Pansy Parkinson didn't really care about Potter skipping potions class.
Though it was interesting that Snape had managed to quell his rage enough to stay through the class, and make sure Malfoy didn't blow the rest of them to smithereens. Though actually Granger had seemed closer to that... Neither of them realized just how much their nerves showed when they were chopsing. And they had both been very... concerned about Potter's unexplained disappearance. And if that wasn't caused, somehow, by either Potter showing up the past morning to the Breakfast table red as a London sunset or the Great Gryffindor Pride's Mysterious Unrest - Pansy would eat her own hatte. And Pansy had never cooked Hatte, and wasn't talented in the kitchen, either.
She'd had plans, though! Good ones, too, and they involved cornering Potter before suppertime.
He hadn't been there, though, and she hadn't heard a jot about him until the next day, when he was placid as paste, sitting in the Great Hall eating Breakfast.
If he'd been a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw, Pansy could have exchanged a few words. He was sitting there all alone, after all. But he was a Gryffindor, and that was Not Done. Not in the Great Hall.
Doors may have opened, but they were postern doors, the type that people could conveniently forget about if needed.
It was all very Slytherin, despite the idea that Smith was heading the Defense Club.
Honestly, Smith wasn't even teaching! Pansy hadn't, truly, cared who'd started it - Potter would have known better, wouldn't he? But everyone knew Gryffindors were simply mad to break the rules.
Not that Pansy didn't like breaking the rules, she just wanted it to be worthwhile.
Honestly, the Slytherin Sly Trade was getting boring, anyway. If the Weasley Twins could score enough on Gryffindor (and maybe Hufflepuff) to open their own shop, Pansy wanted in. And sweet Merlin above, the Ravenclaws had to want something better than simple memory potions
They just had to trust her, that was all.
Last year, it would have seemed like a task that she'd never survive. This year... Potter seemed to have some sort of soft spot for her...
Oh! Not like that! Pansy would have giggled, if she'd said any of this to Tracey, her most lighthearted of friends.
Pansy would stop at nothing to be something other than a Pureblooded Princess.
The wind whipped her hair, as she stared off the Astronomy Tower's rooftop, past the Forbidden Forest, and towards the stars.
I'll write my name in the stars if I have to.
You'll remember me.
You'll all remember me.
[a/n: Did we forget that Slytherin is the house of ambitious people? Goyle's ambition may be modest (and Crabbe's even more so), but not everyone's like that.
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