He shoved the sliding door into his little room open frantically, revealing Pansy sitting on his bed with what looked like the bottle of firewhiskey he'd hidden in his mattress – and okay, maybe the rip hadn't been there to begin with, but a mattress was such a good hiding place, and it was a very old, scummy mattress, really. It wasn't like a rip would matter. Draco had known no one would find it there; none of them were sneaky enough. But Pansy was a Slytherin, and she knew him well. Or she had, what seemed like a very long time ago.