FIC for: mandy_jg
Title: The Interview
Recipient: mandy_jg
Fic or Art: Fic
Rating: PG (just to be safe)
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Fred Weasley (also Dean Thomas and Verity)
Warnings: none
Summary: Pansy applies for a job at...Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
Notes: Written for mandy_jg who asked for Pansy, Fred or Dean, post-war. Sorry for the tame rating. I hope this is (at least partly) what you were looking for, dear. I had fun getting to know Pansy for this.
Pansy folded her copy of The Prophet neatly so the advert for shop help was at the top center. She smiled bitterly. Her parents would surely disinherit her for even entertaining the notion of applying for that post.
If there was anything left from which to disinherit her.
And if her parents hadn't killed each other after the Ministry seized all their property.
Checking her appearance in the cheap mirror tacked to the wall, Pansy gave her reflection a small nod of approval. Her robes were three years old, but barely showed the wear. Her hair, cut short for ease in styling, fell from a center part to curl slightly just above the collar of her robes. Her makeup was minimal and subtle-an effect that once she would have achieved with a wave of her wand. Now, with the Ministry scrutinizing her every move, she couldn't afford to use magic for something as frivolous as a Cosmetic Charm.
Pansy slipped the newspaper into her handbag along with her resumé scroll. A short walk brought her from her tiny flat to the Underground station, crowded at this time of day. Since her Apparition license had been revoked, and her Sickles weren't good enough for the Knight Bus, she had been forced to use Muggle public transit. She was beyond tired of living on the fringes of the magical world. She should have been Draco's wife, protected and surrounded by the best the Malfoy family fortunes could buy, but the Malfoy vaults had been emptied by the same Ministry decree that declared the Parkinson holdings forfeit. And Draco, her golden boy, her guarantee of security, was nothing but a broken shell in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's.
However, she was a practical girl. Slytherins had few rules, the first and foremost of which was survive. With no money, no home and no prospects (no matter that she'd earned a respectable six NEWTs, she couldn't even get a job as a tea girl at the Ministry), Pansy had made her home and living amongst Muggles. Eventually. The first few months on her own, she'd teetered on the brink of starvation. She'd adapted and learned, acquired new skills and found new uses for old ones. Guile and treachery were universal, as were flattery and discretion. Though her former classmates might not recognize the new Pansy, her changes were mostly superficial, like a snake shedding an outgrown skin. She still believed that those who could do magic were superior to those who could not, but that knowledge was no use to her when she was forced to live like a squib. Power existed to be used-another principle that guided Slytherin ambition-and Pansy's magic crawled under her skin, searching for a way out.
So now she was making her way to Diagon Alley to apply for a post as a shopgirl. It should have been the last slip-and-fall into complete disgrace. Instead, it would be her salvation. If she managed to land the job. Fiercely, she banished the momentary self-doubt as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Of course they would hire her. She was Pansy Parkinson. She had ruled as the undisputed queen of Slytherin house from her fourth year on. Selling trick sweets and fake wands to snot-nosed brats would be a piece of cake. Convincing those Weasley twits to give her the job would be even easier.
* * *
Fred Weasley sighed and shuffled parchment scrolls around on the desk, looking for his quill. George hadn't recorded any of the invoices in a week. These black moods of his were getting out of hand again. Not that Fred blamed his twin in any way. Having given parents, brothers, friends and an eye to the cause, George had more right than most to find solace in the bottom of a bottle of Firewhisky. He always was the more sensitive of the pair of them. But dammit! They had a business to run. The joke shop was never designed to be a one-man enterprise. And now, Verity was quitting to get married. She'd offered to come back after her honeymoon, but Fred had declined, telling her to get on with the task of breeding new customers. Ginny could fill in until he could line up a suitable replacement.
“Mr. Weasley?” Verity stuck her head in. “There's another applicant here. Shall I send her back?”
“Yes, thank you, Verity.” Fred set aside the paperwork with no small amount of relief. He was pants at all that stuff anyway. He needed some time to tinker and experiment. Maybe he could get Hermione to look over the books this weekend.
“Right through the curtain there, mum,” he heard Verity say and he rose to his feet to greet his potential employee.
The petite brunette entered the storeroom/office, coolly assessing her surroundings. Fred could see that she was trying to exude an air of confidence. It was a valiant effort if one didn't notice the toes of her well-worn shoes peeping out from the hem of her robes. This was a girl down on her luck, make no mistake.
“Mr. Weasley? Pansy Parkinson.” Her tone held a hint of a challenge as she stuck her hand out.
“Miss Parkinson,” he returned evenly, shaking her hand. She had a businesslike grip. “Have a seat, won't you?” He indicated a straight-backed chair next to the desk.
She settled herself and pulled a scroll from her handbag. “My resumé and references,” she said.
Fred took the scroll and glanced over it, noting that all her work experience was in Muggle London. “Why don't you start by telling me why you want to work here?”
“I believe I can be a valuable asset to your team. As you can see,” she nodded at the scroll, “I have a wide range of sales experience. At my current post, I've brought in top sales for the past six months.”
“Impressive, but that doesn't tell me why you want to work here. Forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe that working in a joke shop is your life's ambition.” He watched the subtle play of emotion on her face as he tried to figure out why he should know her name.
“Everyone has to work somewhere, Mr. Weasley,” she said with a small shrug.
“And you've been working for Muggles. I doubt the pay here can compete with what you've been earning as top salesperson.”
“Money isn't everything. As you say, I've been working for Muggles. I would much rather be in a magical environment.”
He opened his mouth to question her further, but Verity interrupted.
“Mr. Weasley, I'm so sorry, but Mr. Thomas is here with the designs for the new catalogue. I told him you were busy, but he says he's on his way to another appointment.”
“That's all right, Verity, send him back. I'm sorry, Miss Parkinson, this will only take a moment.”
“No, I can see I'm wasting your time and mine here. Good day.” She turned to make her escape, but Dean Thomas stood in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Sorry, Fred,” he apologized with a grin. “I don't have more than a few minutes, but I wanted to get your first impression on these.” He turned to Pansy and gave her a curious look. “Pansy Parkinson? It's been a long time.” He clearly wanted to ask what she was doing there, but good manners prevailed.
“Do you two know each other?”
“Oh, I wouldn't go that far,” Dean replied. “Pansy and I were in the same year at school. We had Potions together.
“Yes,” Pansy gritted. “You two have business to discuss. If you'll excuse me...”
“Miss Parkinson, wait just a moment,” Fred halted her. He'd decided to hire her almost as soon as she'd walked in. His questions had been more for his own entertainment than anything. “If you still want the post, you can have a two-week trial period starting Monday. I don't suppose you know anything about accounting?”
“No, I...” She broke off, flustered for the first time since she walked in. A hungry look flashed in her eyes. She wanted the job desperately, for reasons that weren't entirely clear to Fred. “That is, yes, I can be here Monday morning. I'm afraid I don't know anything about accounting, but I'm a fair hand at maths.”
“Well, we'll see how the next two weeks go. If things work out, we could send you for a goblin course at Gringott's.”
“All right. I'll see you Monday at...eight?”
“Better make it half-seven. We'll work out the rest of your schedule then. Welcome aboard, Pansy.”
Recipient: mandy_jg
Fic or Art: Fic
Rating: PG (just to be safe)
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Fred Weasley (also Dean Thomas and Verity)
Warnings: none
Summary: Pansy applies for a job at...Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
Notes: Written for mandy_jg who asked for Pansy, Fred or Dean, post-war. Sorry for the tame rating. I hope this is (at least partly) what you were looking for, dear. I had fun getting to know Pansy for this.
Pansy folded her copy of The Prophet neatly so the advert for shop help was at the top center. She smiled bitterly. Her parents would surely disinherit her for even entertaining the notion of applying for that post.
If there was anything left from which to disinherit her.
And if her parents hadn't killed each other after the Ministry seized all their property.
Checking her appearance in the cheap mirror tacked to the wall, Pansy gave her reflection a small nod of approval. Her robes were three years old, but barely showed the wear. Her hair, cut short for ease in styling, fell from a center part to curl slightly just above the collar of her robes. Her makeup was minimal and subtle-an effect that once she would have achieved with a wave of her wand. Now, with the Ministry scrutinizing her every move, she couldn't afford to use magic for something as frivolous as a Cosmetic Charm.
Pansy slipped the newspaper into her handbag along with her resumé scroll. A short walk brought her from her tiny flat to the Underground station, crowded at this time of day. Since her Apparition license had been revoked, and her Sickles weren't good enough for the Knight Bus, she had been forced to use Muggle public transit. She was beyond tired of living on the fringes of the magical world. She should have been Draco's wife, protected and surrounded by the best the Malfoy family fortunes could buy, but the Malfoy vaults had been emptied by the same Ministry decree that declared the Parkinson holdings forfeit. And Draco, her golden boy, her guarantee of security, was nothing but a broken shell in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's.
However, she was a practical girl. Slytherins had few rules, the first and foremost of which was survive. With no money, no home and no prospects (no matter that she'd earned a respectable six NEWTs, she couldn't even get a job as a tea girl at the Ministry), Pansy had made her home and living amongst Muggles. Eventually. The first few months on her own, she'd teetered on the brink of starvation. She'd adapted and learned, acquired new skills and found new uses for old ones. Guile and treachery were universal, as were flattery and discretion. Though her former classmates might not recognize the new Pansy, her changes were mostly superficial, like a snake shedding an outgrown skin. She still believed that those who could do magic were superior to those who could not, but that knowledge was no use to her when she was forced to live like a squib. Power existed to be used-another principle that guided Slytherin ambition-and Pansy's magic crawled under her skin, searching for a way out.
So now she was making her way to Diagon Alley to apply for a post as a shopgirl. It should have been the last slip-and-fall into complete disgrace. Instead, it would be her salvation. If she managed to land the job. Fiercely, she banished the momentary self-doubt as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Of course they would hire her. She was Pansy Parkinson. She had ruled as the undisputed queen of Slytherin house from her fourth year on. Selling trick sweets and fake wands to snot-nosed brats would be a piece of cake. Convincing those Weasley twits to give her the job would be even easier.
* * *
Fred Weasley sighed and shuffled parchment scrolls around on the desk, looking for his quill. George hadn't recorded any of the invoices in a week. These black moods of his were getting out of hand again. Not that Fred blamed his twin in any way. Having given parents, brothers, friends and an eye to the cause, George had more right than most to find solace in the bottom of a bottle of Firewhisky. He always was the more sensitive of the pair of them. But dammit! They had a business to run. The joke shop was never designed to be a one-man enterprise. And now, Verity was quitting to get married. She'd offered to come back after her honeymoon, but Fred had declined, telling her to get on with the task of breeding new customers. Ginny could fill in until he could line up a suitable replacement.
“Mr. Weasley?” Verity stuck her head in. “There's another applicant here. Shall I send her back?”
“Yes, thank you, Verity.” Fred set aside the paperwork with no small amount of relief. He was pants at all that stuff anyway. He needed some time to tinker and experiment. Maybe he could get Hermione to look over the books this weekend.
“Right through the curtain there, mum,” he heard Verity say and he rose to his feet to greet his potential employee.
The petite brunette entered the storeroom/office, coolly assessing her surroundings. Fred could see that she was trying to exude an air of confidence. It was a valiant effort if one didn't notice the toes of her well-worn shoes peeping out from the hem of her robes. This was a girl down on her luck, make no mistake.
“Mr. Weasley? Pansy Parkinson.” Her tone held a hint of a challenge as she stuck her hand out.
“Miss Parkinson,” he returned evenly, shaking her hand. She had a businesslike grip. “Have a seat, won't you?” He indicated a straight-backed chair next to the desk.
She settled herself and pulled a scroll from her handbag. “My resumé and references,” she said.
Fred took the scroll and glanced over it, noting that all her work experience was in Muggle London. “Why don't you start by telling me why you want to work here?”
“I believe I can be a valuable asset to your team. As you can see,” she nodded at the scroll, “I have a wide range of sales experience. At my current post, I've brought in top sales for the past six months.”
“Impressive, but that doesn't tell me why you want to work here. Forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe that working in a joke shop is your life's ambition.” He watched the subtle play of emotion on her face as he tried to figure out why he should know her name.
“Everyone has to work somewhere, Mr. Weasley,” she said with a small shrug.
“And you've been working for Muggles. I doubt the pay here can compete with what you've been earning as top salesperson.”
“Money isn't everything. As you say, I've been working for Muggles. I would much rather be in a magical environment.”
He opened his mouth to question her further, but Verity interrupted.
“Mr. Weasley, I'm so sorry, but Mr. Thomas is here with the designs for the new catalogue. I told him you were busy, but he says he's on his way to another appointment.”
“That's all right, Verity, send him back. I'm sorry, Miss Parkinson, this will only take a moment.”
“No, I can see I'm wasting your time and mine here. Good day.” She turned to make her escape, but Dean Thomas stood in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Sorry, Fred,” he apologized with a grin. “I don't have more than a few minutes, but I wanted to get your first impression on these.” He turned to Pansy and gave her a curious look. “Pansy Parkinson? It's been a long time.” He clearly wanted to ask what she was doing there, but good manners prevailed.
“Do you two know each other?”
“Oh, I wouldn't go that far,” Dean replied. “Pansy and I were in the same year at school. We had Potions together.
“Yes,” Pansy gritted. “You two have business to discuss. If you'll excuse me...”
“Miss Parkinson, wait just a moment,” Fred halted her. He'd decided to hire her almost as soon as she'd walked in. His questions had been more for his own entertainment than anything. “If you still want the post, you can have a two-week trial period starting Monday. I don't suppose you know anything about accounting?”
“No, I...” She broke off, flustered for the first time since she walked in. A hungry look flashed in her eyes. She wanted the job desperately, for reasons that weren't entirely clear to Fred. “That is, yes, I can be here Monday morning. I'm afraid I don't know anything about accounting, but I'm a fair hand at maths.”
“Well, we'll see how the next two weeks go. If things work out, we could send you for a goblin course at Gringott's.”
“All right. I'll see you Monday at...eight?”
“Better make it half-seven. We'll work out the rest of your schedule then. Welcome aboard, Pansy.”