FIC: Dead by Christmas
Valentine For: kat_diva
Title: Dead by Christmas
Author/Artist: deepfriedorc
Type of Valentine: fic
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made. Lyrics at start and end from Nerina Pallot's - "Everybody's Gone to War"
Rating: K
Warnings: none
Notes: Thanks very much to my betas, hells456 and mumbledshadows ! I hope you like my little fic.. I tried my best at staying as true to canon as possible, w/o it going totally AU (which is a bad habit of mine ;P). I'm sorry if it strays too much.
REQUEST: No slash, No non-con, no alternate universes. Please try and be as true to canon characterization as possible!
Summary: Pansy reminisces sixth year.
"Dead by Christmas"
I've got a friend, he's a pure-bred killing machine;
He says he's waited his whole damn life for this.
“Where are you going? Where are you always disappearing?”
“It’s none of your damn business, Pansy Parkinson!”
Pansy stepped back, almost as if physically slapped. Draco rarely raised his voice to her. She was his rock, his confidante. He never kept secrets from her.
* * *
She remembered the first time she caught him watching her. The Granger girl. At first Pansy had thought he was staring at Potter - plotting and scheming, as per usual. But when she turned around, their eyes had locked. He squirmed, and she had smirked.
* * *
When Draco had started disappearing for hours on end, she remembered passing it off as mischief. Draco and the boys, fighting the cause against the Gryffindor groupies. Fighting for the power of good. Or pure. Whatever. But when the boys stayed in the common room, and he had not, she had questioned him. Sometimes he was hostile, other times merely guarded. All she knew was that he was always lying.
She remembered the first time she decided to follow him. She had been caught that time. He had scolded her, telling her that he was doing a task for the Dark Lord. That he didn’t want her to be hurt. She had believed him of course. It was true after all. But it wasn’t the whole truth.
* * *
One day, she remembered that for once she hadn’t been trying to follow him; she had walked past a classroom and heard them. Not hearing anything like THAT, but just conversation - which was probably more bizarre. If she had heard THAT, it would have been much more understandable. After all, rape was just one of those things that they did for the cause.
However, even to this day, she’s still not sure why she didn’t walk in and confront them then and there, but she remembers stepping very softly and putting her ear against the door. Potions. Charms. Homework. The merits of colour coding. The impact of Transfigured ingredients in a potion. She wondered how they found themselves in conversation, and why they were talking. She had wondered how he could bring himself to talk to her, the Mudblood, after all these years of enmity. How she would, or could, get off her high horse and remove the stick from her arse to talk to Draco.
* * *
From that day, she followed him every time he ‘disappeared’.
Sometimes he would take the boys with him, now and again he would smuggle packages under his cloak and tinker with them in some secluded corner. But other times, most of the time really, he would return to that classroom, and meet her. Those were the days she paid the most attention to.
Once she had followed him to the bathroom. A girls' bathroom at that. That day, she had been determined to face him and offer her assistance. Anything to make him seem more himself. But when she walked in, all she could hear was sobbing. That day, she had gathered him in her arms and held him. She had missed this - their friendship.
It reminded her of the first time they had met. She had been young, four maybe five. It was the first time she had been out without Nanny Jane and she had been hiding behind Mother. Mother always had the prettiest clothes and the softest skirts. She remembered how they felt against her skin as she pressed her face to the back of her mother’s legs. Mother had called her name and when she peeked around she saw a little boy. He had pretty yellow hair and he was looking questionably at his own mother.
“Draco, dear, be a good host and take Pansy to the playroom.”
He held out his hand, and she had looked at her own mother. Mother nodded. That was the first time she held his hand.
* * *
By the time Yule rolled around, Pansy had stopped following, instead heading directly to the room. He would always take the most tortuous route around school, but always to the same room. Always at different times. They would talk and laugh - discuss. But the conversation would always end the same way - they’d argue about what was right and what was wrong. How things should be, the importance of status and what was expected of them.
At first Pansy was glad that Draco hadn’t changed who he was just because of her. She didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing, but at least he was still Draco.
* * *
She remembered how he had deteriorated that year. She saw the strain of living a double, no strike that, a triple life. His responsibilities to the cause, his façade to the school, and of course this thing. With her. His physical changes were dramatic. The bags under his eyes became darker, and his hips began to jut out. Not to mention the loss of his luscious locks of old. But his looks weren’t the only thing. He was more withdrawn, his comebacks less venomous. He was a facsimile of himself. In fact, the only times he seemed almost himself were after THOSE visits.
But then they stopped.
She watched how he became more and more withdrawn. If he was changed before, he was even more so now. The visits stopped sometime after one of those Gryffindors had been poisoned or something. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but Draco had most certainly been involved.
* * *
She remembered walking past that bathroom, hearing arguing. Curious, she walked towards it before seeing the Granger girl running out of the bathroom in tears. The other girl had looked a mess, hair rumpled and face blotchy. She had assumed it was to do with the scandal that was Weasley.
Inside she had found Draco, and he was wearing a grave expression.
“I must stay true to the cause. Do not let me stray again, Pans.”
* * *
The summer of her sixth year, was one of the hardest of her life. She sat, in one of her family’s safe houses, with the intention of hiding there until the end of the war. Her father had wanted her safe. She remembered watching the owls arrive, always hoping that one of her many letters had been answered, hoping that her own owls would not return with her own letter still attached.
I've got a friend; he's a pure-bred killing machine,
I think he might be dead by Christmas...
FIN
Title: Dead by Christmas
Author/Artist: deepfriedorc
Type of Valentine: fic
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made. Lyrics at start and end from Nerina Pallot's - "Everybody's Gone to War"
Rating: K
Warnings: none
Notes: Thanks very much to my betas, hells456 and mumbledshadows ! I hope you like my little fic.. I tried my best at staying as true to canon as possible, w/o it going totally AU (which is a bad habit of mine ;P). I'm sorry if it strays too much.
REQUEST: No slash, No non-con, no alternate universes. Please try and be as true to canon characterization as possible!
Summary: Pansy reminisces sixth year.
"Dead by Christmas"
I've got a friend, he's a pure-bred killing machine;
He says he's waited his whole damn life for this.
“Where are you going? Where are you always disappearing?”
“It’s none of your damn business, Pansy Parkinson!”
Pansy stepped back, almost as if physically slapped. Draco rarely raised his voice to her. She was his rock, his confidante. He never kept secrets from her.
* * *
She remembered the first time she caught him watching her. The Granger girl. At first Pansy had thought he was staring at Potter - plotting and scheming, as per usual. But when she turned around, their eyes had locked. He squirmed, and she had smirked.
* * *
When Draco had started disappearing for hours on end, she remembered passing it off as mischief. Draco and the boys, fighting the cause against the Gryffindor groupies. Fighting for the power of good. Or pure. Whatever. But when the boys stayed in the common room, and he had not, she had questioned him. Sometimes he was hostile, other times merely guarded. All she knew was that he was always lying.
She remembered the first time she decided to follow him. She had been caught that time. He had scolded her, telling her that he was doing a task for the Dark Lord. That he didn’t want her to be hurt. She had believed him of course. It was true after all. But it wasn’t the whole truth.
* * *
One day, she remembered that for once she hadn’t been trying to follow him; she had walked past a classroom and heard them. Not hearing anything like THAT, but just conversation - which was probably more bizarre. If she had heard THAT, it would have been much more understandable. After all, rape was just one of those things that they did for the cause.
However, even to this day, she’s still not sure why she didn’t walk in and confront them then and there, but she remembers stepping very softly and putting her ear against the door. Potions. Charms. Homework. The merits of colour coding. The impact of Transfigured ingredients in a potion. She wondered how they found themselves in conversation, and why they were talking. She had wondered how he could bring himself to talk to her, the Mudblood, after all these years of enmity. How she would, or could, get off her high horse and remove the stick from her arse to talk to Draco.
* * *
From that day, she followed him every time he ‘disappeared’.
Sometimes he would take the boys with him, now and again he would smuggle packages under his cloak and tinker with them in some secluded corner. But other times, most of the time really, he would return to that classroom, and meet her. Those were the days she paid the most attention to.
Once she had followed him to the bathroom. A girls' bathroom at that. That day, she had been determined to face him and offer her assistance. Anything to make him seem more himself. But when she walked in, all she could hear was sobbing. That day, she had gathered him in her arms and held him. She had missed this - their friendship.
It reminded her of the first time they had met. She had been young, four maybe five. It was the first time she had been out without Nanny Jane and she had been hiding behind Mother. Mother always had the prettiest clothes and the softest skirts. She remembered how they felt against her skin as she pressed her face to the back of her mother’s legs. Mother had called her name and when she peeked around she saw a little boy. He had pretty yellow hair and he was looking questionably at his own mother.
“Draco, dear, be a good host and take Pansy to the playroom.”
He held out his hand, and she had looked at her own mother. Mother nodded. That was the first time she held his hand.
* * *
By the time Yule rolled around, Pansy had stopped following, instead heading directly to the room. He would always take the most tortuous route around school, but always to the same room. Always at different times. They would talk and laugh - discuss. But the conversation would always end the same way - they’d argue about what was right and what was wrong. How things should be, the importance of status and what was expected of them.
At first Pansy was glad that Draco hadn’t changed who he was just because of her. She didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing, but at least he was still Draco.
* * *
She remembered how he had deteriorated that year. She saw the strain of living a double, no strike that, a triple life. His responsibilities to the cause, his façade to the school, and of course this thing. With her. His physical changes were dramatic. The bags under his eyes became darker, and his hips began to jut out. Not to mention the loss of his luscious locks of old. But his looks weren’t the only thing. He was more withdrawn, his comebacks less venomous. He was a facsimile of himself. In fact, the only times he seemed almost himself were after THOSE visits.
But then they stopped.
She watched how he became more and more withdrawn. If he was changed before, he was even more so now. The visits stopped sometime after one of those Gryffindors had been poisoned or something. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but Draco had most certainly been involved.
* * *
She remembered walking past that bathroom, hearing arguing. Curious, she walked towards it before seeing the Granger girl running out of the bathroom in tears. The other girl had looked a mess, hair rumpled and face blotchy. She had assumed it was to do with the scandal that was Weasley.
Inside she had found Draco, and he was wearing a grave expression.
“I must stay true to the cause. Do not let me stray again, Pans.”
* * *
The summer of her sixth year, was one of the hardest of her life. She sat, in one of her family’s safe houses, with the intention of hiding there until the end of the war. Her father had wanted her safe. She remembered watching the owls arrive, always hoping that one of her many letters had been answered, hoping that her own owls would not return with her own letter still attached.
I've got a friend; he's a pure-bred killing machine,
I think he might be dead by Christmas...
FIN