Author's Note: I am currently in the process of revising and updating this fic. I will be working chapter by chapter. The plot will the same, but the text will be edited to remove errors, cliches, and formatting mistakes. (Or, as many of them as I can catch!) If the quality of writing sharply declines between chapters, I apologize. I'll get to all of them, I promise.
Pansy gripped her glass of Firewhiskey so hard that her knuckles turned white. She was trying to ignore the disgusting display on the other side of the Slytherin common room. Daphne Greengrass was leaning against the wall, smiling coquettishly at Draco Malfoy, who had one hand pressed casually against the wall behind her and the other playing with the curling ends of her hair. He bent to whisper into Daphne's ear, who giggled and blushed. It made Pansy sick. She tightened the grip on her drink and threw it back, swallowing the rest of the burning liquid in one easy gulp.
"If you squeeze that glass any tighter, you're going to break it," Tracey Davis said mildly from her seat next to Pansy.
Tracey's attentions were also focused on the pair on the other side of the room, but her face didn't hold the anger that Pansy felt, just amused boredom. Unable to think of a cutting retort, Pansy snorted and reached for the half-empty bottle of liquor to refill her drink. She leaned back into the sofa and glared at the swirling brown liquid in her glass.
"He's just doing it to wind you up, you know," Tracey continued. "He only gets off with her because he know it drives you spare."
"It's not just Daphne—although he knows how much I hate her," Pansy said from behind her glass. "Is there any Slytherin girl within two years of us who hasn't had it off with him?"
"Millicent," Tracey replied without skipping a beat, her lips pressed together as she tried to contain a smirk.
Pansy's laughter was lighter than she felt. "Oh, of course. Thanks so much, Tracey. Me and Millicent, the only girls that Draco Malfoy wouldn't condescend to touch. At least Millie can comfort herself between some other slag's legs. I haven't the luxury."
Tracey quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know if you've never tried?"
Pansy took a prim sip from her glass and chanced a sidelong glance at her friend, trying to decide whether or not to inform Tracey that she had, in fact, tried once.
Feigning an air of bored indifference, Pansy waved her hands. "I had an encounter with a girl from Beauxbatons at Yule Ball. It's nothing against her personally, she was lovely really, but it's not for me."
Tracey looked as though she wanted to press for further information, but knew that Pansy was unlikely to divulge anything more. Although Slytherins had a well-earned reputation for experimentation and mischief, most people chose to keep their nocturnal activities close to the cuff. They may be the least likely of all the houses to judge another person's sexual proclivities, but that wouldn't stop them from using it against each other. Blackmail was a house tradition.
"Is Millie even here tonight?" Pansy asked, changing the subject and scanning the common room.
"Thinking about giving it another go?" Tracey teased. "You might fair better in the more experienced hands of someone like Millie."
Pansy's withering glare wiped the smirk off Tracey's face. "Davis, please do not make me regret confiding in you. I would really hate if something you've shared with me in confidence – something about Gregory Goyle and a case of butterbeer – were to become public knowledge. What would poor Theo think?"
Tracey grumbled and adjusted in her seat. "Come off it Pans, I was only joking. And no, she's not here. I don't think she'll be back tonight either. She's had her head up some fifth-year Ravenclaw's skirt for the past two weeks. You'd think she'd have to come up for air eventually."
Pansy's eyes widened. Millicent had been seeing someone for two whole weeks and she'd yet to hear about it? There was a time that no one in their year got up to anything without her knowing. She must be losing her touch.
"It's all very hush-hush," Tracey continued. "The Ravenclaw girl – I think her name is Rosalyn – has a boyfriend. Its all going to get rather messy, I expect."
All thoughts of the platinum-haired prat and his dishwater-blonde whore were pushed from Pansy's mind as she turned to face Tracey and demanded to hear everything she knew. If anything could make her feel better, it was gossip.
Blaise and Theo approached the sitting area, just as Tracey was finishing a rather juicy story about the group of Hufflepuffs who'd walked in on Millie and her new fling mid-muff dive in the back of the Restricted Section. They were talking animatedly about the upcoming quidditch season, completely oblivious to the fact that their loud conversation had interrupted a hushed one. Blaise grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey from Pansy and poured a drink before plopping down in the empty space next to her. He reclined and stretched his arms across the back of the settee and let his long legs fell apart casually. Pansy and Tracey shared a short, annoyed look.
Theo noticed the exchange and swooped down to place a chaste, but lingering kiss on Tracey's lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and made a disgusted sound, unconsciously shifting away from the couple. Public displays of affection were just tacky. Even if she did have someone to kiss, she'd never be so obvious about it.
She wasn't short on admirers, she reminded herself. Her position in the social hierarchy of Slytherin guaranteed male attention. She'd had a number short flings with the boys in her year and a few in the years above her, but she'd yet to have a relationship last more than a few months. Once the thrill of the chase was gone, her lovers' admiring praises began to sound more sycophantic than sincere. Everywhere Pansy went, people shrank in fear and admiration of the undisputed Bitch of Slytherin. And although she found that sort of power intoxicating, she wasn't interested in the grovelling idiots that surrounded her. Pansy wanted a boy – nay, a man! – who would stand up and match her blow for blow. What was the fun of a relationship if there wasn't a constant struggle for dominance?
If only her Father would let her transfer to Durmstrang. Those men probably knew how to treat a lady.
Draco Malfoy was the only boy in her year that had never attempted to woo her. They had known each other since they were young. They had spent hours together as children, chasing house-elves and playing exploding snap, running wild through the extensive gardens of Malfoy Manor while their mothers sipped tea and socialized politely.
When her parents went abroad on holiday each summer, she was sent to stay with the Malfoys. Both she and Draco had been only-children, growing up in overly large and stately homes, purposefully isolated from the nearby wizarding towns. The weeks that she spent with he Malfoys were her happiest memories from childhood, the only times she could remember not feeling lonely.
During those visits, she would sneak into Draco's room after the rest of the house had gone to bed. They would play Wizard's Chess, tell each other stories, and plan pranks to play on unsuspecting house-elves the next day. Every morning Mrs Malfoy would find them curled up together in his large bed, the very picture of childish innocence. Narcissa knew that one day she would have to forbid these nocturnal visits, for propriety's sake, but not yet. They were still so young, there wasn't any harm to indulging their close friendship. But, luckily for Narcissa, life has a way of sorting these things out on its own.
Things began to change between the two of them when they came to Hogwarts. At first they had been just as close as ever, chatting excitedly on the Hogwarts Express with the children from other Pureblood families. They had hugged and laughed when they were both sorted into Slytherin, Draco admitting that he'd had a nightmare in which he was sorted into Hufflepuff, was rejected by his friends, and disowned by his father. Pansy squeezed his hand reassuringly as she skipped through the Slytherin portrait hole for the first time. She turned and planted a wet kiss on his cheek.
"Don't worry, Draco," she had told him. "I'd never stop being your friend, even if you were the biggest Hufflepuff in Hogwart's history! At the time, she hadn't noticed his face scrunch or his hand shoot up to wipe his cheek, as he glanced around to make sure none of the other students had seen.
It became painfully obvious during the first few months of their schooling that the easy familiarity and intimacy they'd shared during her visits to the Manor would not continue now that they were at school. It was no longer just Pansy and Draco, but Pansy, Draco, and all the other first-year Slytherins. It was hard to find a moment alone with him since Vince and Greg were always trailing behind like lumbering shadows, and Pansy had very little patience for the dim-witted boys. She missed Draco's companionship at times, but as her friendships with Tracey, Millie, and Daphne grew stronger, she noticed his absence less and less. As much fun as she and Draco had always had together, it was nice to be around other girls for the first time in her life.
When she visited the Manor in the summer between their first and second year, she didn't sneak into Draco's room at night, and he never mention her absence. Between second and third year, she accepted an invitation to stay with Tracey instead. She hadn't been back to the Manor since, and was surprised when Draco pulled her aside one night during their fourth year to ask her to accompany him to the Yule Ball. She remembered eyeing him suspiciously as he asked.
"Don't worry, my intentions aren't amorous," Draco drawled absently as he examined his fingernails. "It just seemed appropriate that we attend the ball together, being the most popular male and female Slytherins in our year. I expect you will get multiple invitations, and I wanted to make sure mine was the first. It wouldn't do if I got stuck escorting Millicent or Daphne's little sister."
Pansy had been right to view his invitation with suspicion, but she hadn't been able to stop the tiny hope in her chest that it had been a sincere request, that of all the girls at Hogwarts he'd actually want to take her. She recovered from her disappointment quickly and schooled her features. "I have received a number of invitations already," she lied, "but I have yet to promise myself to anyone. I'll let you know by the end of the week whom I choose." She knew even then that despite how many boys might ask her to the ball, she would choose Draco.
The ball had been disastrous, even though the evening had started well enough. A few minutes of awkward and stilted conversation quickly melted into a familiar rapport. Pansy stood watch while Draco spiked their glasses of pumpkin juice with firewhiskey and they laughed together as the contraband substance made their heads feel light. Draco was a capable dancer, no doubt forced into lessons by his parents. Pansy couldn't help but forget the formality of their date as he twirled her around the dance floor. It was the first time in years that Pansy saw Draco smile for her – just her – and it had made her heartbeat skip.
But the moment they were sharing had been rudely interrupted as Blaise swooped in, capturing Pansy around her waist and twirling her so that she faced him.
"Mind if I cut in?" He asked, without waiting for a reply before pulling Pansy away. She hadn't been able see the offended look of protest on Draco's face as Blaise's forceful grip tugged her into the crowd.
When the song ended she thanked Blaise for the pleasure of his company, even as she rolled her eyes. She may have been raised to have impeccable manners, but that didn't mean she wouldn't let her displeasure go unknown. She snaked her way through the crowd until she found Draco, standing stiffly at the edge of the dance floor.
"Sorry about that," she slid next to him and smiled.
"No bother," Draco replied without looking at her. "I've already made it clear that this was a practical engagement, not a social one. You're free to do whatever you want with whomever you want—" Pansy opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she hadn't wanted to dance with Blaise, or anyone else for that matter. Draco was the only person she wanted to dance with that evening. But she snapped her mouth closed as Draco finished his thought and said, "—and so am I."
Pansy watched Draco's back disappear into the crowd with a mixed feeling of anger, shock, and humiliation. When she found him twenty minutes later, he was seated at a table next to a blonde girl from Beauxbatons, his hand playing with the bottom hem of her knee length dress. She knew it was irrational to be so angered by the sight – Draco had made it clear that this wasn't an actual date – but she was beyond rationality. Even if there was nothing between them, openly flirting with another girl while he was supposed to be her escort was rude. She stormed over to where Theo, Vince, and Greg were standing in the corner and demanded that they share the bottle of firewhiskey they'd smuggled in. The boys shared a nervous look and handed the bottle over promptly.
After she was pleasantly pissed, Pansy spent the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and flirting with every boy who inquired of her, making sure to send an icy glare at Draco every few minutes. Eventually she found herself seated in the lap of a strong Durmstrang boy and surrounded by a motley crew of inebriated young witches and wizards, including the French girl whose dress had fascinated Draco earlier in the evening.
Much to Pansy's amusement, the girl confided that she had been off-put by Draco's strong advances and that she had excused herself from his company shortly after he sat down next to her. Pleased by this news, Pansy launched into a ten-minute tirade that detailed all of Malfoy's faults and a few that she had invented. She slid off the anonymous boy's lap and into the chair next to the charming French girl. They spent the next twenty minutes exchanging stories about the failures of the opposite sex.
It wasn't until a familiar drawl snapped her back to reality that Pansy realized she was now playing with the hem of the girl's dress. "As much as I enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself, I feel it is my duty as your escort to inform you that your current behavior is quite appalling."
Pansy turned to find Draco standing behind her, his lips pressed into a tight line. "Get bent," she told him, the polite pretenses of her upbringing forgotten.
"Pansy, you're drunk. Let me take you back to the dungeons. This has gone far enough."
"I'm free to do whatever I want, with whomever I want. Isn't that right, Draco darling?" She quipped, then turned her back to him.
"Pansy..." the bitter edge to Draco's tone had faded into something softer. "Don't do this."
"Actually, now that I think I about it, it is getting late and I do wish to retire. But the Slytherin dungeons are so cold and lonely," she pouted and boldly slid her hand under the other girl's dress and up the inside of her thigh. "I heard you and your classmates are staying in a carriage on the grounds? I bet its beautiful at night."
The blonde girl blinked for a few moments before a cunning smile slid across her face. She pulled Pansy's hand out from underneath her skirt and intertwined their fingers. "Would you like I give you ze tour?"
Pansy was fully aware that Draco continued to stand behind her, watching them. She leaned forward, grinning slyly. Her lips ghosted over the other girl's and she whispered, "Oui."
Pansy rose and led the French girl from the hall. She turned to see Draco standing where she had left him, his jaw set and nostrils flared. Pansy smirked over her shoulder and sent him a wink. She had always been a little curious about what it would be like to kiss another girl, and if it wounded Draco's ego to see someone else walk out with a girl he'd been chatting up, all the better. That would teach him –
" – Shove over, Parkinson."
Pansy's thoughts were interrupted by the hard mass of another body jostling her as Draco sat himself in the space previously occupied by Tracey. Tracey had abandoned the spot to join Theo on the armchair opposite the sofa. Too small to sit two people, Tracey had settled herself on Theo's lap, her hands absently playing with his short brown hair. Pansy scooted away from Draco and as close to Blaise as she could without climbing into his lap.
Pansy and Draco's already icy relationship had turned positively arctic after Yule Ball. They were clever enough to hide the depth of their animosity from their peers and worked hard to tolerate each others' presence in social situations, but neither felt the need to hold back the barbs and insults when they found themselves alone. Less injurious teasing was acceptable in the company of friends, who simply assumed that their verbal sparring was the natural result of two dominant personalities. But there was an unspoken acknowledgment that in front of anyone who was not a member of Slytherin house, they would present a united front. It was a matter of self-preservation and house pride.
With no room left on the settee, Daphne took an unoccupied armchair and crossed her legs daintily. She shot Pansy a smug look when their eyes met, and Pansy sneered in response. By the time they reached their third year, most Slytherins didn't have to speak in order to have conversations with each other; curled lips, quirked eyebrows, and narrowed eyes could say it all.
"So, tell me Draco," Blaise began, taking a sip of the firewhiskey. "What are our chances against Gryffindor this week? Reckon this might be the year we finally get the cup back?"
Pansy rolled her eyes so hard she feared they might get stuck in the back of her head. Great. More quidditch talk. She supported her house without fail, but the endless rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup had always been a sore spot for the Slytherins. They hadn't won the cup once during her time at Hogwarts. Hell, they'd never even won a match against Gryffindor. Draco was a good seeker, better than most in fact, but he could never beat Potter. It seemed cosmically unfair that "the boy who lived" was also "the boy who was preternaturally good at catching golden snitches."
Draco leaned forward and smiled wolfishly at Blaise. "I think we've got a very good chance. Not only to beat Gryffindor this week, but to take the cup this season."
Blaise quirked an eyebrow expectantly.
"Father has agreed to buy me a Firebolt," Draco explained, his grey eyes gleaming. "He refused for the past few seasons, saying my poor performance against Potter was indication that I wasn't trying hard enough and didn't deserve the broom, but I was finally able to convince him – with help from Mother, of course – that it was only Potter's superior broom that prevented me from besting him."
"A Firebolt? Really?" Theo sat so far forward in the chair that he nearly pushed Tracey off his lap. "Where is it? Can I see it?"
"I don't have it yet. Mother is going to buy it at Quality Quidditch and owl it to me straight away. I should have it in the next day or two."
Their conversation had attracted the attention of a number of students in the common room and a small crowd formed, all talking animatedly about Draco's new broom and the possibility of finally putting the Gryffindors in their place. The excited buzz growing around Draco did nothing to help Pansy's already foul mood. As if that egotistical git needed anymore attention. Without realizing it, she let out a loud and derisive snort.
Draco turned to her. "Got something to say, Parkinson?"
Although she knew she shouldn't, Pansy was unable to pass up the opportunity to knock Draco down a bit. "You've never beaten Potter before. I don't see why you think a fancy new broom is going to change that." A tense silence fell over the gathered students. Pansy continued, encouraged by a malicious glee; she knew just where to strike. "They say a broom is only as good as its rider. You're decent, maybe even good, but you're not better than Potter. Your obsession with beating him is pathetic. You embarrass yourself."
Pansy could see that Draco was trying to smother his anger, but he was doing a rather poor job of it. "Your concern is quite touching, Pansy," he said tightly. "I wasn't aware that a frigid bitch like yourself was capable of such compassion."
"You'd be surprised what I'm capable of, darling," Pansy replied, smiling sweetly as though she and Draco were the best of friends. "And we both know that I am far from frigid. It's hardly my fault that the very site of you inspires such a feeling of revulsion within me that it can put me off sex for weeks."
"Yes," Draco agreed, "I've heard many boys attesting to just how not-frigid are. In fact, if what I've heard is to be believed, I'm positive you would be more accurately described as a total slag. What was the phrase Blaise used to describe your abilities?—" Pansy shot Blaise a glare that said I'll deal with you later. "—It was quite colorful; something about being able to suck the varnish off of a broomstick? You must have had a lot of practice in order to be that skilled."
Younger students had begun to shuffle away, desperate to get out of the line of fire. No one wanted to be around when either Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson was in a snit and the fact that they were fighting with each other was enough to make even some of their friends shift uncomfortably in their seats.
Pansy had to dig her fingernails into the palm of her hand to distract herself from the anger she felt growing. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy in your voice?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. "One must wonder who it is you are more jealous of in this situation? Blaise or myself?"
Draco's eyes narrowed at the dig at his sexuality. "Perhaps I am a bit jealous," he said slowly. "Jealous that Blaise was able to find a proper use for that nasty little mouth of yours. Even a sloppy blow job from you would be more tolerable than listening to a minute of your whinging, screeching voice."
Pansy crossed her arms, her small-upturned nose pointing high in the air. "So which is it, darling? Am I a prude or a slag? Are my blow jobs sloppy or sensational? Make up your mind, your attempts to insult me aren't effective if they're all contradictory."
"You're right. I really don't know what I'm talking about, do I? I imagine I'm the only bloke our year that hasn't stooped so low as to have it off with you yet. I might considering degrading myself and allowing you to suck me off. All for the purpose of learning how best to insult you, of course."
Draco raised his eyebrows suggestively as Pansy's eyes narrowed to small, angry slits. She was over this sparring match, he could just go fuck himself for all she cared. "In your dreams, Malfoy."
"Tell you what, Parkinson, I'll make you a little bet." Draco smiled, a toothy grin that made him look ominous and slightly feral. "If I catch the snitch this week and beat Potter, you have to suck me off—right here in the common room, where everyone can see. That way we can all determine your skill level, once and for all."
Pansy blinked in surprise for a moment. She certainly hadn't expected that, but she couldn't let him think he had thrown her. "What do I get if – I mean, when – you lose?"
"If, by some miracle, I don't beat Potter, you can force me to do something equally degrading and embarrassing; it's your choice. I know you, Parkinson. I know you can't pass up an opportunity like that. Even if the chances of you winning are slim."
Pansy knew Draco was right. She couldn't pass up the only chance she'd be likely to get to cut Draco down to size – and publicly, at that! – no matter the personal risk. Her vindictive nature was so strong it sometimes overpowered her common sense. It was also a matter of pride for her as well. She'd been challenged; she couldn't show weakness or fear by backing down. She couldn't let Draco think that he could bully her around like she was some second-year Hufflepuff.
But what could she ask for if she won? What would cut Draco to the quick? What could possible enrage and humiliate the boy who let every insult roll off his back like water? Her mind raced, but kept returning to the thought of herself kneeling before Draco, taking his stiff cock into her mouth.
Think, Pansy. Think.
The solution was so simple and so obvious Pansy was almost ashamed it'd taken her so long to come to it. There was only one person who got under Draco's skin completely, whose very existence enraged and humiliated Draco. The boy who was a constant, living reminder of everything Draco wanted, but would never be: respected, admired, loved.
"Fine, Draco. You're on." Pansy flashed a charming smile. "And if Potter catches the snitch? You will have to be the polite little boy your mother raised you to be and congratulate him on his win. I know handshaking is considered the appropriate sportsmanlike gesture for such situations, but that seems so terribly formal to me. You two have known each other for years; it simply won't do." She paused and smiled, greatly enjoying the look of trepidation that had crossed Draco's face. "No, if Potter wins, you must congratulate him with a kiss – right there on the field, in front of the entire school. And not some half-arsed peck on the cheek either. You've got to kiss him like you're happy for him, like you're some silly first-year cow with a crush."
When Draco's jaw didn't appear to know whether to set hard in anger or to drop in shock, Pansy knew she'd picked the perfect consequence. He looked angry enough to blow smoke out his nose and breathe fire. She knew he'd rather die than congratulate Potter for anything, especially if that thing involved his own defeat.
She laughed gayly, as though she were having a lovely chat with an old friend come to visit for tea. "You can always pretend you're the Weaselette if it helps get you in the mood," she added.
"You're on, Parkinson," he all but growled. "But if I were you, I'd start researching throat numbing charms."
Pansy rolled her eyes. Potter was the better seeker, after all. She wasn't worried. Well, not much.