The Wild Haired Girl//Pansmione College AU- Part 2
@slytheringirlsgang event: Slytherdor Ships
A/N: It’s literally taken me so long to finish this because I write like one sentence a day with all the studying and stress I have going on at the moment! I don’t know whether to keep uploading these here or to stick to AO3, so let me know whether you want to keep seeing these on Tumblr!
Also callout @fortesques I love u so much
It’s raining heavily when Pansy sees her for the second time.
Her head is still pounding from the alcohol that slid down her throat so easily at 3 am, with chants of encouragement from her friends.
Millicent and Draco didn’t seem to be aware that their encouragement wasn’t actually necessary; the taste of menthol tainted vodka sticking to her throat is the only thing that almost erases the memory of the sweet scent of jasmine that still lingers in her nose before she drifts to sleep at night.
It’s a very cloudy day, but the sun is still too fucking bright, making her squint behind her sunglasses as she takes a sip of her Americano, the taste of gin that she’d carelessly chucked in from her flask burning at the sides of her cheeks.
“Fuck.”
The rain starts suddenly, pouring down and drenching her within seconds, hair sticking to her face and her sunglasses now covered in droplets that now completely obstructed her vision.
“Fuck,” she mutters again, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head and rushing towards the nearest possible roof. The fucking cherry on top though, is stepping into a massive puddle and feeling the muddy water soak through her brand new white Adidas trainers and find its way inside her socks.
Finally sheltered under the roof of a nearby bookstore, she whips out her phone, swiping past the drunken group photo that graces her lockscreen and dialing the first number in her call log; the same number that permanently held the spot.
“Malfoy, bring me an umbrella.”
The voice on the other end of the phone is that of a hungover 20 year old man that had clearly just woken up.
“Good morning Draco, how are you today? Would you maybe consider being so kind as to bring me an umbrella?” the irritation and sarcasm in the voice of her best friend causes her to roll her eyes and sigh in frustration.
“I’m drenched."
"I’m asleep."
"You’re an ass, that’s what you are.”
“Goodnight, Parkinson.”
“Draco–” she groans at the dull sound of an ended call.
A frigid wind causes her to shiver and, with another groan, she opens the door to the bookstore, immediately colliding with a bent over figure and feeling the heat of her coffee trickle down her front.