep her hopes up?
Maybe, she decides, she's just some sort of masochist.