Leigh!fic- Lacrymosa (1/1)- Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson
Title: Lacrymosa (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 471
Summary: There's no one to blame for her fate but him.
Author’s Notes: First-place winner of this week challenge at sortinghatdrabs. Pairing was Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson, and the prompt was "For what it's worth..." This was my first time writing Harry, and I was fairly pleased with the result!
It never ceased to amaze Harry that, despite the constant media circus surrounding her trial, Pansy Parkinson's cool facade never wavered. At every glance, she was as she always was; her inscrutable mask- a byproduct of her pureblood heritage- remained firmly in place. It was almost as if the court proceedings, the same hearings that would determine the rest of her life, bored her.
He didn't regret any of it. Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life and enabled him to get back to Hogwarts. His debt to her had been lifted when he had spoken for the Malfoy family in front of the Wizengamot. Neither Lucius nor Draco would be charged for their involvement with the Death Eaters, a fact that left many members of the court unsettled.
For that reason, the Ministry had chosen to charge Pansy Parkinson with crimes committed by her father, one of the Death Eaters killed in the Final Battle. It wasn't rational, but demagogy rarely was.
She was going to go to prison, of that he was certain. What else was he certain of?
He was certain that he was the man who'd put her there.
“Pansy Morgana Parkinson, the Wizengamot finds you guilty of crimes against society, and you are hereby sentenced to Azkaban prison for a period of time to exceed no more than fifteen years.”
There was a rumble from the crowd in the courtroom at the Wizengamot's verdict, and flashes started going off in earnest as reporters tried to capture shots of the newly-sentenced Ms. Parkinson in what was sure to be her last public appearance until the conclusion of her sentence.
In that moment, something flashed over her face; a glimpse of the human being hiding behind her icy facade. It gave Harry pause and, not for the first time, made him think, 'This is wrong."
Ignoring the cameras, Harry pushed out of the courtroom and down the back hallway after Pansy, calling her name as he did. "Parkinson!"
The regal raven-haired beauty stopped and turned, her lips pursed in a firm, straight line. Her dark eyes were heavy with disdain, and she looked down her upturned pug nose at him. "What do you want, Potter?"
Now that he was here, he wasn't sure what he wanted. "I..." he trailed off and ran his hand through his unruly black hair, a sure sign of nerves. "Look, for what it's worth-"
"For what what's worth, exactly?" she asked sharply, nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply. "My life? My freedom? Nothing you can say, no apology you can offer, will ever be worth what you have stolen from me."
With a parting glare, she turned on her heels, her designer robes billowing about her, and let the guards lead her back to her cell, leaving Harry with nothing but a niggling press of regret.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 471
Summary: There's no one to blame for her fate but him.
Author’s Notes: First-place winner of this week challenge at sortinghatdrabs. Pairing was Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson, and the prompt was "For what it's worth..." This was my first time writing Harry, and I was fairly pleased with the result!
It never ceased to amaze Harry that, despite the constant media circus surrounding her trial, Pansy Parkinson's cool facade never wavered. At every glance, she was as she always was; her inscrutable mask- a byproduct of her pureblood heritage- remained firmly in place. It was almost as if the court proceedings, the same hearings that would determine the rest of her life, bored her.
He didn't regret any of it. Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life and enabled him to get back to Hogwarts. His debt to her had been lifted when he had spoken for the Malfoy family in front of the Wizengamot. Neither Lucius nor Draco would be charged for their involvement with the Death Eaters, a fact that left many members of the court unsettled.
For that reason, the Ministry had chosen to charge Pansy Parkinson with crimes committed by her father, one of the Death Eaters killed in the Final Battle. It wasn't rational, but demagogy rarely was.
She was going to go to prison, of that he was certain. What else was he certain of?
He was certain that he was the man who'd put her there.
“Pansy Morgana Parkinson, the Wizengamot finds you guilty of crimes against society, and you are hereby sentenced to Azkaban prison for a period of time to exceed no more than fifteen years.”
There was a rumble from the crowd in the courtroom at the Wizengamot's verdict, and flashes started going off in earnest as reporters tried to capture shots of the newly-sentenced Ms. Parkinson in what was sure to be her last public appearance until the conclusion of her sentence.
In that moment, something flashed over her face; a glimpse of the human being hiding behind her icy facade. It gave Harry pause and, not for the first time, made him think, 'This is wrong."
Ignoring the cameras, Harry pushed out of the courtroom and down the back hallway after Pansy, calling her name as he did. "Parkinson!"
The regal raven-haired beauty stopped and turned, her lips pursed in a firm, straight line. Her dark eyes were heavy with disdain, and she looked down her upturned pug nose at him. "What do you want, Potter?"
Now that he was here, he wasn't sure what he wanted. "I..." he trailed off and ran his hand through his unruly black hair, a sure sign of nerves. "Look, for what it's worth-"
"For what what's worth, exactly?" she asked sharply, nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply. "My life? My freedom? Nothing you can say, no apology you can offer, will ever be worth what you have stolen from me."
With a parting glare, she turned on her heels, her designer robes billowing about her, and let the guards lead her back to her cell, leaving Harry with nothing but a niggling press of regret.