Draco:
Merlin knew that he could use a drink - or three. He wasnât even as picky as usual about what it was. What he was picky about was his company, but Draco was honestly kind of wondering if he picked the right company for the evening. Pansy was very melodramatic and self-centred. While usually that wasnât the worst thing in the world and he was very much used to it (plus he could hardly comment on the matter, since he was dramatic and arrogant himself) he felt like the current events and whatever was on Pansyâs mind just wouldnât make a good combination. The sighing that came from her mouth was not a promising start by any means. Â âOr maybe you could, I donât know, go with it,â he suggested dryly when she complained about being married off. âEither go with it or get yourself disowned. Thereâs no in between and you know it.â And especially not if the in-between meant that it meant Draco had to listen to her complain. He would be fine being married to whoever his parents picked. He would just feel sorry for the woman that got stuck with him. The betrothals were just a truth that the Sacred 28 had to deal with for decades now. They had to keep their blood pure, after all. Â He blinked at the words that followed out of Pansyâs mouth and continued to stare at her. Not at all accidentally and rather pointedly. âDo you know what I like in a person?â he asked then. âCompassion. Have you, by any chance, heard of the term?â He rolled his grey eyes, scoffed and leaned back in his chair then. âFirst of all. Unpleasant people are reappearing daily. And secondly. If any personal unpleasant people reappeared I wouldnât be here, because I would be dead, you simpering fool.â Unless he were to return after dying, which was not something he put a lot of thought into yet. But his point stood: if Abraxas, Druella, Cygnus or Bellatrix returned he was in for one hell of a time for disappointing the family and what not. He was convinced Bellatrix would waste no time at all torturing him and the other three either raised his father or Bellatrix so that was a good time either. âAnd did you think we could be walking into Vincent anytime soon, Pansy?â he added. Probably not, because if her last remark was anything to go by she wasnât thinking.
He was right, of course. Sheâd complained and complained to her poor friends about this for years, even when they all knew that she could easily fix the problem herself. Refuse and be disowned. Sheâd tried to imagine that once, back in school. Sheâd watched the dirt poor Weasley girl, looked at her clothes, her books, and her smile despite that. She was self aware enough to know she couldnât do it. Her family name, the money, just the money, meant far too much to her to ever give up.
Bitter, at herself truly, and feeling unfairly vindictive, she let the question spill out her mouth. Sheâd known even as she said it how unforgivably callous it was. Pansy, the bitch, self-centered and nasty to her marrow; even people she called her friends had been victims of her personality; but at least, for the most part she knew they could handle it. They could all give as good as they got. That, of course, did not make it any better, did not remove the dagger from their backs.Â
She flinched at his words, the naked, brutal honesty of them. That was the worst part after all, she practically needed the veil of a morbid joke to speak of it. It. The danger, the horror, the tragedy, the sheer fucking inevitability of it. If, (when), Dracoâs less savory family members, or honestly any of the Death Eaters, returned they would kill Draco and his parents. It was not something she could think of. This, more than his anger, his hurt, was her punishment for what sheâd said.
She would never say it, because even she knew it was line not to be crossed, but sheâd never expected him to survive the war. Thereâd been a part of her all sixth and seventh year that had been quietly preparing herself for it. It had all just been borrowed time for him.Â
She looked at him, forcing herself to see the betrayal on his face. She was probably lucky he hadnât just walked straight out of the restaurant. She couldnât apologize her way out of this, even if she were the type for apologies. âI deserved that, I know. I wonât make excuses not to you. Youâre not going to-â she wouldnât say, couldnât. âWeâre not going to sit back and wait for them though. We can find out more about whatever the Unspeakables fucked up or find a way to protect you or cross our fingers and hope they get murdered again before they get to you. Iâm shit at compassion and you know it but I can do something to help, anything.â
It was probably a lie. Maybe she could help, maybe he would let her. But at the end of the day, she couldnât help enough.
âDonât,â she forced out through gritted teeth, âWeâre not talking about him.â She had thought about Vince coming back when the Prophet first broke the news and then immediately put him out of her mind. Vincent, who sheâd passed in the halls on her way to the passageway out of Hogwarts, Vincent whoâd refused her to come with her, Vincent who patted her arm good-naturally and told her, âIâll be fineâ. If he did come back, she thought she might hex him.










