A Slytherin, undermined and displayed as soulless and evil. For Pansy Parkinson a Slytherin is who she is, a pure blood, whom sees nothing wrong with the constant feeling she feels to those who are inferior to her. A feeling of utter loathing.
(A...
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Boys are stupid. They don't understand that a girl can loathe them entirely, yet find them intoxicating simultaneously. And when they fall, that girl falls hard.
Even Pansy Parkinson was falling. She always knew she fancied a particular Draco Malfoy. But now more than ever, that fact struck her like a stunning spell.
He was haunting her more ridiculously than the bloody baron did peeves. That was him in her thoughts, consuming any sense of individual she had left. It was strange for the first time in her life, to actually feel dependent on someone. Or worse, having someone be dependant on her.
"There you are." Blaise greeted, finding Pansy, who was currently sitting in the Quidditch stands.
She gave him one pathetic glance, before returning her sights on the Quidditch team. "What?"
"I cannot believe I'm saying this, but Draco's looking for you."
"I do not care."
He shifted his hands together, before looking at her with an amused grin. "Sorry? Are you not the one who's always asking his location."
"I said I do not care. I'm sure he can do just fine without me."
He looked at her, the February snow speckled throughout her hair. "You look different."
She at first did not respond, instead reacting to Harper as he flew past shouting "Oi, it's Parkinson!"
She cupped her hands to her face, then shouted back. "Afternoon, tosser!" After receiving amused laughs that echoed across the pitch, she answered Balise. "I curled my hair."
"Sorry?" Blaise asked confused.
"I curled my hair. Its a response to you mentioning I look different."
He sucked in a breath, about to respond that that wasn't it. There was something about her general vibe at the moment that differed from it's usual haughty nature. "Why are you here? You despise quidditch."
"I do not!" She glared at him accusingly. "It's entertaining."
"Previously you stated, you only watched quidditch to fawn over Malfoy. He doesn't even play anymore." Blaise scoffed, and noted the obvious recollection.
"Why are you baratting me with questions, Zabini? If you must know, I came here, because I needed space."
"From what?!"
She shook her head, mad at the daft moron beside her. "From Draco, you bloody idiot!"
They sat there in another bout of silence. She had overreacted, but was nowhere near apologizing.
"I can help." He began.
"No you can't, Zabini." She looked away from him, now eager more than ever to jump a broom herself, and ride as far away as possible.
