entanglements | d.m.

50.babyfever

January '99 | H I M

The ass Draco is looking at is not the one that follows him in his dreams. A beauty mark right under the left cheek is missing, as is the burn-like scar on the right side of the ribs.

"So you're telling me I'm condemned to misery for the rest of my life?" he concludes.

"Since the day you were born," Pansy replies monotonely, picking things out of her closet in only her underwear. "Have you never read the pureblood contract?"

"No," he grumbles, for lack of wit. His head is elsewhere—has been since last night. Whatever they discussed in class today, he couldn't say. He sat next to Devyn the whole day and the chasm between them hasn't felt that vivid and deep in a long time.

He thought, honestly, that they'd made progress over break. They did make progress. Things got off their chests.

And now she can't get involved with him again. Understandable. Respectable. He put enough strain on her. He messed up too many times. She's only trying to protect herself, rightfully so.

Without the law, there wouldn't even be talk about him and her together.

But with the law...

"Did you tell her?" Pansy throws a look over her shoulder that tells him all he needs to know and sends a full body cringe shuddering through his body.

His hand tossing a balled up pair of socks halts mid-air. "Why should I?"

"She told you about Emrys?" she counters.

He nods. It was rather abrupt, a cry of her conscience, perhaps, to disclose information she had no idea he already knew. Shaking himself when a picture of Emrys and Devyn flashes in his mind, he continues tossing the socks in the air where he is sprawled on the bed. It's all he can do to tamp down the jealousy surfacing.

"Guys." Pansy's ebony bob dances around her jaw as she shakes her head. "You're such idiots."

"And it helps so much to give no advice to the idiot," he deadpans.

"Tell her," she says, like they are talking about something mundane as the weather.

His eyes narrow, pinning the back of her head. "I thought we had an agreement."

Shoulders sinking on a deep sigh, she turns around, holding two hangers of clothes on either side of her. "Dress or skirt?"

"I like the skirt," he says, glad for the change of topic. "Are you goig to wear socks with it? The knee-high?"

"Of course."

Draco has a soft spot for fashion. Nothing fancy, he hardly knows the right terms, but he appreciates a well put together outfit, and even more so that Pansy, a much more passionate stylist, asks for his opinion every now and then.

The dress put back in place, she now holds two other hangers for him to choose. "This sweater or this?"

He contemplates for a moment what would go better for a Slytherin party, before nodding to the charcoal colored one. "That one. Has a lower cut."

Hanging the plume one back in the wardrobe, she says, "If I had boobs like those of your lovergirl it may fill a bit better."

He can't help the dreamy smile, picturing Devyn in a low cut shirt. "She has good ones, hasn't she?"

Pansy rolls her eyes, fully turning her back to him this time. It takes a beat to recognize that she just opened up about an insecurity of hers and his natural fondness has been insensitive.