Draco Malfoy has known Pansy Parkinson since both of them were little. She catches what others miss, too subtle to notice in the grand scheme of things. She’s cold, conniving, and vicious. Like Draco Malfoy considers his father, she considers her mother; like parent, like child. This is what needs to happen in order to stay alive. Everything Purebloods do is a defense mechanism.

So she notices because of course she notices. She notices because she’s been raised to. She notices before Draco Malfoy does, that his love starts with part pity and part admiration, neither of which stand very solid on their own, but both of which exist.

Draco admires Harry standing up to Umbridge, both subtly and more outright. He finds Harry’s gaunt frame and isolation, self-destructive tendencies… worrying, despite his teasing.

And she knows that crushes, however small, however unrealized, are dangerous. This is the battlefield of an up and coming war.

Like Harry believes: There is no room here for love.

“You need to stop your obsession with Potter,” she states later that evening, before he and Harry’s detention. She refrains from saying Harry’s full name, as if using both words might somehow summon him, or summon Draci’s wrath. Keep him calm. Keep it easy. And keep this conversation going, those are Pansy’s main goals.

Draco raises a manicured eyebrow, looking up from his sheet of notes. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he drawls. Playing the fool. Of course.

“Denial’s a sweet friend,” says Pansy, crossing her arms. “But let’s not indulge her today, okay? What you have with Potter is dangerous.”

Draco sighs, placing his notes aside and giving Pansy his full attention. “It’s a rivalry, Pansy, it’s not the Holocaust.”

“Enough with the Holocaust jokes. They’re not funny.” Potter was right about one thing, at least.

Draco stares at her, offended. “They’re hilarious. ”

Pansy sighs. “Does it matter?”

Evidently, it does. “To insult a man’s sense of humor is to insult his dignity.”

“Funny,” remarks Pansy. “Wasn’t aware you had any.”

“I have plenty! ”

“Enough,” says Pansy, blandly. “I don’t care. It’s more complicated than a simple rivalry, and you and I both know it.”

“I don’t know shit, or so you might imply.”

“Stop insulting yourself. You’re beating me to it.”

“You’re the worst.”

“ No,” snaps Pansy. “ Potter’s the worst, but you have to leave him alone.”

“Why?” asks Draco, angrily.“Are we suddenly Potterheads? Little fan club followers of the Gold Boy?”

And Pansy wants to snap Like you’re one to talk, because before Harry rejected his handshake, Draco couldn’t shut up about the adored Boy Who Lived. Even now, he still can’t. But Pansy doesn’t say that, because she’s filibustered enough at this point, and knows when to shut her mouth. These are the things she's learned.

“What if he tells everyone about your father?” she says.

Draco’s mirth dies down. He pauses. “He said he wouldn’t.”

“As long as we let him sit at our table,” reminds Pansy. “Which we can’t do.”

“Why not?” asks Draco. “It’s the perfect opportunity to torment him.”

And the perfect opportunity to endear yourself to him, but we won’t talk about that. We can’t. “What if one day, he breaks the deal? What if you torment him a little too much, a little too often, and he snaps?”

“What do you want me to do?” snarls Draco.

Pansy does not respond to his anger. She stands, arms crossed over his chest, calmly. She will not be intimidated. She knows Draco better than he knows himself and for the good of the people, for the good of themselves, their people… this has to be done.

“Don’t talk to him,” says Pansy, simply. “Don’t tease him, don’t gossip about him. Keep your mouth shut and your head low and, please -- not more defending them in class.”

“I wasn’t defending him,” starts Draco.

“Professor Umbridge thought you were.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a ball of twat.”

Pansy grabs him by the arm roughly. “ Draco, ” she hisses. “You can’t say that.”

Draco tears his arm away, scowling. “And why not? It’s true, ain’t it?”

Privately, Pansy agrees. She thinks anyone that sticks up to her and her nonsense gets a gold star in her book, and at this rate, the whole lot of them are destined to fail their OWLS. But she also knows this Umbridge is not any ordinary teacher. And she thinks Potter would comply if he knew what’s good for him. “It doesn’t matter,” says Pansy. “It doesn’t matter if you think she’s the worst teacher we’ve ever had. Keep your head down and keep your head.”

“I don’t respect her,” says Draco, sticking his nose up at her. “And she very obviously doesn’t respect me.”

Pansy huffs. “She would adore you, if only you’d kept your mouth shut. She’s very much on our side, Draco, and the Ministry is a powerful ally to have.”

“She’s not on my side,” Draco insists.

Pansy glares at him. “You’re not listening to me. It is vital we stay on her good side, do you understand?”

Draco hums for a moment. “No,” he says.

Pansy resists the urge to growl, childishly. She rubs her fingers to her temple, easing away a headache. Bless his heart, draco is such a spoiled little brat sometimes. “You are a child, and you will suffer for your insolence.”

Draco rolls his eyes, returning to his notes. He opens his textbook up and begins flipping through it, not looking down at it as he does. “Oh, come on. I’ve already got detention. I don't need you digging into my side, too.”

Pansy thinks that Dolores Umbridge is a woman very much like herself, like Pansy’s mother. Brutal and vile and not an easy enemy to have. “After your detention, wait until Potter leaves, and apologize to her. Profusely, and with all the proper titles of respect.”

“I mean, it’s just detention,” laughs Draco. “What’s she going to do? Make me write lines?”