Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.
"God! How dare she! How dare she! That little mudblood-lover that she is, and a Weasley! Insult me, me, Pansy Parkison of all people!" Pansy stormed in the half-empty Slytherin common room, pacing in front of the armchair where the sixteen-year-old Malfoy heir was lounged, his feet over one arm and his elbows propped on the other. To anyone else, he was simply relaxing comfortably while looking divine, but anyone who knew him at all could see it was all posed.
"And what am I supposed to do about it?" he said slightly aggravated at her rant. After all, it wasn't his problem that the Weasley twit was coming up with half-decent insults directed at Pansy.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to make her hate doing this to me, and I'll tell you exactly how."
"Pansy…" he sighed. The little runt of the Weasley litter seemed to have inherited some immunity to all the little ways they tried to make her life hell.
"You're going to make her fall for you," she said with such finality to it that was rarely heard even in the Slytherin halls. He sat up sharply, nearly tousling his hair. Nearly.
"What?!" Even to him it sounded shrill.
"You're going to make her fall in love with you, Draco." He gave her a look that said exactly what he was thinking. 'And why am I going to do this. It is, in any case, your problem.' "You're desperate to get back at the wonder trio. You're father's trying to worm his way out of Azkaban because of them, and what better revenge that taking from them something they don't even realize they have." She was leaning over him, a hand on each arm of the chair as she watched the wheels working behind his eyes. "And if they try to talk her out of it once you've got her."
"They'll get the backlash we usually get," he said with a smirk. Even just imagining Potter getting slapped in the face by someone he cared about was enough to give him great pleasure.
"You know you can do it, Draco. So what do you say?" she said with that sinister twinkle in her eyes that said better than anything the Sorting Hat could that she was Slytherin to the core. The same twinkle Draco's eyes had right now.
She drew back and held out her hand as some kind of bond signifying trust that was only for show. He stood up and shook her delicate hand, a delicate hand that could bring a knife through your back, or better yet, your heart. Like Draco, her bark was never worse than her bite.
He started to walk away, up to the sixth year boys' dormitories.
"Draco," she called after him. A slight turn of his head was the only recognition she got. "How can I trust you'll pull through?"
He turned to face her, a smug look plastered all over his face. "You can't," and he turned to continue walking up the stairs to his room.
He couldn't help but think to himself as he stripped down to his boxers to the soft snoring of Crabbe and Goyle, 'Weasley is in for a big surprise.'