Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember
Category: Pink Sheep RPG
December 1st, 2006. Another day, the first day of the last month of the year. An altogether unremarkable day, marked by one of her two monthly visits to the Ministry. Unremarkable save for one tiny little detail.
It was Pansy's twenty-seventh birthday.
What was normally a day of celebration and jubilee for others was a day she despised. Birthdays were about friends and family, spending time with those who loved and wished you well. While she had a cherished few of the former, she had none in the latter category. All she had left were memories of her childhood birthdays.
Up until the year she'd turned sixteen, her parents had marked her birthday by holding the first ball of the Yuletide season. While not quite the social event of the season the Malfoy's always hosted, it was nonetheless a spectacular showcase of her mother's impeccable taste and her father's pride in his family.
For a brief moment as she slipped out of her Louboutins and wandered into the ball room, her thoughts flitted to those who only saw her world from the outside, those who thought her evil. They'd have thought themselves cursed if the knew that not only did Slytherins have emotions, they loved.
And Phillip and Charlotte Parkinson had loved their daughter more than anything.
There were packages to sort through; she'd noticed a parcel from Millicent, and she made note to have one of the elves check it for poison or curses. She'd even thought she recognized Lysander's handwriting on a small, wrapped present. She could have been mistaken, though. After the gala, she felt quite certain that whatever they'd had together, the possibility of what might have been, had been squashed under the cruel boot of Fortune.
Unpleasant thoughts could wait, though. She'd had enough of those all day.
As she stepped into the ballroom from the back entrance, the train of her evening gown trailing over the parquet floors, she could picture her parents at the far end of the room, receiving their guests as they entered the room from the entrance hall. Had they known the tragedy that would befall their little family?
The Malfoys were there, of course, Lucius' hand on the small of Aunt Cissa's back as he handed her a glass of champagne. Both set of Greengrass couples were in attendance that last year; Astoria's father in deep conversation with his brother, Daphne's father, while their wives laughed with Mrs. Nott.
Pansy glanced up at the hidden alcove overlooking the ballroom and closed her eye, picturing two heads- one white-blonde little boy and a raven-haired little girl- watching over the party-goers from above. She and Draco had always escaped from her nanny elf and instead of playing dragons like he'd wanted, she'd dragged him down her to watch the couples dance. He'd pouted and whined, the poncy little git, but in the end she always got her way.
While their parents had waltzed below, Draco had waltzed with Pansy- albeit grudgingly, putting their dance lessons to good usage. She had pretended she was a grand lady like her mother, and was dancing with her husband. Draco would, of course, be her husband one day. Both sets of parents had agreed; all they had to do was complete the betrothal spell.
It had obviously never been completed. With Lucius in Azkaban on her seventeenth birthday and Draco working to complete his mission for the Dark Lord, their impending nuptials had been put to the side. And then...
Her eyes opened as the last strains of her mind's waltz trailed off, leaving the room completely silent. She was alone, a war orphan hated by much of society simply because of her last name.
Was she an innocent? She scoffed lightly. No one went through seven years in Slytherin house and came out innocent. Most had lost their innocence even before age eleven. But was she the heinous, ruthless killer that the Ministry would make her out to be? Of course not.
Save for the arranged murder of Alexander Mason, of course.
Maybe I will go to Paris for Christmas, she thought. The Manor was far too much room for a single occupant, but it was home and Pansy would never leave. The Ministry would have to pry the deed out of her cold, dead hands.
With that thought, she gave the room a final glance before she turned her back on her memories, her dress whispering as it trailed behind her.
Summary: Pansy reminisces on her birthday.
December 1st, 2006. Another day, the first day of the last month of the year. An altogether unremarkable day, marked by one of her two monthly visits to the Ministry. Unremarkable save for one tiny little detail.
It was Pansy's twenty-seventh birthday.
What was normally a day of celebration and jubilee for others was a day she despised. Birthdays were about friends and family, spending time with those who loved and wished you well. While she had a cherished few of the former, she had none in the latter category. All she had left were memories of her childhood birthdays.
Up until the year she'd turned sixteen, her parents had marked her birthday by holding the first ball of the Yuletide season. While not quite the social event of the season the Malfoy's always hosted, it was nonetheless a spectacular showcase of her mother's impeccable taste and her father's pride in his family.
For a brief moment as she slipped out of her Louboutins and wandered into the ball room, her thoughts flitted to those who only saw her world from the outside, those who thought her evil. They'd have thought themselves cursed if the knew that not only did Slytherins have emotions, they loved.
And Phillip and Charlotte Parkinson had loved their daughter more than anything.
There were packages to sort through; she'd noticed a parcel from Millicent, and she made note to have one of the elves check it for poison or curses. She'd even thought she recognized Lysander's handwriting on a small, wrapped present. She could have been mistaken, though. After the gala, she felt quite certain that whatever they'd had together, the possibility of what might have been, had been squashed under the cruel boot of Fortune.
Unpleasant thoughts could wait, though. She'd had enough of those all day.
As she stepped into the ballroom from the back entrance, the train of her evening gown trailing over the parquet floors, she could picture her parents at the far end of the room, receiving their guests as they entered the room from the entrance hall. Had they known the tragedy that would befall their little family?
The Malfoys were there, of course, Lucius' hand on the small of Aunt Cissa's back as he handed her a glass of champagne. Both set of Greengrass couples were in attendance that last year; Astoria's father in deep conversation with his brother, Daphne's father, while their wives laughed with Mrs. Nott.
Pansy glanced up at the hidden alcove overlooking the ballroom and closed her eye, picturing two heads- one white-blonde little boy and a raven-haired little girl- watching over the party-goers from above. She and Draco had always escaped from her nanny elf and instead of playing dragons like he'd wanted, she'd dragged him down her to watch the couples dance. He'd pouted and whined, the poncy little git, but in the end she always got her way.
While their parents had waltzed below, Draco had waltzed with Pansy- albeit grudgingly, putting their dance lessons to good usage. She had pretended she was a grand lady like her mother, and was dancing with her husband. Draco would, of course, be her husband one day. Both sets of parents had agreed; all they had to do was complete the betrothal spell.
It had obviously never been completed. With Lucius in Azkaban on her seventeenth birthday and Draco working to complete his mission for the Dark Lord, their impending nuptials had been put to the side. And then...
Her eyes opened as the last strains of her mind's waltz trailed off, leaving the room completely silent. She was alone, a war orphan hated by much of society simply because of her last name.
Was she an innocent? She scoffed lightly. No one went through seven years in Slytherin house and came out innocent. Most had lost their innocence even before age eleven. But was she the heinous, ruthless killer that the Ministry would make her out to be? Of course not.
Save for the arranged murder of Alexander Mason, of course.
Maybe I will go to Paris for Christmas, she thought. The Manor was far too much room for a single occupant, but it was home and Pansy would never leave. The Ministry would have to pry the deed out of her cold, dead hands.
With that thought, she gave the room a final glance before she turned her back on her memories, her dress whispering as it trailed behind her.
Summary: Pansy reminisces on her birthday.