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The Room of Requirement
The fire was the first thing Pansy noticed. Not the heat—though it licked at her robes like a starving beast—but the color. Fiendfyre wasn’t supposed to be green. That was the Killing Curse’s shade, not this hellish emerald spiraling toward the ceiling, swallowing tapestries, desks, centuries of hidden things.
Typical, she thought, even our doom has to be Slytherin colors.
“Move your arse, Granger!” she shrieked, shoving the Gryffindor girl toward the exit. Granger’s ankle was bent at a grotesque angle, Weasley’s freckles stark against his ash-streaked face. Potter—always Potter—was reaching for Malfoy, his stupid savior complex apparently immune to smoke inhalation.
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Boys.”
A chandelier groaned above them, its chains melting. She saw the trajectory before it fell—right onto Granger’s spine. Without thinking, Pansy lunged, knocking the other girl aside. Molten metal seared through her shoulder, and for one absurd moment, she wished she’d worn the black lace camisole instead of this tatty old Quidditch jersey.
“Pansy—!” Draco’s voice cracked like a first-year’s.
She didn’t look back. If she did, she’d see his face—pale, terrified, alive —and she’d lose her nerve.
“Tell Theo to burn my diaries,” she called over the roar of flames.
Then the world turned green, and Pansy Parkinson laughed.
---
King’s Cross
Pansy didn’t even greet Draco before saying, “Your hair looks like a startled albino peacock,” as he slid into the train compartment. Theo Nott, already buried in his book, snorted into his Chocolate Frog.
Draco stiffened. “Charming,” he said, but his voice wobbled.
And after a bit of bickering the train lurched, Draco’s knee knocked against Theo’s. Neither boy pulled away.
Pansy filed that away for later.
---
Slytherin Common Room
“You like him,” Pansy whispered, grinning as Draco recoiled.
“Don’t be disgusting,” he snapped, but his ears turned pink.
Theo, ever the traitor, didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “Liar.”
Pansy leaned in, her breath warm against Draco’s cheek. “We’ll ruin him.”
“No,” Draco said too quickly. “I’ll handle it.”
Oh, dragon boy, Pansy thought, you’re so fucked.
---
Azkaban Visits
Theo’s mother died on a Tuesday.
Pansy found him in the Astronomy Tower, shredding a letter with shaking hands. “She asked for lilies,” he said flatly. “They don’t allow flowers in Azkaban.”
She stole a bottle of Ogden’s from Snape’s stash, and they got spectacularly drunk. When Theo started crying, Pansy pretended not to notice, focusing instead on charming his tears into tiny silver snakes that slithered off the tower.
“Slytherins survive,” she said, clinking her glass against his.
Theo’s smile was a knife wound. “Do we?”
---
Slytherin’s boys dorm
The fire in the hearth spat embers onto the rug as Pansy watched Theo mess with the book he’d been pretending to read for an hour.
“He’s going to get caught,” She said, finally.
Theo turned a page. “Obviously.”
She threw a sugar quill at him. It bounced off his forehead.
“Ow.”
“You’re not even trying to be helpful.”
Theo sighed, snapping the book shut. “What do you want me to say, Pans? That Draco’s subtle? That the Dark Lord’s generous with second chances?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s got a Mark on his arm and a death wish in his eyes. We’re past helpful .”
Pansy leaned forward, her curls casting snake-like shadows on the wall. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get caught alone .”
Theo’s laugh was quiet, dark. “You’re terrifying.”
“I know.” She stole the book from his lap, flipping to a page on untraceable hexes. “But here’s the real trick—we make sure Draco thinks he’s being clever. Feed him just enough information to stay alive , not enough to get bold .”
Theo studied her. “You’ve done this before.”
Pansy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Slytherins survive, Theo. Even the stupid ones.”
Outside, the Black Lake groaned against the castle walls. Somewhere above them, Draco was pacing the Astronomy Tower, his Dark Mark burning under his sleeve.
Theo reached into his pocket and slid a folded map across the table—Carrow’s patrol routes, inked in his meticulous script.
Pansy tucked it into her sleeve.
---
The Manor
Bellatrix’s knife pointed at Potter’s disfigured face, “Is this little Potter?”
Pansy watched from the doorway, her nails carving crescents into her palms. Draco’s face was a mask, but his fingers twitched toward his wand.
Do something , she willed him. Anything.
“I can’t be sure,” Draco lied, his voice hollow.
Potter’s eyes flickered— thank you —and Pansy exhaled.
---
The Great Hall
“Grab Potter!” Pansy screamed, her voice echoing off the enchanted ceiling. “Give him to the Dark Lord!”
Her shoe digging into Draco’s, her whisper frantic: “Make them hate us. Make them run.”
She met Granger’s horrified gaze and winked.
The Carrows applauded.
---
After
For a year, the world didn’t knew her last act was saving a Muggle-born’s life.
But Draco did.
And Theo.
And Granger, who plants black dahlias on a grave with no body.
When Draco’s journal gets published, Pansy was secretly, secretly glad.
Slytherins survive. Even when they shouldn’t.