Pansy Parkinson was not the meddling type.
All right. Correction—she was not the meddling type if there was nothing for her to gain. Had she not been bred to exploit weaknesses and sink her perfectly manicured claws into everything she wanted, she might have felt an inkling of guilt to know almost every interaction she had with anyone was based on manipulation. Of course, that bit of remorse never did surface because people were often idiots. If Pansy wanted something, she had to make it happen herself.
Like cursing Draco Malfoy into oblivion.
Out of everyone she had ever met, she had once believed he was the most cunning. He surveyed his surroundings and companions the same way Pansy did; searching for strengths, flaws, and everything in between to use however he saw fit. Sure, he had the Malfoy fortune behind him, granting him anything he wished, but if there was something more, if there was something he craved, even if for a second, he would find a way to claim it.
Once upon a time, Pansy had been in love with a version of Draco that believed he deserved everything. But that was before the war—before the Dark Lord, before Death Eaters, and before Hermione Granger.
Pansy had never had any delusions that Draco was someone she could wrap around her finger, not when he had yanked on all her strings first, forcing her to stand, sit, talk, and move in any way she thought he might love, but there had always been something behind those beautiful, pale silver eyes of his. He would never love her like those sappy, disgusting fairytales the Greengrass sisters used to fawn over for, Pansy knew that, but Draco had wanted the same future she did. Something illuminated by gold, social status, and blood purity. Then the walls of Hogwarts crumbled along with the world people like the Parkinsons and Malfoys wanted to build, leaving only ash, loneliness, and death.
Leaving only everything Draco thought he was ever going to have and be.
Had this fucked up marriage law never been passed, Pansy had no qualms confessing she would have eventually come up with a plan to still force Malfoy into her name. Everyone had lost everything, from all angles, but Draco still had his wealth. If they had to be miserable, then they could have been miserable together—in a chateau drowning with expensive things. But the Ministry had set up arranged marriages and Pansy ended up with more than she ever thought she would get.
She ended up with Ron Weasley.
Did she deserve everything? Absolutely. No one would ever be able to convince Pansy that she didn't deserve every star in the sky resting at her feet, but she was a realist. She would have to compromise to still get everything but in more achievable variation. Love was one of those things. She had never really known the thing—yes, her feelings for Draco came close to it, but she wasn't even sure the allure of him wasn't wholly guided by what he could provide. As such, she could sacrifice sweet, genuine affection for good sex and the title of wife.
Of course, she had not been expecting to get all of that wrapped up with a bow and given to her by the Ministry. Nor had she known everything the love she grew for Ron would heal.
Had she made mistakes? Well, the answer was dependent on how one looked at it. For Pansy, all she knew how to do was play this game of chess they insisted on calling Life. She knew how to move pieces because she had been one herself; she had been born to see what her existence could bring to her family, or how it could tear down those in their way. She had not been trained to consider trivial things like feelings, especially the feelings of those beneath her designer shoes. It was only until she was staring into Ron's blinding, magnetic blue eyes that she knew there was more.
She wasn't sentimental enough to share this new feeling her dusty, unused heart insisted on calling Love, but Pansy was loyal enough to want her friends to have it.
Then Draco had to ruin it.
"Get—off—me!"
"All you had to fucking do," hissed Pansy, yanking on soft, white-blonde hair she used to run gentle fingers through, "was not be a conniving arsehole!"
"I mean, isn't that his default setting?" asked Blaise as he propped his chin up on his left palm, looking absolutely bored even after Pansy had lunged at Draco, knocking him flat on his stomach and she straddled his back. "They don't call him the Slytherin Prince for nothing."
"No—one—calls—me—that!"
Blaise snorted at Draco, but said to Pansy, "Maybe we should've drugged him. The moment the sorting hat called his name out, we should've asked Slughorn to concoct some potion that would've suppressed his twat tendencies."
"Fucking—illegal—"
"We would've called it charity," said Blaise, refusing to acknowledge Draco directly. "Slughorn would've agreed to that. He has met the arsehole, after all."
Pansy gripped the back of Draco's hair with one hand as the other pressed her wand into the side of his neck. She had taught herself a lot of protective techniques to never be anyone's little, defenseless princess again, but she hardly had solid control over her nonverbals. When a spark shot out from the end of her wand and shocked Draco, she claimed it had been her intention to do so.
"I thought you were smarter," she hissed again. "Smart enough to know that you stopped wanting to use Granger as a stepping stone to your redemption. You love her, you complete fucking idiot!"
Draco stilled beneath her.
"Save your breath, Pans," Blaise huffed as he straighened out, shoving his forgotten Potions textbook into his schoolbag. "Just curse him already so I can get back to my wife."
Pansy whipped her head around to look at Blaise. He had said the word so easily, like he had not had seven different panic attacks the day of his wedding because the thought of Cho Chang becoming a Zabini made terror flood him like a tsunami tide. But he hadn't drowned—no, Blaise had learned to swim.
He had found what Pansy had wanted her friends to replace the ash, regret, and death with. Maybe he was not irrevocably in love with Chang—Zabini, Cho—but he was happy. Yes, he thought he did not deserve that at first, not when he had been a servant of the Dark Lord, too, but he had considered the alternative and refused it.
He had refused to be without his betrothed—his wife.
"You're wasting your time," continued Blaise, eyes narrowing. "He made his choice. Leave him."
"It's the wrong choice—"
"And it's still the one he fucking made," growled Blaise, scooting back against the bench of the desk he had been occupying. "You don't think I tried to persuade him? To make him see he was going to end up breaking Hermione's heart? His own, too? He deserves this."
Pansy did not miss the way Draco held his breath, like a knife had been dug into his back.
"Salazar knows I can't believe I'm saying this, but you might actually be right, Zabini," she sighed, pulling her wand back. "Still, Granger didn't deserved this."
"She didn't," agreed Blaise, his gaze sad now, "but she knew it was a possibility. What else could she have expected from a Death Eater?"
A growl echoed around the Potions dungeon. It didn't surprise Pansy, but she still rolled off of Draco's back, throwing up a shield charm as he jumped up to his feet, baring his teeth like a snake ready to strike.
"When you said you couldn't love her," Blaise pressed on, his words now directed at Draco, "I should've believed you, Malfoy. You've never been capable of it. And still," he didn't pause, not when the latter took a threatening step forward, "Hermione thought you deserved it. She thought you deserved to be loved by someone like her, knowing well enough that everything you have ever put your hands on has shattered into a million pieces."
Pansy could have extended her Protego out to cover Blaise, too, but she didn't move. She didn't blink an eye when Draco dropped his wand and instead lunged at their friend, his trembling hands balled into fists.
Refined pureblood wizards had never reduced themselves into a savagery they connected to muggles, but throughout the years, Pansy had seen her idiots scuffle. It had almost always been a pathetic show of shoving and grunting that ended in someone using a nonverbal to jinx the other, ultimately stopping the physical fight, but now there was real emotion behind it.
If she had been a betting witch, she wouldn't have put her galleons on Blaise overpowering Draco, not when he kept his nails just as shiny and neat as Pansy did. And yet with a battle cry that should have concerned her, she watched as Blaise slammed Draco on the classroom floor, stomping a foot down onto his chest to keep him there.
If she had been a betting witch, she wouldn't have put her galleons on Draco not gaining momentum to gain the upperhand again, not when he was just as prideful as Pansy was. And yet with a tormented cry that should have concerned her, she watched as Draco gripped Blaise's ankle like he was holding on to something solid, something to keep him there instead of a barren abyss.
"How can this pain be better than loving her?" Pansy had to force herself to whisper, swallowing venom that still wanted to punish Draco for being an idiot. "How can losing her be better than letting yourself be happy?"
"Hermione never wanted easy, mate," Blaise murmured, too, the anger, the resentment dimming in his emerald eyes as he removed his foot from Draco's chest, kneeling beside him just as Pansy crawled her way over to them. "She just wanted real. Dark Mark included."
Just as she had done a few times when Draco was haunted by his sins and impossible choices, Pansy sunk her fingers into his hair, gently, carefully undoing the knotts she had created when she yanked at the soft, pale locks. "Do you love her?"
"Fuck!" Draco let out a sound that was a cross between a shout and a sob.
"Do you love her?" Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco nodded once. Pansy dug her fingernails into his scalp. "Say it."
"I love her," he hissed, his silver eyes coming back to life, a truth so ferocious swimming in them. "I love Hermione Granger."
Pansy scoffed, but a smile threatened to tug her red-painted lips up. "Of course you do, you fucking chaotic mess."
Draco moved his head, forcing Pansy off. "It doesn't mean anything," he said through gritted teeth. "I still lost her. Hermione never changes her mind."
"Maybe," Pansy told him, "but when has Draco Malfoy ever given up the thing he wants the most?"
"Since he accepted that he doesn't deserve a fucking thing," said Draco, his eyes fluttering shut again. "Especially her heart."
"And somehow it belongs to you—" All three Slytherins turned to the sound of Harry Potter's voice. Like in a distant, unreachable memory from a life that didn't seem like theirs anymore, he pulled off his invisibility cloak. This time, however, he stared down at Draco, no intention of smashing his nose in.