Leigh!fic | A Kiss to Say Goodnight (A Kiss to Say Goodbye) (1/1) | Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Title: A Kiss to Say Goodnight (A Kiss to Say Goodbye) (1/1)
Author: Leigh, akaleigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,551
Summary: How do you break someone's heart?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: Written as part of Humpfest 2011 at hp_humpdrabbles with the prompts, "quickie," "masquerade ball," and "secrets." This is more of a take on Jacqueline Carey's version of Yule rather than traditional festivities. So please forgive me for taking a bit of leeway. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, fiery_flamingo. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you, babe. I hope y'all enjoy!
Yule. A time of rebirth and renewal. Like the pagans of old, many of the old blood still celebrated the Longest Night, keeping watch through all hours of the night until the Sun King's birth signified the dark was done. The longest night of the year-- the solstice-- had passed, and they could look forward to the coming months of light and gaiety.
Though their observances had evolved, tradition remained well into the twenty-first century, and it was no different with the Malfoys. Draco, as the lord and heir of Malfoy Manor, was determined to keep with custom and celebrate Yule properly; with laughter, wine, women, and revelry. And what better way than with a masquerade ball?
It was fitting, Pansy thought bitterly as she paused at the top of the steps, making sure her dainty silver mask was in place. As they gathered to celebrate the light of the coming year, her own heart was filled with darkness.
Strange to think she wouldn't attend another of Draco's Yule masquerades again.
The attendants were all masked, but for the most part, it was quite easy to deduce who was who amongst the revelers. Blaise and Daphne, practically fornicating on the ballroom floor, a marked contrast between dark and fair; Astoria, her crimson gown complemented by a matching mask, with her erstwhile escort. And across the room, Draco fair lorded over his guests; a stark vision in black with Ginevra at his side.
Her lips curled. A Weasley and a Malfoy. Somewhere on the grounds, generations of Malfoys long-gone were rolling about in their graves.
And at the bottom of the staircase stood a lone figure, his sandy-brown hair slightly unkempt. His robes, while not tailored as impeccably as Draco's, were fit to his body-- and she had to admit, the garnet and gold embellishments were not quite as hideous as she had once thought. Of course, that was more because he wore them, and not because her overall opinion of Gryffindor House had changed.
Behind his gold mask, green eyes twinkled, and he swept a theatrically low bow. "Miss Parkinson, your beauty shone throughout the room, and I could do naught but heed it's siren call!"
Pansy rolled her eyes.
"Is the point of a masquerade fête to retain some degree of mystery, or is it not?" she asked, arching one brow as she came to stop in front of him, resting on the final step. "Honestly, have I taught you nothing, Mr. Finnigan?"
For his part, Seamus merely grinned and took her hand as he straightened, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. "Aye, you have," he said, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat from his body. "But I don't reckon those lessons are fit for present company."
"Not at this moment, perhaps," she said, lips parting and breaths slightly shallow as she felt her body respond to his proximity. Heat flooded her cheeks, and behind her mask, her blue eyes were bright. She could do this. She could play the happy girlfriend for a few more hours, at the least.
Lips twitching, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm. "You may escort me to the dance floor now."
"Oh, I may, may I?" he queried, mirth in his gaze. "What if I wanted to escort you someplace a bit more... private?"
Pansy's eyes darkened; for all of the humor in his eyes, his tone was decidedly heavy, resting upon her like mantle of sin. It would be too easy to let him lead her away from the ballroom, to take him back to her bedroom and have her wicked way with him. And why not?
It wasn't as if her reputation could be blackened much more. What harm could it do?
Tipping her head up to look at him, she gave him a small curl of her lip. "Where did you have in mind, Mr. Finnigan?"
He was already maneuvering them towards the closest door as his arm slid around her, his hand sliding to the small of her back. "I'm sure there are a few deserted corridors in this mausoleum of Malfoy's. I don't think he'll miss us for a few minutes at least."
"Just a few minutes? That's all?"
Seamus laughed, dipping his head to run his nose along the slender column of her throat. "Well, at least for right now," he murmured, his voice low and rich. "But after, I tend to give you a proper seeing to in my bed."
Without warning, Pansy spun around and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back against the wall. She knew exactly where they were-- lower corridor, East wing. No one but family came back here, and both Draco and Ginevra were otherwise engaged.
"Oh, do you?" she murmured coyly, pressing her body flush against his. One hand slid down to idly caress the growing bulge in his trousers, and her lips curled at his little groan. "I'd rather have you 'see to me' right here."
Grabbing her hands, he yanked them up and spun them around, hips pinning her to the wall as his hands did likewise with her wrists. Finesse fell to the wayside as his lips crashed against hers, teeth and tongues colliding in a fevered battle for dominance. This was her Seamus, the raw and passionate man with his hands on her skin, was the true version of her lover; not the polished and poised facade he put on for her behalf. She knew masquerades and galas were not of his circle, but he endured them for her.
He would not have to endure for much longer, and the thought brought a sense of urgency to her movements. Wrenching free of his hold on her, she let her eager hands slip beneath his robes, grasping for his belt.
"In a hurry, me love?" he growled, Irish accent growing even stronger with desire. Wrenching his lips from hers, he began to press a line of rough kisses across her jaw.
"Don't know why-" she gasped as one hand covered her breast, fingers tweaking her nipple through her gown, halting her speech. "Don't know why you would think that."
She couldn't see it, but she felt Seamus' lips curl in a grin. "No? Yer a grabby lass tonight."
Pansy's head fell back against the wall as she arched, pressing her breast more firmly into his head. There was a knot of tension, pooled deep in her belly and radiating through her core. She had never felt this wanton with other men. But when Seamus turned those green eyes on her and gave her that devilish little smile, her legs turned to jelly and her vaunted Parkinson composure slipped away.
A brush of cool air hit her legs as she felt him push her dress up, roughly bunching it around her waist. Blindly, she slipped one leg over his hip, rolling her hips against his and smirking at his strangled groan.
"Now, Seamus," she whispered, reaching up to fist her hand in his hair and hold his lips to her skin.
"Not yet." His hand found the curve of her hip, slipping beneath her tiny silk knickers. "Yer not ready yet."
"I am- OH!" When he suddenly pushed three fingers into her, her knees nearly buckled. The long digits stroked at her, drawing the desired wetness from her sex, and his thumb flicked at her swollen little nub.
The pad of his index finger found her innermost spot, and Pansy nearly lost it. "Seamus…"
He growled and pulled his hand back, ignoring her whimper of protest. Hastily, his hands took up where hers had left off, fumbling with the fastenings on his belt and zipper. As soon as they were out of the way, he reached between her legs to push her knickers out of the way and thrust into her.
There was no time for finesse or smooth, gentle strokes. His pace was hurried, almost painful as he pushed into her over and over again. His hands cupped her breasts, and his lips covered hers, swallowing the sounds of breathy moans.
It was hard and rough and everything Pansy wanted in that moment.
With his earlier teasing, it didn't take long for her to come undone, crying out his name against her lips. Her body spasmed beneath his, inner muscles clamping down around him. He was close, and it only took another few ragged thrusts before his hips ground against hers and he spilled himself into her.
Seamus pressed his forehead against hers. Their heavy breathing intermingled in the minute space between them, and his hands were gentle as they slipped over her hips, cupping them reverently.
"I love you, sweet Pansy," he whispered.
Her breath caught, and for a long moment, the world froze. She knew, of course. How could she not know, when Seamus wore his emotions on his sleeve for all to see? He'd not been raised to guard his every thought as she had, nor had he been taught that expressing feelings was a sign of weakness.
The words were there. She wanted to say them. But she couldn't. Not now. And most likely, not ever.
He pulled back, his gaze searching, and in that moment, he seemed to understand her. "I know," he said softly, kissing the tip of her nose. "It's alright, love. I'll wait."
She nodded once, giving him a small, weak smile. Everything-all the emotions that she'd kept back-was simmering beneath the surface, pushing at her, tearing her asunder. She felt as if she were about to explode with it all. Never in all her life had she felt as such, like she'd die if she didn't let it all out.
"I…" She stopped and swallowed, pushing the lump in her throat down. "I need to freshen up." Glancing up at him, she said, "I'll meet you in the ballroom, alright?"
His lips quirked in that crooked little grin she loved so, and he nodded. "Alright. But just so ye know, I've a mind to toss ye over my shoulder and take ye back home, lass."
"You'll do no such thing," she sniffed, slapping lightly at said shoulder. "Now move."
Laughing, he helped her right her dress as he tucked his shirt and trousers back into order. Once all was right, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the smooth back, rolling his eyes up to meet hers.
"I'll be waiting, heart in hand."
"I shan't keep you waiting," she lied. Resisting the urge to kiss him-for if she did that, she might never leave-she turned and walked as calmly as possible towards the family wing, ignoring the tears that threatened.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
With a strangled sob, Pansy pushed into the bedroom-- her room, bequeathed to her by Narcissa Malfoy when she was just a girl. Lush lavender and royal purple fabrics draped over the massive four-poster bed, and the deep cream carpet was plush beneath her Louboutin-clad feet. As a de facto member of the Malfoy family, she'd spent more nights in this room than she could remember, with happy memories-- the winter ball she'd debuted on Draco's arm in her fifteenth year-- intermingled with heartbreaking ones-- nights spent here after her mother's murder.
She ignored the bed and ran to the armoire, her heavy skirts rustling against her legs as she flung the doors open and began to pull out clothes. Blouses, skirts, dresses, knickers all flew past as she tossed them onto to bed. There was no time to summon an elf to pack for her; the blasted things were meticulous, and while that was normally a trait Pansy desired in a servant, she was willing to forsake detail for expediency.
There was no time to change into something more suitable for traveling. She could switch outfits when she arrived at her final destination-- wherever that was. Her dress she would burn; for now it held yet another memory too painful to dwell on.
"I love you, sweet Pansy."
Pansy blinked, pushing back the tears that threatened. Her response had been on the tip of her tongue-- "I love you too, Seamus"-- but she'd been unable to push them past the lump in her throat.
It was better this way, really. In times past, she wouldn't have cared what was fair or not, so long as the end justified her means. But no longer. Her heart might have been tossed, pummeled, beaten, and bruised, but it still beat, and it beat for him. For Seamus sodding Finnigan, her green-eyed, noble Irishman, a Gryffindor through and through. He made her laugh, made her want to hex him silly, but above all, he loved her.
She couldn't put him through this. It was her cross to bear, and hers alone. He would never understand otherwise; it wasn't in his nature. If she'd have told him the truth...
He would never let her go.
Her hands were trembling as she crossed the room to her dressing table. Another wave of her wand had her knick knacks quickly organized in her case-- bottles of perfume, priceless jewelry, hairbrushes and other accessories; things she would need. Or at the very least, things she didn't want to leave behind.
Her gaze drifted to the antique mirror, and Pansy stilled at the sight of her own reflection. She almost didn't recognize herself; she prided herself on her composure, with nary a stitch out of place on her person. This, this person looking back at her was far from it. Her artfully tousled curls were a mess-- a byproduct from Seamus' fingers dragging through them as he held her to him.
Her make-up charms were wavering, and black tracks ran down her cheeks from her mascara. Blue eyes, rimmed with red, were wild, and her face was flushed from their early exertions.
"You look a proper mess," a voice commented from behind her.
Pansy whirled around to fix Draco with a pointed glare. "Did your mother never teach you manners? It's rude not to knock."
Draco shrugged, raising one shoulder nonchalantly as he pushed off the door frame and into the room. "My house, my rules," he said, a quiet 'click' sounding as he shut the heavy oak behind him. His own grey eyes glanced over at the packed case on the bed, and he looked back at Pansy with one quirked brow. "You didn't tell him."
She turned away, only the slightest shake of her head answering him. "It's better this way."
"I never took you for a martyr, Pansy."
The ghost of a wry smile tugged at her lips, and she said, "It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever know."
"Be that as it may, you are no Sydney Carton," her old friend responded. "Without explanation, he's going to hate you, and rightfully so."
"Better that he hates me, then." Fastening the clasp on her jewelry case, she banished it to her bag and began to reapply the charms on her hair.
A soft snort of exasperation sounded from Draco, and the bed creaked slightly as he made himself comfortable on her plush duvet. "You're being completely ridiculous about this, Pansy. I mean, more so than you usually are. As much as I loathe admitting it, that bloody Irishman would do anything for you, and you know it. So why keep him in the dark about this?"
"Exactly," she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "He would never accept the truth, Draco. He would never let me go." Blue eyes shifted minutely, and she moved to wipe away the mascara stains that tracked down cheeks. No sooner had she finished than another coughing fit overtook her; gasping, brackish coughs that racked her slight figure.
Draco frowned, eyes narrowing when he saw the stains of blood blossom on the handkerchief she'd pressed to her lips. "And you're so sure that I accept it?" he asked, even as he saw the evidence of the truth before him.
She arched a dark brow at him. "You're not ruled with your heart, Draco darling. We both know it. I'm-"
"Stop." He held up a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence. "Don't say it." Even though his face was schooled into its usual mask of indifference, his eyes were full of emotions that seemed out of place-- anger, compassion, hurt, worry. He was worried about her.
If Pansy could have brought herself to lord the fact over him, she would have done so. As things stood, though, she did not have the heart to tease him.
"Why?" she whispered. "It's the truth." He had been at her side when she'd heard the news. He knew as well as she did that it was inevitable.
He shook his head and held his hand out to her, crooking one finger at her. Rising on unsteady legs, she crossed the space between them and allowed him to draw her close. Draco pressed his lips to her hair, holding her lightly.
"I refuse to accept it," he admitted softly, lips moving against her dark locks. "Healers be damned, this is not the end. We'll find another one, and if that doesn't work, then another. Merlin, Pansy, I will not lose my best friend."
The tears that she'd held back came rushing forth, threatening to spill down her cheeks and ruin her carefully reapplied mascara. She let out a shuddery breath and turned her head, pressing a soft kiss to his brow. When she drew back to look at him through her watery gaze, she couldn't help but smile ruefully.
"That's a rather Gryffindor-esque statement, darling. I think Ginevra is rubbing off on you."
"In more ways than one, sadly. She made me wear that garish Weasley jumper at her family's dinner last week, did I tell you?"
"I do hope there was photographic proof of that," she laughed, a few tears falling as she unsuccessfully tried to blink them away.
Draco's lips twitched, a smirk pulling at his face. "Well, you'll just have to stay around long enough to see them someday."
And just like that, Pansy's demeanor sobered instantly. "Draco, I-"
He shook his head. "I know, I know." He glanced down, white-blonde hair falling over his forehead. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed and somber. "Where will you go?"
"France." The answer came out of nowhere; in the minutes prior to his arrival, she'd had no idea where to go. Now, it seemed only logical. "To Azay-le-Rideau." Her mother's familial estate there was secluded, quiet, and most importantly, completely unknown to one Seamus Aodh Finnigan.
For once, Draco didn't protest. He merely nodded and looked up at her once more, his expression resigned. "This isn't the end, Pansy," he said quietly, reaching up to cup her cheek. "I won't let it be."
"You're not God, Draco."
"Ginny says I am."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Just because you make her call His name does not mean you are Him, darling." For a moment, if she suspended reality, it was as it had always been; a pair of old friends, trading barbs and quips with smirks and eye rolls.
But things had changed. For all that she could have stayed there indefinitely, she had to leave. Any longer, and she might lose her resolve.
"Draco?"
"Hmmm?"
She took a deep, steadying breath. "If something happens... sooner than expected, I mean... will you tell him?"
"You should be the one to tell him," he retorted, lips pursed in a hard line.
"Draco."
"Yes," Draco answered with a slight nod. "I'll tell him. It won't come to that, but a contingency plan never hurts."
Pansy wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this was all going to be for naught. That she was merely going on holiday to France as she often did. She wanted to believe that, when this was all over, she'd return and fall into Seamus' arms once more. He would be upset, of course, but he'd understand. And he'd love her as no other man had ever loved her. With all her heart, she longed for that to be true.
She swallowed, pushing past the lump in her throat. "I'll write to you," she promised, her tone shaky. "And when it's time..."
"I'll come," he promised, grasping for her hand. He laced their fingers together and gave her hand a soft squeeze before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to her smooth skin. "I promise."
"Good." She held onto his hand for a moment longer, letting the familiarity of Draco wash over her. He was her oldest and dearest friend, and for all that he was a pointy blonde ponce, she loved him, and he her. She was thankful that he had Ginevra to look after him now-- though she'd never admit it to her face. Merlin knew, Draco needed someone to challenge him.
Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and whispered, "Au revoir, darling."
"You know I love you more when you're cold and heartless," he murmured, relinquishing his hold on her.
"You know I don't love you at all."
"That's my girl."
Author: Leigh, akaleigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,551
Summary: How do you break someone's heart?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: Written as part of Humpfest 2011 at hp_humpdrabbles with the prompts, "quickie," "masquerade ball," and "secrets." This is more of a take on Jacqueline Carey's version of Yule rather than traditional festivities. So please forgive me for taking a bit of leeway. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, fiery_flamingo. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you, babe. I hope y'all enjoy!
Yule. A time of rebirth and renewal. Like the pagans of old, many of the old blood still celebrated the Longest Night, keeping watch through all hours of the night until the Sun King's birth signified the dark was done. The longest night of the year-- the solstice-- had passed, and they could look forward to the coming months of light and gaiety.
Though their observances had evolved, tradition remained well into the twenty-first century, and it was no different with the Malfoys. Draco, as the lord and heir of Malfoy Manor, was determined to keep with custom and celebrate Yule properly; with laughter, wine, women, and revelry. And what better way than with a masquerade ball?
It was fitting, Pansy thought bitterly as she paused at the top of the steps, making sure her dainty silver mask was in place. As they gathered to celebrate the light of the coming year, her own heart was filled with darkness.
Strange to think she wouldn't attend another of Draco's Yule masquerades again.
The attendants were all masked, but for the most part, it was quite easy to deduce who was who amongst the revelers. Blaise and Daphne, practically fornicating on the ballroom floor, a marked contrast between dark and fair; Astoria, her crimson gown complemented by a matching mask, with her erstwhile escort. And across the room, Draco fair lorded over his guests; a stark vision in black with Ginevra at his side.
Her lips curled. A Weasley and a Malfoy. Somewhere on the grounds, generations of Malfoys long-gone were rolling about in their graves.
And at the bottom of the staircase stood a lone figure, his sandy-brown hair slightly unkempt. His robes, while not tailored as impeccably as Draco's, were fit to his body-- and she had to admit, the garnet and gold embellishments were not quite as hideous as she had once thought. Of course, that was more because he wore them, and not because her overall opinion of Gryffindor House had changed.
Behind his gold mask, green eyes twinkled, and he swept a theatrically low bow. "Miss Parkinson, your beauty shone throughout the room, and I could do naught but heed it's siren call!"
Pansy rolled her eyes.
"Is the point of a masquerade fête to retain some degree of mystery, or is it not?" she asked, arching one brow as she came to stop in front of him, resting on the final step. "Honestly, have I taught you nothing, Mr. Finnigan?"
For his part, Seamus merely grinned and took her hand as he straightened, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. "Aye, you have," he said, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat from his body. "But I don't reckon those lessons are fit for present company."
"Not at this moment, perhaps," she said, lips parting and breaths slightly shallow as she felt her body respond to his proximity. Heat flooded her cheeks, and behind her mask, her blue eyes were bright. She could do this. She could play the happy girlfriend for a few more hours, at the least.
Lips twitching, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm. "You may escort me to the dance floor now."
"Oh, I may, may I?" he queried, mirth in his gaze. "What if I wanted to escort you someplace a bit more... private?"
Pansy's eyes darkened; for all of the humor in his eyes, his tone was decidedly heavy, resting upon her like mantle of sin. It would be too easy to let him lead her away from the ballroom, to take him back to her bedroom and have her wicked way with him. And why not?
It wasn't as if her reputation could be blackened much more. What harm could it do?
Tipping her head up to look at him, she gave him a small curl of her lip. "Where did you have in mind, Mr. Finnigan?"
He was already maneuvering them towards the closest door as his arm slid around her, his hand sliding to the small of her back. "I'm sure there are a few deserted corridors in this mausoleum of Malfoy's. I don't think he'll miss us for a few minutes at least."
"Just a few minutes? That's all?"
Seamus laughed, dipping his head to run his nose along the slender column of her throat. "Well, at least for right now," he murmured, his voice low and rich. "But after, I tend to give you a proper seeing to in my bed."
Without warning, Pansy spun around and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back against the wall. She knew exactly where they were-- lower corridor, East wing. No one but family came back here, and both Draco and Ginevra were otherwise engaged.
"Oh, do you?" she murmured coyly, pressing her body flush against his. One hand slid down to idly caress the growing bulge in his trousers, and her lips curled at his little groan. "I'd rather have you 'see to me' right here."
Grabbing her hands, he yanked them up and spun them around, hips pinning her to the wall as his hands did likewise with her wrists. Finesse fell to the wayside as his lips crashed against hers, teeth and tongues colliding in a fevered battle for dominance. This was her Seamus, the raw and passionate man with his hands on her skin, was the true version of her lover; not the polished and poised facade he put on for her behalf. She knew masquerades and galas were not of his circle, but he endured them for her.
He would not have to endure for much longer, and the thought brought a sense of urgency to her movements. Wrenching free of his hold on her, she let her eager hands slip beneath his robes, grasping for his belt.
"In a hurry, me love?" he growled, Irish accent growing even stronger with desire. Wrenching his lips from hers, he began to press a line of rough kisses across her jaw.
"Don't know why-" she gasped as one hand covered her breast, fingers tweaking her nipple through her gown, halting her speech. "Don't know why you would think that."
She couldn't see it, but she felt Seamus' lips curl in a grin. "No? Yer a grabby lass tonight."
Pansy's head fell back against the wall as she arched, pressing her breast more firmly into his head. There was a knot of tension, pooled deep in her belly and radiating through her core. She had never felt this wanton with other men. But when Seamus turned those green eyes on her and gave her that devilish little smile, her legs turned to jelly and her vaunted Parkinson composure slipped away.
A brush of cool air hit her legs as she felt him push her dress up, roughly bunching it around her waist. Blindly, she slipped one leg over his hip, rolling her hips against his and smirking at his strangled groan.
"Now, Seamus," she whispered, reaching up to fist her hand in his hair and hold his lips to her skin.
"Not yet." His hand found the curve of her hip, slipping beneath her tiny silk knickers. "Yer not ready yet."
"I am- OH!" When he suddenly pushed three fingers into her, her knees nearly buckled. The long digits stroked at her, drawing the desired wetness from her sex, and his thumb flicked at her swollen little nub.
The pad of his index finger found her innermost spot, and Pansy nearly lost it. "Seamus…"
He growled and pulled his hand back, ignoring her whimper of protest. Hastily, his hands took up where hers had left off, fumbling with the fastenings on his belt and zipper. As soon as they were out of the way, he reached between her legs to push her knickers out of the way and thrust into her.
There was no time for finesse or smooth, gentle strokes. His pace was hurried, almost painful as he pushed into her over and over again. His hands cupped her breasts, and his lips covered hers, swallowing the sounds of breathy moans.
It was hard and rough and everything Pansy wanted in that moment.
With his earlier teasing, it didn't take long for her to come undone, crying out his name against her lips. Her body spasmed beneath his, inner muscles clamping down around him. He was close, and it only took another few ragged thrusts before his hips ground against hers and he spilled himself into her.
Seamus pressed his forehead against hers. Their heavy breathing intermingled in the minute space between them, and his hands were gentle as they slipped over her hips, cupping them reverently.
"I love you, sweet Pansy," he whispered.
Her breath caught, and for a long moment, the world froze. She knew, of course. How could she not know, when Seamus wore his emotions on his sleeve for all to see? He'd not been raised to guard his every thought as she had, nor had he been taught that expressing feelings was a sign of weakness.
The words were there. She wanted to say them. But she couldn't. Not now. And most likely, not ever.
He pulled back, his gaze searching, and in that moment, he seemed to understand her. "I know," he said softly, kissing the tip of her nose. "It's alright, love. I'll wait."
She nodded once, giving him a small, weak smile. Everything-all the emotions that she'd kept back-was simmering beneath the surface, pushing at her, tearing her asunder. She felt as if she were about to explode with it all. Never in all her life had she felt as such, like she'd die if she didn't let it all out.
"I…" She stopped and swallowed, pushing the lump in her throat down. "I need to freshen up." Glancing up at him, she said, "I'll meet you in the ballroom, alright?"
His lips quirked in that crooked little grin she loved so, and he nodded. "Alright. But just so ye know, I've a mind to toss ye over my shoulder and take ye back home, lass."
"You'll do no such thing," she sniffed, slapping lightly at said shoulder. "Now move."
Laughing, he helped her right her dress as he tucked his shirt and trousers back into order. Once all was right, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the smooth back, rolling his eyes up to meet hers.
"I'll be waiting, heart in hand."
"I shan't keep you waiting," she lied. Resisting the urge to kiss him-for if she did that, she might never leave-she turned and walked as calmly as possible towards the family wing, ignoring the tears that threatened.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
With a strangled sob, Pansy pushed into the bedroom-- her room, bequeathed to her by Narcissa Malfoy when she was just a girl. Lush lavender and royal purple fabrics draped over the massive four-poster bed, and the deep cream carpet was plush beneath her Louboutin-clad feet. As a de facto member of the Malfoy family, she'd spent more nights in this room than she could remember, with happy memories-- the winter ball she'd debuted on Draco's arm in her fifteenth year-- intermingled with heartbreaking ones-- nights spent here after her mother's murder.
She ignored the bed and ran to the armoire, her heavy skirts rustling against her legs as she flung the doors open and began to pull out clothes. Blouses, skirts, dresses, knickers all flew past as she tossed them onto to bed. There was no time to summon an elf to pack for her; the blasted things were meticulous, and while that was normally a trait Pansy desired in a servant, she was willing to forsake detail for expediency.
There was no time to change into something more suitable for traveling. She could switch outfits when she arrived at her final destination-- wherever that was. Her dress she would burn; for now it held yet another memory too painful to dwell on.
"I love you, sweet Pansy."
Pansy blinked, pushing back the tears that threatened. Her response had been on the tip of her tongue-- "I love you too, Seamus"-- but she'd been unable to push them past the lump in her throat.
It was better this way, really. In times past, she wouldn't have cared what was fair or not, so long as the end justified her means. But no longer. Her heart might have been tossed, pummeled, beaten, and bruised, but it still beat, and it beat for him. For Seamus sodding Finnigan, her green-eyed, noble Irishman, a Gryffindor through and through. He made her laugh, made her want to hex him silly, but above all, he loved her.
She couldn't put him through this. It was her cross to bear, and hers alone. He would never understand otherwise; it wasn't in his nature. If she'd have told him the truth...
He would never let her go.
Her hands were trembling as she crossed the room to her dressing table. Another wave of her wand had her knick knacks quickly organized in her case-- bottles of perfume, priceless jewelry, hairbrushes and other accessories; things she would need. Or at the very least, things she didn't want to leave behind.
Her gaze drifted to the antique mirror, and Pansy stilled at the sight of her own reflection. She almost didn't recognize herself; she prided herself on her composure, with nary a stitch out of place on her person. This, this person looking back at her was far from it. Her artfully tousled curls were a mess-- a byproduct from Seamus' fingers dragging through them as he held her to him.
Her make-up charms were wavering, and black tracks ran down her cheeks from her mascara. Blue eyes, rimmed with red, were wild, and her face was flushed from their early exertions.
"You look a proper mess," a voice commented from behind her.
Pansy whirled around to fix Draco with a pointed glare. "Did your mother never teach you manners? It's rude not to knock."
Draco shrugged, raising one shoulder nonchalantly as he pushed off the door frame and into the room. "My house, my rules," he said, a quiet 'click' sounding as he shut the heavy oak behind him. His own grey eyes glanced over at the packed case on the bed, and he looked back at Pansy with one quirked brow. "You didn't tell him."
She turned away, only the slightest shake of her head answering him. "It's better this way."
"I never took you for a martyr, Pansy."
The ghost of a wry smile tugged at her lips, and she said, "It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever know."
"Be that as it may, you are no Sydney Carton," her old friend responded. "Without explanation, he's going to hate you, and rightfully so."
"Better that he hates me, then." Fastening the clasp on her jewelry case, she banished it to her bag and began to reapply the charms on her hair.
A soft snort of exasperation sounded from Draco, and the bed creaked slightly as he made himself comfortable on her plush duvet. "You're being completely ridiculous about this, Pansy. I mean, more so than you usually are. As much as I loathe admitting it, that bloody Irishman would do anything for you, and you know it. So why keep him in the dark about this?"
"Exactly," she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "He would never accept the truth, Draco. He would never let me go." Blue eyes shifted minutely, and she moved to wipe away the mascara stains that tracked down cheeks. No sooner had she finished than another coughing fit overtook her; gasping, brackish coughs that racked her slight figure.
Draco frowned, eyes narrowing when he saw the stains of blood blossom on the handkerchief she'd pressed to her lips. "And you're so sure that I accept it?" he asked, even as he saw the evidence of the truth before him.
She arched a dark brow at him. "You're not ruled with your heart, Draco darling. We both know it. I'm-"
"Stop." He held up a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence. "Don't say it." Even though his face was schooled into its usual mask of indifference, his eyes were full of emotions that seemed out of place-- anger, compassion, hurt, worry. He was worried about her.
If Pansy could have brought herself to lord the fact over him, she would have done so. As things stood, though, she did not have the heart to tease him.
"Why?" she whispered. "It's the truth." He had been at her side when she'd heard the news. He knew as well as she did that it was inevitable.
He shook his head and held his hand out to her, crooking one finger at her. Rising on unsteady legs, she crossed the space between them and allowed him to draw her close. Draco pressed his lips to her hair, holding her lightly.
"I refuse to accept it," he admitted softly, lips moving against her dark locks. "Healers be damned, this is not the end. We'll find another one, and if that doesn't work, then another. Merlin, Pansy, I will not lose my best friend."
The tears that she'd held back came rushing forth, threatening to spill down her cheeks and ruin her carefully reapplied mascara. She let out a shuddery breath and turned her head, pressing a soft kiss to his brow. When she drew back to look at him through her watery gaze, she couldn't help but smile ruefully.
"That's a rather Gryffindor-esque statement, darling. I think Ginevra is rubbing off on you."
"In more ways than one, sadly. She made me wear that garish Weasley jumper at her family's dinner last week, did I tell you?"
"I do hope there was photographic proof of that," she laughed, a few tears falling as she unsuccessfully tried to blink them away.
Draco's lips twitched, a smirk pulling at his face. "Well, you'll just have to stay around long enough to see them someday."
And just like that, Pansy's demeanor sobered instantly. "Draco, I-"
He shook his head. "I know, I know." He glanced down, white-blonde hair falling over his forehead. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed and somber. "Where will you go?"
"France." The answer came out of nowhere; in the minutes prior to his arrival, she'd had no idea where to go. Now, it seemed only logical. "To Azay-le-Rideau." Her mother's familial estate there was secluded, quiet, and most importantly, completely unknown to one Seamus Aodh Finnigan.
For once, Draco didn't protest. He merely nodded and looked up at her once more, his expression resigned. "This isn't the end, Pansy," he said quietly, reaching up to cup her cheek. "I won't let it be."
"You're not God, Draco."
"Ginny says I am."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Just because you make her call His name does not mean you are Him, darling." For a moment, if she suspended reality, it was as it had always been; a pair of old friends, trading barbs and quips with smirks and eye rolls.
But things had changed. For all that she could have stayed there indefinitely, she had to leave. Any longer, and she might lose her resolve.
"Draco?"
"Hmmm?"
She took a deep, steadying breath. "If something happens... sooner than expected, I mean... will you tell him?"
"You should be the one to tell him," he retorted, lips pursed in a hard line.
"Draco."
"Yes," Draco answered with a slight nod. "I'll tell him. It won't come to that, but a contingency plan never hurts."
Pansy wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this was all going to be for naught. That she was merely going on holiday to France as she often did. She wanted to believe that, when this was all over, she'd return and fall into Seamus' arms once more. He would be upset, of course, but he'd understand. And he'd love her as no other man had ever loved her. With all her heart, she longed for that to be true.
She swallowed, pushing past the lump in her throat. "I'll write to you," she promised, her tone shaky. "And when it's time..."
"I'll come," he promised, grasping for her hand. He laced their fingers together and gave her hand a soft squeeze before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to her smooth skin. "I promise."
"Good." She held onto his hand for a moment longer, letting the familiarity of Draco wash over her. He was her oldest and dearest friend, and for all that he was a pointy blonde ponce, she loved him, and he her. She was thankful that he had Ginevra to look after him now-- though she'd never admit it to her face. Merlin knew, Draco needed someone to challenge him.
Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and whispered, "Au revoir, darling."
"You know I love you more when you're cold and heartless," he murmured, relinquishing his hold on her.
"You know I don't love you at all."
"That's my girl."