Pathetic {Pansy/Ginny}
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine but the plot!
Pansy Parkinson loved Draco Malfoy- it was pathetic, really, the way she mooned after him like a lovesick puppy. It was pathetic, the way she shot insults from the sidelines as Draco put the Potter prat in his place. It was completely and utterly pathetic the way she sneered at the youngest Weasely, with her long red hair and uncontrollable freckles.
Pansy Parkinson was wholly and undeniably pathetic, really, and everyone knows that except for Pansy.
Pansy knows the truth.
Pansy knows that the curl of her upper lip is not for scorn of the Gryffindors and mudbloods- except for Potter, who was simply loathsome in each and every aspect of his bloody charmed life- but for her unspoken betrothed. Could he be any more obvious? Pansy wondered. Everything about Draco Malfoy positively screamed 'I bloody love you, Harry Potter! Marry me, you studly hunk of man!'.
Not that Pansy was one to talk, the way her heart picked up its pace at the mere mention of the female Weasel's name. But at least she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, as if begging someone to come along and stomp on it with their Quidditch boots.
Quidditch.
Pansy wasn't oblivious to her own heart, like boy wonder's imbecilic best friend, who also happened to be the older brother of the unwitting object of her affections ("Weasely's an overprotective prat." "Why does it matter, Pans?" Because really, it shouldn't, but it did all the same, because the heart didn't listen to the mind, of course.). Pansy knew the reason that she trailed along after Draco to each and every Quidditch game, though she hated the sport with a fiery passion. Draco thought she wanted to watch him- Draco could have been a flobberworm for all Pansy cared as she kept her hazel eyes trained on the flash of red and gold that chased whatever that ball was down the pitch. It was almost impossible for her to keep her eyes off of the vibrant, temperamental Gryffindor as the fans rushed onto the pitch.
But she did, because Pansy Parkinson was in love with Draco, of course. As she flew out of the stands with pathetic urgency and leapt into his arms, Pansy didn't even glance at the Weasely girl. She didn't notice how attractive the redhead was as she ran her fingers through her fiery hair, smiling widely for the world to see. Pansy definitely didn't notice her lean, athletic figure from years of Quidditch training, and she certainly never noticed how sexy her tomboyish confidence made her.
But even if Pansy couldn't keep her head clear around the youngest Weasely, at least she kept a clear, disdainful face. They laughed at her for it- she had the nose of a pug, they said- but the snooty expression was the only way to express just how much she didn't love Ginny Weasely.
Draco, on the other hand, only smiled around the Potter boy, even if it was, blessedly, disguised as a sneer. Pansy had always been the first to pick up on things, but Draco was becoming more transparent and easily read than a child's spellbook, and the façade wouldn't last forever. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have concerned Pansy- what business was it of hers if the Malfoys were disgraced? But one reigning fact kept her strapped to Draco's arm like a good little tart.
If Draco fell, so would Pansy.
+++
So when Pansy walked in on Draco and boy wonder tangled up in the sheets, she had a huge decision to make. She was mortified, of course, but was there a way she could use this situation to her advantage?
So she did the only thing she could do- the only thing she couldn't, and retrieved the Weasely girl from Quidditch practice. It wasn't exactly a secret, her feelings for the Boy Who Lived, and Pansy planned to use those feelings against her. It was the first and last time that she would try for the heart of the youngest Weasely, and hopefully it would be enough.
And she had protested the entire way to the broomshed, but as soon as her bright blue eyes fell upon her ickle-Pottykins, she went deathly quiet. Pansy, recognizing her cue, smirked as she pulled Ginny back out before their presence was made public.
Pansy Parkinson didn't know she had a heart until it broke for none other than Ginevra Weasely as she sank to the ground, tears staining her cheeks. She tried to make light of it, of course ("Well I've been a bloody fool, haven't I? Even you see it."), but the wet sobs gave her away. Pansy had felt guilt for the first time in her life as she stood helpless before the sobbing Gryffindor, knowing that she could have kept quiet.
She knew, but she would have done it again.
Because in the next instant, the Weasely girl had a renewed fire in her eyes as she yanked Pansy down to her level by the silver and black tie and crushed her lips to Pansy's. Pansy knew that her heart shouldn't have soared- she knew that she should have felt betrayed, but she couldn't force herself not to enjoy the small window of bliss.
But then the warmth was gone, and the high left with it as Ginny pulled away, her angry eyes locked on Pansy. "Why'd you do that, Parkinson? You could never have Draco, so naturally I couldn't keep on in my obviously stupid dreaming?"
No.
"You see right through me, Weasette- yes, I brought you here because I just had my heart ripped to shreds and you simply had to suffer as well."
The Weasely girl looked at Pansy with an emotion that wasn't quite loathing, her brows furrowed through the tears. "Was I that bad, Parkinson?" she asked quietly now, her voice choked. Pansy wished she would look away. "Draco's got to be loads better than me, hasn't he?"
Pansy knew she should agree- for Merlin's sake, safe yourself while you can, her mind was screaming. Ginny was offering her a choice, whether she knew it or not, and Pansy thought for a moment before doing something that she'd never done before in her life.
Pansy chose wrong.
"Oh, sod it all anyway- no, actually, he's bloody awful, despite being inhumanly gorgeous," she replied, her voice cold. "But I'm obviously not his type, am I? I suppose you'd have to ask Potter for an honest opinion- I'm obviously not one to talk as I just received the best bloody snog of my life from a girl, and a bloody Gryffindor, too."
Ginny's eyes were wide- Pansy really wished she wouldn't look at her like that, as if she were renowned Quidditch star Gwenog Jones. "R-really?" she asked, obviously still fragile from the realization that she had never had a chance with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Yes, r-really, Ginevra," Pansy replied in a bored voice. "But don't get any ideas, right?"
For the first time, a smile began to appear at the corner of the Gryffindor's sweet lips- she was recovering quickly. "Whyever would I get ideas?" she asked innocently, and Pansy felt herself sigh in relief. On the inside, of course, because on the outside she was still Pansy Parkinson, and Pansy Parkinson didn't get nervous. It was all a game, now. "I think you care more than you'd like people to believe."
"And I think you're too bloody confident for your own good."
"That's bloody right, and I think you like it."
Pansy was, for once, shocked into silence as the Weasely girl got to her feet and, to her mortification and intense pleasure, wrapped her arms around the Slytherin's tiny waist. "Watch it, Weasely!" Pansy snapped, pulling away as soon as she regained her senses (This is bloody amazing- no, it's revolting! Completely and utterly awful, in fact!), though the bright red blush on her cheeks gave her away. When did I become so transparent? "Get your bloody hands off me before someone sees us!"
To her dismay, Ginny only giggled and kissed her cheek gently. "I've always thought you were rather cute when you weren't being a prat," she said, "you and that bloody awful poker face."
+++
In the eyes of the world, Pansy Parkinson was still in love with Draco Malfoy- it was pathetic, really, the way she clung to the youngest Weasely, the newest member of the Harpies as soon as she was finished with school, like a lovesick puppy. It was pathetic, the way she watched from the sidelines as Draco confessed his feelings to the Potter prat over breakfast. It was completely and utterly pathetic the way she gazed at the youngest Weasely, with her long red hair and uncontrollable freckles.
To the world, Pansy Parkinson was wholly and undeniably pathetic, really, and everyone knows that except for Pansy.
Pansy knows the truth.
Pansy Parkinson loved Draco Malfoy- it was pathetic, really, the way she mooned after him like a lovesick puppy. It was pathetic, the way she shot insults from the sidelines as Draco put the Potter prat in his place. It was completely and utterly pathetic the way she sneered at the youngest Weasely, with her long red hair and uncontrollable freckles.
Pansy Parkinson was wholly and undeniably pathetic, really, and everyone knows that except for Pansy.
Pansy knows the truth.
Pansy knows that the curl of her upper lip is not for scorn of the Gryffindors and mudbloods- except for Potter, who was simply loathsome in each and every aspect of his bloody charmed life- but for her unspoken betrothed. Could he be any more obvious? Pansy wondered. Everything about Draco Malfoy positively screamed 'I bloody love you, Harry Potter! Marry me, you studly hunk of man!'.
Not that Pansy was one to talk, the way her heart picked up its pace at the mere mention of the female Weasel's name. But at least she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, as if begging someone to come along and stomp on it with their Quidditch boots.
Quidditch.
Pansy wasn't oblivious to her own heart, like boy wonder's imbecilic best friend, who also happened to be the older brother of the unwitting object of her affections ("Weasely's an overprotective prat." "Why does it matter, Pans?" Because really, it shouldn't, but it did all the same, because the heart didn't listen to the mind, of course.). Pansy knew the reason that she trailed along after Draco to each and every Quidditch game, though she hated the sport with a fiery passion. Draco thought she wanted to watch him- Draco could have been a flobberworm for all Pansy cared as she kept her hazel eyes trained on the flash of red and gold that chased whatever that ball was down the pitch. It was almost impossible for her to keep her eyes off of the vibrant, temperamental Gryffindor as the fans rushed onto the pitch.
But she did, because Pansy Parkinson was in love with Draco, of course. As she flew out of the stands with pathetic urgency and leapt into his arms, Pansy didn't even glance at the Weasely girl. She didn't notice how attractive the redhead was as she ran her fingers through her fiery hair, smiling widely for the world to see. Pansy definitely didn't notice her lean, athletic figure from years of Quidditch training, and she certainly never noticed how sexy her tomboyish confidence made her.
But even if Pansy couldn't keep her head clear around the youngest Weasely, at least she kept a clear, disdainful face. They laughed at her for it- she had the nose of a pug, they said- but the snooty expression was the only way to express just how much she didn't love Ginny Weasely.
Draco, on the other hand, only smiled around the Potter boy, even if it was, blessedly, disguised as a sneer. Pansy had always been the first to pick up on things, but Draco was becoming more transparent and easily read than a child's spellbook, and the façade wouldn't last forever. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have concerned Pansy- what business was it of hers if the Malfoys were disgraced? But one reigning fact kept her strapped to Draco's arm like a good little tart.
If Draco fell, so would Pansy.
+++
So when Pansy walked in on Draco and boy wonder tangled up in the sheets, she had a huge decision to make. She was mortified, of course, but was there a way she could use this situation to her advantage?
So she did the only thing she could do- the only thing she couldn't, and retrieved the Weasely girl from Quidditch practice. It wasn't exactly a secret, her feelings for the Boy Who Lived, and Pansy planned to use those feelings against her. It was the first and last time that she would try for the heart of the youngest Weasely, and hopefully it would be enough.
And she had protested the entire way to the broomshed, but as soon as her bright blue eyes fell upon her ickle-Pottykins, she went deathly quiet. Pansy, recognizing her cue, smirked as she pulled Ginny back out before their presence was made public.
Pansy Parkinson didn't know she had a heart until it broke for none other than Ginevra Weasely as she sank to the ground, tears staining her cheeks. She tried to make light of it, of course ("Well I've been a bloody fool, haven't I? Even you see it."), but the wet sobs gave her away. Pansy had felt guilt for the first time in her life as she stood helpless before the sobbing Gryffindor, knowing that she could have kept quiet.
She knew, but she would have done it again.
Because in the next instant, the Weasely girl had a renewed fire in her eyes as she yanked Pansy down to her level by the silver and black tie and crushed her lips to Pansy's. Pansy knew that her heart shouldn't have soared- she knew that she should have felt betrayed, but she couldn't force herself not to enjoy the small window of bliss.
But then the warmth was gone, and the high left with it as Ginny pulled away, her angry eyes locked on Pansy. "Why'd you do that, Parkinson? You could never have Draco, so naturally I couldn't keep on in my obviously stupid dreaming?"
No.
"You see right through me, Weasette- yes, I brought you here because I just had my heart ripped to shreds and you simply had to suffer as well."
The Weasely girl looked at Pansy with an emotion that wasn't quite loathing, her brows furrowed through the tears. "Was I that bad, Parkinson?" she asked quietly now, her voice choked. Pansy wished she would look away. "Draco's got to be loads better than me, hasn't he?"
Pansy knew she should agree- for Merlin's sake, safe yourself while you can, her mind was screaming. Ginny was offering her a choice, whether she knew it or not, and Pansy thought for a moment before doing something that she'd never done before in her life.
Pansy chose wrong.
"Oh, sod it all anyway- no, actually, he's bloody awful, despite being inhumanly gorgeous," she replied, her voice cold. "But I'm obviously not his type, am I? I suppose you'd have to ask Potter for an honest opinion- I'm obviously not one to talk as I just received the best bloody snog of my life from a girl, and a bloody Gryffindor, too."
Ginny's eyes were wide- Pansy really wished she wouldn't look at her like that, as if she were renowned Quidditch star Gwenog Jones. "R-really?" she asked, obviously still fragile from the realization that she had never had a chance with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Yes, r-really, Ginevra," Pansy replied in a bored voice. "But don't get any ideas, right?"
For the first time, a smile began to appear at the corner of the Gryffindor's sweet lips- she was recovering quickly. "Whyever would I get ideas?" she asked innocently, and Pansy felt herself sigh in relief. On the inside, of course, because on the outside she was still Pansy Parkinson, and Pansy Parkinson didn't get nervous. It was all a game, now. "I think you care more than you'd like people to believe."
"And I think you're too bloody confident for your own good."
"That's bloody right, and I think you like it."
Pansy was, for once, shocked into silence as the Weasely girl got to her feet and, to her mortification and intense pleasure, wrapped her arms around the Slytherin's tiny waist. "Watch it, Weasely!" Pansy snapped, pulling away as soon as she regained her senses (This is bloody amazing- no, it's revolting! Completely and utterly awful, in fact!), though the bright red blush on her cheeks gave her away. When did I become so transparent? "Get your bloody hands off me before someone sees us!"
To her dismay, Ginny only giggled and kissed her cheek gently. "I've always thought you were rather cute when you weren't being a prat," she said, "you and that bloody awful poker face."
+++
In the eyes of the world, Pansy Parkinson was still in love with Draco Malfoy- it was pathetic, really, the way she clung to the youngest Weasely, the newest member of the Harpies as soon as she was finished with school, like a lovesick puppy. It was pathetic, the way she watched from the sidelines as Draco confessed his feelings to the Potter prat over breakfast. It was completely and utterly pathetic the way she gazed at the youngest Weasely, with her long red hair and uncontrollable freckles.
To the world, Pansy Parkinson was wholly and undeniably pathetic, really, and everyone knows that except for Pansy.
Pansy knows the truth.