A Gift for the comm: Pieces on Fire, (Ginny/Pansy)
Author: xenadragon_xoxo
Recipient: rarepair_shorts
Title: Pieces On Fire
Pairing: Ginny/Pansy
Rating: G
Word Count: 1926
Summary: The war is over, but Pansy has lost everything. How can you pick up the pieces when you don't even know where to find them? Maybe you need to burn them all down and rebuild from scratch.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta for going through this on such short notice - and thank you to the mods for putting up with the fact that I got the deadline totally wrong! >.
The dust settled and the ash blew away, but with it went everything Pansy once knew.
There was no more Hogwarts. At least, not like she remembered it. Her best friend had been whisked away by his parents, gone into hiding. The professors who favoured her - as objectively terrible as they were - had been arrested. Portions of the castle were still being fixed and renovated, including the Astronomy tower she used to visit on difficult nights.
There was no more home. She'd gone there a week after the war when her parents didn't respond to her fervent letters. It had burned down. There was nothing left but charred crisps, remainders of opulent furniture and walls.
There was no more her. Pansy's sense of self had hinged on being Pureblood for all her life. It was all meaningless, now. Why anyone had ever cared about blood Purity, Pansy didn't know. Mindless games of privilege and wealth, nothing more - and yet she'd used that Purity in place of a personality for 17 years.
"Wow, you look awful."
Pansy recognised the voice - a common infiltrator of the Eighth Year dorms. She didn't bother opening her eyes. "Weasley. Don't you have some Gryffindors to bother?"
"I'm just getting Hermione. We're heading down to the kitchens. There's a bit of a party. Wanna come?"
"An exclusive invite to an exclusive kitchen party. How could I refuse?"
"Fine, suit yourself. Offer stands. Come down if you want."
Pansy cracked open one eye just in time to see a flash of red hair leave her line of vision.
Granger's voice, softer than it was in classes, reached her ears. "I told you not to bother with her, Ginny."
"No harm done. Maybe she'll come one day."
The door leading into the room clicked open, then shut. Silence fell again.
Everyone was celebrating, but Pansy's life was in shambles. She couldn't find the pieces of the life she'd known, much less pick them up. The world had altered, shifting into new shapes and shadows, and it was turning without her. How could you reassemble something that had changed form when you weren't looking?
And so she didn't. She lay in front of the common room fireplace and wondered if there was any chance the embers would rush up and consume her.
-------------------
Ginny was all intensity and energy. She drowned out the hearth. When she sat down beside Pansy, the thrum of Pansy's pulse almost obscured her words.
"I never see you at the Great Hall," said Ginny.
Pansy didn't understand why Ginny spoke to her in the first place. She hoped it never stopped. Ginny's voice, though warm and curious in ways Pansy's had never been, reminded her of the fierceness and confidence that had once been in hers.
"Hmm?"
"You know, for breakfast or lunch or dinner, I never see you."
Pansy only slunk down to the Great Hall long after everyone had left, five minutes before classes. On some days, she didn't go at all. "Hall's a big place. Maybe you don't notice."
"I look for you, though."
"Why would you do that?"
"I don't know. I like seeing you."
Pansy's body fought her mind whenever Ginny came around. Acting natural felt stiff. Her usual eye-rolls felt cruel. And her face wanted to smile. Pansy did not like smiling.
"You eat enough, don't you?" asked Ginny.
"Sometimes."
"But more than last month?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
Ginny hummed to herself. Should Pansy speak? There was too much and too little to say all at once.
"You don't talk much, huh?" asked Ginny.
"No."
Not anymore.
Ginny hummed to herself again. Pansy wondered if she hated being here, if she was just being nice. Ginny's life was lovely, put-together. She had all the pieces. Pansy didn't fit there, she'd make a mess of it.
But Ginny stayed as the minutes stretched into hours, silent apart from occasional questions and observations. When she left, Pansy didn't know, because then she was opening her eyes to the morning.
-------------------
Houses didn't matter in Eighth Year. There weren't enough students to warrant it, and numbers were disproportionate. But House dynamics still remained - worse, now, especially since Pansy was one of only two Slytherins who remained.
Millicent Bulstrode wasn't your typical Slytherin, though. Or at least she wasn't anymore. She was quiet, withdrawn, frightened of the world. Her face had become thin and gaunt over the months, her cheeks hollow, dark circles sunken deep into the shadows around her eyes.
But Pansy wasn't a typical Slytherin anymore, either. Perhaps that is what Slytherins had always been - gloomy, edgy teenagers wallowing in misery. Sometimes, she and Millicent did it together. They'd never been friends, and it was difficult to start. So they sat by the fireplace, never exchanging a word.
Except for now, when Millicent's dry rasp was a cold shock to Pansy's eardrums.
"Here she comes again. The Weasley girl. She's always talking to you, isn't she?"
Pany raised her head from where she lay on the floor. Bright orange hair illuminated by the roaring fire, Ginny was striding towards them, her footfalls soft against the carpet but loud against Pansy's pulse. She stopped in front of them, a smile on her face, the cheerfulness of it offset by the brazenness in her eyes.
"Why do you always do that?" asked Ginny.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Exactly! Why do you always not do anything?
"It's what I like to do."
"Sounds exhausting."
Pansy pushed herself up through her arms and stared. "What do you want, Weasley?"
"It's Ginny, please. And there's another party in the kitchens. Hermione doesn't want to come this time, she says she has homework or whatever. You two should come, though."
Pansy heard the jaw-drop in Millicent's voice.
"Me?"
"Yeah, why not, Bulstrode? You like to party?"
Pansy tuned them out, turning her head back to the fire. For a moment, she thought she saw Ginny's eyes in them. She blinked, clearing the film over her eyes.
When she turned back to see what Ginny and Millicent were up to, the pair was already walking off. A tug pulled at Pansy's chest, a hook in her gut trying to drag her to them. She resisted it. She wasn't one of them. She couldn't be one of them. She didn't fit into whatever was going on in the kitchens; she wasn't the right piece for it.
Ginny glanced back, once, over her shoulder at Pansy. Pansy's heart was in her throat. She tried to grasp for it, but it shied away. The moment passed, and Pansy was alone again.
-------------------
The festive season brought with it boisterous, glimmering decorations in the great hall, a large tree erected in the Eighth Year dorms, and excitable chatter from every corner. Pansy figured a kitchen party would be better than this, and so she went, unprompted.
It wasn't so bad. Tinsel hung, suspended in the air, in different shades of metallic. Pies were laid out across the long, kitchen table, wafting delectable scents upwards. Enchanted mistletoe bobbed along, surprising unsuspecting friends. Pansy knew better. A whispered protective charm later and she was safe from its wiles.
Pansy had never been a wallflower, but things changed. It was easiest to fit into the corners of places. She downed her Firewhiskey, wincing as it burned her throat. Had it really been that long since her last drink?
The kitchen door opened and Ginny rushed in. She was wearing an absolutely horrific-looking fuzzy sweater with a broomstick embroidered into it, sinking into the fabric right beneath the initials "GW". She looked amazing. Pansy's heart clambered within her ribcage. She stepped forward, the tips of her shoes brushing the ground.
Granger entered right behind Ginny. Pansy stepped back quickly, busying herself with her empty glass. She flicked her eyes upwards to keep them in her view. Granger's long, thick dark hair was in box braids - a huge difference from her usual rush of natural, poofy curls.
The bright Gryffindor looked in Pansy's direction. Pansy's instinct was to avert her eyes, but she held the gaze instead, nodding. Granger tapped Ginny's shoulder and pointed at Pansy, and the redhead broke away from her friend. She was too far and then too close in a matter of seconds.
"I was in the Eighth Year room earlier and you weren't there. I didn't think you'd be here."
"I'm full of surprises, Weasley."
"It's Ginny. I've told you. And you weren't when I was trying to make you come down here."
Ginny. Pansy thought it all the time. She didn't trust herself to say it. "Shouldn't you be keeping Granger company?"
"She'll be fine. She'll find Padma and then I'll be an awkward third wheel. There's no fun in that."
Pansy smirked. She hadn't in a while. "No love on the horizons for you, huh, Weasley?"
"Why, you got someone in mind for me?"
Me. Choose me.
"No one who would meet your high standards."
Ginny's expression, one moment like raging flames, softened to gentle waves. "Actually, there's already someone I like."
Pansy set down her empty glass. It clinked, deafening. "Good for you. Excuse me."
"Pansy, I-"
The kitchen door closed, cutting the Gryffindor off. Maybe there was some merit in staying in the common room and doing nothing. At least that piece of Pansy's life could be relied on.
-------------------
For months, the fire in the Eighth Year common room had kept Pansy warm, reminding her to feel, reminding her that the world was livable. Now, the heat from its fury burned too hot. On Christmas day, it became too much to bear, and so to the snow she escaped.
The grounds of Hogwarts had changed. A memorial to those fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts stood tall and proud where a fountain had once been. She scanned its stone etchings, reading over names of those she already knew were lost forever.
Pansy stuffed her hands in her pockets. She hadn't dressed for the weather. Her normal school robes were much too thin, her socks too short, her neck and hands unprotected. She could use magic, she thought, to warm herself. She didn't.
"Bit cold for the outdoors, isn't it?"
Pansy turned to the sound of the voice she knew so well, the voice she wished she heard more often, the voice she didn't dare listen to too much of. Ginny's cheeks were bright red from the frost. A bit of a snowflake had caught on her freckled nose, delicate and dainty. She wasn't dressed for winter, either.
"What's wrong, Pansy? Jarvey got your tongue?"
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You're not home for Christmas?"
"I am. You're just seeing a figment of your imagination."
"Very funny."
"I know, I'm a regular comedian."
Silence. Pansy usually liked silence. This one was different, tense, loaded, weighted with things unsaid.
Ginny spoke again. "Moved your miserable spot out here?"
"My miserable spot?"
"The place where you go to be miserable. Like in front of the fire in your common room."
"It's always a miserable spot when you're around, Weasley."
Ginny smiled. She was too pretty. It shouldn't be allowed.
"I know you Slytherin types, Pansy."
"Pardon?"
"When you're mean, you're flirting."
Pansy glanced away. Her eyes would give away too much. "That's a generalisation."
"So tell me I'm wrong."
Pansy didn't. Ginny touched her face. Her hands were icy, but all Pansy felt was the rush of her skin, burning hotter than the common room hearth.
"Am I wrong, Pansy?"
"No."
Then Ginny kissed her, and the pieces fell into place.
Recipient: rarepair_shorts
Title: Pieces On Fire
Pairing: Ginny/Pansy
Rating: G
Word Count: 1926
Summary: The war is over, but Pansy has lost everything. How can you pick up the pieces when you don't even know where to find them? Maybe you need to burn them all down and rebuild from scratch.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta for going through this on such short notice - and thank you to the mods for putting up with the fact that I got the deadline totally wrong! >.
The dust settled and the ash blew away, but with it went everything Pansy once knew.
There was no more Hogwarts. At least, not like she remembered it. Her best friend had been whisked away by his parents, gone into hiding. The professors who favoured her - as objectively terrible as they were - had been arrested. Portions of the castle were still being fixed and renovated, including the Astronomy tower she used to visit on difficult nights.
There was no more home. She'd gone there a week after the war when her parents didn't respond to her fervent letters. It had burned down. There was nothing left but charred crisps, remainders of opulent furniture and walls.
There was no more her. Pansy's sense of self had hinged on being Pureblood for all her life. It was all meaningless, now. Why anyone had ever cared about blood Purity, Pansy didn't know. Mindless games of privilege and wealth, nothing more - and yet she'd used that Purity in place of a personality for 17 years.
"Wow, you look awful."
Pansy recognised the voice - a common infiltrator of the Eighth Year dorms. She didn't bother opening her eyes. "Weasley. Don't you have some Gryffindors to bother?"
"I'm just getting Hermione. We're heading down to the kitchens. There's a bit of a party. Wanna come?"
"An exclusive invite to an exclusive kitchen party. How could I refuse?"
"Fine, suit yourself. Offer stands. Come down if you want."
Pansy cracked open one eye just in time to see a flash of red hair leave her line of vision.
Granger's voice, softer than it was in classes, reached her ears. "I told you not to bother with her, Ginny."
"No harm done. Maybe she'll come one day."
The door leading into the room clicked open, then shut. Silence fell again.
Everyone was celebrating, but Pansy's life was in shambles. She couldn't find the pieces of the life she'd known, much less pick them up. The world had altered, shifting into new shapes and shadows, and it was turning without her. How could you reassemble something that had changed form when you weren't looking?
And so she didn't. She lay in front of the common room fireplace and wondered if there was any chance the embers would rush up and consume her.
-------------------
Ginny was all intensity and energy. She drowned out the hearth. When she sat down beside Pansy, the thrum of Pansy's pulse almost obscured her words.
"I never see you at the Great Hall," said Ginny.
Pansy didn't understand why Ginny spoke to her in the first place. She hoped it never stopped. Ginny's voice, though warm and curious in ways Pansy's had never been, reminded her of the fierceness and confidence that had once been in hers.
"Hmm?"
"You know, for breakfast or lunch or dinner, I never see you."
Pansy only slunk down to the Great Hall long after everyone had left, five minutes before classes. On some days, she didn't go at all. "Hall's a big place. Maybe you don't notice."
"I look for you, though."
"Why would you do that?"
"I don't know. I like seeing you."
Pansy's body fought her mind whenever Ginny came around. Acting natural felt stiff. Her usual eye-rolls felt cruel. And her face wanted to smile. Pansy did not like smiling.
"You eat enough, don't you?" asked Ginny.
"Sometimes."
"But more than last month?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
Ginny hummed to herself. Should Pansy speak? There was too much and too little to say all at once.
"You don't talk much, huh?" asked Ginny.
"No."
Not anymore.
Ginny hummed to herself again. Pansy wondered if she hated being here, if she was just being nice. Ginny's life was lovely, put-together. She had all the pieces. Pansy didn't fit there, she'd make a mess of it.
But Ginny stayed as the minutes stretched into hours, silent apart from occasional questions and observations. When she left, Pansy didn't know, because then she was opening her eyes to the morning.
-------------------
Houses didn't matter in Eighth Year. There weren't enough students to warrant it, and numbers were disproportionate. But House dynamics still remained - worse, now, especially since Pansy was one of only two Slytherins who remained.
Millicent Bulstrode wasn't your typical Slytherin, though. Or at least she wasn't anymore. She was quiet, withdrawn, frightened of the world. Her face had become thin and gaunt over the months, her cheeks hollow, dark circles sunken deep into the shadows around her eyes.
But Pansy wasn't a typical Slytherin anymore, either. Perhaps that is what Slytherins had always been - gloomy, edgy teenagers wallowing in misery. Sometimes, she and Millicent did it together. They'd never been friends, and it was difficult to start. So they sat by the fireplace, never exchanging a word.
Except for now, when Millicent's dry rasp was a cold shock to Pansy's eardrums.
"Here she comes again. The Weasley girl. She's always talking to you, isn't she?"
Pany raised her head from where she lay on the floor. Bright orange hair illuminated by the roaring fire, Ginny was striding towards them, her footfalls soft against the carpet but loud against Pansy's pulse. She stopped in front of them, a smile on her face, the cheerfulness of it offset by the brazenness in her eyes.
"Why do you always do that?" asked Ginny.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Exactly! Why do you always not do anything?
"It's what I like to do."
"Sounds exhausting."
Pansy pushed herself up through her arms and stared. "What do you want, Weasley?"
"It's Ginny, please. And there's another party in the kitchens. Hermione doesn't want to come this time, she says she has homework or whatever. You two should come, though."
Pansy heard the jaw-drop in Millicent's voice.
"Me?"
"Yeah, why not, Bulstrode? You like to party?"
Pansy tuned them out, turning her head back to the fire. For a moment, she thought she saw Ginny's eyes in them. She blinked, clearing the film over her eyes.
When she turned back to see what Ginny and Millicent were up to, the pair was already walking off. A tug pulled at Pansy's chest, a hook in her gut trying to drag her to them. She resisted it. She wasn't one of them. She couldn't be one of them. She didn't fit into whatever was going on in the kitchens; she wasn't the right piece for it.
Ginny glanced back, once, over her shoulder at Pansy. Pansy's heart was in her throat. She tried to grasp for it, but it shied away. The moment passed, and Pansy was alone again.
-------------------
The festive season brought with it boisterous, glimmering decorations in the great hall, a large tree erected in the Eighth Year dorms, and excitable chatter from every corner. Pansy figured a kitchen party would be better than this, and so she went, unprompted.
It wasn't so bad. Tinsel hung, suspended in the air, in different shades of metallic. Pies were laid out across the long, kitchen table, wafting delectable scents upwards. Enchanted mistletoe bobbed along, surprising unsuspecting friends. Pansy knew better. A whispered protective charm later and she was safe from its wiles.
Pansy had never been a wallflower, but things changed. It was easiest to fit into the corners of places. She downed her Firewhiskey, wincing as it burned her throat. Had it really been that long since her last drink?
The kitchen door opened and Ginny rushed in. She was wearing an absolutely horrific-looking fuzzy sweater with a broomstick embroidered into it, sinking into the fabric right beneath the initials "GW". She looked amazing. Pansy's heart clambered within her ribcage. She stepped forward, the tips of her shoes brushing the ground.
Granger entered right behind Ginny. Pansy stepped back quickly, busying herself with her empty glass. She flicked her eyes upwards to keep them in her view. Granger's long, thick dark hair was in box braids - a huge difference from her usual rush of natural, poofy curls.
The bright Gryffindor looked in Pansy's direction. Pansy's instinct was to avert her eyes, but she held the gaze instead, nodding. Granger tapped Ginny's shoulder and pointed at Pansy, and the redhead broke away from her friend. She was too far and then too close in a matter of seconds.
"I was in the Eighth Year room earlier and you weren't there. I didn't think you'd be here."
"I'm full of surprises, Weasley."
"It's Ginny. I've told you. And you weren't when I was trying to make you come down here."
Ginny. Pansy thought it all the time. She didn't trust herself to say it. "Shouldn't you be keeping Granger company?"
"She'll be fine. She'll find Padma and then I'll be an awkward third wheel. There's no fun in that."
Pansy smirked. She hadn't in a while. "No love on the horizons for you, huh, Weasley?"
"Why, you got someone in mind for me?"
Me. Choose me.
"No one who would meet your high standards."
Ginny's expression, one moment like raging flames, softened to gentle waves. "Actually, there's already someone I like."
Pansy set down her empty glass. It clinked, deafening. "Good for you. Excuse me."
"Pansy, I-"
The kitchen door closed, cutting the Gryffindor off. Maybe there was some merit in staying in the common room and doing nothing. At least that piece of Pansy's life could be relied on.
-------------------
For months, the fire in the Eighth Year common room had kept Pansy warm, reminding her to feel, reminding her that the world was livable. Now, the heat from its fury burned too hot. On Christmas day, it became too much to bear, and so to the snow she escaped.
The grounds of Hogwarts had changed. A memorial to those fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts stood tall and proud where a fountain had once been. She scanned its stone etchings, reading over names of those she already knew were lost forever.
Pansy stuffed her hands in her pockets. She hadn't dressed for the weather. Her normal school robes were much too thin, her socks too short, her neck and hands unprotected. She could use magic, she thought, to warm herself. She didn't.
"Bit cold for the outdoors, isn't it?"
Pansy turned to the sound of the voice she knew so well, the voice she wished she heard more often, the voice she didn't dare listen to too much of. Ginny's cheeks were bright red from the frost. A bit of a snowflake had caught on her freckled nose, delicate and dainty. She wasn't dressed for winter, either.
"What's wrong, Pansy? Jarvey got your tongue?"
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You're not home for Christmas?"
"I am. You're just seeing a figment of your imagination."
"Very funny."
"I know, I'm a regular comedian."
Silence. Pansy usually liked silence. This one was different, tense, loaded, weighted with things unsaid.
Ginny spoke again. "Moved your miserable spot out here?"
"My miserable spot?"
"The place where you go to be miserable. Like in front of the fire in your common room."
"It's always a miserable spot when you're around, Weasley."
Ginny smiled. She was too pretty. It shouldn't be allowed.
"I know you Slytherin types, Pansy."
"Pardon?"
"When you're mean, you're flirting."
Pansy glanced away. Her eyes would give away too much. "That's a generalisation."
"So tell me I'm wrong."
Pansy didn't. Ginny touched her face. Her hands were icy, but all Pansy felt was the rush of her skin, burning hotter than the common room hearth.
"Am I wrong, Pansy?"
"No."
Then Ginny kissed her, and the pieces fell into place.