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When Pansy entered Draco’s flat, it had a stale kind of smell, like skunked beer and old sweat. Draco was draped over the arm of his sofa, snoring in a wrinkled day-old outfit, and Blaise was curled in a ball on the nearby club chair. Pansy slammed the door closed and although the heavy thump worked as intended to wake the boys, she regretted it immediately— the stench in the room was too overpowering without the infusion of fresh air.
Draco smacked his lips a few times with a grimace. “Morning,” he said, addressing the empty space to her left, as if he was seeing two of her and guessed incorrectly which one was real.
”It’s two o’clock,” she snapped. She flicked her wand and opened all the windows, flooding the room with clean air and light.
His glassy eyes blinked slowly. “Awfully bright for two.”
”Two in the afternoon.”
This time Draco didn’t react. Pansy sighed and stepped around the coffee table to sit on the other end of the sofa, nearly tripping on Theo, who she discovered was lying prone on the floor in the buff.
“The waves are extra choppy today,” Theo mumbled into the carpet.
Deciding it wasn’t even worth asking, Pansy threw a blanket over Theo’s bare arse and then sat with her arms crossed. “Obviously you’ve all taken the news quite well.”
Blaise raised his arms high in a stretch. “If you’ve come to propose to Draco, you’re too late. Theo beat you to it right after the decree was announced.”
“Yeah, he’s mine,” Theo added, slightly more alert.
Draco massaged his temple and groaned. “If you remember nothing else from last night, please say you remember me turning you down.”
”I recall no such thing, darling.”
Pansy paused. She had come with a proposal in mind. It wasn’t that she wanted to be with Draco that way anymore, she’d been free of those misguided feelings for a while. Pansy simply thought it logical that if she must be married (and as of yesterday’s announcement of the Ministry’s Repopulation Decree, that was, in fact, a legal requirement), her obligatory husband might as well be the devil she knew, right?
Present company didn’t seem susceptible to arguments of logic, however, and she would definitely prefer this particular topic to be addressed one-on-one anyway, so she steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Theo, where are your clothes?”
Theo rolled over and sat up. He moved far too quickly it seemed, because he swayed side to side for a moment before pinching a wrinkle of the blanket and squinting at it.
”Never mind,” Pansy huffed after a full minute of silence. “Just clean yourselves up, we’re going out.”
To the boys’ credit, they all did as they were told, even if that meant they trampled around the flat like trolls for the better part of an hour. Eventually she herded them into the fireplace and flooed them to Diagon Alley.
Neville’s face slipped from his palm where it had been resting. He must’ve dozed off, but luckily he’d caught himself before his forehead smacked on the sticky pub table. Unluckily, he looked up to find Hermione glaring at him, her left eye twitching furiously.
”I’m sorry, Hermio—” he managed before a yawn took over.
They — Neville, Hermione, Harry, and Ron — had been camped at this table in The Leaky Cauldron since the news of the decree broke yesterday. At first their numbers were many. A horde of old friends and classmates converged at the tavern, ranting in rage. After wearing themselves out, they indulged in a bit of self-pitying whinging. Finally, once most of their friends had trickled out and the night manager was replaced by the morning crew, the remaining four moved to action planning. Spurred on by a bottomless supply of coffee, they swapped protest ideas and debated the merits of each strategy. Neville guessed it had been thirty hours since any of them had slept, if not longer.
Hermione lifted her arm and signaled toward the counter. “Another pot of coffee, Hannah.”
Ron, who was sat at the far end of the table, stood up so fast that his chair fell and clattered against the floor. “No. More. Coffee. We’re done.”
Harry cringed. Without meaning to, Neville wondered if that was the exact phrase that had ended Ron and Hermione’s relationship the month before.
Hermione sniffed angrily. “Have you come up with a brilliant solution, then? Go on, we’re all ears.”
Ron opened his mouth to reply. Neville and Harry braced themselves for the fourth (fifth?) row of the day but then the doors burst open, drawing all their attention to the entrance.
More bad luck: it was a group of Slytherins. Nott and Zabini fumbled in behind Malfoy, who’s normally pale face was a sickly yellowish-green, reminding Neville of bubotuber pus. They were led by Pansy Parkinson. She was the only one of the newcomers who carried herself with her regular air of grace.
But her poise faltered when she noticed the Gryffindor group. Pansy stopped abruptly and her frown deepened. She never smiled, Neville thought, at least not ever in his view. Instinctively, his expression mirrored hers. He was annoyed to see them, and even more annoyed that he was actually sort of grateful for their interruption. The most annoying part though was that he couldn’t break his gaze from her frown. He couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing the harsh line around her lips, lingering at the still soft curve at the bottom of her pout. It took a literal collision to tear his attention away.
Having missed her stop, Pansy’s companions crashed into her back and wobbled around the open center of the room. Before he was even conscious of doing so, Neville hopped up, ready to run over. She steadied herself before he could do anything ridiculous like put his arms out, but it was obvious she still recognized his intention. Her mouth quirked curiously to the side as she considered him.
No, Neville thought, do not get stuck on her mouth again!
”Hair of the dog!” Nott yelled as he carried on his way to a barstool.
Pansy pinched Nott on his ear. “You need coffee.”
As if on cue, Hannah delivered the new pot Hermione ordered. She plunked it down on the table in front of Neville and said in her squeaky voice, “Sorry. Last pot.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.
”Let ‘em have it,” Ron grumbled.
”Don’t mind if I do,” Nott said and flopped into the empty seat next to Harry. He proceeded to make himself comfortable. “Hannah, is it? Does this fine establishment have those fancy biscuits? You know the ones. Buttery, not the chocolate.” Then after a sideways look to Malfoy he added, “Scratch that, we’ll need the chocolate ones, as well.”
”Theo,” Pansy said in a barely restrained tone of warning, “you can pick any other table.”
”But this one has the coffee.” Nott conjured four more mugs and pulled some extra chairs closer. “The last coffee.”
The rest of the Slytherins took tentative steps closer and joined them, the need for coffee apparently outweighed Pansy’s plea for separation. Ron righted his chair and sat as well, bewildered by the turn of events. For a few heartbeats, the eight of them just eyed each other warily.
”Starting another revolution?” Zabini asked. He reached out and tapped the parchment beneath Hermione’s arm.
”Yes,” Hermione answered emphatically. “There’s no way I’m letting that decree stand.”
A sarcastic chuckle came from Pansy. Seven heads swiveled to her direction. “Why do you care?”
Neville scowled. “Why wouldn’t we care?”
Pansy turned to him and pursed her lips. It took every bit of discipline Neville had to keep his gaze away.
”Well, it won’t really affect you, will it? Maybe you’ll marry a little younger than planned, is all, but what difference is it when you’re in love?” Pansy inclined her head toward each Gryffindor as she paired them off. “Granger and Weasley. Potter and Other Weasley. Longbottom and…”
Suddenly Hannah was back with the biscuits. She set the platter in the centre of the table and then took the last seat, which happened to be to Neville’s left. Neville tensed his shoulders. He was painfully aware of Hannah’s crush on him and he didn’t want a reason to disappoint or embarrass her.
”Actually,” Pansy pinned him with eye contact, pointedly ignoring Hannah, “I don’t remember hearing that you were spoken for.”
”I’m not.”
In his peripheral vision, Neville saw Hannah’s mouth pinch, but he had no interest in examining it further.
”We’re all… single,” Harry said. “Just to clarify.”
Malfoy, who was mid-bite, missed his chocolate biscuit and chomped down hard on his finger.
”Not that it would be wrong to care either way,” Neville added.
Pansy hummed derisively. “A bit self righteous, though.”
“Better than being miserable.” Neville set his jaw. Pansy leaned back in her chair, a concession of sorts, but her stare remained steely.
”So, we’re all in the same boat,” Zabini mused. “We’ve got one month to marry someone of our choosing, or the Ministry will choose for us.”
”Not if I have anything to do with it.” Hermione picked up her parchment.
”What have you come up with?” Malfoy asked, looking directly at Hermione for the first time since he arrived. Neville saw that the yellowish-green hue had faded and Malfoy’s cheeks were slightly pinked instead.
Zabini extended his hand toward Hermione. “May I?” She handed over the parchment. “Imperio the Wizengamot? Strong start. Take Hogwarts hostage?” Zabini’s eyebrows shot up.
”That was mine,” Ron said. “Not in a violent way. It’s the closest thing we all have to a home field advantage.”
”Oh, we’ve got a ‘last resort’ column, how fun,” Zabini deadpanned. “‘Live in the Muggle world’. That one’s a definite no. ‘Marriage of convenience’. Pansy’s a proponent of that one.”
Neville swore he heard Pansy growl.
”Merlin’s saggy left…” Nott exclaimed. “Does that say hunger strike?” He pulled the platter of biscuits closer to himself and grabbed a handful. “These all sound terrible.”
Hermione grabbed the parchment back and smoothed it out against the table like she was protecting something precious. “Protest generally isn’t fun.”
Nott chewed on a biscuit thoughtfully. “This one could be.”
Hermione looked around for her quill so she could add to the list. “What do you have in mind?”
Nott’s manner turned devious. “An orgy.”
Malfoy choked on his coffee.
“How is… that a protest?” Hannah squeaked. For once Neville agreed with her.
Nott shrugged. “Make love not war?”
Ron’s forehead furrowed. “Are you fucking with us?”
“Not yet.” He shoulder checked Harry, who’s face went deep red.
A loud cackle erupted from Hermione.
”Think about it,” Nott continued. “The Ministry wants babies. This would make babies, but no one would know who’s the father of which one, right? So they couldn’t force us to marry.”
Hermione just kept laughing, delirious from lack of sleep.
Neville stood up. The day had gone off the rails and he had to escape. “I need to go to bed.”
“That’s the spirit!” Nott stood, too.
Neville put his hands out. “Erm, no. Alone. I’m going to my own bed, by myself. To sleep.” As he turned to leave, his glance fell on Pansy. She was watching him.
Don’t look at her mouth, he told himself.
Too late.
Was he imaging it, or was she smiling at him?
Pansy woke the next morning convinced that it was all a wild dream. The decree wasn’t real. Theo didn’t suggest group sex with a bunch of Gryffindors. And most importantly, she didn’t check out Neville Longbottom as he walked away from them.
The Daily Prophet dropped into her lap. She didn’t have to unfold it to see the biggest story.
First Engagement Announced Following Repopulation Decree: Weasley and Abbott
”Shite.”