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When they were children, they were inseparable. She and Draco were one entity. PansyandDraco. DracoandPansy. Their mothers had a very close relationship and often spent their days together gossiping about social events; she and Draco grew up together. They shared tutors, ate their meals together, played together, and when they stayed at each other’s homes, one would sneak into the other’s bed at night after they’d been tucked away. They belonged together.
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He always took care of her. They were six and were outside playing unattended. Vincent and Gregory were rough-housing and knocked into her, pushing her into the mud by accident. As she looked down at her brand new robes, it took all her strength not to cry because the brilliant royal blue was stained with dull brown.
Draco came to her rescue, picking up a stray stick and pointing it at the boys, yelling Crucio so loud nearby house elves ran for cover. It hadn’t done anything, of course, but the boys got the point and started to apologize before running off. Draco helped her up, not caring about the mud that was getting on his own robes.
Pansy looked up at him, her bottom lip trembling.
“Stop that. When we’re older and I’m head of the Malfoy family, I’ll buy you thousands of blue robes.”
She smiled as he led her away and ordered one of the house elves to remove the mud from their clothes.
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The last year before they went away to Hogwarts, Pansy was nervous. She would never admit such a thing, for it was unbecoming of a pureblood witch and a Parkinson to do so, but there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that she didn’t like very much.
Her mother brought her over to Malfoy Manor and she and Draco wandered the restricted area in the family library.
“What if I’m not in Slytherin?” she asked, her voice echoing in the large space. Draco looked up from where he was crouched looking at book titles before rolling his eyes. Pansy resisted stomping her foot in irritation. “I’m being serious, Draco.”
“You’re not going to be in any other house, Pans. It’s impossible.”
She held back a smile at his nickname for her. No one else was allowed to call her Pans except for Draco. “Why would it be impossible?”
Draco shrugged and stood, a thin book held loosely in his hand. “Because all Malfoy wives come from Slytherin.”
Pansy was startled. They were only ten, and he was already talking about them being married. She knew they were destined for each other, but she was a bit disconcerted to hear him say it so nonchalantly. “You think I’ll be your wife?”
“Of course,” he replied, looking over at her strangely. His slick-backed blond hair was coming loose from the gel he applied and a few stray pieces fell into his eyes. He brushed it back with an irritated gesture, only to have it fall back.
She didn’t like his hair pushed back, but ever since his father mentioned he looked better that way, Draco slathered gel in it.
Pansy reached up and pushed the hairs out of his face so they would stay. “Then I suppose I must be a Slytherin.”
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“Parkinson, Pansy.”
Her hands didn’t shake as she walked up the stairs. Draco had been placed in Slytherin a few children before her and now her turn had arrived. In her mind, she was thinking of all the reasons why Slytherin was the place for her.
As she sat on the stool, Draco nodded at her from the Slytherin table. The hat was placed upon her head--wasn’t her hair going to look awful--and it spoke.
Ah, another one hoping for Slytherin.
She narrowed her eyes. And you’ll put me there unless you want me to rip all of your stitches out. I’m a Slytherin, so you know I’ll do it.
Shortly after, the hat proclaimed her house. Pansy calmly stood up from the stool and walked over to the table under the green banners, taking her place next to Draco. They didn’t smile stupidly or hug like some of the other students in other houses. Instead, he gave her a small nudge with his arm.
“I told you so.”
Her chin rose a notch. So he had. Draco knew everything.
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Pansy stared blankly at the stone wall in front of her. She was cramped in a small alcove, her legs numb under Draco’s body weight. His head was in her lap, the same as earlier in the year on the train, but instead of him being proud of the duty put to him by the Dark Lord, he was crumbling. Pansy ran her hands through his loose hair soothingly. He was too distracted to worry about slicking it back anymore.
Her skirt was stained with his tears, although he denied crying. For the past five years, he was nothing but strong while at school, even when that idiot Potter bested him in some way. The previous summer he promised her he would show Hogwarts how much the Malfoy name still meant; he would prove his worth to his father, who was still in Azkaban. Now, she was holding a broken Draco in her arms.
He had to be strong, because he wanted to protect her, like he always did. She wouldn’t let this upset him. “You’ll do it, Draco. You’re strong enough. You’ll show all of them what it means to be a Malfoy.”
She felt him shake his head. “I don’t think so, Pans. Not this time.”
A tear of her own fell down her cheek.
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Pansy was staring in shock at Draco, who stood with his head held high in front of the Wizengamot. Freshly eighteen and charged with the crimes of a Death Eater, Draco was asked what he thought his punishment should be. The question had been a joke, but his serious reply of “Azkaban” had the entire gallery in an uproar. To her, the noise was just an annoying buzz.
Draco couldn’t go to Azkaban. They had a wedding to plan, the engagement ring on her finger he put there not a month earlier burning her skin in a reminder. He needed to take care of her, like he always did. She was so proud when he didn’t make excuses for his actions as a Death Eater, proving himself to be a worthier Malfoy than his father, but she hadn’t expected him to willingly accept imprisonment.
“No,” she whispered.
He couldn’t have heard her, but Draco chose that moment to look up. His expression was apologetic, but all she could do was shake her head.
The air was suddenly stifling and Pansy needed to leave the crowded chamber. She stood and quickly made her way towards the doors just as the Aurors started to lead Draco out of the room. In the hallway, another Auror approached her, and she warily glanced over, not sure of what to do.
“Miss Parkinson?” She nodded and the man continued. “Could you please follow me? Mr. Malfoy would like to have a word before he goes.”
He made it sound as if Draco wanted a moment of her time before he took a business trip. Pansy blinked away the tears that clouded her vision. She hadn’t heard how long Draco was sentenced for, but she doubted he would only be gone a short while.
The Auror led her to a small room off the side of the chambers. Draco stood to the side, no longer in magical chains. His solicitor was standing next to him but when she entered the room, Draco held up his hand to the stop their conversation.
She rushed over to him, not caring who saw, and put her arms around him as tight as she dared.
“You can’t go,” she said, her words muffled by his clothing. “You just can’t.” Pansy knew that she sounded like a small child.
Draco gripped her tight before pulling back and holding her at arms’ length. “I’m doing this to protect you, Pans.”
His nickname for her sounded bitter to her ears. “How? How is leaving me protecting me?”
“If I do this, they’ll stay away from you and mother. I can’t help father, but I can make sure you don’t have to worry about anything.”
It was getting harder to breathe. Her throat was burning from the strain of holding back her sobs. Pansy looked up into his eyes and pleaded with him, “I still don’t want you to go.”
“I have to.”
The Aurors came forward and started to lock up his hands and feet so he could be transported to Azkaban. She smothered her cries by putting her hands over her mouth. They didn’t speak to each other as he was led out of the room. The door slamming behind him echoed loudly and she winced.
Left alone, Pansy took a few deep breaths. She was alone with no one to look after her for the first time in her life.
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Six months after Draco’s imprisonment, Pansy still hadn’t left her family Manor once. Her parents fled to Asia fearing persecution, but she stayed in case Draco was released. She was lonely. Her friends only stopped by to see her every once in a while. Her hair was flat and her skin was no longer smooth and bright. Her clothes were often wrinkled and they were definitely out of season. When one of robe hems tore, she didn’t even bother fixing it, instead wearing them for two whole days before dropping them on her bedroom floor to be washed. There was no reason to bother with repairing it. No one would see her, and she didn’t care about anything but Draco. Without Draco, she had nothing.
She spent most of her days in the library, wandering through the stacks, glancing down at her engagement ring every few moments. Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
One day, Blaise visited her and she told him such. Instead of sympathy, as Draco would have given her, all her friend did was roll his eyes. “Of course it’s not. That means you have to change your plans, Pansy. No one else is moping around like you. It’s pathetic.”
Pansy glared up at him and after a few moments, she realized she expected Draco to come around the corner, demand that Blaise apologize because how dare he speak to Pans that way, and hex him. Instead, Blaise scoffed and walked to the fireplace.
“If I was Draco and I was released, I’m not sure I’d want to spend my freedom here. This isn’t living, Pansy. It’s just...existing.”
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A week later, Pansy left the house. She went to the more upscale area of Diagon Alley and looked for new robes, since she’d stopped eating and her current robes didn’t fit her at all, not even her torn ones. Through the racks, she spied Adrian Pucey’s younger sister. While Adrian himself was a bit on the horrid side, Anna was always the perfect young witch who was currently being ripped off by a saleswitch eager to prey on the customers who weren’t so knowledgeable about fashion as she was.
With narrowed eyes, Pansy marched over and gave the saleswitch a verbal lashing that had her running away in tears. Pansy took Anna around the store and began instructing her on which robes to get in which color. The owner apologized shortly after for the behavior of her employees and offered Pansy a job, claiming that they were awfully short-staffed. Blaise’s words replayed in her mind, and without thinking of the consequences, she agreed.
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On the one year anniversary of Draco’s incarceration, Pansy visited him. She told him about the shop, how she quickly climbed the ranks and all but ran the place now, with the owner trusting her judgment. For the first time, she felt proud telling Draco about her accomplishments, mostly because she always depended on him to take care of her. Pansy told him how since Malfoy Manor was taken during Lucius’ trial, Pansy was making sure her own family home was ready for him when he was released, which he promised would be soon.
As she walked away from Azkaban, a small weight was taken off of her shoulders. She could take care of herself until Draco was released and resumed the role. She would make sure things at the Manor were perfect.
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On her twenty-first birthday, Pansy celebrated by opening her own robe shop in Diagon Alley. She had a knack for the business and her client list was growing. All of her friends came to her shop opening. A rather nice looking wizard came in, bought an entire new wardrobe and on the way out, handed her a piece of parchment with his Floo address. After he winked at her and left the store, Pansy immediately threw the paper into the rubbish.
She still wore Draco’s ring. He was four years into his sentence, and he would be home soon. This wasn’t the first offer she received, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. But as Pansy walked away to help another customer, she wondered just how many parchments she would throw away before her resolve disappeared.
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Pansy was a few months away from being twenty-five years old. She was known as one of the most successful witches in her industry and was not be trifled with. Her reputation was solid as were her designs for modern robes, which meant her clothing boutiques were placed in many countries. She finally opened one in Blaise’s home country of Italy, and to celebrate he took her and some of her closer employees out to a high-end lounge in the wizarding district of Rome.
While there, a wizard struck up a conversation with her. They talked for a few hours before he offered to take them back to his nearby flat. She held up her left hand, which still held the sparkling engagement ring. Disappointment in his eyes, the wizard bid her a good night and left the group to finish their evening.
That night as she walked aimlessly around her hotel room overlooking the busy streets of Rome, Pansy twisted the ring on her finger, watching as it glistened when the light hit it at a certain angle. Six years had passed since Draco was put into Azkaban. She visited him as often as she could, but her business took up much of her time.
Her girlish dream of Draco walking through the door at any moment was a distant memory now. The more she took care of herself, the less she needed Draco to help her. She still loved him with all of her heart, but she had changed. She wasn’t the helpless Slytherin princess who depended on him to survive.
Pansy no longer just existed. She survived, and she flourished.
She quickly pulled off her ring, set it on the chest of drawers, and went back to the lounge. The wizard was still there, sipping a drink and speaking with a group of wizards. Pansy grabbed a flute of some unidentified drink, knocked it back, and walked over. He was surprised to see her, glanced down at her hand, and noticed the lack of jewelry.
They were out of the lounge in two minutes, at his flat in three, and the next morning, Pansy put her ring back in the velvet box it was purchased in.
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It was a typical Sunday afternoon. She was in the solarium reading a book, sipping a glass of truly exquisite wine, when one of her house elves announced she had a visitor. Her eyebrow rose, and she was slightly irritated. Everyone knew Sunday was the only day she had all to herself, the time she could get away from the noises of the shops, the hustle and bustle of her business, and be in peace.
She walked to the main receiving parlor, book in one hand and wine glass in the other. As she started to round the corner, a scathing remark was on the tip of her tongue, but when the figure in the room turned around, her throat closed up. The book fell to the ground followed shortly by the crash of the wine glass. Drops of red wine splashed onto her leg, but she didn’t care.
“Draco?” she whispered.
“Hello, Pans,” he replied, giving her a small smile.
She sobbed as they met in the middle of the parlor, hugging each other tightly. Pansy closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She hadn’t held him properly in ten years, since the last hug she gave him before he was put in prison. Before she could stop herself, one of her hands carded through his soft hair.
Pansy quickly pulled back. He was thinner than he should be, and his skin had lost its luster, but he would be back to his normal self in no time.
She smiled and hugged him again. Her Draco was back.
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A week after Draco returned him, Pansy’s mood dampened, despite the circumstances. She snapped at her employees more often, was never happy with the designs she came up with, and in a fit, fired all her employees in France in a single afternoon. She tried to relax by taking a long, hot bath, or reading out in the gardens, or going on a massive shopping spree, but nothing helped. Her spirit darkened daily. She was in the middle of going over the season’s fashion when she figured out the problem.
Draco was also in the room but looking over some papers his solicitor owled over about the Malfoy estate. Instead of the peaceful calm that she was used to, Draco was tapping his quill against the parchment, a habit he acquired in school. He would sigh periodically and each breath was driving her up the wall.
She missed the quiet.
Pansy was so used to living on her own for ten years, and having Draco around was upsetting. With a sigh of her own, Pansy cleared her throat, catching Draco’s attention. She quickly glanced down at the quill and he stopped tapping it, but started up a few moments later. The design book slamming made him jump.
He looked over at her, bewildered. “Pans, what’s wrong?”
Pansy never let anyone call her Pans, declaring it Draco’s name for her, but now that she was a twenty-eight year old woman, the name just sounded...childish, and she no longer liked it.
“I need some quiet, Draco. If you can’t read that in silence, could you please retire to your own study?”
He was confused. “You don’t want my company?”
“Draco,” she said patiently, “I need to concentrate completely on these books. I have to get ready for the new season.”
“Why don’t you have one of your assistants do it?” he asked as he went back to his reading. “It’s not like you need to run the business yourself anymore.”
His nonchalant statement made Pansy pause. She glared up at him, even though he didn’t see it. “I beg your pardon?”
Draco scoffed at her. “Malfoy wives don’t work, Pans. I understand that you built this business up because I wasn’t around, but you don’t need it anymore. Sell it.”
Pansy’s jaw clenched. While he was correct that she’d only worked to take her mind off of the fact that he wasn’t around, she grew to love her job. It was hers. Her days revolved around her shops and even when forced on a vacation, she still worked. She enjoyed her life.
The thought made her pause. When she was younger, Draco was her life, but now, he wasn’t. He was only muddling the life she’d built for herself. The thought was sobering, and Pansy looked down at the books in her lap.
“I’m not a Malfoy wife anymore, Draco,” Pansy said softly.
He rolled his eyes as he looked up at her. “Of course you are. You have the...” He trailed off when he noticed she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. “Where’s your ring?”
“I took it off,” she replied, watching him closely.
“Well, where is it? Go put it ba--”
“Four years ago.”
Draco finally gave her his complete attention. “You what? Four years ago? You took it off four years ago? Where the bloody hell is it?”
Pansy shrugged him off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bristle. “In its box in the attic, I imagine. That’s where I told the house elves to put most of the things to go into storage.”
A hurt expression flitted across his face before quickly disappearing. It hurt her to know that she hurt him, but he needed to know the truth. “I don’t understand, Pans.”
“Don’t call me Pans, Draco,” she snapped before taking a deep breath to calm herself. “We’re not children. We’ll be thirty years old soon.” She realized in that moment that while she grew up in the ten years he was gone, he stayed the same eighteen-year-old boy who thought she needed him to function. She hadn’t been that girl for a long time. “I won’t give up my business. It’s my life, and I can’t abandon it.”
Draco stared at her like she was speaking a completely new language. “Pans, you don’t know what you’re saying. I understand you needed to keep yourself occupied while you waited for me, but I’m here now. We can pick up where we left off.”
He stood and walked over, running his hands through her hair. She resisted, pulling back because she didn’t like her hair to be touched, something that he should have remembered. “It’s okay, Pans. I’m here now.”
He pulled her out of the chair and into a tight hug. Pansy couldn’t breathe and Draco’s arms around her felt stiff. When they were younger, he would hold her, their bodies fitting perfectly together. Now, holding him felt unnatural and uncomfortable.
Pansy pushed Draco away gently. “It’s not okay, Draco. You don’t understand.”
“Of course I do,” he said with a smirk that made her heart skip a beat.
“I love you, Draco, I truly do. You know I have since I was a little girl, but...I don’t need you now like I needed you then. We can’t pick up where we left off. It’s just not possible.”
She was always an expert at watching the emotions fly across Draco’s face before he schooled his features into the Malfoy neutral he was trained into. What she saw made her heart hurt: anger, confusion, desperation.
“Please, Pansy,” he pleaded, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. This was one of the only times she could recall him not using his nickname for her.
“I’m a different person now, more out of necessity than want, but nevertheless, I’m different,” she explained.
Draco shook his head stubbornly. “You were the only thing that kept me going in Azkaban. You’re my world, Pansy, and I survived these past ten years for you.”
“And I survived these past ten years for myself.” Pansy sighed and brushed the hair out of his face. “I think that you should learn to live for yourself instead of someone else, Draco. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.”
When he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, she allowed it. Their foreheads touched lightly. Pansy closed her eyes to savor the touch, knowing it would be the last time they were this intimate.
“Is there any way?”
A tear slipped from her eye to her cheek but she didn’t bother to brush it away. “We’re meant for each other, Draco, but I’m afraid we’ll be together again in another life. We’re ruined in this one.”
Pansy closed the small distance between them and pressed her lips against his one last time before pulling back and stepping out of his arms. “You can stay here until you get on your feet, but you’ll have to move to one of the guest rooms.”
She didn’t dare look at him as she walked back to her desk, picked up her books, and left the room. She held her head high and with every step she took, a weight lifted off of her shoulders that she didn’t know she carried.
It broke her heart that Draco was so lost, but just like she found her way, he would too.