Whoa, that long already. Time does fly.
You want to know something weird?
It's been a year since I've had this LJ.
And, um, in celebration I present you with the first HP fic I posted on this LJ, since my LJ Smith WIP is unlikely to interest a whole heap of you. This was also my first serious HP fic. The others were all badfic, and I'm shamefully embarassed by them. However in all it's glory I present to you:
Title: I Sang Alleluia in the Choir
Author: quietliban
Summary: Pansy Parkinson chose the lesser of two evil mentors or so she thought.
Disclaimer:The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers etc. Not copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written 2005 before HBP. Therefore not HBP-compliant (or possibly canon-compliant at all, but um... I was young, and naive and didn't even know what the word canon meant). Intended as a longer fic that was scrapped. Inspired by Forgiven by Alanis Morisette.
I Sang Alleluia in the Choir
I never forgot it, confusing as it was.
Sunday, 1 September 2002
Pansy glanced at the heavy wooden doors of the study in her quarters. They were ancient in their architecture. The iron-wrought handles menacingly and intricately designed. It was such a beautiful house, even with its enveloping darkness, that surrounded you as soon as stepped onto its mesmerising grounds. The gargoyles watched you as you tried to walk up to the intimidating double doors of the main entrance, only to discover that it was unused and be grumbled at by the ghost butler to use the side door. Igor somehow ruined the aura of Malfoy Manor. His ghostly appearance not adding to the haunting atmosphere. He had been serving the Malfoys for generations, without leave, might he add, as he escorted you out.
Pansy turned back to the mahogany desk, the small-caldron shaped object taunting her. The intricate runic designs shimmered in the clouded afternoon light, and the misty whiteness of what appeared to be bubbling steam of a potion wafted up to her.
The war had shaken fear into the hearts and minds of everyone. No one knew who to believe. Should they believe the Ministry? Surely Fudge would know if He Who Must Not Be Named had returned. Should they believe Dumbledore and Harry Potter? Wasn’t Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived, the only one ever to survive The Killing Curse? He would surely know if evil was coming. And then there were those who did not have to believe because they knew. They had felt the burning call, and it was true. Voldemort had returned.
There had not been many disappearances this time. Pansy knew that was what lay behind the uncertainty of the wizarding world. There had been murders, but they had not marked by Death Eaters. Eight years had passed since Harry Potter had accused Voldemort of Cedric Diggory’s death. In that time there had only been skirmishes between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, plans on both sides falling awry. The Ministry of Magic causing mayhem for the warring parties with their continued incompetence and denial. No one but the murderers themselves knew who they were.
Pansy knew, and the thought made her shiver as she glanced at her hands. Her fingers while not short were not the fine boned limbs of either of the Malfoys. She was ungainly in comparison to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. She shook her head briefly, before wiping away the invisible blood onto her robes. Screams and pointless pleas still haunted her.
Pansy had never wanted to go to Malfoy Manor, but it was what her parents had wanted for her since the age of five. And so, she had gone with little choice. She had been forced into being a playmate for the hideously spoilt Draco Malfoy. As a young boy he had been disgustingly coddled by his mother, and as such he had been terribly prone to tantrums and the worse of the crimes of only children; snatching. As five year olds, they had despised each other. This was only natural as Pansy’s mother doted on her; and Draco’s on him. Neither was used to having the divided attention of an audience. As a child Pansy had spent many hours trying to attain the attention of the adult Malfoys, while maintaining the complete and utter devotion of her own parents. Unfortunately Draco did much the same.
Pansy had never liked that, and as she grew older she would argue with her parents, pleading not to go with them to the Manor. Telling the elder Parkinson’s that she could stay at home with the house-elves. Her parents had been horrified at the suggestion and Pansy was continually dragged to the Malfoy Manor and sulked on these occasions.
The twenty-two year old Pansy sighed, taking up her wand. The willow felt solid between her fingers and she placed one tip into the misty white thoughts of her pensieve, and the other to her head.
Sunday, 1 September, 1991
Kings Cross Station had been the busiest thing she had ever laid eyes on. Muggles were running around in their funny little clothes and an elderly woman was looking at Pansy strangely. Pansy stood up proudly in defiance, her baby pink robe falling airily to the ground. She still had a hold of her mother’s cool delicately manicured hand. Nerves were buzzing around her, and she was leaving her parents behind to go to Hogwarts. The school her father had gone to. She did not know what to expect there. Her mother had originally argued, wanting to send her to Beauxbatons, but something had made her change her mind.
Her father was loading her trunk onto the train when her mother faced her. The look in those large brown orbs was uncertain, and they made Pansy even more nervous.
“Mother?”
“Yes, darling?” her mother answered, her voice clear and steady.
“Will everything be alright? I mean, do you think I’ll make friends?” Pansy asked nervously.
Her mother had laughed then, lightly but reassuringly. “You already have friends. You know the Patil girls, and Maria is in second year. Oh, and of course there’s always Draco.”
Pansy tried not to screw her face up at the mention of Draco’s name. They were polite to each other whenever Pansy was dragged along to Malfoy Manor, but it was an isolating strained politeness, and he would always refuse to play with her.
“Oh, now dear. I know you don’t like the boy, but trust me darling, he’ll be a good friend to have when you’re older, so at least try won’t you?” her mother smoothed out Pansy’s dark hair, “at least try for me?”
Pansy studied her mother’s face; she looked worried, as if she was scared to let Pansy onto the train. “Okay Mother, but I can’t help it if I accidentally curse him.” Her mother had begun to scold her, when her father returned.
“Pansy, you better get on the train,” he patted her head. “Good luck, you’ll be fine. Hogwarts was great fun, and owl us as soon as you’re sorted.” Her mother kissed Pansy on the cheek before her father ushered her on to the train.
The first compartment that Pansy opened was filled with older students, and Pansy poked her head in before quickly leaving, slamming the compartment door as she went. She could feel the heat in her face as she kept walking down the train. She didn’t dare open another door, scared of what she might find in there. There could be anything on the train to Hogwarts. She made it down to the last carriage before the baggage train, and opened the door. She was surprised to find people in it, and even more surprised that she found the bulking masses of Crabbe and Goyle watching the sulking Draco Malfoy.
The first greeting Draco gave her, was “get lost pug-face,” and Pansy glared. She knew what she looked like, but he had never called that to her face before. Suddenly she smiled with false sweetness.
“Make me Drakey-poo,” she sat down defiantly next to Goyle, who made room for her. The blonde boy watched her take a seat with narrowed eyes. He was trying to look menacing, and Pansy fought the urge to laugh. Draco would never live to be his father.
Silence emanated between them, and they sat there for minutes. Crabbe and Goyle were looking at each other like they were about to go mad. Finally Pansy couldn’t take it anymore.
“So why are you sulking?” she ventured, she didn’t actually care, but she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“No reason,” Draco replied, his tone was forced.
“So you’re just being more a spoiled sulky brat than usual?”
Draco looked away, his grey eyes ignoring her to watch the blur of images outside the train window.
Pansy sighed, and started to get up, the echoing dumbness of the occupants of the compartment irritating her.
“Harry Potter rejected him,” one of the bulking figures spoke. Pansy glanced at Draco; he was pouting and refusing to acknowledge what one of his friends had just said.
“Harry Potter’s on the train?” Pansy asked; a spark of excitement in her voice. The boy was legend. No body had heard anything about him since his parents’ death and his miraculous survival. It was only whispered that Dumbledore was hiding him.
Crabbe nodded.
“The-Boy-Who-Lived is one this train?” she asked again, still not believing it was true.
“Yes,” Draco replied bitterly.
“Seriously?” Pansy asked again, the realization that the wizarding world’s saviour was on the train not quite hitting her.
“Yes, Harry-bloody-Potter is on the train. The-Prat-Who-Lived is going to Hogwarts.” Draco angled his head, looking directly at her, lowering his voice, “do you want to ask again?”
Pansy did not smile this time. It was just too tragic. Draco’s attempts to mimic his father were laughable. It was not working for the gawky-angular boy. His limbs were not yet graceful enough and his voice still an octave too high. Besides, Pansy doubted that Draco’s sparks of anger could be contained by even Lucius Malfoy’s serene unmovable composure.
“Wow, he really annoyed you didn’t he?” Pansy was slightly impressed by the legendary boy. Draco was used to getting his own way and everybody who knew who Lucius Malfoy was gave Draco what he wanted. Surely this Harry Potter boy wasn’t more powerful than the great and awesome Lucius Malfoy?
“No,” Draco began with misplaced pride, “he did not annoy me, because to annoy me he would have to be at least my equal. And with his shabby hair, broken glasses and oversized clothes there is no way that he could be my equal. He is below me.”
Pansy looked at Draco incredulously. “Draco,” she said slowly. “You’ve just noticed a hell of a lot about a boy who apparently is beneath you.”
“-and he’s chumming with a Weasley. A Weasley? Can you believe it, Parkinson? I mean you’re only just passable but a Weasley? As if the muggle-born wasn’t bad enough-” Draco ignored Pansy, and continued on his tirade on how Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived, was beneath him. Pansy sighed and waited for him to finish. Draco paused, and Pansy jumped in.
“Are you quite done now?”
Draco opened his mouth at Pansy interruption and then closed it.
“Good,” Pansy did not wait to see if it was true. “Maybe you could give him a chance. I mean, he probably doesn’t know that Weasleys are bad, and wasn’t his mother a muggle-born?” Pansy stopped, and thought about what she was saying. “He probably doesn’t even know any better. He probably doesn’t even know what it means to be a Potter much less Harry Potter.” Draco had started to look at her with a strange glint in his eyes. She did not like it, it was a similar look he gave her when the Parkinsons stayed the night at the Manor and she would go to bed to find rat tails in her sheets. “I mean-” Pansy faltered, “hasn’t he been in hiding since, y’know, the night that You-Know-Who disappeared?” Pansy finished her explanation slowly.
“Yeah,” one of the bulky figures of Crabbe and Goyle agreed, but Pansy was too busy with watching Draco and his strange glint to notice which one.
Draco smirked, “If he doesn’t know what it means to be Harry Potter, then we’ll have to teach him, won’t we, Crabbe, Goyle?” he turned to Pansy. “Won’t we Parkinson?”
Sunday 1 September 2002
Pansy shuddered at the recollection. She had not known that the pensieve would pick that up, and now she was afraid.
She had once been a Potter sympathiser. Her family had never been Death Eaters, and the fall of Voldemort had been welcomed. She knew that her mother’s sister had been killed during the first rise and that the sudden revelation that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater had prompted the swift ending to Parkinson-Malfoy relations.
But it was too late for Pansy. The embedded rivalry between her and Draco had disappeared, and while she and Draco continued to vie for attention they had become allies against a common cause. She only knew now, that it was this fragile treaty between them that had made her succeed in the goal she had set as a five-year-old. She had gained the attention of the elder Malfoys. Pansy’s cunning and astute observations of the Potter boy had gotten Narcissa Malfoy’s attention. The woman had overheard her and Draco plotting the downfall of Harry Potter in the eyes of Dumbledore during the summer between fourth and fifth year.
Soon after any talk of an arranged marriage between Pansy and Draco ceased, to the immense relief of both and to the great disappointment of her parents, whom had cultivated the friendship with the Malfoys for such a purpose.
Pansy fiddled with her wand. It had been that summer Lucius Malfoy had approached her. She knew then why the arranged marriage had been shunted aside. She was too subtle to be Draco’s wife. Lucius had complimented her wit, and told her how much she was a true Slytherin. He had kindly asked her to keep an eye on his son. Draco while clever was too impulsive, and would she be able to keep him informed of his son’s activities? It was the first job ever given to her by Lucius Malfoy, and unfortunately Pansy thought, spying on his son was not the last.
Pansy picked up the pensieve, her hands shaking a little as she placed it in the tiny cupboard above her desk. It too, was old, and the lock would only answer to the master of the manor, but she flicked the door closed anyway. Sealing the lock with an incantation, it would take a small part of her concentration to keep her pensieve hidden from Lucius until she could take it off Malfoy grounds later that evening. She did not want Lucius to see how she had defended Harry Potter when she was younger. It was embarrassing, and she did not want her master to doubt her.
Pansy rose from the mahogany desk, sighing softly as she went to the window. The shadows of the trees made the nooks and crannies of the ancient garden walls more sinister. The nightshade and the oleander swayed in the breeze. Pansy pulled her arms around herself. The war was still being fought in a secretive game of attrition. Each side would try and find the others safe houses and decimate them. There had been no open battles, some one in the Death Eaters was curbing their master’s desire for an open war, and playing on the Ministry’s caution in believing Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Pansy had an idea of who that someone was, but she was uncertain. She could not believe that Voldemort was behind the strategy. She rubbed her arms, it was a warm autumn afternoon, but Pansy’s thoughts were keeping her cool. She had only heard the snake-like creature that commanded her master once. It had been the voice of pure madness, and Pansy often wondered what made men like Lucius Malfoy follow such a thing, but then she was following a man who followed such a thing.
Pansy turned as she heard the purposeful steps in the hallway heading towards her study. It was not Igor approaching, nor was it Narcissa. The former didn’t have a tread, and the latter was simply disgusted by Pansy’s presence. The white-haired Lucius Malfoy entered. He was still and tall intimidating man. He always had been, and to Pansy at her measly height, always would be, but Lucius Malfoy was a scarred man now, the lines around his eyes and mouth not just from age, but from the stress of imprisonment and war. His eyes were slightly crazed and haunted. Sometimes Pansy wondered if she worked for a creature similar to Voldemort.
“Lucius,” Pansy greeted as he came to stand at the window beside her.
“These are dark days,” Lucius remarked grandly, gesturing to the window scene below them. Pansy tried to hide a smirk, for indeed the day was dark with overcast skies.
“What’s happened?” she ventured, waiting him to list the names of the latest casualties.
“He has abandoned us,” Lucius told her smoothly. His voice calm and collected, he had merely stated a fact. It was as if the ‘he’ was anyone else but his son.
Pansy stared out the window for a few moments. Draco had been part of them, he was Lucius’ son. He had been her longest rival, and in a way, her oldest friend if she could have such things. “Draco’s gone?” she knew it was a pointless question, but she wanted to know where. Which side would he fold to? Pansy knew the pressures of espionage, and had always wondered at Lucius’ decision in allowing him to spy on the Order. Draco’s impulsiveness worried her as much it had worried his father when they were fifteen.
“He has absconded,” Lucius confirmed.
Pansy nodded with disappointment, “How’s Narcissa?”
Lucius looked at Pansy then, and she tried not to return his cold grey gaze, patiently studying the poison ivy crawling up the lower garden wall opposite her window.
Narcissa was not a subject often discussed between them. It often brought up difficult questions. Pansy did not believe that Lucius loved her, nor did she love him in anyway that went beyond a servant’s devotion to their master, but she understood Narcissa’s suspicions. Pansy could see the calculated desire in her master’s eyes, for Lucius was nothing but calculated, and the thought that he may act on it terrified her.
Narcissa was violently opposed to Pansy living in the manor. She had been the driving force in inviting Pansy to live there when her parents had disowned her, and they had gotten on well during Lucius’ incarceration in Azkaban. After his release something in their marriage had changed, and Pansy was charged with the blame. Nowadays, Pansy avoided Narcissa and did not leave her quarters if she knew the other woman was awake. Hexes had been known to fly through the house if Pansy so much as stepped outside her door.
Suddenly Pansy felt a slight breach in the wards she had set around the pensieve. She turned to face Lucius where he had been standing. He was gone; she turned around further and found him playing with a quill.
“She is unsurprised and,” he paused putting the quill down again and stepping towards her, “she blames you.”
Pansy sighed, “She shouldn’t. He’s fallen for Potter, or someone in the Order. There’s no way that he could have been corrupted by their ideals.”
“He hasn’t joined the Order,” Lucius told her before turning back to her desk.
Pansy panicked then, she knew Draco better than most. Spying on somebody for years tended to mean than you knew them better than themselves in most cases, but Pansy could think of any other option, unless… “No.” she put her hands to her face. “He hasn’t, he couldn’t….” Pansy did not like the conclusion her mind had reached. “But,” she paused looking at Lucius; he had sat down at her desk. “He doesn’t want to make your mistakes,” Pansy put a hand over her mouth when she realised what she had said and whom she had said it to.
Lucius smirked slightly, his mildly crazed eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Not that you’ve made any mistakes, Lucius,” Pansy covered up.
Lucius gave a short laugh, his long aristocratic fingers brushing over an ornamental lock. “My dear child,” he picked up the quill again, twirling it in his fingers. “I’ve made many mistakes, and will most likely make a great deal more,” he examined the nib, “He hasn’t taken the Mark.”
Pansy sighed with relief, pacing a hand to her chest. Lucius looked up at her, softness in his eyes. Pansy looked away, uncomfortable. “You should know what he did, after all, you know him best.”
Pansy thought about her most recent conversations with Draco. He had been reporting on the tight circle around Potter, but something was off in his report. He had said that the trio and others close to him had been separated, but had not said where they all were. He had claimed this was because he had not been told, but she knew that Draco’s role in the Order was more than that of a foot soldier. She thought about his report some more, the names mentioned. Some Weasleys, an old professor, Granger of course, Looney Lovegood but someone was missing.
Pansy moved towards her desk, standing next to Lucius. She ruffled through the bottom draw, reaching in a pulling out several pages of parchment. “H.J. Granger, L. Lovegood, R.J. Lupin, F. Weasley, G. Weasley, R.B. Weasley and…” she flipped to the next page. “There’s nothing on N. Longbottom, or G.M Weasley.” She across at Lucius, he was staring intently with his disturbing grey eyes at her chin. “Oh God,” she paused. Draco had expressed some concern about the littlest Weasley, saying something about her being ‘a little unstable.’ Pansy put the parchment down on the desk before moving quickly to the carefully crafted windows.
“They haven’t.” She turned away from the window after a moment. Lucius was still staring at her intently. Pansy pulled at the sleeves of her robe.
Lucius merely nodded.
“It’ll turn a three way war into a four way.” Pansy was stunned; surely the Weasley girl and Draco would not start a separate faction of the Order.
“Divide and conquer,” Lucius snapped open the overhead cupboard containing the pensieve. Pansy swayed as her wards rebounded into her. She reached for a wall to steady herself. She was not surprised at finding Lucius’ news a ploy to distract her, but she was faintly horrified at the way he was using his son in his plans for political domination. It was the same horrified fascination that led her to follow his orders, and Pansy leant heavily against the wall.
“Really Pansy, you thought you could hide this from me?” Lucius shook his head before standing. Her pensieve was cradled in his palms.
“Is it true?” Pansy asked tiredly, “Has Draco left to join the Weasley girl?”
Lucius looked at her, “Oh that,” he shrugged elegantly, “I’m not sure, but he has left us, and is going to the Weasley girl. Good evening, Pansy.”
Pansy watched Lucius carry her pensieve out of her study and slid down the wall. Bitter tears trickled down her cheeks.
I kind of wish I had something shiny and new to offer you, but I haven't finished it yet.
It's been a year since I've had this LJ.
And, um, in celebration I present you with the first HP fic I posted on this LJ, since my LJ Smith WIP is unlikely to interest a whole heap of you. This was also my first serious HP fic. The others were all badfic, and I'm shamefully embarassed by them. However in all it's glory I present to you:
Title: I Sang Alleluia in the Choir
Author: quietliban
Summary: Pansy Parkinson chose the lesser of two evil mentors or so she thought.
Disclaimer:The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers etc. Not copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written 2005 before HBP. Therefore not HBP-compliant (or possibly canon-compliant at all, but um... I was young, and naive and didn't even know what the word canon meant). Intended as a longer fic that was scrapped. Inspired by Forgiven by Alanis Morisette.
I Sang Alleluia in the Choir
I never forgot it, confusing as it was.
Sunday, 1 September 2002
Pansy glanced at the heavy wooden doors of the study in her quarters. They were ancient in their architecture. The iron-wrought handles menacingly and intricately designed. It was such a beautiful house, even with its enveloping darkness, that surrounded you as soon as stepped onto its mesmerising grounds. The gargoyles watched you as you tried to walk up to the intimidating double doors of the main entrance, only to discover that it was unused and be grumbled at by the ghost butler to use the side door. Igor somehow ruined the aura of Malfoy Manor. His ghostly appearance not adding to the haunting atmosphere. He had been serving the Malfoys for generations, without leave, might he add, as he escorted you out.
Pansy turned back to the mahogany desk, the small-caldron shaped object taunting her. The intricate runic designs shimmered in the clouded afternoon light, and the misty whiteness of what appeared to be bubbling steam of a potion wafted up to her.
The war had shaken fear into the hearts and minds of everyone. No one knew who to believe. Should they believe the Ministry? Surely Fudge would know if He Who Must Not Be Named had returned. Should they believe Dumbledore and Harry Potter? Wasn’t Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived, the only one ever to survive The Killing Curse? He would surely know if evil was coming. And then there were those who did not have to believe because they knew. They had felt the burning call, and it was true. Voldemort had returned.
There had not been many disappearances this time. Pansy knew that was what lay behind the uncertainty of the wizarding world. There had been murders, but they had not marked by Death Eaters. Eight years had passed since Harry Potter had accused Voldemort of Cedric Diggory’s death. In that time there had only been skirmishes between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, plans on both sides falling awry. The Ministry of Magic causing mayhem for the warring parties with their continued incompetence and denial. No one but the murderers themselves knew who they were.
Pansy knew, and the thought made her shiver as she glanced at her hands. Her fingers while not short were not the fine boned limbs of either of the Malfoys. She was ungainly in comparison to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. She shook her head briefly, before wiping away the invisible blood onto her robes. Screams and pointless pleas still haunted her.
Pansy had never wanted to go to Malfoy Manor, but it was what her parents had wanted for her since the age of five. And so, she had gone with little choice. She had been forced into being a playmate for the hideously spoilt Draco Malfoy. As a young boy he had been disgustingly coddled by his mother, and as such he had been terribly prone to tantrums and the worse of the crimes of only children; snatching. As five year olds, they had despised each other. This was only natural as Pansy’s mother doted on her; and Draco’s on him. Neither was used to having the divided attention of an audience. As a child Pansy had spent many hours trying to attain the attention of the adult Malfoys, while maintaining the complete and utter devotion of her own parents. Unfortunately Draco did much the same.
Pansy had never liked that, and as she grew older she would argue with her parents, pleading not to go with them to the Manor. Telling the elder Parkinson’s that she could stay at home with the house-elves. Her parents had been horrified at the suggestion and Pansy was continually dragged to the Malfoy Manor and sulked on these occasions.
The twenty-two year old Pansy sighed, taking up her wand. The willow felt solid between her fingers and she placed one tip into the misty white thoughts of her pensieve, and the other to her head.
Sunday, 1 September, 1991
Kings Cross Station had been the busiest thing she had ever laid eyes on. Muggles were running around in their funny little clothes and an elderly woman was looking at Pansy strangely. Pansy stood up proudly in defiance, her baby pink robe falling airily to the ground. She still had a hold of her mother’s cool delicately manicured hand. Nerves were buzzing around her, and she was leaving her parents behind to go to Hogwarts. The school her father had gone to. She did not know what to expect there. Her mother had originally argued, wanting to send her to Beauxbatons, but something had made her change her mind.
Her father was loading her trunk onto the train when her mother faced her. The look in those large brown orbs was uncertain, and they made Pansy even more nervous.
“Mother?”
“Yes, darling?” her mother answered, her voice clear and steady.
“Will everything be alright? I mean, do you think I’ll make friends?” Pansy asked nervously.
Her mother had laughed then, lightly but reassuringly. “You already have friends. You know the Patil girls, and Maria is in second year. Oh, and of course there’s always Draco.”
Pansy tried not to screw her face up at the mention of Draco’s name. They were polite to each other whenever Pansy was dragged along to Malfoy Manor, but it was an isolating strained politeness, and he would always refuse to play with her.
“Oh, now dear. I know you don’t like the boy, but trust me darling, he’ll be a good friend to have when you’re older, so at least try won’t you?” her mother smoothed out Pansy’s dark hair, “at least try for me?”
Pansy studied her mother’s face; she looked worried, as if she was scared to let Pansy onto the train. “Okay Mother, but I can’t help it if I accidentally curse him.” Her mother had begun to scold her, when her father returned.
“Pansy, you better get on the train,” he patted her head. “Good luck, you’ll be fine. Hogwarts was great fun, and owl us as soon as you’re sorted.” Her mother kissed Pansy on the cheek before her father ushered her on to the train.
The first compartment that Pansy opened was filled with older students, and Pansy poked her head in before quickly leaving, slamming the compartment door as she went. She could feel the heat in her face as she kept walking down the train. She didn’t dare open another door, scared of what she might find in there. There could be anything on the train to Hogwarts. She made it down to the last carriage before the baggage train, and opened the door. She was surprised to find people in it, and even more surprised that she found the bulking masses of Crabbe and Goyle watching the sulking Draco Malfoy.
The first greeting Draco gave her, was “get lost pug-face,” and Pansy glared. She knew what she looked like, but he had never called that to her face before. Suddenly she smiled with false sweetness.
“Make me Drakey-poo,” she sat down defiantly next to Goyle, who made room for her. The blonde boy watched her take a seat with narrowed eyes. He was trying to look menacing, and Pansy fought the urge to laugh. Draco would never live to be his father.
Silence emanated between them, and they sat there for minutes. Crabbe and Goyle were looking at each other like they were about to go mad. Finally Pansy couldn’t take it anymore.
“So why are you sulking?” she ventured, she didn’t actually care, but she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“No reason,” Draco replied, his tone was forced.
“So you’re just being more a spoiled sulky brat than usual?”
Draco looked away, his grey eyes ignoring her to watch the blur of images outside the train window.
Pansy sighed, and started to get up, the echoing dumbness of the occupants of the compartment irritating her.
“Harry Potter rejected him,” one of the bulking figures spoke. Pansy glanced at Draco; he was pouting and refusing to acknowledge what one of his friends had just said.
“Harry Potter’s on the train?” Pansy asked; a spark of excitement in her voice. The boy was legend. No body had heard anything about him since his parents’ death and his miraculous survival. It was only whispered that Dumbledore was hiding him.
Crabbe nodded.
“The-Boy-Who-Lived is one this train?” she asked again, still not believing it was true.
“Yes,” Draco replied bitterly.
“Seriously?” Pansy asked again, the realization that the wizarding world’s saviour was on the train not quite hitting her.
“Yes, Harry-bloody-Potter is on the train. The-Prat-Who-Lived is going to Hogwarts.” Draco angled his head, looking directly at her, lowering his voice, “do you want to ask again?”
Pansy did not smile this time. It was just too tragic. Draco’s attempts to mimic his father were laughable. It was not working for the gawky-angular boy. His limbs were not yet graceful enough and his voice still an octave too high. Besides, Pansy doubted that Draco’s sparks of anger could be contained by even Lucius Malfoy’s serene unmovable composure.
“Wow, he really annoyed you didn’t he?” Pansy was slightly impressed by the legendary boy. Draco was used to getting his own way and everybody who knew who Lucius Malfoy was gave Draco what he wanted. Surely this Harry Potter boy wasn’t more powerful than the great and awesome Lucius Malfoy?
“No,” Draco began with misplaced pride, “he did not annoy me, because to annoy me he would have to be at least my equal. And with his shabby hair, broken glasses and oversized clothes there is no way that he could be my equal. He is below me.”
Pansy looked at Draco incredulously. “Draco,” she said slowly. “You’ve just noticed a hell of a lot about a boy who apparently is beneath you.”
“-and he’s chumming with a Weasley. A Weasley? Can you believe it, Parkinson? I mean you’re only just passable but a Weasley? As if the muggle-born wasn’t bad enough-” Draco ignored Pansy, and continued on his tirade on how Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived, was beneath him. Pansy sighed and waited for him to finish. Draco paused, and Pansy jumped in.
“Are you quite done now?”
Draco opened his mouth at Pansy interruption and then closed it.
“Good,” Pansy did not wait to see if it was true. “Maybe you could give him a chance. I mean, he probably doesn’t know that Weasleys are bad, and wasn’t his mother a muggle-born?” Pansy stopped, and thought about what she was saying. “He probably doesn’t even know any better. He probably doesn’t even know what it means to be a Potter much less Harry Potter.” Draco had started to look at her with a strange glint in his eyes. She did not like it, it was a similar look he gave her when the Parkinsons stayed the night at the Manor and she would go to bed to find rat tails in her sheets. “I mean-” Pansy faltered, “hasn’t he been in hiding since, y’know, the night that You-Know-Who disappeared?” Pansy finished her explanation slowly.
“Yeah,” one of the bulky figures of Crabbe and Goyle agreed, but Pansy was too busy with watching Draco and his strange glint to notice which one.
Draco smirked, “If he doesn’t know what it means to be Harry Potter, then we’ll have to teach him, won’t we, Crabbe, Goyle?” he turned to Pansy. “Won’t we Parkinson?”
Sunday 1 September 2002
Pansy shuddered at the recollection. She had not known that the pensieve would pick that up, and now she was afraid.
She had once been a Potter sympathiser. Her family had never been Death Eaters, and the fall of Voldemort had been welcomed. She knew that her mother’s sister had been killed during the first rise and that the sudden revelation that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater had prompted the swift ending to Parkinson-Malfoy relations.
But it was too late for Pansy. The embedded rivalry between her and Draco had disappeared, and while she and Draco continued to vie for attention they had become allies against a common cause. She only knew now, that it was this fragile treaty between them that had made her succeed in the goal she had set as a five-year-old. She had gained the attention of the elder Malfoys. Pansy’s cunning and astute observations of the Potter boy had gotten Narcissa Malfoy’s attention. The woman had overheard her and Draco plotting the downfall of Harry Potter in the eyes of Dumbledore during the summer between fourth and fifth year.
Soon after any talk of an arranged marriage between Pansy and Draco ceased, to the immense relief of both and to the great disappointment of her parents, whom had cultivated the friendship with the Malfoys for such a purpose.
Pansy fiddled with her wand. It had been that summer Lucius Malfoy had approached her. She knew then why the arranged marriage had been shunted aside. She was too subtle to be Draco’s wife. Lucius had complimented her wit, and told her how much she was a true Slytherin. He had kindly asked her to keep an eye on his son. Draco while clever was too impulsive, and would she be able to keep him informed of his son’s activities? It was the first job ever given to her by Lucius Malfoy, and unfortunately Pansy thought, spying on his son was not the last.
Pansy picked up the pensieve, her hands shaking a little as she placed it in the tiny cupboard above her desk. It too, was old, and the lock would only answer to the master of the manor, but she flicked the door closed anyway. Sealing the lock with an incantation, it would take a small part of her concentration to keep her pensieve hidden from Lucius until she could take it off Malfoy grounds later that evening. She did not want Lucius to see how she had defended Harry Potter when she was younger. It was embarrassing, and she did not want her master to doubt her.
Pansy rose from the mahogany desk, sighing softly as she went to the window. The shadows of the trees made the nooks and crannies of the ancient garden walls more sinister. The nightshade and the oleander swayed in the breeze. Pansy pulled her arms around herself. The war was still being fought in a secretive game of attrition. Each side would try and find the others safe houses and decimate them. There had been no open battles, some one in the Death Eaters was curbing their master’s desire for an open war, and playing on the Ministry’s caution in believing Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Pansy had an idea of who that someone was, but she was uncertain. She could not believe that Voldemort was behind the strategy. She rubbed her arms, it was a warm autumn afternoon, but Pansy’s thoughts were keeping her cool. She had only heard the snake-like creature that commanded her master once. It had been the voice of pure madness, and Pansy often wondered what made men like Lucius Malfoy follow such a thing, but then she was following a man who followed such a thing.
Pansy turned as she heard the purposeful steps in the hallway heading towards her study. It was not Igor approaching, nor was it Narcissa. The former didn’t have a tread, and the latter was simply disgusted by Pansy’s presence. The white-haired Lucius Malfoy entered. He was still and tall intimidating man. He always had been, and to Pansy at her measly height, always would be, but Lucius Malfoy was a scarred man now, the lines around his eyes and mouth not just from age, but from the stress of imprisonment and war. His eyes were slightly crazed and haunted. Sometimes Pansy wondered if she worked for a creature similar to Voldemort.
“Lucius,” Pansy greeted as he came to stand at the window beside her.
“These are dark days,” Lucius remarked grandly, gesturing to the window scene below them. Pansy tried to hide a smirk, for indeed the day was dark with overcast skies.
“What’s happened?” she ventured, waiting him to list the names of the latest casualties.
“He has abandoned us,” Lucius told her smoothly. His voice calm and collected, he had merely stated a fact. It was as if the ‘he’ was anyone else but his son.
Pansy stared out the window for a few moments. Draco had been part of them, he was Lucius’ son. He had been her longest rival, and in a way, her oldest friend if she could have such things. “Draco’s gone?” she knew it was a pointless question, but she wanted to know where. Which side would he fold to? Pansy knew the pressures of espionage, and had always wondered at Lucius’ decision in allowing him to spy on the Order. Draco’s impulsiveness worried her as much it had worried his father when they were fifteen.
“He has absconded,” Lucius confirmed.
Pansy nodded with disappointment, “How’s Narcissa?”
Lucius looked at Pansy then, and she tried not to return his cold grey gaze, patiently studying the poison ivy crawling up the lower garden wall opposite her window.
Narcissa was not a subject often discussed between them. It often brought up difficult questions. Pansy did not believe that Lucius loved her, nor did she love him in anyway that went beyond a servant’s devotion to their master, but she understood Narcissa’s suspicions. Pansy could see the calculated desire in her master’s eyes, for Lucius was nothing but calculated, and the thought that he may act on it terrified her.
Narcissa was violently opposed to Pansy living in the manor. She had been the driving force in inviting Pansy to live there when her parents had disowned her, and they had gotten on well during Lucius’ incarceration in Azkaban. After his release something in their marriage had changed, and Pansy was charged with the blame. Nowadays, Pansy avoided Narcissa and did not leave her quarters if she knew the other woman was awake. Hexes had been known to fly through the house if Pansy so much as stepped outside her door.
Suddenly Pansy felt a slight breach in the wards she had set around the pensieve. She turned to face Lucius where he had been standing. He was gone; she turned around further and found him playing with a quill.
“She is unsurprised and,” he paused putting the quill down again and stepping towards her, “she blames you.”
Pansy sighed, “She shouldn’t. He’s fallen for Potter, or someone in the Order. There’s no way that he could have been corrupted by their ideals.”
“He hasn’t joined the Order,” Lucius told her before turning back to her desk.
Pansy panicked then, she knew Draco better than most. Spying on somebody for years tended to mean than you knew them better than themselves in most cases, but Pansy could think of any other option, unless… “No.” she put her hands to her face. “He hasn’t, he couldn’t….” Pansy did not like the conclusion her mind had reached. “But,” she paused looking at Lucius; he had sat down at her desk. “He doesn’t want to make your mistakes,” Pansy put a hand over her mouth when she realised what she had said and whom she had said it to.
Lucius smirked slightly, his mildly crazed eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Not that you’ve made any mistakes, Lucius,” Pansy covered up.
Lucius gave a short laugh, his long aristocratic fingers brushing over an ornamental lock. “My dear child,” he picked up the quill again, twirling it in his fingers. “I’ve made many mistakes, and will most likely make a great deal more,” he examined the nib, “He hasn’t taken the Mark.”
Pansy sighed with relief, pacing a hand to her chest. Lucius looked up at her, softness in his eyes. Pansy looked away, uncomfortable. “You should know what he did, after all, you know him best.”
Pansy thought about her most recent conversations with Draco. He had been reporting on the tight circle around Potter, but something was off in his report. He had said that the trio and others close to him had been separated, but had not said where they all were. He had claimed this was because he had not been told, but she knew that Draco’s role in the Order was more than that of a foot soldier. She thought about his report some more, the names mentioned. Some Weasleys, an old professor, Granger of course, Looney Lovegood but someone was missing.
Pansy moved towards her desk, standing next to Lucius. She ruffled through the bottom draw, reaching in a pulling out several pages of parchment. “H.J. Granger, L. Lovegood, R.J. Lupin, F. Weasley, G. Weasley, R.B. Weasley and…” she flipped to the next page. “There’s nothing on N. Longbottom, or G.M Weasley.” She across at Lucius, he was staring intently with his disturbing grey eyes at her chin. “Oh God,” she paused. Draco had expressed some concern about the littlest Weasley, saying something about her being ‘a little unstable.’ Pansy put the parchment down on the desk before moving quickly to the carefully crafted windows.
“They haven’t.” She turned away from the window after a moment. Lucius was still staring at her intently. Pansy pulled at the sleeves of her robe.
Lucius merely nodded.
“It’ll turn a three way war into a four way.” Pansy was stunned; surely the Weasley girl and Draco would not start a separate faction of the Order.
“Divide and conquer,” Lucius snapped open the overhead cupboard containing the pensieve. Pansy swayed as her wards rebounded into her. She reached for a wall to steady herself. She was not surprised at finding Lucius’ news a ploy to distract her, but she was faintly horrified at the way he was using his son in his plans for political domination. It was the same horrified fascination that led her to follow his orders, and Pansy leant heavily against the wall.
“Really Pansy, you thought you could hide this from me?” Lucius shook his head before standing. Her pensieve was cradled in his palms.
“Is it true?” Pansy asked tiredly, “Has Draco left to join the Weasley girl?”
Lucius looked at her, “Oh that,” he shrugged elegantly, “I’m not sure, but he has left us, and is going to the Weasley girl. Good evening, Pansy.”
Pansy watched Lucius carry her pensieve out of her study and slid down the wall. Bitter tears trickled down her cheeks.
I kind of wish I had something shiny and new to offer you, but I haven't finished it yet.