Draco Lucius Malfoy (d_l_malfoy) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2016-11-01 19:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !completed gdoc, !log, ~2016 november, ~25 points, ~~draco malfoy (d_l_malfoy), ~~pansy parkinson (pugmylife) |
WHO: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy
WHERE: Pansy's apartment
WHEN: Thursday evening, prior to the change with magic
WHAT: Discussions of men, their relationships and angry kisses
RATING: PG13 for language and Slytherinness
STATUS: log; completed
Since he’d kissed Sydney, Draco had spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about repeating it. And repeating it in multiple ways. And seeing how much further he could push the bounds between them. Nights seemed endless and full of need and made the days just as long, leaving him cranky and short tempered. And somehow the icing on the cake was that Pansy was inviting him over - with caveats about not being ‘horrible’. As far as Draco was concerned there was a lot of leeway in the definition of that word. He was not quite sure why she wanted him to come over. Only a month ago, he would have been thrilled with the idea. Now? Something about Sydney had changed that excitement into a muted sense of obligation more than anything else. Which meant the chances of him being ‘horrible’ increased exponentially. It didn’t stop him from appearing on her doorstep later in the evening after her post. Besides, he was rather looking forward to taking his annoyance at Sydney out on Pansy. Knocking, he waited for her to open the door, leaning against the wall across from the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers., grey eyes cool and watchful. *** Given the strained relationship between them, Pansy wouldn't have invited Draco to her home. But she was feeling lonely and misunderstood, and despite all the bad blood between them, Draco was the one person here who really knew her. They had history, the two of them, and that would never go away no matter what happened to them. She opened the door to find him watching her warily, and she almost laughed. He looked like he wasn't sure if she was going to reach out and strangle him, or if he should be reaching out and strangling her. “Come in,” she said. “I’m not going to hex you. Unless, of course, you do something to deserve it.” *** “According to you,” Draco commented, pushing himself off of the wall and entering the apartment behind her, “I generally deserve it.” The door shut and he looked at her. “And as most of the time since I have arrived you have been sniping at me, hexing does not seem far off the mark. So what’s with the invitation?” She hadn’t explained herself over the network and he was curious about her motives. Pansy did nothing without a reason. And when it involved him - especially considering the fact that she had great disdain for him, claiming he had jilted her to please his family - Draco felt he deserved to know the reason. “But I’ll take the wine before the explanation.” *** Pansy was all right with that. She wasn't sure what she was going to say to Draco anyway. She didn't think he was going to be particularly sympathetic to her problems with a Muggle, but at the same time she thought that out of everyone in this wretched town, he wa probably the only one who understood her. “Kitchen, then.” She led the way to the small kitchen, a small cry from the cavernous rooms their house elves slaves away in back home. She levitated two glasses and the bottle to them and poured. “2012 Mission Hill,” she said. “It's quite good, for a Muggle wine.” *** Pansy had always been far more of the wine connoisseur in their relationship. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate a good glass, especially with a well-made meal, but it wasn’t his choice of what to use to get ‘stupidly drunk’ as Pansy had put it. Tonight Pansy was calling the shots so Draco accepted the drink, tasting the wine and giving a nod of acceptance. “It is passable,” Draco commented, figuring that was a fair comment about a muggle item. He let the silence settle for a moment, waiting until they had finished at least half a glass each, his gaze evaluating her. Leaning back against the counter, the small space not allowing her to hide from him, Draco asked, “Why are we getting stupidly drunk? I just like to know why I’ll want a hangover potion tomorrow.” His grey eyes focused on her, not letting her weasel out of an answer this time around. *** “Men, Draco,” Pansy said with a sigh as she leaned her elbows against the counter. She wasn’t drunk yet - not even nearly tipsy - but she was tired. She felt as if she’d been running a marathon of patience and tolerance ever since arriving here, and it really was very exhausting. “You’re a man. Please tell me why they must be so demanding without wishing to give anything of themselves.” Perhaps that was a little unfair to Neal; he’d been nothing if not solicitous, and he’d admitted the other night he was developing feelings. But Draco had feelings for her too, hadn’t he, and that hadn’t stopped him from dropping her for family appearances. *** Raising an eyebrow, Draco looked at Pansy. That was a bit frank for their normal discussions. Of course, he didn’t actually have an answer for her. So as he decided what to actually say, he took another sip of wine. “What makes you think we give nothing of ourselves?” Draco asked, posing what he thought was an important argument. “Perhaps our giving looks nothing like what you would like it to.” What he was more driven by was wanting to know what had brought this on. That push would have to come after she was a bit further into the bottle. Draco knew that confessions never happened during the first glass. The third tended to be the time to ask the questions he really wanted to. *** Pansy gave him an arch look. “And what have you given me?” she asked. “And don’t say prestige or the pleasure of your company, because my association with you did nothing to protect my parents’ fall from grace, and I didn’t even have your company after that. Besides, I want more than that sort of thing. I want…” Pansy trailed off. She hadn’t nearly had enough wine to get deeper into it, and even if she had, she wasn’t sure if she even knew what she wanted. Love, she supposed. Undying, unconditional love, the sort of love she had for her parents and them for her. The sort she thought she’d had with Draco, except she’d discovered very clearly otherwise. *** As Draco had immediately opened his mouth to utter that the pleasure of his company was his gift when she stole the words from his mouth. He snapped his mouth shut and kept the thought to himself because he knew if he actually uttered it outloud, she’d hex him, roll him from the apartment and leave him there until some poor unfortunate soul came along without enough magic to undo the spell. Since he didn’t want to spend the evening in such a way, Draco just listened. It was the hanging end of the sentence that intrigued him. It was a puzzle he wanted to decipher. “Men don’t bare their souls if that is what you are looking for,” Draco pointed out. “We’re not puppy dogs to roll over and bear our vulnerable bellies for your pleasure.” “But,” Draco said, forcing her to wait for him to conclude his thought, “I did offer companionship and intelligent conversation, both of which count for something. On the other hand, you and I, I have come to realise, never did have the kind of relationship that would preclude any willingness on my part to bare my soul.” His eyes narrowed as he considered her, taking a stab in the dark. “Or my heart.” *** This came as a surprise to Pansy, who’d always thought that Draco had loved her in his own way. Just not enough. She frowned and tossed back her wine before pouring herself another and asking the question. “Really. So when you said you loved me, was that a lie?” *** “Here? Yes,” Draco answered honestly. “Here we are too different in ways that are easy to see. There? Then? Then I meant it. If I had never come here, I would have continued to meet it. Here…” Draco stopped and frowned down into his wineglass. “Here I’m not the same. And neither are you.” He looked at her pointedly. “You’d never have been happy with me. You want me to be something I’m not.” Looking at her for a moment before he finished the glass of wine. “Something I couldn’t be there. And can be here.” Which sounded a lot like double speak, but Draco knew what he meant. *** There was a pause as Pansy tried to parse that, and then she laughed. “I haven’t had nearly enough wine to understand that, and you haven’t had nearly enough wine to make that sound profound. I haven’t the foggiest what you just said there.” A wave of her wand, and Draco’s wine glass was topped up. *** Looking at the glass, Draco raised it toward Pansy. “To overly complicated explanations.” He downed a portion of the glass, leaning back against the counter in a more relaxed pose, legs crossing at the ankle. “But seriously Pansy, what are you on about with this discussion?” he asked, watching her carefully. “It’s unlike you to randomly rag on men especially when you’ve already ejected me from your life - other than our common fondness to pick on Granger or the stupid people of the world.” He looked at her, trying to pick her apart. “So give over Pansy. Tell me what is going on. Or let’s just get pissed.” *** “Randomly?” Pansy laughed, genuinely amused. “Darling, I rag on just about everybody, men and women and Grangers alike.” But that wasn’t exactly what he was asking. Pansy stared down at her glass, wondering if she wanted to open up to someone who was more likely to sneer at her than give her advice. “Do you ever get lonely here?” she finally asked. “We’re a rare breed, you and I. People just don’t understand us.” *** “Lonely,” Draco mused. It was an interesting choice of words and probably not one he would typically use to describe himself. Draco considered himself something of a solitary beast in most regards. Perhaps because most people, as Pansy pointed out, didn’t understand him nor did they bother to try understand him. Did that make him lonely though? Draco just never thought in those terms. “I would not quantify myself as ever identifying with that word,” he started and then added, “I would say that I less likely to run into others of a similar nature here and it is difficult to not hear one’s values expressed or understood.” Draco thought of Sydney and her aversion to magic and frowned to himself. “Living here is not easy and is not like anything I have ever experienced.” It was the closest he could get to confirmation. *** Pansy let a beat pass between his reply and hers, the better to let his words be absorbed. “Are you aware,” she said, “that your tendency is to retreat behind a more complex lexicon when you're attempting to dissemble?” Pansy tried not to use big words at all, at least not unless she was mocking someone - like she was now. She knew Draco - and others - thought her stupid or at least not their intellectual equivalent because she used a more basic vocabulary, but she thought it was more important to understand how to read a person than to use impressively long words. “That makes me wonder, then,” she said, returning to her own pattern of speech, “what you're not saying.” *** Pansy always called him on his shit. It was actually why he liked Pansy as much as he hated her - her unvarnished honesty. Which meant that he snarled at her. “This is why we don’t drink together,” Draco commented, a hint of nastiness in his tone. Mostly because he was pissed because she wasn’t going to let him off with dancing around the subject. “I’m not telling you anything of the sort,” Draco retorted, setting down his glass and crossing his arms across his chest, protecting himself from her. “Telling me you are here because you want to rag on men, me specifically, and then dissect my motives is not what I agreed to.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her carefully. “What is going on Pansy? Because, clearly, you are lonely. Missing me that much?” He poked her word back at her, hoping to elicit a response. *** “You're the one who made it personal,” Pansy retorted. “I was all set to exempt you from the unpleasantry of men when you had to bring it all back to yourself. Me, me, me. It's tiresome.” But he was right: that wasn't why she had invited him over, and definitely not what he’d agreed to. With an effort, she swallowed her annoyance. Finishing off her glass of wine helped. “Perhaps I am lonely,” she allowed. “And perhaps I should get used to it, because I am quite determined to never again love someone like I loved you, so they could never break my heart the way you did.” It wasn't anything to admit it. He already knew how much she'd loved him, how much she'd subsumed her own life and desires for his. He might not have gotten to the point where he had actually broken her heart, but it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine by any means. *** “You asked about me, so I answered,” Draco pointed out. The point really was moot as Draco was an egotistical prat - he just didn’t particularly care to acknowledge it. He may be a less harsh Draco here, but ego didn’t shrivel up. The notion that he had broken Pansy’s heart - whether it was an action he remembered or not - made Draco frown deeply. He did not appreciate the fact that he had done something he didn’t remember - especially something that had destroyed what had been a delightful relationship. Uncrossing his arms, Draco took his hands and shoved them into the pockets of his trousers - looking at her carefully. He thought through all they had been through together and did something very un-Draco-like. He apologised. “Look, Pansy, I’m only going to say this once,” he started, taking a deep breath and letting it out, “but whatever reason I gave about leaving you, it would have been a dick move. I used you to a degree - to hide from myself and, “ Draco stopped, hands coming from his pocket and waving wide, “everything. You always loved me more than I loved you.” It may have been harsh, but as far as Draco was concerned it was true. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted you and wanted you badly but that’s not love. I could never, ever, have given you what you wanted, what you deserved.” Stepping towards her, Draco stopped so that they were closer to one another, only a small gap between them. “You should never give up on what you deserve. You’re not so weak as to bow to the chance of pain like that.” *** It was so un-Draco-like, in fact, that Pansy’s mouth dropped open almost comically. Of all the things she could have imagined him to say in response to her, an apology and encouragement to pursue someone who could give her the love she wanted was absolutely not it. When she finally managed to re-hinge her jaw, she shook her head. “You really weren’t joking when you said you weren’t the same here.” She poured herself another glass of wine. This admission, this possible first step towards closure, was something she needed to be more fortified for. “It’s why I didn’t want to get back with you,” she said eventually. “Because I always knew, deep down, you didn’t love me like I loved you. I used to tell myself it was all right, that you could grow to love me more with time. And there were moments when we almost got there.” A small, nostalgic smile touched her lips. “We did have some very good times together, didn’t we? But I don’t want to be back in that position, trying to be satisfied with crumbs.” *** Watching her refill her glass, Draco remembered why he had wanted her so much. She was classic and elegant, both seductive in their own way. And he could not forget her beauty either and he did so love beautiful things - for Sydney was no exception. “There were moments,” Draco agreed, his eyes on her, wondering what she was thinking. “And some very very good times. Remember when we convinced the House Elves that my mother intended for us to have wine with dinner and your mother’s face when she realised they had served us her prized bottles?” Draco grinned. His mother had been more than a little displeased and they had been tipsy enough to withstand her death glares. Still mentally chuckling at the memory, Draco heard her next words and considered them. “And you think someone might be willing to give you more? Or someone you want to give you more?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, hoping his insight was correct. *** The memory made Pansy laugh. “Oh yes, Mother was so cross with me. But Father was so amused at our drunkenness he couldn’t even bring himself to punish us properly.” Her smile faded, though, when she thought about the fate of her parents. Her father, dead by his own hand rather than allow himself to be locked up in Azkaban. Her mother, deep in the throes of potions to the point where she couldn’t even recognize her own daughter anymore, let alone be cross that she drank her old vintage. Pansy mourned the loss of her parents, but their fates only solidified what Draco had taught her: that she couldn’t trust anyone to have her back other than herself. “Someone who wants more,” she said, studying her glass intently. She didn’t want to see Draco’s expression. He wasn’t thick; he’d know exactly who she was talking about. A Muggle. A fit Muggle with a delicious sense of humour and a way of making her laugh, yes, but a Muggle all the same, and just another person destined to leave her. “I’m rather disinclined to give it to him. That way only leads disappointment. Again.” *** Pansy knew that Draco was smart enough to figure things out and he quickly put together two and two to get four. A single eyebrow raised as he looked at her. Well, this was quite a turn of events. Nothing in Draco would have expected that Pansy, Pansy Parkinson of all people would consider falling for a Muggle. A grin turned up the corner of his lips. Oh yes, it was a delicious bit of retribution. Which didn’t mean much, because he knew, deep inside, he was losing it over Sydney - being gone in a way he never was with Pansy. Shoving that aside, Draco considered Pansy as he finished the last of the wine in his class. “So you’d rather run and hide, live like some kind of scarred Hufflepuff,” Draco drawled out, setting down his glass. “Unless of course, he’s taking advantage of you.” But that would be unheard of as far as Draco was concerned. *** That drew a sneer out of Pansy, and she straightened, looking like her haughty self - the one who marched into parties on Draco Malfoy’s arm as if they owned the room and everyone in it. “I’m not running and hiding. I’m merely removing myself from a situation where I wouldn’t be horribly disappointed by people. Again. I’ve been there; not in a very great hurry to try it again.” It was easier to hold herself aloof, to have casual flings and release them when she was bored or found them or herself starting to get attached. There was less pain and heartache this way. *** “Ah, a strategic retreat,” Draco commented with a sneer. “Excellent plan.” He helped himself to the rest of the wine in the bottle, grey eyes on her. “Because it would be awful to be hurt or feel pain,” Draco continued as he looked at the wine in his glass. “And then you won’t get to feel life or love or happiness either. Keep the status quo and avoid everything you can’t control.” Taking a drink, Draco added, “I approve. Your mother would be proud.” Draco poked her, hoping to make sure to hurt her where it would annoy her the most. *** It did annoy her. Draco had no right to criticize her choices or evoke her family, not when he’d chosen his over her. So she retaliated, in the way it would annoy him the most. “Only Gryffindors rush into battles they’re sure to lose,” Pansy snapped. “And if that’s what you’re advocating for me, then you don’t know me at all, or you’ve changed more than I thought. Next thing I know, you’ll be off fighting trolls with Granger or babysitting Baby Harry Potter.” *** And of course Draco was annoyed. His glare said that they were only a few more slanders from moving into a full out battle consistently of slung hexes designed to hurt more than words. It was a typical reaction between them. Only exes clearly knew how to wound with words like no other. “I’d rather babysit the Potthead than cower like a Hufflepuff assuming that someone will rescue me from myself,” Draco sniped back. “I don’t care if you hide from everyone and everything. It’s your choice to become a bitter old crone.” Those grey eyes looked her up and down as he considered her. “Looks like you are well on the way there.” *** Bitter old crone?! Pansy was highly regretting feeding him wine rather than hexing him the moment he walked in the door. “I’m not waiting for anyone to rescue me,” Pansy retorted as she levitated his wine glass to her. If he was going to insult her, she was taking her wine back. “I’m just protecting myself. You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you Draco?” After all, his family’s dissociation with hers was all about self-preservation. *** Making a valiant attempt to grab the wine prior as she moved it away, Draco ended up next to her. His anger showed on his face. They were clearly reverting to type - he and Pansy. “So you’re just going to hide forever,” Draco sneered, leaning towards her. “A brilliant plan. And so like you. At least I took a stand and did something instead of expecting for it to be presented to me like some kind of holier-than-thou Gryffindor.” His eyes fairly glinted with anger, like the storming ocean. “I’m not sure what you expect to get from whoever this stupid muggle is if this is how you treat him. I’ll make sure to warn him to run as fast as he can - lest he be frozen by the coldness of your heart.” *** Pansy looked anything but cold and aloof now, however. Eyes blazing, she got up as much in Draco’s face as he was in hers. “And what’s that something?” she sneered, face inches from his. “How dare you talk to me about running and hiding, when that’s exactly what you did after the war? You and your family couldn’t toady up to the new Minister fast enough to save your own arses. What kind of stand was that, aside from saving your own skin? Don’t you sermonize to me about hiding. You don’t get to speak on that at all.” *** “Intelligence requires that one and one’s family occasionally make decisions looking at the long term,” Draco snapped back, his temper ignited now. Most people thought he didn’t have one, but the truth was he hid his passionate and angry nature under cold haughtiness to protect himself. “Of course we’re talking a decision wherein thinking was more important than feeling. I’ve yet to see you make a decision with your head instead of your heart - just like those crass Gryffindors - all heart, no head.” They were close enough now that it wouldn’t take much for Draco to lean forward to kiss her and a good portion of his male hormonal nature was considering that as a natural conclusion to their argument. What he didn’t realise was that he was clearly telegraphing that on his face as he leaned towards her. *** Pansy saw it, though. She’d always been very good about reading him, knowing what he was thinking and what he wanted even when he himself didn’t. It came from years of studying him and wanting to make him happy. She had no such desire to make him happy now, however. She wanted to poke him, to annoy him, to find those chinks in his armour and stab through it to hurt him as he’d hurt her. So she moved even closer, each word a heated puff of air against his lips. “Do you even listen to yourself, Draco? You pride yourself on your intellect, but you can’t even keep your arguments straight! First you tell me I have no heart, and now you’re saying I’m all heart. Maybe you’re the one who’s letting his heart overrule his head.” *** Why he wasn’t kissing her, Draco couldn’t quite figure out. It felt right to continue to lean towards her, but as much as his body and hormones were enticed by her, his head remained apart from the influence. It was barely holding on to control of the action as his hands reached out and grabbed her arms roughly. “I believe that this discussion has been had before with the conclusion that I don’t have one of those extraneous heart shaped, feeling organs,” Draco pointed out, voice a vicious whip snap. “And you do one and then other because you can’t decide when which is appropriate - reacting instead of acting. Just shows that you haven’t yet managed to learn what it means to be a proper Slytherin.” It was the worst insult he could think of at the moment with his brain screaming that he needed to disengage and his emotions roaring with anger and frustration. *** Pansy tried to shrug off his hands, but his grip was too strong. He had her arms in a firm grip, and she quickly realized that she wasn’t going to get free until he released her. Rather than fight against his superior strength, on his terms, Pansy decided to show her Slytherinness by changing the game. She hooked her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. It wasn’t a loving kiss by any means; it wasn’t anything like the soft, eager kisses she used to give him, or the experimental caresses they’d shared as they learned the language of passion together, but it was no less fierce or passionate for it. In this case, the passion in question was borne from anger and resentment and the need to dominate. *** Draco did not deal well with challenges to his dominance. It was not something that he handled well - mostly because he was used to being the dominate force in a room. Which is why, when Pansy kissed him, he retaliated by attempting to bend her to his will. It was not the sort of kiss that he had shared with her previously - those had been about seduction on both their parts. Nor was it the kind of kiss he had shared with Sydney - those had been about raw need, passion and things Draco didn’t honestly have a name for. For several long minutes, Draco attempted to bend her to his will - demanding a response from her. It didn’t succeed. After a few moments, the pair pulled back and looked at each other. Both of them panting slightly, but not with need - mostly anger and frustration. His grey eyes snapped at her. “What was that for?” he snarled, still frustrated with her. “If you wanted me to go to bed with you, I suggest you just ask.” *** “That was my attempt to shut you up,” Pansy snapped back. “Too had it only worked for a few minutes.” She'd felt, during the power struggle that took its guise as a kiss, some of those old feelings she'd felt when she'd loved Draco. Despite the anger in their kiss, it was almost comforting in its familiarity. She knew how he'd feel and taste, how his body would feel under her hands. And if she did take him to bed, it would probably be about the same: they'd know what the other would like; they'd know how to elicit those moans of passion and gasps of need. But it would be hollow. There wouldn't be any feelings behind it anymore, at least from Pansy’s end. Maybe they had never even been there from Draco’s end. She sighed, suddenly tired, and summoned both glasses to her. “You should go.” *** For several moments he stared at her, considering whether or not he should argue with her. In the end, Draco didn’t consider it worth it. The whole evening had been something of a frustrating experience in more ways than one. At the same time, he had at least learned that, no matter what, he no longer was remotely interest in Pansy as anything more than friends. And oddly, he found he did want to be friends with her - despite everything. “Probably a good idea,” Draco said, agreeing with her. It might actually save their friendship if he left instead of hanging around. Without further ado, Draco turned towards the door, opening it and stepping into the doorway. Looking back over his shoulder, he tossed out, “And for the record, whatever you’re debating about in regards to men, he’ll be lucky to have you.” The door shut with a quiet snick behind him. *** |