Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Chapter 4: Collapse

Draco was sorely tempted to avoid Pansy and Blaise—he considered walking to Hogsmeade, or hiding in the library, or perhaps finding an empty classroom where they wouldn't disturb him. But he had learned by now that it was best to confront these things directly. The longer Pansy had to stew, the more fanciful her conjectures would become. And so he braced himself and headed back to the castle, where lunch was being served in the Great Hall. Just as he had expected, his friends had their heads together at the end of the Slytherin table, speaking in hushed voices over their servings of scouse. When Draco sat down next to Pansy, she looked up at him in surprise.

"Draco!" She reached forward and gripped his arm. "Are you alright? What did Potter want?"

He only then realized that he hadn't asked Harry how much he should, or should not, reveal about Mr. Dawson and his plan to play Quidditch professionally. Erring on the side of caution, he said, "Nothing. He just wanted to ask if we're meeting tonight, to work on my Mark."

"That can't have been all," Pansy said at once.

Draco held up his hand to quiet her; he had expected the skeptical looks on their faces. "I'll tell you what's going on, but you need to drop it after that. Alright?"

"No, not alright." Pansy set down her fork and crossed her arms. "You've been acting oddly all term. You need to tell us what's going on. We're worried about you, Draco."

"Fine." He couldn't bear to lie anymore. And even as Pansy's persistence grated on him, Draco also felt a surge of affection for her as she once again refused to be anything but steadfast. The trouble was, he didn't know where to start.

As though sensing his predicament, Blaise said quietly, "You've been meeting since the start of term. To get rid of your Mark."

"Right." Draco glanced around to see if anyone had overheard, but nobody seemed to notice them. "It was awkward, at first. But then, I can't remember how, but we started talking. About classes, and Quidditch, and whatever else. And he wasn't...horrible. He was alright." To give himself something to do, Draco reached for the ladle and poured stew into his bowl.

"And then what happened?" Pansy breathed.

"And then...I don't know. We got to know each other. A while ago, he told me we're friends."

Pansy opened her mouth to speak, but Blaise settled his hand on her arm. To Draco's surprise, she sat back, lips pursed.

"There isn't much else to say." Draco stabbed halfheartedly at a carrot. "Whatever you think is happening—it isn't. At all."

"But you wish it was," Blaise said.

"It doesn't matter."

"Why?" Pansy asked. "Why doesn't it matter?"

"Because...come off it, he's Harry Potter," Draco said. It was as close to an admission as he could muster, and Pansy must have known, because she suddenly leaned forward to wrap an arm around him.

"Oh, Draco," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I knew this would happen. Didn't I tell you?"

"He isn't dying, Pansy," Blaise scoffed.

"You're so insensitive!" she snapped. She pulled away from Draco and instead rounded on Blaise, who rolled his eyes. "Draco's upset! He's hurt!"

"Just tell him, Draco," Blaise said. "Tell him the truth."

"No." Draco pushed his bowl away; his stomach was in knots, driving away any appetite he might have had. "Absolutely not."

"Why? He was staring at you the entire match."