Legilimens [Dramione]

A Deal

February 20, 1999

There she was again, on the battlefield.She tried to run but couldn't. Her legs were heavy and firm on the ground, and although she tried, her body seemed to go in slow motion while the rest of the world around her was running wild. She tried to scream, but it was a futile attempt. No one was paying attention to her, no one could hear her. So she tried harder, again and again, but it was no use. Her friends weren't there, they couldn't hear her.

She kept looking around, but the only familiar faces she could make out lay on the ground, their skin pale and their pupils motionless, lifeless.

"Harry," she shouted. "Roon."

And then she was alone.

She opened her eyes, finding herself in her dark bedroom. Her gaze slid to the alarm clock on the nightstand, which read 4:30 a.m.

Her heart was still pounding inside her ribcage.

She stroked her sweaty neck with one hand. Noting that resuming sleep would be impossible after that nightmare, she got out of bed and headed for the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and enjoying the silence of the night for a few seconds.

She grabbed the books she had just bought from her bag, starting to leaf through them absent-mindedly and thinking about what Draco had told her. His words rumbled through her mind, causing her mood to immediately switch from tired to determined.

She was going to master that technique, whatever it took.

---

Sleepy and dazed from the alcohol, Draco and Theo lay semi-reclining on the antique and fine velvet couch in the parlor, Nott Senior's favorite. Only the blond flinched when a green blaze lit up the dimly lit room.

"Did you miss me?" thundered Pansy, entering the salon on her far too loud heels.

Theo staggered up, hugging her awkwardly and handing her the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey.  She sniffed the contents of the bottle as he tossed back heavily on the couch.

"Uh, old stuff," she noted, pouring herself a glass of the beverage and taking a seat in one of the armchairs.

"When did you get back, Pan?" asked Draco, who had remained motionless, not bothering to get up and greet her.

The girl looked around the room. "What time is it?"

Both boys shrugged.

"Well, not even an hour ago," she explained, sipping her drink.

"And how have these months been in Japan?" asked Theo, dangling his arm with the glass in the air and spilling a few drops on the floor.

"Oh," she lowered her gaze. "I've met relatives I didn't know I had, and the climate isn't bad. The style then," she said, standing up. "Look at this dress."

"How's your mother?" asked Draco, aware that Pansy wouldn't want to talk about it.

Both she and Theodore had lost their fathers during the war, but for both of them, despite the trauma, it seemed to be for the best.

He had always believed that Lucius was different from Parkinson and Nott. They held a high place in Voldemort's good graces not only because of their money, which didn't come remotely close to the Malfoys' immense fortune, but because of their ruthlessness, because of the missions they had accomplished, because of the Avada Kedavras that left their wands. Draco knew his father wasn't like them: he craved power, but he wasn't willing to kill for it or, perhaps more accurately, he wasn't capable of it. He had used his money to penetrate the higher ranks of Voldemort's army. And when that wasn't enough anymore, he sold his own son, enthralled by who knows what ideal. If nothing else, Pansy and Theo hadn't gone through all of that.