Fic: two words and a stick hiding unicorn tail hair (Pansy, R)
Title: two words and a stick hiding unicorn tail hair
Author: quietliban
Rating: R (violence and adult themes, I would call it a M, but people don't seem to use that)
Warning: Multiple character deaths, Voldemort wins scenario, not compliant with HBP.
Disclaimer: The HP universe and characters contained there in are property of JK Rowling and her associated publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: 'There is a stick in her hand, hiding unicorn tail hair and two words leave her lips.'
Author's Notes:
Writer's Block: 6
Me: 1
Take that bitch!
Erm, excuse me (but I wrote something that I was happy with! ::jumps around::)
two words and a stick hiding unicorn tail hair
Footsteps, footsteps; she can hear the footsteps, large and heavy behind her.
Shadows have fallen grey upon black with starlight blinking.
A woman turns-a swish of cloth, heavy dark and black. Her blue eyes peer through the slits of her white mask. There is a stick in her hand, hiding unicorn tail hair and two words leave her lips.
Green light flashes. A man falls and the footsteps stop. A girl screams. It is high pitched and squealing.
The woman turns again, her lips pinched tight behind her mask. The stick hiding unicorn tail hair is still in her hand and she speaks again.
Avada Kedavra.
The girl is silenced.
Footsteps, footsteps; she can hear footsteps.
The woman glances at the man’s corpse. His white mask is still in place. The woman swears, grabbing the body, limp, heavy and useless. There is a soft pop.
Two adults enter the room, a mother and a father. The woman and the dead man are gone.
--
Pansy looks at Draco’s corpse and swears, loudly and profusely. His white hair falls against his cheek. Pansy wants to scream and claw at her arms and tear away her skin, because this was not meant to happen.
He was not supposed to sneak up on her. The fool, the idiot, he should have known better.
Pansy breathes out heavily, waiting for the tears to fall. Draco’s mask is cracked, lying on the floor from where she threw at the wall. His body lies on the goose down quilt, still dressed in his robes. Pansy hasn’t left the room. She can’t. She can’t go out and face them. Not yet, not now.
The tears don’t fall. Pansy shakes. She should cry. She knows she should be crying.
She drags her fingernails down her face leaving a trail of smarting red lines, five on either side, with soft skin broken and curled.
Pansy closes her eyes.
--
A mother weeps. Blonde hair falls over her face and her child’s body. Ohmybabyohmypreciousbaby.The words tumble out.
A father stands to the side. His face white, expressionless, he cannot believe it. No reason, no cause; just murder. A father blinks.
A mother chokes and coughs and splutters. Her pain is liquid, flowing out of her and filling the room. She clutches to the arms, the torso, to any part of her child.
A woman paces up and down a hallway. A stick hiding unicorn tail hair tucked up her sleeve. She is waiting, gripping her wrists. Soon a judgement will be made.
--
Executioner Walden Macnair nods to her as she walks into the room. Pansy tries to hide her tremors. She knows this will not go well. The Malfoys stand to the Lord’s left; neither of her once future in-laws greet her.
She did not expect them too.
She stands before her Lord. Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange are at His right and Pansy curtseys, and steps forward to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.
“Master,” she speaks.
“Bella, wants to torture you, Pansy, for the pain you have caused her family,” the Dark Lord gestures to Bellatrix, and a serpentine smile graces the line of his lips.
Pansy looks at Bellatrix and feels a shiver down her spine.
“However,” the Dark Lord points a long skeletal finger at her, beckoning her closer. “Severus has pleaded on your behalf.”
Pansy’s eyes flicker to her former Head of House. Snape’s expression remains impassive.
“You shall be sent to Hogwarts.”
She looks at the Malfoys. Narcissa turns away from her and buries her head into her husband’s neck. Lucius meets her gaze. His eyes so like Draco’s burn into her.
“Headmistress Carrow will be informed. You are to leave at once.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Pansy curtseys and bows her head. Before she can lift it again, she hears a curse. Pain envelops her, and all of her nerves are one fire.
Pansy can feel blood drip down her chin, and her limbs hit the stone floor again, and again. There is dull crack as the back of her head hits the floor and then there is blackness.
--
A woman battered and bruised sits on a train. Her thoughts are clouded and her heart is empty. She does not know why she is here, or how she got here.
A stick of wood hiding unicorn tail hair sits in her coat pocket. Her hair is out to hide the bruises. The countryside whirls along outside her window and she remembers it from when she was younger.
The woman remembers a boy, who was blond and fine. Who would laugh and smile, and tell jokes. The woman remembers how the boy used to sit with her on this train, and how the boy grew into a man.
The woman leans her head against the window, the greenery is a blur. She remembers her friends and the way they would laugh.
She clutches her coat pocket; the stick hiding unicorn hair is still there. Two words come to mind and she laughs. There are tears in her eyes and she blinks them away, because it is too late now. It is too late to show remorse.
--
Theodore greets her at the entrance way. He swishes his wand and her luggage disappears from where it was hovering behind her.
“Welcome back, Pansy,” he greets.
Pansy does not smile, does not react with anything but a question. “You know why I am here?”
“We were told you were here to teach, nothing else,” Theodore responds, gesturing to the Great Hall. A place she remembers, even though it has changed since the take over.
“Draco’s dead,” Pansy tells him before stepping forward.
“You killed him.” It is not an accusation, or a question. It is a statement.
Pansy looks at Theodore a moment longer. “Yes,” she says and her voice sounds tinny and hollow.
Theodore smirks. “He was a waste anyway,” he comments and walks into the hall. The candles sit in silver candelabra and instead of four tables there is only one, long and wide decked in the four house colours. It looks atrocious.
Pansy stares at Theodore’s back. Lead sinks to the bottom her stomach.
--
A woman stands in front of a room of ten teenagers. She is shaking, but she has faced worse.
Her name is written in white on a blackboard. There is a list underneath it. The teenagers look at her expectantly.
The woman smiles, and places a stick hiding unicorn tail hair on the desk behind her.
She gestures to the instruments on their desk; round metal cauldrons and an array of knives. Ingredients line the walls of the room and she begins to speak.
--
Days have passed and boredom fills her mind with a dull blankness. She has had no post. Not even a missive from Millicent.
Theodore smirks at her and taunts her with his words, and Pansy knows how easy it would be to take up her wand and kill him. She wants to do it urgently, but she cannot go around killing her comrades.
Pansy decides that she hates teaching. There may only be fifty students in the school, but all of them are snotty nose brats-she almost wishes they were Mudbloods so that they were dead.
She misses the feel of blood pumping through her veins as she stalks a sleeping house. She misses seeing the angelic faces of the sleeping Mudbloods before green light would flash and they would be dead. Pansy misses murder.
Teaching is not the same.
--
A man with blond hair laughs, and a woman glares. She hisses at him, and clutches her stick hiding unicorn tail hair close.
The man laughs again, before using a stick hiding dragon heartstrings. The woman cries out as her stick leaves her hand.
The man tuts and reaches forward grabbing her wrists. Dragging her forward, bruising her skin. The woman pulls, and pulls, but never getting away.
The man reaches to grab her other arm, and the woman steps forward. Stepping in and pushing him away. The man’s back hits the wall. Shock covers his face and the woman lunges.
A small fist curled up hits the man’s face again, and again. Bones crunch and arms are flailing, but the woman’s fist connects again and again.
Red blood flows and the woman’s fist is bruised and bloody, but the blood is not her own.
She stops.
--
Pansy runs. She runs and runs. Blood is on her hands, on her yellow dress the colour of sunshine and her wand-her wand is on the floor next to Theodore’s.
Her breathing is ragged, and she should go back, she should go and get her wand.
Has she killed him? She wonders.
Theodore’s face is a mess, and his eyes looked dead. Pansy stops and turns.
When she reaches the room, Theodore’s body is still there, blood spilling down his face onto his shirt, his neck. Pansy stares.
Draco’s body was nothing like this, and Theodore does not even have a mother to grieve over him.
Two wands lie next to each other, neither stained with blood. Pansy steps forward and her fingers close onto the wands.
“Pansy,” Theodore rasps at her, and blood drips down his face some more. Pansy stares at him.
Murder was never like this before. His eyes bore into hers. Not dead yet.
She holds her wand in her hand and lets her loathing for this man run through her veins. She speaks two words.
Avada Kedavra.
--
A woman wanders a forest. Its trees are dark and sinister.
Her heart beats loudly in her chest. Lub Dub, Lub Dub.
She does not run and she does not cry. She clutches two sticks and a rope in her hands. Her clothes are stained and her fingernails are crusted with blood.
Night is falling, and she wanders the forest. No one will look for her, and she will not be found.
She climbs a tree, and ties knots in the rope with swollen fingers and lets it hang from the highest branch.
She whispers two words as she falls. A sharp twang fills the forest.
A stick hiding unicorn hair hits the forest floor, and bounces twice.
Author: quietliban
Rating: R (violence and adult themes, I would call it a M, but people don't seem to use that)
Warning: Multiple character deaths, Voldemort wins scenario, not compliant with HBP.
Disclaimer: The HP universe and characters contained there in are property of JK Rowling and her associated publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: 'There is a stick in her hand, hiding unicorn tail hair and two words leave her lips.'
Author's Notes:
Writer's Block: 6
Me: 1
Take that bitch!
Erm, excuse me (but I wrote something that I was happy with! ::jumps around::)
two words and a stick hiding unicorn tail hair
Footsteps, footsteps; she can hear the footsteps, large and heavy behind her.
Shadows have fallen grey upon black with starlight blinking.
A woman turns-a swish of cloth, heavy dark and black. Her blue eyes peer through the slits of her white mask. There is a stick in her hand, hiding unicorn tail hair and two words leave her lips.
Green light flashes. A man falls and the footsteps stop. A girl screams. It is high pitched and squealing.
The woman turns again, her lips pinched tight behind her mask. The stick hiding unicorn tail hair is still in her hand and she speaks again.
Avada Kedavra.
The girl is silenced.
Footsteps, footsteps; she can hear footsteps.
The woman glances at the man’s corpse. His white mask is still in place. The woman swears, grabbing the body, limp, heavy and useless. There is a soft pop.
Two adults enter the room, a mother and a father. The woman and the dead man are gone.
--
Pansy looks at Draco’s corpse and swears, loudly and profusely. His white hair falls against his cheek. Pansy wants to scream and claw at her arms and tear away her skin, because this was not meant to happen.
He was not supposed to sneak up on her. The fool, the idiot, he should have known better.
Pansy breathes out heavily, waiting for the tears to fall. Draco’s mask is cracked, lying on the floor from where she threw at the wall. His body lies on the goose down quilt, still dressed in his robes. Pansy hasn’t left the room. She can’t. She can’t go out and face them. Not yet, not now.
The tears don’t fall. Pansy shakes. She should cry. She knows she should be crying.
She drags her fingernails down her face leaving a trail of smarting red lines, five on either side, with soft skin broken and curled.
Pansy closes her eyes.
--
A mother weeps. Blonde hair falls over her face and her child’s body. Ohmybabyohmypreciousbaby.The words tumble out.
A father stands to the side. His face white, expressionless, he cannot believe it. No reason, no cause; just murder. A father blinks.
A mother chokes and coughs and splutters. Her pain is liquid, flowing out of her and filling the room. She clutches to the arms, the torso, to any part of her child.
A woman paces up and down a hallway. A stick hiding unicorn tail hair tucked up her sleeve. She is waiting, gripping her wrists. Soon a judgement will be made.
--
Executioner Walden Macnair nods to her as she walks into the room. Pansy tries to hide her tremors. She knows this will not go well. The Malfoys stand to the Lord’s left; neither of her once future in-laws greet her.
She did not expect them too.
She stands before her Lord. Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange are at His right and Pansy curtseys, and steps forward to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.
“Master,” she speaks.
“Bella, wants to torture you, Pansy, for the pain you have caused her family,” the Dark Lord gestures to Bellatrix, and a serpentine smile graces the line of his lips.
Pansy looks at Bellatrix and feels a shiver down her spine.
“However,” the Dark Lord points a long skeletal finger at her, beckoning her closer. “Severus has pleaded on your behalf.”
Pansy’s eyes flicker to her former Head of House. Snape’s expression remains impassive.
“You shall be sent to Hogwarts.”
She looks at the Malfoys. Narcissa turns away from her and buries her head into her husband’s neck. Lucius meets her gaze. His eyes so like Draco’s burn into her.
“Headmistress Carrow will be informed. You are to leave at once.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Pansy curtseys and bows her head. Before she can lift it again, she hears a curse. Pain envelops her, and all of her nerves are one fire.
Pansy can feel blood drip down her chin, and her limbs hit the stone floor again, and again. There is dull crack as the back of her head hits the floor and then there is blackness.
--
A woman battered and bruised sits on a train. Her thoughts are clouded and her heart is empty. She does not know why she is here, or how she got here.
A stick of wood hiding unicorn tail hair sits in her coat pocket. Her hair is out to hide the bruises. The countryside whirls along outside her window and she remembers it from when she was younger.
The woman remembers a boy, who was blond and fine. Who would laugh and smile, and tell jokes. The woman remembers how the boy used to sit with her on this train, and how the boy grew into a man.
The woman leans her head against the window, the greenery is a blur. She remembers her friends and the way they would laugh.
She clutches her coat pocket; the stick hiding unicorn hair is still there. Two words come to mind and she laughs. There are tears in her eyes and she blinks them away, because it is too late now. It is too late to show remorse.
--
Theodore greets her at the entrance way. He swishes his wand and her luggage disappears from where it was hovering behind her.
“Welcome back, Pansy,” he greets.
Pansy does not smile, does not react with anything but a question. “You know why I am here?”
“We were told you were here to teach, nothing else,” Theodore responds, gesturing to the Great Hall. A place she remembers, even though it has changed since the take over.
“Draco’s dead,” Pansy tells him before stepping forward.
“You killed him.” It is not an accusation, or a question. It is a statement.
Pansy looks at Theodore a moment longer. “Yes,” she says and her voice sounds tinny and hollow.
Theodore smirks. “He was a waste anyway,” he comments and walks into the hall. The candles sit in silver candelabra and instead of four tables there is only one, long and wide decked in the four house colours. It looks atrocious.
Pansy stares at Theodore’s back. Lead sinks to the bottom her stomach.
--
A woman stands in front of a room of ten teenagers. She is shaking, but she has faced worse.
Her name is written in white on a blackboard. There is a list underneath it. The teenagers look at her expectantly.
The woman smiles, and places a stick hiding unicorn tail hair on the desk behind her.
She gestures to the instruments on their desk; round metal cauldrons and an array of knives. Ingredients line the walls of the room and she begins to speak.
--
Days have passed and boredom fills her mind with a dull blankness. She has had no post. Not even a missive from Millicent.
Theodore smirks at her and taunts her with his words, and Pansy knows how easy it would be to take up her wand and kill him. She wants to do it urgently, but she cannot go around killing her comrades.
Pansy decides that she hates teaching. There may only be fifty students in the school, but all of them are snotty nose brats-she almost wishes they were Mudbloods so that they were dead.
She misses the feel of blood pumping through her veins as she stalks a sleeping house. She misses seeing the angelic faces of the sleeping Mudbloods before green light would flash and they would be dead. Pansy misses murder.
Teaching is not the same.
--
A man with blond hair laughs, and a woman glares. She hisses at him, and clutches her stick hiding unicorn tail hair close.
The man laughs again, before using a stick hiding dragon heartstrings. The woman cries out as her stick leaves her hand.
The man tuts and reaches forward grabbing her wrists. Dragging her forward, bruising her skin. The woman pulls, and pulls, but never getting away.
The man reaches to grab her other arm, and the woman steps forward. Stepping in and pushing him away. The man’s back hits the wall. Shock covers his face and the woman lunges.
A small fist curled up hits the man’s face again, and again. Bones crunch and arms are flailing, but the woman’s fist connects again and again.
Red blood flows and the woman’s fist is bruised and bloody, but the blood is not her own.
She stops.
--
Pansy runs. She runs and runs. Blood is on her hands, on her yellow dress the colour of sunshine and her wand-her wand is on the floor next to Theodore’s.
Her breathing is ragged, and she should go back, she should go and get her wand.
Has she killed him? She wonders.
Theodore’s face is a mess, and his eyes looked dead. Pansy stops and turns.
When she reaches the room, Theodore’s body is still there, blood spilling down his face onto his shirt, his neck. Pansy stares.
Draco’s body was nothing like this, and Theodore does not even have a mother to grieve over him.
Two wands lie next to each other, neither stained with blood. Pansy steps forward and her fingers close onto the wands.
“Pansy,” Theodore rasps at her, and blood drips down his face some more. Pansy stares at him.
Murder was never like this before. His eyes bore into hers. Not dead yet.
She holds her wand in her hand and lets her loathing for this man run through her veins. She speaks two words.
Avada Kedavra.
--
A woman wanders a forest. Its trees are dark and sinister.
Her heart beats loudly in her chest. Lub Dub, Lub Dub.
She does not run and she does not cry. She clutches two sticks and a rope in her hands. Her clothes are stained and her fingernails are crusted with blood.
Night is falling, and she wanders the forest. No one will look for her, and she will not be found.
She climbs a tree, and ties knots in the rope with swollen fingers and lets it hang from the highest branch.
She whispers two words as she falls. A sharp twang fills the forest.
A stick hiding unicorn hair hits the forest floor, and bounces twice.