Character/Pairing: Pansy Parkinson/Theodore Nott, with vestigial traces of Pansy/Draco
Word Count: 1661
Warnings: The rating is mainly for swearing and references to sexual encounters.
Summary: Pansy Parkinson waits for Draco Malfoy. Theodore Nott waits for Pansy Parkinson.
Notes: This fic is a gift for floocrookshanks, aka A-Dawg. Let's pretend that it wasn't supposed to be a Christmas gift, mmkay? Also, this was written at dawn. Literally. I have a habit of staying up really late (early?) these days. Forgive me for any typos or grammatical errors, as this was shamefully unbeta'd.
If Pansy allowed herself to be honest about it, she knew Draco wasn’t going to be coming back. If she allowed herself to be painfully honest, she might have been able to accept the fact that he was probably dead.
Pansy Parkinson never was one for honesty.
If Theodore Nott could tear his eyes away from Malfoy's girlfriend, he would've been extremely glad for it. His obsession with the Pansy Parkinson was getting absolutely ridiculous, and it was also getting him nowhere fast. Sure, if he called to mind her face or her tits or her bum (or all three) while in the shower or alone in bed at night, she was a good means to an end, but Pansy Parkinson was, and always had been, untouchable save in dreams and fantasies.
Theo thought that any rational person would agree that to want Pansy was to wish for the sun and moon – it was utterly preposterous and she was completely out of reach to begin with.
And yet… where Pansy Parkinson was concerned, all thoughts of rationality seemed wither and die like weeds in a garden adorned with the purple flowers she had been named after.
Pansy had first noticed the Nott boy staring at her some time during fourth year. At first, she had been relieved – after all, what with his shyness and his silly studiousness, he could easily have been mistaken for some kind of poof. At least his interest in her proved that he didn't have a burning desire to shag Goyle or someone equally revolting, like Potter.
But while the affirmation of Nott's heterosexuality pleased her, the stares were annoying. They made her feel less like a piece of meat being ogled than like a china doll being admired, and that was simply not on. After all, Draco didn't look at her with half the vehemence that Nott did, and she didn't want to start resenting that fact, did she? Especially not since Draco had asked her to the Yule Ball and her mother had been telling her for years now to give the Malfoy heir whatever he wanted in the hopes that their families might arrange a marriage between the two of them before they finished their seventh year at school. If Draco wanted to shuck his pants and demand that she suck him off after the Yule Ball, that was all right, wasn't it?
Her mother did say to give him whatever he wanted, and Pansy was happy to oblige. Surely her parents knew what was best for her.
Theo hated seeing her with Malfoy, hated hearing her with Malfoy, and hated smelling her on Malfoy's fingers after they'd had a quick romp in between classes. She was under his thumb, often quite literally, and Theo knew it was no good trying to save her, even if he'd had the courage to do so. He was, after all, a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. While a Gryffindor might have punched Draco Malfoy in the face for violating the girl he fancied, only to get said girl angry and defensive, a Slytherin would wait. He would wait for Pansy to reach her own conclusions about Malfoy, and he would pray that they would be the right ones. That was how real Slytherins got their girls – not through ludicrous acts of chivalry, or through marriages carefully arranged by the parents of two families, but through respect for the girl involved and her supposed intelligence.
Real Slytherins had to be patient, as well, Theo discovered as nearly three years passed.
The funeral was a sombre affair, as most funerals tended to be, but this time the feeling was enhanced most cruelly and ironically, for this was the funeral of Draco Malfoy, the only one she ever could love – the man who would have been her husband one day.
He'd been the only one she had ever kissed.
The only one she had ever let her knickers down for.
The only one she had ever let fuck her.
He lay in a black coffin, shielded from view by all attending the service. They said that there wasn't really much left of him, and that what was left was rather left unseen. Words were spoken, tears were shed, and the coffin was lowered into the ground.
Pansy realised on the way back to Hogwarts that she hadn't cried, hadn't said a word, hadn't even said goodbye. She wondered at this, but succeeded in casting the thought aside.
Theo had noticed that Pansy had defied his worst expectations and had not been bawled her eyes out at the funeral. He had taken note of this fact and by the time they returned to school, he figured that since the mortal remains of her boyfriend were now six feet under, it was probably safe to flirt with Pansy.
He wasn't very good at it, but he tried. It was mostly simple things, such as complimenting her hair or an outfit she wore. He made a bit of small talk with her during and outside of class. He offered to help her study for her Arithmancy N.E.W.T., and she had simply raised an eyebrow. There had been no outright refusal of his advances, subtle as they might have been, and this cheered him greatly.
In fourth year, he had just wanted to shag her. In seventh, while he still imagined her face while he jerked off out of habit, he also found himself blushing at the sound of her giggle during Charms, and fondly recalling the way her pretty wrists would angle just so as she took notes.
He wondered if he had always been in love, or if this was a newer development.
Theodore Nott, Pansy was discovering, was a sneaky bastard. He had done nothing but stare and, occasionally, drool at her for three years, and now after Draco's body had been found and finally put to rest, he was talking to her and smiling at her and acting as if he hadn't a care in the world that didn't involve her. While she had to admit that it was rather flattering, she couldn't help feeling guilty.
Contrary to popular belief (mainly of the idiotic Gryffindor sort), Slytherins can feel guilt. They feel it like a knife through the heart – more strongly than someone outside of Salazar's House could ever have imagined. Usually, if a Slytherin felt guilty, it signifies a deeply wrong sort of betrayal, real or imagined.
It felt like an insult to Draco's memory to be laughing at Nott's stupid jokes and to accept his invitation for extra Arithmancy help. She couldn't imagine how it would feel if she were to kiss this strangely warm boy – it would probably be the equivalent of dancing on her boyfriend's grave.
The guilt twisted at her heart even more violently as she realised just how much she really wanted to.
He tried to kiss her one night while she was hovering over his shoulder, apparently reading from the Airthmancy book in front of him, but actually just using the motion to lean close to him. He appreciated it, and leaned in closer to her in turn, tilting his head just so and locking eyes with her for one perfect moment before she jumped up and left, spewing excuses and imaginative curses that he could've help cocking an eyebrow and smirking at.
He hadn't expected this to work out easily, but Theodore Nott was a patient man, and very much a Slytherin to boot.
He would wait, and she would come to him. He always had known she would, some day.
As the sun rose, Pansy watched it, squinting a little. The light, while not the brightest the sun would shine that day, still hurt her tired eyes. She yawned and checked the time – it was nearly seven and breakfast would be starting soon, though her room mates were still sleeping.
Pansy hadn't slept a wink. She'd been up all night thinking about Theo and the almost-kiss and, of course, about Draco.
She had never really let it sink in until that night that Draco had died. He had died largely because of his stupidity, his cowardice, his tendency to do what was asked of him and screw the rest – screw rationality and morality and even happiness.
He had died for it.
Wasn't Pansy doing the same thing? Had she been stupidly following other peoples' wishes all these years, despite the fact that she had been miserable most of the time? Was she really so deluded as to think that Draco had loved her, that she loved him, and that their life together would have been perfect and special and a dream come true?
And whose dream was it, but her mother's, and possibly Draco's mother and father's? How the hell did they know what was best to herself and Draco? Clearly, Draco's parents didn't, seeing as they had allowed him to get involved in the Dark Lord's easily-foiled plans and then to get himself killed once his cowardice had been made evident to the Dark Lord.
It had taken her all night to come to this conclusion, to perform the mental dance that would allow her to let go of Draco and embrace other possibilities, and possibly other people.
The tears she had shed earlier that night were worth it, if only for the sight of the sun rising, for with it rose her spirit for the first time in years.
She approached him later that day with a half-smile and a stronger soul.
She paused for a moment, raised her eyes to meet his in a fiery stare, and asked, "Well, are you going to kiss me or not?"
Theo let a smug sort of grin spread across his face, nodded, and drew his flower closer to him as he gave Pansy Parkinson the first kiss of her new life.