And She Was Golden

and a new issue (as old ones are buried)

Draco strolls up Diagon Alley, the collar of his robes turned up to ward off the slight chill in the air. The leaves crunch under his feet; the warmth of autumn is just starting to give way to winter's cruelty. He ought to have used a mild warming charm--an oversight in his hurry to get here.

She is sitting there, right up front. He smiles at the familiar figure and moves to join the fetching young witch. As he slides into the chair across from her she looks up at him with a questioning gaze, waiting for an explanation. Her lips are painted a deep red to match the red beret resting on her head.

He spent some time looking over the letter, trying to reply before giving up. They needed to do this in person--whatever this was. It was the least he could do, after everything.

"A trinket from Paris?" he questions, gesturing towards her hair. It's shorter than it was before. The longer bob has been chopped off into a fringe kissing her ears. It suits her.
"Good of you to grace me with your presence, Mr Malfoy."

"You are as radiant as ever, Miss Parkinson." He winks and her resulting tinkling laugh feels like coming home all over again.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Draco," she sings, and Draco forgets why he was so scared of seeing her again.

"Would it have killed you to pen a reply to my owls? Did you believe me to be moping around in Paris, grieving our relationship?" There she is, the spitfire he remembers. He looks at her sheepishly.

"Hmm perhaps I was by the seaside, licking my wounds."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how you felt"

"I am many things Draco, but you know better than to take me for a fool."

With a wave of her hand, she ends this line of discussion. Pansy launches into a story about her adventures in France. She details the culinary courses she took. Food and its creation has always been her passion. Pansy's competence in the kitchen is a well-hidden fact about her.

His childhood involved many hours lounging atop a counter, watching Pansy make her way around the kitchen. Draco had a horrible sweet tooth and Pansy had made it her personal mission to help cater to it.

"Draco, it was absolutely divine! I wish you could've been there, you would've loved it. I learned this amazing recipe for almond macarons. I think they might even be better than the apple tarts--do you remember how fond you were of those?"

It was made all the sweeter because it was their little secret. If her mother or father ever caught wind of the fact that Pansy was investing her time into something so plebeian, she would be done for. So she would come over and stay at the Manor for weeks on end. She would experiment around the kitchens without a care in the world. She would wave her wand about and order the elves while Draco kept her company. He would chime in every so often as she droned on about anything and everything under the sun.

Her familiar pitch is a comfort. It's astonishing how much gossip she has accumulated even away from home. He is glad that after everything Pansy is still here. He doesn't quite know what he would do if she wasn't.

Time flies by with them talking about everything and yet nothing in particular.

She looks at him, a glint in her eye as she sips the last of her coffee. "Now Draco--" She purses her lips. "Golden girl she may be but if she doesn't treat you right, Merlin help her."

He coughs. "Pansy! It's not like that!" he splutters.

She arches an eyebrow, an incredulous look as she looks him over. "And do you want it... to be 'like that '?"