A Lean and Hungry Look (Part 3/6)

[kerijane]

 

Chapter V

Pansy handed the stack of parchment to Ron Weasley with a frown.  She’d never been fond of the tall red head, and the years since Hogwarts had done nothing to lessen her contempt for him.  In fact, if entirely honest with herself, she despised him even more now, although she couldn’t say quite why.

It might have been the way he seemed to strut.  The arrogance in his body and face as he stood outside her door, looking as though he was hoping for someone to attack just so he could display his incredible dueling ability.  Or perhaps it was the obvious hatred pouring off of him whenever he was forced to talk to or simply be in her presence.  She began to wonder if someone did actually try to murder her on his watch if her wouldn’t intentionally pause, allowing time enough for a hasty Avada Kedavra before he stepped in.

It was almost funny.  She was expected to trust in these people, to know that they would protect her at great risk to themselves, even when they didn’t like or trust her.  Dawlish had earned her trust.  As had Longbottom, as much as it pained her to admit it.  Potter would protect her, she had no doubt, but it would be because of his own honor, because it was his job.  The others, she had less confidence in.  And then there was Granger.

Stupid bloody goody-two-shoes Granger.  Why the bushy haired beast of a woman held such a prominent spot in her thoughts as of late was both a mystery and a frustration.  Pansy was an accomplished liar, but she tried not to lie to herself all that often.  Granger had been so true to Gryffindor form, with her heroics.  It was as annoying as it was… hot.

Because therein lay the problem.  Granger was no longer buck-toothed and bushy haired, though it was more than that.  She’d always been an insufferable know-it-all, and Pansy seriously doubted that that had changed, but in the heat of the moment, before Granger had even known what she might face, she’d stormed in ready to do battle, entirely confident in her ability and Pansy had responded to that.  Viscerally.

“What exactly do you want me to do with these?”

The scathing voice penetrated Pansy’s ruminations.  Weasley was standing with her letters in his hand, looking as if they might spontaneously combust.  Idiot.

“As much as I’d love to give you all sorts of helpful suggestions,” she drawled in an oversweet voice, “they’re letters.  Dawlish directed that all my post is to go through the Ministry.”

“I’m not your bloody postman.”

“Actually, until someone either kills me or you dimwitted fools actually catch them, you are.”  Pansy turned and headed back into her rooms, slamming the door in Weasley’s indignant face.

“Stupid prat!” she hissed after the door was closed.  Sadly it didn’t make her feel any better.

Several hours later Pansy started at the sound of a knock on her door.  She’d been absorbed in her notebooks once again, the only thing that seemed to make the time pass.

“Who is it?” she questioned at the door.

“It’s Hannah.  I have some lunch for you.”

Pansy pulled the door open with a frown.  “I didn’t…”

“Yes, I know,” the blonde said with a stern look.  “You also didn’t eat any dinner last night or breakfast this morning.”  She set the tray down on the table, and turned to face Pansy.  “That will not continue.”

If Pansy hadn’t been so shocked she might have laughed at the stern look on Hannah’s face.  Instead all she could do was open and close her mouth several times.

Hannah retraced her steps and closed the door.  “Don’t make me force feed you.”

That threat seemed to snap Pansy out of her paralysis.  She smirked and raised a dark eyebrow.  “I’d love to see you try.”

Hannah raised her own in challenge, causing Pansy to beat a somewhat hasty retreat to the table and the veritable feast laid out upon it.

“That’s what I thought,” Hannah muttered to herself, taking the chair opposite Pansy.

“You don’t have to stay,” Pansy said quietly.  “I’ll eat.”  She really wanted to resent Hannah’s gesture, but found herself almost choked up by the kindness of it.  She hated feeling that weak.  It implied all sorts of failings in herself that she’d thought long dead and safely buried.  She couldn’t just brush Hannah off though.  The woman had nothing to gain, no reason whatsoever to be nice to her, to take an interest in Pansy’s well being, and yet she was constantly doing just that.

“Maybe I thought you might need the company.”  Hannah plucked a grape off the tray and popped it in her mouth.  “It’s been almost a week since you left this room.  And as much as I know you adore Ron out there,” she smiled at Pansy’s snort, “a little friendly conversation won’t kill you.”

Pansy laughed.  “Well I certainly hope you’ll be doing all the talking then.  I don’t think I’ve engaged in friendly conversation in quite some time, if ever.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”  There was a twinkle in Hannah’s blue eyes.  “So, shall it be the weather, the state of Wizarding affairs, or gossip?”

Pansy took another bite and looked toward the ceiling, pretending to consider the topics for a moment.  “Well, it has been raining steadily for the past three days, and last I checked other than someone trying to blow a hole in this fine establishment the Wizarding world was relatively quiet.”

“Gossip it is then.  Let’s see.”  Hannah leaned back in her chair, another few grapes disappearing quickly.  “Millicent Bulstrode finally turned up.  Seems she joined some kind of Muggle cult.  She’s a None?  I’m not sure I’ve got the term right.  Apparently it’s a group of women who all live together and swear off sex and good food.  I don’t particularly see the appeal, but Millicent was always an odd duck in my opinion.”

Pansy made a sound of agreement.  “The swearing off sex idea shouldn’t be too much of a problem, I’m not sure she’s actually had a shag in her life, but the good food surprises me.”

Hannah chuckled.  “I doubt Ron’s told you, but Fleur’s expecting again.”

“We don’t exactly chat.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?  He’s not been a joy to be around since Hermione broke off their engagement.”

Pansy leaned forward without realizing it.  “Granger broke things off?  I just assumed that…”

“She’d been dumped?  Merlin no.  Hermione found out that he’d been sleeping with one of the junior reporters at Daily Prophet.  It had been going on for months, and to make it even worse, the girl had been in turn using him for information.  Bad situation all around.”

“Granger’s better off,” Pansy said before she could stop herself.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, but agreed.  “I think so as well.  Unfortunately Ron realizes it too.  He’s been making a bit of a pest of himself trying to woo her back.  Needless to say, it hasn’t been at all successful.  Granted he’s also been seeing Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle on the side, so I’m not certain if he really wants Hermione back or if his mother is simply pressuring him.  Honestly I think Molly would trade Ron for Hermione if she was able.”

“Is she seeing anyone?”  Pansy couldn’t believe she’d just asked that question.  She immediately felt her cheeks heat and a slight nausea overtake her.  Where was a would be assassin when you needed one?

Hannah looked at Pansy sharply for several moments before finally answering.  “No one since Ron.  She hasn’t even seemed interested in my opinion.  Most nights she either works or has dinner with Neville or Harry and Ginny.”  Her blue eyes didn’t leave Pansy’s.  “And what about you?  Any romantic prospects?”

“No.  Of course not,” Pansy answered quickly.   “I’m actually feeling a bit tired though Hannah.”

The blonde was obviously not taken in by Pansy’s pitiful attempt to end the conversation, but she didn’t protest the abrupt dismissal.

“I will see you downstairs for dinner.”  The threat of or else was clear in her voice, as Hannah gathered the tray up and walked to the door.

***

Several hours later Pansy made her way downstairs, her sour-faced, red haired shadow unfortunately in tow.  He was no longer even pretending a cold politeness, and hadn’t deigned to speak to her.  Pansy released a small sigh of relief when the pub proved fairly empty.  She again chose a table in an out of the way corner.

Hannah caught her eye from behind the bar, and Pansy couldn’t help the self-depreciating smirk that lit her face at the blonde’s triumphant smile.  She hoped Hannah and Neville were planning on having children -- she seemed to have the mother hen persona down quite well.

Her dinner arrived moments later, almost as if had been waiting for Pansy instead of the other way around.  It probably had been, Pansy surmised.  Honestly, she hadn’t been babied this much, well ever.  She looked toward the bar yet again, wanting to send a questioning glance at the patroness, only to find her eyes caught by a lone figure entering.

For a moment Pansy was transported back a decade.  It could have been any ordinary day at Hogwarts as Hermione Granger struggled under the weight of an overloaded book bag.  The brunette tossed her cloak carelessly over a chair several tables away from Pansy, and immediately started pulling books, parchment, and quill out of her bag.  She distractedly gave an order to the young man who’d approached, already leafing through one of the open tomes.

Ten years ago Pansy would have said something snide to her fellow Slytherins about some people needing to get a life and moved on to far more important topics.  Now, the first thing that came to Pansy’s mind was admiration.  Although that thought was not one that she would have admitted readily, or even under torture.

Pansy also noted how tired Granger looked.  There were dark smudges under her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped and filled with tension.  Still, under that the woman was put together.  Pansy’s professional eye took in the nicely tailored skirt in a soft heather grey paired with a pale pink blouse.  The color suited Granger as much as Pansy would have predicted it would not have.  It added a nice touch of femininity, and complimented Granger’s pale complexion.

Pansy swallowed audibly and tore her gaze away.  What in Merlin’s name was she doing?  It was one thing to admit that she’d found Granger slightly attractive in a heated moment.  It was quite another to sit in the middle of the pub ogling her.  Pansy covertly looked around, making sure that no one had witnessed her momentary lapse, and met the furious gaze of her erstwhile protector.

Pansy had never seen confusion, disbelief, and rage melded together on one face before.  Weasley’s eyes were solely focused on her, and Pansy fought the urge to look away.  She’d be damned if she let him of all people stare her down.  Instead she felt her own spine straighten and a devious idea formulate in her head.

Without taking time to ascertain if this was an overly bright course of action, she pushed back from the table and crossed the small distance to where Granger sat.  Weasley had been stupid enough to lose the brunette, maybe it was time he felt the full significance of his poor life choices.

It took Granger several seconds to realize that someone was standing over her.  The look on her face when she finally realized exactly who was standing there was utterly priceless.

“P-Pansy,” Hermione stuttered in surprise.

Pansy let her amusement at the brunette’s reaction show.  “Relax Granger.  I just wanted to say hello.”

“Hello?”

“Yes, a typical greeting exchanged by acquaintances upon chance meetings.”  Pansy’s eyes twinkled.  In their many verbal sparring matches it wasn’t often that she’d caught the other woman flat footed.  It was a feeling Pansy enjoyed immensely.  Plus, the open mouthed confusion Granger was displaying made her look adorable.

“Um, well.  Hello.”  Hermione regained her aplomb slightly.  “I… um, how are you feeling?”

“Quite recovered.”  She should have known that Granger would bring that up.  Pansy felt a bit of awkwardness creep up on her.  “I should…”  The words stuck a little in her throat.  She swallowed past them.  “Thank you.  For what you did.”

If possible, Granger’s eyes got even wider.  “Of course, it was noth…”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Pansy interrupted.  “It was rash and incredibly stupid,” she took a breath, “and I appreciate it.  I’ll try not to make it necessary in the future.”

“Um, well yes.  You’re welcome.”

Pansy couldn’t help but notice the slight blush on Granger’s cheeks.  She smiled.  An actually genuine smile.  “I’ll let you get back to work.”  Pansy reached out and laid her hand over Granger’s.  She let her thumb run over the delicate tendons there before pulling away.  “Goodnight.”

The stunned look on Granger’s face stayed with her until sleep claimed her that night.

Chapter VI

The end of the world was near.  That was the only possible explanation for what had just occurred.  Hermione sat blinking stupidly, vaguely aware that her gaze followed Pansy until she was up the stairs and out of sight.  The quill in her hand had left large smudges on her notes, and she wondered if that had happened at the onset of her bizarre conversation with Pansy, or if it had been a casualty of the even more bizarre fact that Pansy Parkinson had just voluntarily touched her.  She raised the hand that the other woman had just, well caressed.  Her mind simply couldn’t wrap around it.

“What the bloody hell was that!”

The harsh voice startled Hermione.  She flinched, and focused on the spot that Pansy had been standing moments before, now occupied by a very angry Ron.

“I have no idea,” Hermione heard herself answering with complete honesty.

“I can’t believe you let her touch you like that.  Stay away from her.  She’s not right.  She’s dangerous.”  Ron’s flushed face pushed forward, almost nose to nose with Hermione.

It was the aggressiveness that snapped her out of the Pansy induced stupor.

“How dare you march over here and try to order me about!”  Hermione poked the man in the chest with her finger, forcing him to back up.  “You’ve never had that right, and although I indulged it for quite some time, you lost the privilege of me taking your wishes into account.”  She didn’t raise her voice.  She didn’t need to.  Coldness had always been much more effective than yelling with Ron.  “Now I suggest you take your pathetically nosey arse back where you came from, and don’t trouble yourself over my affairs.”

“Your affairs?”  Ron’s voice sounded choked, but at least it was several decibels lower.  “You have no idea.  She was… she was looking at you!”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“In a sexual way!” Ron whispered heatedly.

“Oh for God’s sake Ron.  She was not.”

“You didn’t see her.  She was.  She was checking you out.”  His anger had given way to desperation.

“I’m not even going to dignify this with any further comments.  Go away Ronald.  I have work to do.”  Hermione turned back to the books spread before her.  This time Ron finally listened, although not happily, judging from how he stomped loudly away from her table.

Inside Hermione was seething.  The nerve of him!  There was no possible way that Pansy was interested in her in that way, but even if she was it was absolutely none of Ron’s business.  Pansy couldn’t be, despite her odd behavior, attracted.  Not with their history, and most especially not with Pansy’s history.  Hermione knew this, and yet, she allowed herself a moment to ponder what it might be like if Ron was correct.

Hermione wasn’t blind.  Pansy was a beautiful woman, with her dark hair and pale skin.  Hermione had never thought about it before, mostly because Pansy usually had such a horrid look on her face, as if she had swallowed something particularly foul.  She should smile more, Hermione thought, remembering the slight flush and the twinkle in Pansy dark eyes.  How odd, in all the years Hermione had known the other woman, she’d never seen her smile before.

She wanted to see Pansy smile again.

Enough!  Hermione’s more logical side put a halt to this line of thinking.  Pansy was nothing to her, and Hermione had a brief to finish.

***

A large wooden crate was waiting for her when Hermione finally retired to her rooms for the evening.  A piece of parchment sat atop it, and she immediately recognized Neville’s small handwriting.

H.

All that you requested is inside.  I had to tell Dawlish.  He’s not happy, but resigned.

N.

Hermione lifted the lid and pulled out a sheaf of parchment.  Copies of the transcripts of every trial that Pansy had testified at were neatly ordered chronologically.  Hermione set them aside and moved on to the rest of the contents.  Lists of Death Eaters, their families, and known associates went into another pile.  Finally she pulled the last stack of papers from the crate.  This was bound together with a green ribbon.  How appropriate, she thought realizing that this was the Ministry’s dossier of Pansy Parkinson.

Not quite ready to face the contents, Hermione laid it aside and began her preparations for bed.  Face scrubbed and teeth brushed, she felt no more ready.  Her hesitancy made no sense.  She’d already witnessed the worst thing Pansy was capable of; trying to turn Harry over to Voldemort.  At least she hoped that was the worst thing the other woman was capable of.

Hermione gave a great sigh, and reached for the bound parchment.

The first few pages were ordinary enough, listing Pansy’s date of birth, town of origin, and parents’ names.  Reading further, Hermione was somewhat surprised to learn that while Pansy’s parents had been quite wealthy, they owed their fortune to her father Geoffrey’s grandfather, a muggle who’d opened a textile mill in a small town in Suffolk.  He’d specialized in silk production, and had been incredibly successful based on the size of the estate he’d built later in his life.  The family had resided in Sudbury since then, despite the three following generations all displaying magical abilities.

The Parkinsons still maintained a financial stake in the production, but hadn’t been involved in its operation in decades.  The smaller minded side of Hermione took some pleasure in the fact that Pansy’s wealth came not only from a muggle ancestor, but a tradesman at that.

Hermione flipped on to more recent events.  Pansy’s parents had indeed supported Voldemort, both in his initial rise to power and his return.  They hadn’t been Death Eaters, but they’d supplied financial means and information when possible.  Unsurprisingly, Pansy had been aware of this.  It didn’t appear that she had been involved, but she’d known.  The only notations by the Ministry had been Pansy’s association with “questionable” persons, i.e. Draco Malfoy and other sons and daughters of known Death Eaters.

Hermione was somewhat taken aback when she read of Geoffrey and Ann Parkinson’s disappearance following the final battle.  Although not a parent herself, Hermione could not imagine abandoning one’s child to save oneself.

The Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt had written the original report detailing Pansy’s appearance at the Ministry and her offer to testify in exchange for immunity.  Hermione felt a bit of embarrassment at the Ministry’s shameless exploitation of Pansy.  They’d had no case against Pansy.  She’d done nothing wrong besides congregate with the wrong type of people.  The Ministry would have had no case against her, and the case they might have had against her parents was littered with speculation and circumstantial evidence.  Pansy’s only request, other than no time at Azkaban, had been to keep her ancestral home and her family interest in the mill.

Hermione couldn’t help but shake her head.  There were several notations from Dawlish about Pansy’s helpfulness and her presence in the courtroom.  Hermione flipped ahead several pages, stopping when she reached the current year.

Again Dawlish’s notes filled the page.  He detailed the first few attacks on Pansy, and included his recommendation that she be placed in protective custody.  The annoyance at her refusal was plain on the page.  The reports ended with the most recent attack at the Leaky.

Hermione went back to one of the sections she’d skipped over.  A recent summary of Pansy’s whereabouts and interests caught her attention.  Pansy did reside in her parent’s former home.  She kept several house elves, but, and Hermione was both surprised and pleased to note, had freed them several years ago.  No other persons of interest where listed as residents.

Financial data caught Hermione’s eye, and her brow furrowed when the numbers refused to add up.  Pansy made quite a good living with her small design business, especially when she had her own factory in which to produce the material needed, but several things made absolutely no sense to her.  The expenditures for the household were significantly large.  Much larger than what was appropriate for a large family, let alone a single woman.  The other column that stood out was the amount Pansy paid in taxes.  Her property taxes seemed on par, but her income tax both for her business and personal income was extremely low.  Was Pansy committing tax fraud?  It wasn’t unheard of, especially when witches and wizards had business dealings with muggles, but it just seemed far too trivial for Pansy.  Hermione delved deeper into the figures, and was disappointed to find nothing more detailed.

“I’d need a copy of her muggle tax return,” she murmured to herself.  Hermione had no idea if that was even possible.  Well, it was of course possible, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to take the time and effort involved with apparating into Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs building in London.

The final thing that Hermione found curious was a notation near the bottom of the financial information.  A long alphanumeric followed by Pansy’s name.  Not many people would recognize it, but Hermione had been forced to study all aspects of Wizarding law before being appointed to her current position.  Including patent law.  Pansy held a patent for something, and Hermione couldn’t fathom what.

She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the small clock on her desk.  It was already the wee hours of the morning.  Deciding she’d done enough for the night, Hermione set the parchment aside and crawled into bed.  She closed her eyes, knowing that she’d probably obsess over her unanswered questions even in sleep, and when she did dream, it was of Pansy’s smile.