Too Cool For School (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Three

   At that, Pansy's interest finally piqued. She stubbed out her fag and hopped off the sill. "Really," she purred, swanning into the kitchen and depositing her mug in the sink. "I think we may need a drink for this. Sit." She pointed at her round dining table and opened one of her cupboards. Not feeling he really had a choice, Harry obeyed, letting his bag drop to the floor and lacing his fingers together to stop them twitching.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, what did it matter to him if Pansy refused and Draco failed? But somehow it did matter, so he kept his mouth clamped shut for the moment and his hands gripped tight on the table top.

She presented him with two little cut-crystal glasses on slim but sturdy stems, and poured a measure of amber liquid into each for them before sitting down, the bottle placed ominously between them. "Fire away, what do you want to know?"

"I'm trying to help him get his patronus," Harry started, but Pansy distracted him but knocking back her drink in one go. She leant back smugly in her chair, licking her lips and eyeing up Harry like a cat with the cream in its sights. So he bucked up and followed her lead, swallowing the liquid down in one, and only managing to splutter a little as the fiery alcohol hit his throat.

"Go on," she said, giving them a refill. There was a pleasant almond taste seeping through after the initial shock, and Harry found he didn't mind the idea of more.

"He needs it to graduate the year, but he can't do it, he doesn't even seem to want to try."

Pansy nodded and began sipping the second glass. "Not changed much then since school," she conceded. "He always hated that spell, said it was namby-pamby."

It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm guessing that's actually because he had so much difficulty with it?"

Pansy winked at him.

"Right," Harry huffed. "Well, I'm glad we established that. But now it's my responsibility to make sure he doesn't fail, so he's going to have to get over himself."

Pansy laughed and her brown eyes danced. She was still as immaculate as she'd ever been at school, with her acute black bob of hair and ruler straight fringe, pristine makeup and clothes arranged in a fashion Harry didn't really comprehend other than to know they were 'in'. But sitting across the table from her, he was starting to get a sense of fun he had never seen before, and he had to say he liked it.

"Good boy," she told him. "Don't take any of his shit."

"This is where you come in," Harry pressed on, finishing his glass again and starting to feel his mind floating slightly. "He needs a happy memory to make the spell work, but he won't talk about anything like that with me. So I was wondering if you had any ideas?"

Pansy ran her thumb across her red lower lip. "Draco doesn't really do happy darling," she said and picked up the bottle once more. Harry was glad he didn't have any classes to return to, he had a feeling this was going to get messy. "He's more the angsty, melancholy kind."

He nudged his glass forward as she held out the bottle. "Well that doesn't help him or me," he said. "Is there something that makes him less of a twat perhaps? Favourite food, places to go? I know he liked Potions at school."

"Potions make him calm," Pansy interjected, lighting up another cigarette. "I doubt that'll be enough."

"Well is he seeing anyone?" Harry asked. "Is there a girl he fancies that might light him up a bit?"

Pansy shrieked with mirth, but it was warm and not scathing like Harry would have expected. "Have you seen his hair?" she asked, grinning and taking another gulp of the almond fire. "No, there's no girl, never has been."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that – did she mean styling his hair made him happy? That was a bit odd, and probably not enough to make a patronus anyway. "There's got to be something," he insisted.

Pansy sighed and stretched out her arms contentedly. She seemed to be enjoying herself. "Potter, sweetheart," she said, batting her thick eyelashes. "The only time he really ever got...excited...about anything was when, well," she snorted and sipped her drink again. "When he was tormenting you."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

She tittered and flicked her ash into a bowl she had conjured out of nowhere. "You know," she carried on with a wicked glint in her eye. "Like when he made all those 'Potter Stinks!' badges back in fourth year. He just loved that, it gave him such a kick seeing how wound up you got. Or when you lot would play Quidditch, even if he lost he would rant loudly and I could tell he was relishing it." She grinned. "You boys were always chasing each other about the castle, seeing who could piss higher than the other. It was all so-" she shuddered and dragged on her cigarette. "Thrilling."

Harry was aware he was staring at her, so he decided to take another hit of alcohol, because he had a feeling that might help. "You're telling me," he said. "That the closest Draco ever got to being happy was messing with me?"

"Yes," said Pansy simply.

"That's fucked up."

Pansy giggled until tears sprung at the corner of her eyes. "Oh don't I know it poppet," she said.

But something had sparked in Harry's slightly addled mind, and he raised his thimble of a glass to his drinking companion. "I think I might be able to work with that," he told her.

She chinked her own glass with him and nodded solemnly. "Oh that, my dear Potter," she toasted. "I have no doubt."