Pansy was in a terrible mood—no, a disastrous one. Malfoy had tricked her into thinking he was going on a date with other girls, and one of them happened to be the Mudblood she despised most.
Her anger was so intense that she didn't even feel like attending the Halloween feast. Instead, she sat sulking in the Slytherin girls' dormitory, fiddling with a quill pen at the wooden table. By the time she realized it, she had nearly stripped all the feathers off the poor thing.
"Knock, knock, knock."
A series of urgent knocks sounded on the door.
"I won't accept an apology that easily," Pansy muttered under her breath. Still, she stood up reluctantly, smoothing her robes and schooling her resentful expression into an icy mask.
"This time it's a matter of principle," she reminded herself. "He won't fool me so easily."
In just a few seconds, dozens of thoughts raced through her mind. She seemed to have completely forgotten that boys couldn't enter the girls' dormitory in the first place.
When she opened the door, however, she was met not with a familiar pale face, but a pair of large front teeth.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Pansy's disappointment turned to disdain the moment she saw who it was. The apology she'd expected didn't come—instead, she stood face to face with the Mudblood she loathed most.
Her expression turned frostier. "Mud—"
But Hermione cut her off before she could finish the word.
"Dra—Draco went to fight a troll alone—to find you."
Hermione's face was flushed from running, her breathing uneven and anxious. She looked as if she had sprinted across half the castle.
"What does that have to do with me?" Pansy tried to sound cold, though a flicker of surprise flashed across her eyes.
"That's a troll!" Hermione exclaimed, gesturing with her hands. "Huge, violent, and incredibly stupid—but strong enough to crush stone! First-years can't handle that! I noticed you weren't at the feast, and Draco didn't look well either. Then Professor Quirrell burst in, saying a troll was in the castle. The moment he said that, Malfoy's face changed—and he rushed out."
"How do you know he went to find me?" Pansy's tone faltered. Her heart gave a small jolt, and though she tried to keep her expression calm, she had already believed Hermione eighty percent.
"You!" Hermione snapped, nearly speechless with frustration. "If not for you, who else would he risk himself for? His two dimwitted sidekicks?"
"I'm going to find Professor McGonagall," Hermione said sharply, clearly fed up with Pansy's attitude. "You can wait here."
With that, she spun on her heel and strode toward the door.
"Maybe he just wants to show off," Pansy muttered weakly, her voice trembling. But her legs were already moving before she could stop herself. She followed Hermione down the corridor.
"This is humiliating," she thought bitterly. "I'll make sure Malfoy pays for this later."
Still, as worry gnawed at her, a small, unbidden sweetness rose within. "He really risked that much for me," she admitted silently. "If he's safe, maybe I'll forgive him… just this once."
The rest unfolded naturally. Hermione found Professor McGonagall and quickly explained everything. She was calm, logical, and precise, even in the face of danger—typical Hermione.
Pansy, on the other hand, found herself swept away by the panic around her. As they hurried through the corridors, every echo, every distant scream seemed to tighten her chest.
What if Malfoy had already—no, she couldn't think about that.
The image of a troll's club smashing down on his pale blond head made her eyes sting. Before she realized it, tears blurred her vision.
By the time they reached the scene, she could barely speak, and Professor McGonagall had to comfort her for several minutes before she regained composure.
Then, finally—there he was.
Draco Malfoy. Alive. Whole. Breathing.
And to Pansy's utter disbelief, standing beside another girl.
A girl with long hair, delicate features—and, infuriatingly, a better figure than hers.
All that worry, all that fear, all those tears—and for what? For him to flirt with another girl right after nearly dying?
Her relief evaporated like mist, replaced instantly by pure fury.
"Thank you for your help," said Emima politely to Malfoy. She seemed to sense the heavy tension between the two Slytherins and quickly excused herself, hurrying away down the corridor.
An awkward silence fell.
Malfoy, after a moment of sharp analysis, decided the best defense was a good offense. He stepped closer and reached out to pat Pansy's head.
"It's good that you're okay," he said gently.
Pansy froze, staring up at him.
After years of friendship, Malfoy had already learned to read her moods. Despite her sharp tongue, she was hopelessly transparent. A typical tsundere—quick to anger, quick to soften.
Hermione, by contrast, was another type entirely—proud, perfectionistic, and intolerant of doubt, especially in areas where she excelled. Her early conflicts with Harry and Ron had proven that well enough.
But right now, all that mattered was Pansy—flushed, indignant, and struggling between relief and rage.
"I… I haven't forgiven you yet," she muttered softly. "Let go of me."
The situation had flipped entirely. She had come to save him, yet here she was, being comforted like a child. That wouldn't do.
She decided to give him a little lesson.
Without warning, she leaned forward and bit his shoulder.
"Hiss—!" Malfoy gasped in pain, instantly letting go.
"This bite is your punishment," Pansy declared, lifting her chin with mock pride. "But I'll spare you—for risking yourself for me."
Malfoy rubbed his shoulder, wincing. "I'm starting to think you have an Animagus talent. If you ever transform, you'll definitely turn into a dog."
"Say that again," Pansy hissed, glaring daggers at him.
"Okay, okay," he said quickly, hands raised in surrender. "I take it back."
"The smell here's awful. Let's head back to the dining hall," Malfoy added after a pause.
Pansy gave a curt nod.
The troll incident, at last, had come to an end.
But Malfoy's troubles weren't over yet.
Back in the Great Hall, Pansy unleashed an endless string of questions, demands, and complaints. Forgiving him didn't mean she'd stop interrogating him.
By the end of the feast, Malfoy was completely drained.
Too much had happened in a single night—fear, confusion, near-death, and Pansy's temper all rolled into one exhausting blur.
When he finally returned to the Slytherin dormitory, he collapsed onto his bed, muttering to himself before sleep claimed him.
"Being with a tsundere is exhausting…"
Meanwhile, in another corner of the castle, Hermione was recounting the entire event to Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Her explanation was methodical and precise, though her irritation over Pansy's earlier behavior still lingered.
"She didn't even seem worried at first," Hermione said indignantly. "She was acting as if it were all about her pride!"
Professor McGonagall, though strict, gave a small sigh. "Not everyone expresses worry the same way, Miss Granger."
Snape, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. "Malfoy's impulsiveness is typical of his bloodline," he said coldly. "But the fact that he went after a troll… that's either foolish or brave."
"Or both," McGonagall added quietly.
Back in the Slytherin common room, Pansy sat in front of the dying embers of the fire. The flickering light cast soft shadows across her face.
She wouldn't admit it out loud, but the sight of Malfoy safe and sound had lifted an invisible weight from her heart.
Still… the image of him standing beside Emima burned stubbornly in her mind.
"Of all people…" she muttered, pouting. "He just had to be with her."
Her hand absentmindedly went to her mouth, touching the spot where she'd bitten him. A faint, secret smile tugged at her lips.
"He deserved it," she told herself. "That's what he gets for making me worry."
But even as she said it, she knew she'd already forgiven him.
Malfoy woke the next morning with a sore shoulder and a splitting headache.
The first thing he saw was Blaise Zabini smirking from the next bed.
"Rough night?" Blaise asked casually.
"You have no idea," Malfoy groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Word is, you went after a troll," Blaise continued, clearly enjoying himself. "And that you did it because of Pansy."
"That's ridiculous," Malfoy said quickly. "I just—wanted to help."
Blaise laughed. "Sure you did."
Malfoy turned over, pretending to sleep, but couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to last night—Hermione's panicked face, the stench of the troll, Pansy's trembling voice.
And, of course, the bite mark still throbbing faintly on his shoulder.
He sighed. "Tsundere really is tiring."
Yet, despite himself, a faint smile crept across his face.
Later that day, rumors about the troll incident spread throughout Hogwarts.
Some said it had wandered into the girls' bathroom; others whispered it was all part of a secret Defense Against the Dark Arts test. A few claimed Harry Potter had been involved somehow, but the details grew wilder with every retelling.
Only a handful of people knew the truth—and two of them, at least, preferred not to talk about it.
For Pansy, it was an unforgettable night. For Malfoy, a bruising but enlightening experience. And for Hermione, yet another reminder that bravery often came in the most unexpected forms.
But if anyone asked Pansy what she'd learned from it all, she'd cross her arms, toss her hair, and say coldly, "Nothing at all."
Then, as she walked away, she'd smile just a little—where no one could see.
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