FIC: Answer for Myself (1/3) *PG-13*
Title: Answer for Myself (1/3)
Author: vafizziks
Topic: Loss of family
Rating: PG-13
Character or pairing: Pansy Parkinson
Rough word count: ~11,000
Prompt: Character A (not Draco) is the child of Death Eaters and defects, and deals with the consequences of losing home, family, friends, belongings, sense of self, drive, etc.
A/N: For Session 2 of the wizard_trauma ficfest. The title comes from Landed by Ben Folds. Thanks to onion_layers for the beta.
A knock on the door interrupted Pansy. The person on the other side didn’t bother waiting for a reply and opened the door.
"It’s time," Bellatrix said, tone more serious than Pansy had ever heard.
"I’m almost ready," Pansy replied.
In a flash, Bellatrix was beside Pansy, hand tangled in the younger woman’s raven locks, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up. "It is time," Bellatrix hissed.
Pansy didn’t flinch, didn’t blink; she knew that fear was the energy that Bellatrix fed off of. "I’m almost ready," she spat out. The staring contest continued for several moments before Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, shook her head, and let go, shoving Pansy slightly.
"If you weren’t such a…prize…" The older woman slowly dragged her gaze over Pansy’s body before coming back up to meet her eyes. "…for our Master, you would pay for your insolence."
Shrugging, Pansy turned her back on Bellatrix, using every ounce of willpower to control the tremors which were threatening to burst out, and picked up her hairbrush, combing her hair as if she hadn’t a care in the world. "If you’ll excuse me."
Bellatrix grumbled something about five more minutes before striding out and shutting the door. Knowing she had less than five minutes, Pansy picked up her wand, using it to open her trunk and summon things to it. Uniforms, books, and a few pieces of jewelry flew around the room before dropping haphazardly into her trunk. She kept glancing at the door as she gathered up a few last things. Another swish of her wand shrunk her trunk and she shoved it into the pocket of her robes. The red robes of one who is promised to the Dark Lord.
Almost imperceptibly, the doorknob turned. If Pansy hadn’t been so keyed up, she wouldn’t have noticed. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!" she thought. Just as the door opened, she felt as if her entire body was being squeezed through a really narrow pipe. The next thing she knew she was standing in front of Madame Puddifoot’s. Pansy quickly ran her hands over her body, making sure that she hadn’t left any parts behind. It appeared that she was still intact.
Hogsmeade was strangely silent, although she thought that perhaps this was the norm especially over summer holiday. The sky was overcast and rather ominous. She moved toward the main street of Hogsmeade, paying little attention to her surroundings. As soon as Pansy rounded the corner at Gladrags, she heard a ‘Pop’ from behind her. When she turned around, she found Bellatrix grinning at her.
"I knew you were trouble, little girl," Bellatrix said before lifting her wand.
Pansy didn’t wait around, running toward the station. There was only one place where she would be safe. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt like lead, but she had no choice as she started up the path to the castle. A red streak flew past her and she dove off the path into the underbrush. Twigs caught at her clothes and she nearly smashed into a low hanging branch as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Bellatrix was taunting her, crooning about punishment, as Pansy blindly pushed through the bushes. Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t run any further, the brush ended and about a hundred yards ahead, she spotted the front gates of Hogwarts. She ran harder than she’d ever run before and flung herself at the gates. They were closed and wouldn’t budge.
"Open up!" she screamed. Bellatrix’s voice was coming closer, promising that if only Pansy turned around, she wouldn’t suffer…much. "Open! Please!"
To her relief, the gates gave way to her pushing and she threw herself through, watching as the gates slammed shut again. Bellatrix disappeared from view. Pansy lay on the ground for several minutes, trying to catch her breath. A shadow suddenly fell across her.
"What have we here, Mrs. Norris?" Filch cackled, rubbing his hands together in glee.
Pansy stood up and looked the caretaker in the eye. "I need to speak with the Headmistress," she demanded. When Filch grabbed at her, she moved away. She would not have him put his hands on her. He shrugged and muttered something about missing Headmistress Umbridge as he led her to the castle proper. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of a door on the fifth floor. Filch knocked and McGonagall’s voice answered.
"Found this one inside the gates," Filch explained, executing a low sort of bow for the new Headmistress.
McGonagall looked up from her parchment, eyes knit together in surprise. "Thank you, Argus," the older woman replied. He executed another half bow and backed out of the room. McGonagall gestured for Pansy to sit on the other side of the desk. Slowly, she lowered herself into it, not sure of what to expect. "Miss Parkinson, what brings you here?"
"I…I need refuge." She’d read Hogwarts: A History and knew that anyone who asked for refuge-as long as they were deemed worthy-would be granted it. Her only concern was whether she’d be found worthy.
Removing her glasses, McGonagall set them on her desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. "As I suspected," she finally said. "Why?"
"I can’t take the Mark." She wanted to look away from that shrewd gaze, but knew her only chance lie with her sincerity.
The Headmistress tented her fingers in front of her face. "You may stay here."
"P-pardon?" Pansy hadn’t expected it to be this easy; she’d expected hoops given her behavior in the past.
"I grant you refuge," McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "But there’s work to be done. You may stay in the dormitory. Report to Professor Sprout in the morning." With that, she slipped her glasses back on her face and returned to her parchment.
Afraid that the older witch might change her mind, Pansy managed a ‘Thank you’ before hurrying out of the office and heading to the dungeons.
***
"You will repot all of these mandrakes," Sprout said enthusiastically, waving her hands in the direction of a long table covered in mandrakes. "You do remember how to repot mandrakes, don’t you, Parkinson?"
Pansy hated the gleeful tone that had crept into the Hufflepuff’s voice, no doubt delighted to see how far Pansy had fallen. Biting her tongue, she nodded. "Yes, Professor."
Sprout rubbed her hands together. "I’ll check back on you before lunch." She handed Pansy a pair of earmuffs and left her alone in the greenhouse.
Pansy took a deep breath, once again taking in just how many mandrakes she had to repot. When she considered the alternative, a little menial labor wasn’t so bad. Sighing, she pulled the muffs over her ears and yanked out the first mandrake. She could see its mouth open in a silent scream as it wiggled in her fist. She plopped it into a larger pot and looked around. Sprout hadn’t left any gloves for Pansy. She cursed the old woman and reached into a large pot of dirt, pulling out a handful and shoving it around the mandrake. When all of the wrinkled little thing was covered except for the green leafy top, Pansy set the pot aside.
She had repotted a quarter of the table when Sprout stuck her head in the greenhouse. "Lunch, Parkinson."
"Already?" Pansy muttered in reply. It had taken her all morning and the table was still quite full of mandrakes in need of repotting. At this rate, she wouldn’t finish until tomorrow.
"Are you coming along?"
"In a minute."
"Have it your way."
Sprout left again and Pansy glanced down at her hands. There was dirt under her immaculate fingernails, which were now chipped and broken. Her shirt was smeared with dirt as were her skirt; she could only imagine what her face looked like. Grabbing her wand, she did a quick cleaning spell. Her nails, she decided, were a lost cause. She hurried out of the greenhouse and toward the Great Hall.
The Hall, as it was summer, had only one table. The professors were all eating together. Sprout nudged Trelawney when they caught sight of Pansy. She went to the far end of the table, several feet away from anyone. Just because she needed refuge didn’t mean that she belonged here, that she belonged with these people. A plate appeared in front of her and she filled it with a few items, eating in silence. As soon as she was done, she returned to the greenhouse and repotting mandrakes.
***
Draco rushed past Pansy, Snape close at his heels. "Wait, Draco!" she shouted.
He turned toward her, blond hair wild, face red, breathing heavily. "What?"
"Where are you going?" She reached out to touch him, but drew back, horrified, as his features morphed into something sinister, wolfish, red eyes gleaming. "Draco!" she screamed.
Sitting bolt upright, Pansy realized that she’d been dreaming. Again. About that horrible night that her world had been turned upside down. She’d seen one of the Weasleys torn to shreds. She had heard it was the oldest one. And although she thought the lot of them were blood traitors for mixing with the likes of Granger and Potty, she hadn’t ever wished that level of violence on any of them.
She was alone in the Slytherin common room as she’d been every night for the last month. The seventh year girls’ dormitory was entirely too creepy and quiet, so she’d taken to sleeping on the couch, liquidy light from the lake penetrating the gloom. Tomorrow, everyone was arriving for another year. Although, judging from the half-whispered conversations she’d overheard, the professors weren’t sure if anyone was returning.
For the millionth time since she’d arrived at Hogwarts, she pulled the tiny piece of parchment from her pocket. It had been handled so much that it was soft enough to use as a blanket if only it were bigger. As it was, the piece of parchment was Pansy’s talisman, the thing she used to ward off the nightmares. Carefully, she unrolled it. The words were still there. Save yourself. That’s all it said. No salutation, no signature. But she knew who had sent it as surely as she knew her own name. She’d seen his handwriting enough, covering her essays with corrections, on tiny scraps of parchment he would charm to zoom across their common room when they were supposed to be revising.
"Draco," she whispered, pressing the parchment to her heart. "Where are you?"
***
Pansy stood in the Great Hall, standing on tiptoe, eyes scanning the crowd. She was desperate to see one familiar face. Surely, all of the Slytherins hadn’t deserted Hogwarts. However, as wave after wave of students passed by, all she saw were red and gold, blue and bronze, and yellow and black.
Finally, spotting Millicent, standing head and shoulders above the crowd, Pansy dashed forward. She’d never been especially close to the larger girl, but now she was glad to see her.
"Millicent!" Pansy shouted, catching her sleeve.
"Pansy?" Millicent said, peering down. "I never expected to see…" She broke off, eyes darting around to see who might be listening.
She shrugged in response to Millicent’s unasked question. "Is anyone else here?"
"I saw Blaise on the train," Millicent replied as the two of them entered the Great Hall with the rest of the crowd.
"Daphne?" Pansy inquired. The other girl just shook her head. "Tracey?" Another shake. "Theo?"
"You didn’t hear?" Millicent said quietly.
"I’ve been…indisposed…most of the summer."
"Theodore killed himself."
Pansy stopped in her tracks. "What?!?" she exclaimed, not caring who, if anyone, heard her.
"He…" Millicent paused. "He didn’t know any other way out."
They made their way to the Slytherin table which was less than a third full and sat down. Pansy was stunned. Quiet Theo who had tutored her in Herbology during fifth year, who’d had an unrequited crush on one of the Patil twins, who’d twirled Millicent around their common room when said twin had actually spoken to him. He was dead. By his own hand. While she understood desperation, she couldn’t fathom that he was gone.
Now was neither the time nor place to press Millicent for details, so Pansy contented herself with looking around, gauging how many students had returned after the Headmaster’s death. The Gryffindor table, unsurprisingly, seemed full although she didn’t see Potty or his sidekicks. Ravenclaw was probably less than half full and Hufflepuff was three quarters full. The first years stumbled in at that moment, looking tiny and frightened. They were quickly sorted and assumed their seats with their new houses. Slytherin, Pansy was happy to see, received a fair number of the first years. The Great Hall quieted as the Headmistress stood and made her way to the podium.
"I won’t try and live up to the Headmaster’s opening speeches," the witch said, looking older than Pansy had ever recalled seeing. "I daresay you all know the rules. And you will kindly fill in your new housemates on the rules. I will say that now is a time for Hogwarts to pull together. The time for divisions is past. And with that, the custom of sitting solely with your houses will cease after tonight." A large gasp went up from the crowd who seemed to be staring at the Slytherins, disdain evident. Pansy held her chin high; she could only hope that the others would follow her lead. "That is all," the Headmistress said before resuming her seat.
Between the first and second course, a note appeared on Pansy’s plate summoning her to McGonagall’s office as soon as she was finished with dinner.
***
Pansy knocked on the door to McGonagall’s office. The old witch still hadn’t moved up to Dumbledore’s former office.
"Come in, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall called from inside. "Have a seat, please."
Pansy entered the office and sat opposite the Headmistress, wondering what now. She’d completed every assignment that had been handed to her this summer, including helping Slughorn with the Potions cupboards, cleaning bedpans for Madame Pomfrey, and shelving books for Madame Pince. The only thing left for her to do was to help Hagrid with those wretched creatures he tended.
"As you know, Slytherin House has been greatly affected by what’s happening outside the walls of this castle," McGonagall began. Pansy nodded in agreement. "To that end, I’m appointing you prefect."
"Pardon?" There was no way that the Headmistress had just appointed her a prefect for Slytherin.
Reaching into a drawer, McGonagall pulled out a shiny badge, emblazoned with a ‘P’ on it. "Miss Parkinson, you, Miss Bulstrode, and Mr. Zabini are the only seventh year Slytherins to return. I need you to serve your house," she explained as she held the badge in her open palm. Pansy stared for several moments. "Miss Parkinson, I haven’t made an error in judgment, have I?"
"N-no," Pansy replied, shaking her head. "You haven’t." Feeling as if she had little choice in the matter, she took the prefects’ badge from the Headmistress.
"There’s a meeting in fifteen minutes. You’d best be there." With that, the Headmistress returned to her paperwork, dismissing Pansy.
***
Macmillan was in the middle of talking when Pansy pushed open the door and slid into a seat in the back row. He stopped mid-sentence and glared at her.
"The meeting began five minutes ago, Parkinson."
"I just came from meeting the-"
"Everyone, regardless of their house, is to be at the weekly meetings on time," he said, running right over the end of her sentence. "With no excuses."
When all eyes turned to her, Pansy wanted to slouch in her seat. Normally, she loved being the center of attention, craved it really. But not like this. However, her breeding demanded that she sit up, back straight, eyes ahead. As Macmillan and Turpin barreled through their agenda, Pansy half-listened.
"Parkinson will be patrolling with me." When she heard this, her head snapped up. "That’s not a problem, is it, Parkinson?" Macmillan demanded, tone daring her to object.
"It’s fine," she said coldly.
***
Pansy pushed open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. McGonagall had decreed that all students, regardless of their OWLs, would be taking DADA for the coming year. No one, however, had mentioned who the new professor would be. And, as far as Pansy knew, that person had not made an appearance during the summer.
The only seat left in the entire classroom was next to Abbott, so Pansy took it. She tried not to make eye contact with the Hufflepuff. The door swung open, banging against the wall, as an average sized figure clad in a cloak strode to the front. With a theatrical flourish, the figure threw back the hood of the cloak; the entire classroom gasped.
"Constant vigilance," the new DADA professor grumbled. "And all of you with your backs to the door." Mad Eye Moody shook his head in disappointment. "I know you’ve had…unfortunate…luck with your previous professors, including my impostor. I can see I’ve my work cut out for me."
Everyone seemed frozen in place as Moody began lecturing the class about dark artifacts and how to distinguish if an object had dark magic placed upon it. Approximately five minutes in, students began realizing that he was actually teaching them and pulled out parchment and quills. Pansy was busily taking down what he was saying, trying not to stare at the magical eye as it continually rolled around in his head, front, side, other side, all of the way back. She was in the middle of writing the three signs to look for when approaching an object (#2: The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.) when it happened. The point of her quill snapped clean off. Briefly contemplating reparo’ing it, she decided that drawing her wand in the middle of Moody’s lecture was a recipe for disaster. So she rooted in her bag for a spare quill. There was none.
As she was removing everything in her bag (for surely there had to be a quill in there somewhere), Abbott slid a quill across their shared table. Pansy stared for a long moment.
"I don’t need that," she finally hissed. Last year, she had more quills than she could keep track of and when one broke, she disposed of it.
"Just take it," Abbott whispered back.
"I don’t need-"
"I’m not giving it to you forever. Just use it for this class." Abbott withdrew her hand, leaving the quill sitting next to Pansy’s parchment.
"Is there a problem, Parkinson?" Moody barked out, mid-lecture. She looked up to find his magical eye fixed on her.
"No, sir," she snapped, picking up the quill and resuming her notes.
***
The library was full by the time Pansy reached it after dinner. Sprout had assigned three feet of parchment on the uses of the Timonium plant. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and turned the full force of her patented ‘Slytherin Bitch’ glare on a table of first year Hufflepuffs. They stared back at her.
"Oi! Over here!" Millicent was yelling from a corner table.
Pansy gave one last glare which the Hufflepuffs returned, bored looks on their faces, before turning on her heel and stalking over to Millicent’s table. Just as she was dropping her bag, Madame Pince skulked over.
"You will refrain from yelling in my library."
Millicent waved her hand, earning another sharp look from the librarian. Once Pince was out of earshot, Pansy asked indignantly, "Did you see those Hufflepuffs?"
"Those Hufflepuffs?" Millicent repeated, pointing over Pansy’s shoulder. The dark haired witch turned in her seat in time to catch a red haired girl, thumb on the tip of her nose, pushing it up. The girl snatched her hand away and refused to meet Pansy’s eyes.
"Stupid Hufflepuffs," Pansy said under her breath. Leaving her bag on the table, she rose and headed into the stacks under the pretense of looking for Herbology texts. In reality, she needed to get away from all of the prying eyes. She’d wanted to hex that tiny first year, string her up by her black and yellow necktie. But Pince had been watching her like a hawk. And she couldn’t afford to be expelled from Hogwarts. Not now.
"Watch where you’re going," a male voice snapped as Pansy bumped into him.
"Why don’t you watch where you’re going!"
"I should have known it was you," Macmillan said harshly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He shook his head. "Never mind." As he tried to walk past her, she grabbed his arm, intending to turn him toward her. To make him answer her question. Macmillan yanked his arm away. "Don’t touch me!"
"I…" Pansy lapsed into silence, unsure of exactly what she’d done.
"You don’t belong here, Parkinson. And I intend to make sure you don’t stay." With that, he was gone.
Part II
Author: vafizziks
Topic: Loss of family
Rating: PG-13
Character or pairing: Pansy Parkinson
Rough word count: ~11,000
Prompt: Character A (not Draco) is the child of Death Eaters and defects, and deals with the consequences of losing home, family, friends, belongings, sense of self, drive, etc.
A/N: For Session 2 of the wizard_trauma ficfest. The title comes from Landed by Ben Folds. Thanks to onion_layers for the beta.
A knock on the door interrupted Pansy. The person on the other side didn’t bother waiting for a reply and opened the door.
"It’s time," Bellatrix said, tone more serious than Pansy had ever heard.
"I’m almost ready," Pansy replied.
In a flash, Bellatrix was beside Pansy, hand tangled in the younger woman’s raven locks, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up. "It is time," Bellatrix hissed.
Pansy didn’t flinch, didn’t blink; she knew that fear was the energy that Bellatrix fed off of. "I’m almost ready," she spat out. The staring contest continued for several moments before Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, shook her head, and let go, shoving Pansy slightly.
"If you weren’t such a…prize…" The older woman slowly dragged her gaze over Pansy’s body before coming back up to meet her eyes. "…for our Master, you would pay for your insolence."
Shrugging, Pansy turned her back on Bellatrix, using every ounce of willpower to control the tremors which were threatening to burst out, and picked up her hairbrush, combing her hair as if she hadn’t a care in the world. "If you’ll excuse me."
Bellatrix grumbled something about five more minutes before striding out and shutting the door. Knowing she had less than five minutes, Pansy picked up her wand, using it to open her trunk and summon things to it. Uniforms, books, and a few pieces of jewelry flew around the room before dropping haphazardly into her trunk. She kept glancing at the door as she gathered up a few last things. Another swish of her wand shrunk her trunk and she shoved it into the pocket of her robes. The red robes of one who is promised to the Dark Lord.
Almost imperceptibly, the doorknob turned. If Pansy hadn’t been so keyed up, she wouldn’t have noticed. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!" she thought. Just as the door opened, she felt as if her entire body was being squeezed through a really narrow pipe. The next thing she knew she was standing in front of Madame Puddifoot’s. Pansy quickly ran her hands over her body, making sure that she hadn’t left any parts behind. It appeared that she was still intact.
Hogsmeade was strangely silent, although she thought that perhaps this was the norm especially over summer holiday. The sky was overcast and rather ominous. She moved toward the main street of Hogsmeade, paying little attention to her surroundings. As soon as Pansy rounded the corner at Gladrags, she heard a ‘Pop’ from behind her. When she turned around, she found Bellatrix grinning at her.
"I knew you were trouble, little girl," Bellatrix said before lifting her wand.
Pansy didn’t wait around, running toward the station. There was only one place where she would be safe. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt like lead, but she had no choice as she started up the path to the castle. A red streak flew past her and she dove off the path into the underbrush. Twigs caught at her clothes and she nearly smashed into a low hanging branch as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Bellatrix was taunting her, crooning about punishment, as Pansy blindly pushed through the bushes. Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t run any further, the brush ended and about a hundred yards ahead, she spotted the front gates of Hogwarts. She ran harder than she’d ever run before and flung herself at the gates. They were closed and wouldn’t budge.
"Open up!" she screamed. Bellatrix’s voice was coming closer, promising that if only Pansy turned around, she wouldn’t suffer…much. "Open! Please!"
To her relief, the gates gave way to her pushing and she threw herself through, watching as the gates slammed shut again. Bellatrix disappeared from view. Pansy lay on the ground for several minutes, trying to catch her breath. A shadow suddenly fell across her.
"What have we here, Mrs. Norris?" Filch cackled, rubbing his hands together in glee.
Pansy stood up and looked the caretaker in the eye. "I need to speak with the Headmistress," she demanded. When Filch grabbed at her, she moved away. She would not have him put his hands on her. He shrugged and muttered something about missing Headmistress Umbridge as he led her to the castle proper. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of a door on the fifth floor. Filch knocked and McGonagall’s voice answered.
"Found this one inside the gates," Filch explained, executing a low sort of bow for the new Headmistress.
McGonagall looked up from her parchment, eyes knit together in surprise. "Thank you, Argus," the older woman replied. He executed another half bow and backed out of the room. McGonagall gestured for Pansy to sit on the other side of the desk. Slowly, she lowered herself into it, not sure of what to expect. "Miss Parkinson, what brings you here?"
"I…I need refuge." She’d read Hogwarts: A History and knew that anyone who asked for refuge-as long as they were deemed worthy-would be granted it. Her only concern was whether she’d be found worthy.
Removing her glasses, McGonagall set them on her desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. "As I suspected," she finally said. "Why?"
"I can’t take the Mark." She wanted to look away from that shrewd gaze, but knew her only chance lie with her sincerity.
The Headmistress tented her fingers in front of her face. "You may stay here."
"P-pardon?" Pansy hadn’t expected it to be this easy; she’d expected hoops given her behavior in the past.
"I grant you refuge," McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "But there’s work to be done. You may stay in the dormitory. Report to Professor Sprout in the morning." With that, she slipped her glasses back on her face and returned to her parchment.
Afraid that the older witch might change her mind, Pansy managed a ‘Thank you’ before hurrying out of the office and heading to the dungeons.
***
"You will repot all of these mandrakes," Sprout said enthusiastically, waving her hands in the direction of a long table covered in mandrakes. "You do remember how to repot mandrakes, don’t you, Parkinson?"
Pansy hated the gleeful tone that had crept into the Hufflepuff’s voice, no doubt delighted to see how far Pansy had fallen. Biting her tongue, she nodded. "Yes, Professor."
Sprout rubbed her hands together. "I’ll check back on you before lunch." She handed Pansy a pair of earmuffs and left her alone in the greenhouse.
Pansy took a deep breath, once again taking in just how many mandrakes she had to repot. When she considered the alternative, a little menial labor wasn’t so bad. Sighing, she pulled the muffs over her ears and yanked out the first mandrake. She could see its mouth open in a silent scream as it wiggled in her fist. She plopped it into a larger pot and looked around. Sprout hadn’t left any gloves for Pansy. She cursed the old woman and reached into a large pot of dirt, pulling out a handful and shoving it around the mandrake. When all of the wrinkled little thing was covered except for the green leafy top, Pansy set the pot aside.
She had repotted a quarter of the table when Sprout stuck her head in the greenhouse. "Lunch, Parkinson."
"Already?" Pansy muttered in reply. It had taken her all morning and the table was still quite full of mandrakes in need of repotting. At this rate, she wouldn’t finish until tomorrow.
"Are you coming along?"
"In a minute."
"Have it your way."
Sprout left again and Pansy glanced down at her hands. There was dirt under her immaculate fingernails, which were now chipped and broken. Her shirt was smeared with dirt as were her skirt; she could only imagine what her face looked like. Grabbing her wand, she did a quick cleaning spell. Her nails, she decided, were a lost cause. She hurried out of the greenhouse and toward the Great Hall.
The Hall, as it was summer, had only one table. The professors were all eating together. Sprout nudged Trelawney when they caught sight of Pansy. She went to the far end of the table, several feet away from anyone. Just because she needed refuge didn’t mean that she belonged here, that she belonged with these people. A plate appeared in front of her and she filled it with a few items, eating in silence. As soon as she was done, she returned to the greenhouse and repotting mandrakes.
***
Draco rushed past Pansy, Snape close at his heels. "Wait, Draco!" she shouted.
He turned toward her, blond hair wild, face red, breathing heavily. "What?"
"Where are you going?" She reached out to touch him, but drew back, horrified, as his features morphed into something sinister, wolfish, red eyes gleaming. "Draco!" she screamed.
Sitting bolt upright, Pansy realized that she’d been dreaming. Again. About that horrible night that her world had been turned upside down. She’d seen one of the Weasleys torn to shreds. She had heard it was the oldest one. And although she thought the lot of them were blood traitors for mixing with the likes of Granger and Potty, she hadn’t ever wished that level of violence on any of them.
She was alone in the Slytherin common room as she’d been every night for the last month. The seventh year girls’ dormitory was entirely too creepy and quiet, so she’d taken to sleeping on the couch, liquidy light from the lake penetrating the gloom. Tomorrow, everyone was arriving for another year. Although, judging from the half-whispered conversations she’d overheard, the professors weren’t sure if anyone was returning.
For the millionth time since she’d arrived at Hogwarts, she pulled the tiny piece of parchment from her pocket. It had been handled so much that it was soft enough to use as a blanket if only it were bigger. As it was, the piece of parchment was Pansy’s talisman, the thing she used to ward off the nightmares. Carefully, she unrolled it. The words were still there. Save yourself. That’s all it said. No salutation, no signature. But she knew who had sent it as surely as she knew her own name. She’d seen his handwriting enough, covering her essays with corrections, on tiny scraps of parchment he would charm to zoom across their common room when they were supposed to be revising.
"Draco," she whispered, pressing the parchment to her heart. "Where are you?"
***
Pansy stood in the Great Hall, standing on tiptoe, eyes scanning the crowd. She was desperate to see one familiar face. Surely, all of the Slytherins hadn’t deserted Hogwarts. However, as wave after wave of students passed by, all she saw were red and gold, blue and bronze, and yellow and black.
Finally, spotting Millicent, standing head and shoulders above the crowd, Pansy dashed forward. She’d never been especially close to the larger girl, but now she was glad to see her.
"Millicent!" Pansy shouted, catching her sleeve.
"Pansy?" Millicent said, peering down. "I never expected to see…" She broke off, eyes darting around to see who might be listening.
She shrugged in response to Millicent’s unasked question. "Is anyone else here?"
"I saw Blaise on the train," Millicent replied as the two of them entered the Great Hall with the rest of the crowd.
"Daphne?" Pansy inquired. The other girl just shook her head. "Tracey?" Another shake. "Theo?"
"You didn’t hear?" Millicent said quietly.
"I’ve been…indisposed…most of the summer."
"Theodore killed himself."
Pansy stopped in her tracks. "What?!?" she exclaimed, not caring who, if anyone, heard her.
"He…" Millicent paused. "He didn’t know any other way out."
They made their way to the Slytherin table which was less than a third full and sat down. Pansy was stunned. Quiet Theo who had tutored her in Herbology during fifth year, who’d had an unrequited crush on one of the Patil twins, who’d twirled Millicent around their common room when said twin had actually spoken to him. He was dead. By his own hand. While she understood desperation, she couldn’t fathom that he was gone.
Now was neither the time nor place to press Millicent for details, so Pansy contented herself with looking around, gauging how many students had returned after the Headmaster’s death. The Gryffindor table, unsurprisingly, seemed full although she didn’t see Potty or his sidekicks. Ravenclaw was probably less than half full and Hufflepuff was three quarters full. The first years stumbled in at that moment, looking tiny and frightened. They were quickly sorted and assumed their seats with their new houses. Slytherin, Pansy was happy to see, received a fair number of the first years. The Great Hall quieted as the Headmistress stood and made her way to the podium.
"I won’t try and live up to the Headmaster’s opening speeches," the witch said, looking older than Pansy had ever recalled seeing. "I daresay you all know the rules. And you will kindly fill in your new housemates on the rules. I will say that now is a time for Hogwarts to pull together. The time for divisions is past. And with that, the custom of sitting solely with your houses will cease after tonight." A large gasp went up from the crowd who seemed to be staring at the Slytherins, disdain evident. Pansy held her chin high; she could only hope that the others would follow her lead. "That is all," the Headmistress said before resuming her seat.
Between the first and second course, a note appeared on Pansy’s plate summoning her to McGonagall’s office as soon as she was finished with dinner.
***
Pansy knocked on the door to McGonagall’s office. The old witch still hadn’t moved up to Dumbledore’s former office.
"Come in, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall called from inside. "Have a seat, please."
Pansy entered the office and sat opposite the Headmistress, wondering what now. She’d completed every assignment that had been handed to her this summer, including helping Slughorn with the Potions cupboards, cleaning bedpans for Madame Pomfrey, and shelving books for Madame Pince. The only thing left for her to do was to help Hagrid with those wretched creatures he tended.
"As you know, Slytherin House has been greatly affected by what’s happening outside the walls of this castle," McGonagall began. Pansy nodded in agreement. "To that end, I’m appointing you prefect."
"Pardon?" There was no way that the Headmistress had just appointed her a prefect for Slytherin.
Reaching into a drawer, McGonagall pulled out a shiny badge, emblazoned with a ‘P’ on it. "Miss Parkinson, you, Miss Bulstrode, and Mr. Zabini are the only seventh year Slytherins to return. I need you to serve your house," she explained as she held the badge in her open palm. Pansy stared for several moments. "Miss Parkinson, I haven’t made an error in judgment, have I?"
"N-no," Pansy replied, shaking her head. "You haven’t." Feeling as if she had little choice in the matter, she took the prefects’ badge from the Headmistress.
"There’s a meeting in fifteen minutes. You’d best be there." With that, the Headmistress returned to her paperwork, dismissing Pansy.
***
Macmillan was in the middle of talking when Pansy pushed open the door and slid into a seat in the back row. He stopped mid-sentence and glared at her.
"The meeting began five minutes ago, Parkinson."
"I just came from meeting the-"
"Everyone, regardless of their house, is to be at the weekly meetings on time," he said, running right over the end of her sentence. "With no excuses."
When all eyes turned to her, Pansy wanted to slouch in her seat. Normally, she loved being the center of attention, craved it really. But not like this. However, her breeding demanded that she sit up, back straight, eyes ahead. As Macmillan and Turpin barreled through their agenda, Pansy half-listened.
"Parkinson will be patrolling with me." When she heard this, her head snapped up. "That’s not a problem, is it, Parkinson?" Macmillan demanded, tone daring her to object.
"It’s fine," she said coldly.
***
Pansy pushed open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. McGonagall had decreed that all students, regardless of their OWLs, would be taking DADA for the coming year. No one, however, had mentioned who the new professor would be. And, as far as Pansy knew, that person had not made an appearance during the summer.
The only seat left in the entire classroom was next to Abbott, so Pansy took it. She tried not to make eye contact with the Hufflepuff. The door swung open, banging against the wall, as an average sized figure clad in a cloak strode to the front. With a theatrical flourish, the figure threw back the hood of the cloak; the entire classroom gasped.
"Constant vigilance," the new DADA professor grumbled. "And all of you with your backs to the door." Mad Eye Moody shook his head in disappointment. "I know you’ve had…unfortunate…luck with your previous professors, including my impostor. I can see I’ve my work cut out for me."
Everyone seemed frozen in place as Moody began lecturing the class about dark artifacts and how to distinguish if an object had dark magic placed upon it. Approximately five minutes in, students began realizing that he was actually teaching them and pulled out parchment and quills. Pansy was busily taking down what he was saying, trying not to stare at the magical eye as it continually rolled around in his head, front, side, other side, all of the way back. She was in the middle of writing the three signs to look for when approaching an object (#2: The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.) when it happened. The point of her quill snapped clean off. Briefly contemplating reparo’ing it, she decided that drawing her wand in the middle of Moody’s lecture was a recipe for disaster. So she rooted in her bag for a spare quill. There was none.
As she was removing everything in her bag (for surely there had to be a quill in there somewhere), Abbott slid a quill across their shared table. Pansy stared for a long moment.
"I don’t need that," she finally hissed. Last year, she had more quills than she could keep track of and when one broke, she disposed of it.
"Just take it," Abbott whispered back.
"I don’t need-"
"I’m not giving it to you forever. Just use it for this class." Abbott withdrew her hand, leaving the quill sitting next to Pansy’s parchment.
"Is there a problem, Parkinson?" Moody barked out, mid-lecture. She looked up to find his magical eye fixed on her.
"No, sir," she snapped, picking up the quill and resuming her notes.
***
The library was full by the time Pansy reached it after dinner. Sprout had assigned three feet of parchment on the uses of the Timonium plant. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and turned the full force of her patented ‘Slytherin Bitch’ glare on a table of first year Hufflepuffs. They stared back at her.
"Oi! Over here!" Millicent was yelling from a corner table.
Pansy gave one last glare which the Hufflepuffs returned, bored looks on their faces, before turning on her heel and stalking over to Millicent’s table. Just as she was dropping her bag, Madame Pince skulked over.
"You will refrain from yelling in my library."
Millicent waved her hand, earning another sharp look from the librarian. Once Pince was out of earshot, Pansy asked indignantly, "Did you see those Hufflepuffs?"
"Those Hufflepuffs?" Millicent repeated, pointing over Pansy’s shoulder. The dark haired witch turned in her seat in time to catch a red haired girl, thumb on the tip of her nose, pushing it up. The girl snatched her hand away and refused to meet Pansy’s eyes.
"Stupid Hufflepuffs," Pansy said under her breath. Leaving her bag on the table, she rose and headed into the stacks under the pretense of looking for Herbology texts. In reality, she needed to get away from all of the prying eyes. She’d wanted to hex that tiny first year, string her up by her black and yellow necktie. But Pince had been watching her like a hawk. And she couldn’t afford to be expelled from Hogwarts. Not now.
"Watch where you’re going," a male voice snapped as Pansy bumped into him.
"Why don’t you watch where you’re going!"
"I should have known it was you," Macmillan said harshly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He shook his head. "Never mind." As he tried to walk past her, she grabbed his arm, intending to turn him toward her. To make him answer her question. Macmillan yanked his arm away. "Don’t touch me!"
"I…" Pansy lapsed into silence, unsure of exactly what she’d done.
"You don’t belong here, Parkinson. And I intend to make sure you don’t stay." With that, he was gone.
Part II