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Current music:	Modest Mouse - Dashboard
Entry tags:	100songs, blood/fire, draco/pansy, fic

Fic: The Life Cycle of a Flower (Sprout, Flourish, Wilt)
title; The Life Cycle of a Flower (Sprout, Flourish, Wilt)
song; Natalie Umbruglia - Torn
author; sappholococcus
rating; soft R
pairings; Draco/Pansy
warnings; angst, implied het, song fic.
summary; I know what the caged dragon sings: give me space to spread my wings. The war against Voldemort was also a war on Draco's pride, and a test of his mettle in more ways than he'd imagined possible. In the fire of battle, old relationships either break or stand the test of time, and new ones are forged.
word count; 2240 (this chapter)
disclaimer; I am not JK Rowling, nor am I affiliated with her. I do not own the characters or the universe, I merely play in her world, and I make no money from it.
author's note; I blame this chapter entirely on lilydahlia for making my Draco!muse fall head over heels in love with her Pansy. I hope I did her justice.

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm he came around and he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry


It was the sheer life in Draco that Pansy loved most. He was never sad or confused, but driven by a sort of fiery energy; it was more than covering his sadness, the sadness simply wasn't there. His every move spoke of confidence, his mind was always racing behind his sharp silver eyes, and if he did have a little bit of an overblown ego, she thought it was deserved.

She didn't mind his cruel streak, because it was never directed at her. If not for Draco, she might not have hated Potter quite so much, except to fulfill the requisite House loyalty, but his hatred was all-encompassing and he had a reason for it. Multiple reasons, in fact, and there was very little he loved more than to expand on them.

It was Pansy that comforted him after every Quidditch match he lost, who stroked his hair and told him that he had done his best, reassured him that next time he would win. And she believed it, too; she was certain that he could accomplish anything if only he set his mind to it.

He had certainly conquered her heart well and thoroughly, without even trying.


.:.


The first time they kissed was in their fourth year, after the Yule Ball. Upon returning to the Common Room, where they would have to go separate ways -- though Pansy half-hoped that she'd be invited to share his bed, and her honour be damned -- Draco leaned in to press a soft, somewhat awkward kiss on her mouth.

He tasted like punch and something spicy, and before she knew what was happening, Pansy found herself deepening the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck to hold him in place, though he didn't seem very interested in going anywhere, and the moment seemed to stretch into forever.

When they broke apart, Draco's eyes were dark. Liquid, almost, as if the fire inside him was starting to melt his features with its heat. Pansy drowned in that smooth, coal grey, and went to bed with the wetness of it clinging to one part of her body in particular.


.:.


Well you couldn't be that man I adored
You don't seem to know seem to care what your heart is for
Well I don't know him anymore


They had only shagged three times when Draco started to ignore her.

(The first time was very short, but it was a relief, an outlet for the sexual tension that had built higher inside them each time Pansy's hands carded through his silky blond locks. It was at the beginning of the summer after their fifth year, Draco was going insane in the Manor now inhabited by only two people and Pansy had only just gotten the nerve to go to the local Apothecary and get a contraception potion. It hurt, like she had heard it would, but the look on Draco's face when he came was more than worth it.

The second time, they nearly got caught. Pansy had made Draco wait nearly a full month, putting herself into quarantine until her next period to ensure that the potion had worked and she had not gotten pregnant. When the last drop of red had spilled from her womb, he took her in the Manor's parlour, on the sofa, only a few hurried steps from the Floo. The third time, they managed to make it all the way up to Draco's bed, and that was the first time Pansy came.

She made a rather embarrassing sound of surprise when it happened, when the fire in Draco's touch had built up such an inferno that all the pressure had to go somewhere. Draco looked awestruck, and a little too pleased with himself, but that expression was later corrupted by Pansy's memory. When he stopped looking at her, started to pull away into a world that she knew nothing about, she saw his face twisted with disgust, his hands scrabbling to pull himself away from her as if she was a disgusting creature when all he had done was roll over and stretch out beside her.)

It's not you, he said. The oldest line in the book, and Pansy didn't believe it for a second. At least it wasn't followed by the horrible, corny it's me, but rather: I'm busy.

She thought he was seeing someone else; all the clues pointed to it. He spent an awful lot of time away from the Manor that summer, and when she asked Narcissa about it, all she said was I'm afraid I can't tell you that, dear.

So find someone else, her friends said. Millicent offered to beat him up. Daphne took her on long outings -- 'shopping', she said, though the only price she put on the boys they looked at was yet another tear in Pansy's already torn heart. Many of them were blond, many of them were slim, some of them even had eyes so pale they were almost silver, but not a single one of them compared to her Draco.

There was no fire in their eyes, only dumb lust. Each time she looked at them, Pansy felt her own energy dim, felt her insides freeze over a little bit more.


.:.


There's nothing where he used to lie
The conversation has run dry
That's what's goin' on


It was after the school year had started that it all came to a head. Draco had seemed alright at first, if distant, but his composure went steadily downhill. He was as flat as the boys Daphne had drooled over, anxious and unsure, all of his emotions running close to the surface. It pained Pansy to see it.

"Draco," she pleaded, the one time she managed to catch him alone and studying in the Slytherin Common Room, but he didn't look up from his parchment. His quill scratched feverishly at the scroll, a poor imitation of the purposeful drive he'd once had. "Draco, please look at me."

Draco's quill paused, but he stared steadfastly at the glistening ink scrawled in hasty cursive and barely even blinked. "I can't."

That stung Pansy to the core, despite the horrible numbness. Even though he was no longer hers, he still had the capability to hurt her more than anyone else. She might have hated him for it if she didn't love him so much. "Why?" she asked, her voice as transparent and useless as her defences. "At least tell me why."

The answer came in a monotone, dry and nearly a whisper, as if it was the parchment that had spoken. "I can't."

Pansy fled into the dormitory, afraid of the emotions coursing through her, terrified that if she stayed near him much longer she'd be submerged in them and ripped apart by the undertow.


.:.


Nothing's fine, I'm torn
I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see
The perfect sky is torn
You're a little late I'm already torn


She almost died that night. She was certain that it was the end, that with the disappearance of the man she loved the flame of life itself had been extinguished. But she was still there in the morning, broken and listless and still annoyingly alive.

She was still alive a week later when, purely by accident, she ran into Draco leaving the dungeons late at night. It was nearly curfew, and Pansy was returning from the library -- at this hour, it was filled only with Ravenclaws intent on their research and the occasional sign of the Mudblood, and she had taken sanctuary there while she pretended to care about her homework. She made to brush past him without meeting his eyes, but Draco stopped her with a hand on her arm.

It was the first time anyone had touched Pansy in weeks. She'd thought that if only he would touch her, she'd melt, but instead she froze, unable to move away and unwilling to let herself read anything into it.

Draco seemed to realise this, and he stepped closer. "Pans," he said softly, making her shiver uncomfortably. "Pans, let me explain."

"Why?" she found herself asking, echoing the last words she'd said to him. Everything now was why: why had he changed, why didn't he want her anymore, why wasn't she enough to keep the fire going when he couldn't, and why wasn't she even allowed to try?

"Because I want you to understand."

Pansy laughed bitterly. "Oh, I understand. It's not me, right? You're just busy."

She could feel Draco flinch, and immediately felt sorry. He hesitated, then took a step forward to stand beside her instead of behind. His grip on her arm tightened, and she closed her eyes as his body heat seeped through her clothes.

"I deserved that," Draco said dryly. It was as if he had read her mind. "But it's not what you think. I'm not seeing anyone else, Pans, I just..."

His voice dropped so low that Pansy had to strain to hear it. "It's all changed since Father went to Azkaban, you know that. The project I told you I was working on... it's not for school."

Comprehension dawned on Pansy like a splash of cold water. She wasn't stupid, she'd had enough experience with the way the Dark Lord manipulated families to know what he was going to say even before he said it. "I'm taking the Mark."


.:.


So I guess the fortune teller's right
I should have seen just what was there and not some Holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins and now
I don't care - I have no luck - I don't miss it all that much
There's just so many things


Their fourth time was hasty and desperate: You're going to die, Pansy had informed him, and he had replied I know. She'd made a little sound of distress and leapt at him, right there in the hallway.

You can't die. I'll die too.

You don't understand.

I'm scared for you, Draco, don't... look where your father ended up...

It'll be worse for him if I don't.

Run away. Run away from all this, but take me with you.

I can't.

Those two words were so final, just as final as they had been before, and they stopped the rest of Pansy's protests on the tip of her tongue. She didn't understand, perhaps she never entirely would, but the least she could do was make that horrible, morbid light fade from his eyes. She could rekindle the flame and melt it away, make him forget.

He didn't resist when she tugged him back into the dormitory, to his private prefect's room with its vestigial Silencing Charms, now necessary once more. He didn't fight when she stripped off his clothes, and kept his eyes open as long as he could, as per her request. When it was over, he didn't pull away, but wrapped himself around her and kept her warm all night long.

They were happy for a few months, at least when they were together. Pansy didn't press him for answers, and he didn't offer any, but he still wanted her, and that was enough. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his shoulders had started to slump, but the fire came back when she touched him.

It was enough.


.:.