Moving Again
Date: January 15, 2001
Time: Early afternoon
Location: Pansy's flat, to Spinner's End
Character(s) Involved: Pansy Parkinson, Perry Derrick, any other SE resident who feels like getting in on the party
Complete or incomplete: Incomplete
Leaving the flat hadn't been difficult, exactly. More just... strange.
In her mind, the flat had never been entirely hers. Pansy had never paid a penny towards its cost or upkeep; she hadn't chosen the furniture or the paint colours or the view. It was a place she had lived, and the great memories merged with the bittersweet and the ugly into a kaleidoscope of the last two years as she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and picked up the box with Aubrey inside and took one last look from the front door, across the sofas and the desk, out onto the quays.
She could see herself, hideously young, sitting at the desk and weeping tears of sheer frustration over a copy of the Prophet before she incinerated it with a swish of her wand. She could see herself on John's knee, his chin on her shoulder, wrapped in a blanket and watching the sun rise around the buildings opposite. She saw rows and fights and screaming and shouting; shattered cups and plates and once, a mirror. She saw herself and Perry, more vividly, on the chairs, on the couch, on the bed, at the table. Hundreds of different memories to close the door on; hundreds of days in the life of somebody else.
Pansy sighed and turned, shutting the door and disapparating from her door step, not caring who saw her now. All of the magic of this place was over.
She just wanted to get into the Spinner's End, through to the back of the house, or whatever room they were going to be using and avoid running in to anyone else on the way.
Now was not the time for chit-chat.
Time: Early afternoon
Location: Pansy's flat, to Spinner's End
Character(s) Involved: Pansy Parkinson, Perry Derrick, any other SE resident who feels like getting in on the party
Complete or incomplete: Incomplete
Leaving the flat hadn't been difficult, exactly. More just... strange.
In her mind, the flat had never been entirely hers. Pansy had never paid a penny towards its cost or upkeep; she hadn't chosen the furniture or the paint colours or the view. It was a place she had lived, and the great memories merged with the bittersweet and the ugly into a kaleidoscope of the last two years as she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and picked up the box with Aubrey inside and took one last look from the front door, across the sofas and the desk, out onto the quays.
She could see herself, hideously young, sitting at the desk and weeping tears of sheer frustration over a copy of the Prophet before she incinerated it with a swish of her wand. She could see herself on John's knee, his chin on her shoulder, wrapped in a blanket and watching the sun rise around the buildings opposite. She saw rows and fights and screaming and shouting; shattered cups and plates and once, a mirror. She saw herself and Perry, more vividly, on the chairs, on the couch, on the bed, at the table. Hundreds of different memories to close the door on; hundreds of days in the life of somebody else.
Pansy sighed and turned, shutting the door and disapparating from her door step, not caring who saw her now. All of the magic of this place was over.
She just wanted to get into the Spinner's End, through to the back of the house, or whatever room they were going to be using and avoid running in to anyone else on the way.
Now was not the time for chit-chat.