FIC: dust and devils on her conscience (come back to me, darlin')
Title: dust and devils on her conscience (come back to me, darlin’)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Justin Finch-Fletchley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,300
Summary: He wonders what sort of woman Pansy might have become if she'd grown up knowing love.
Author's Notes: Written as a gift for darkhairedgirl at rarepair_shorts 2016 Wishlist event. My thanks to fiery_flamingo and mugglechump for checking this over for me. It's been a while, so my writing skills are a wee bit rusty! This story in inspired by Chasing Twisters by Delta Rae, one of my favorite songs by my favorite band. I hope y'all enjoy!
She loves as though she is seeking revenge.
Pansy Parkinson is a tempest, one locked away behind cutting barbs and icy smiles. No one notices the haunted look in her eyes, the way she shuns her former classmates (there's a difference between classmates and friends, you see; she had many of the former, and very few of the latter). Only he can see the thin cracks in her porcelain veneer.
Her robes are not of the latest fashion. In fact, they're about four years out of date. Her shoes are worn -- but well polished. After all, Italian leather isn't cheap -- and the silver strands in her black hair, brought out prematurely by stress, stand out. She doesn't even bother to hide them anymore.
He's careful to never call it 'making love.' Pansy would scoff and inform him that they don't make love, they fuck. In his mind (and in his heart), Justin makes love to her as gently as she'll let him. Theirs is a fragile relationship, born out of the uneasy post-war hierarchy that placed Muggleborn above purebloods, new money before old, and change before tradition.
It's rarely tender, though. In his arms, Pansy moves in a fury, and her touches are equally as demanding. Lips and teeth meet in harsh kisses, and her fingers never touch his skin without the prick of her fingernails. His body is littered with bite marks and red furrows where she has marked him as hers.
Only when they are sweaty and sated does she relax. She turns to face the open window, exposing her bare back to him. What extra weight she once carried (if any) is gone. He can see the outline of her spine through her skin. His fingers reach out to softly trace the ridges, and he can feel her stifle her shiver.
"Who hurt you, Pansy?" he murmurs into the darkness.
It's quiet in his bedroom. He can hear the late night sounds of London through the open window, so he nearly misses her whispered response when it comes.
"Who didn't?"
*~*~*~*~*
Her father was dead. Justin has known that for years, even if he wouldn't admit how he knew it. (The benefits of being friends with a high-ranking Ministry official... access to Ministry documents). Father and mother, both deceased while she was a student at Hogwarts. She was an only child, as were both her parents. Both sets of grandparents were long dead.
A file could never tell him the full story, though.
A beautiful but distant mother. A harsh father, unable to forgive Pansy for one sin she hadn't consciously committed.
"I wasn't a boy," is all she'll ever say on the subject. When she sees the look in his eyes, she's quick to snap back, "And he never struck me. Do not insinuate he did."
He wants to comfort her. Knowing her as he does now, it's plain to see how she'd lost hope so young. He wonders what sort of woman Pansy might have become if she'd grown up knowing love. Perhaps she wouldn't have dust on her conscience, or listen to the devil on her shoulder.
Justin knows there is more to abuse than physical, though. He sees it in her eyes.
*~*~*~*~*
She hates to talk about how they met, so Justin never brings it up. He knows it was unforgettable for both of them, for entirely different reasons. He was twenty-six, newly promoted, and feeling very proud of himself in his expertly tailored robes and shined leather shoes.
And then the lift door opened, and there she was.
It had taken him time to recognize her. After all, he remembers Pansy Parkinson's angular face and upturned pug nose. Her hair, inky black and cut in a sharp bob. He remembers a shrill laugh and biting comments; a girl perfectly at ease with her place in the world. She had money and a respected family name. To a teenager, what else was there?
This Pansy did not resemble the one in his memories, though. The clothes were shabbier, the hair longer, but the features... they hadn't changed a bit.
He will never forget that day because that was the first day he ever thought of Pansy as a human being.
She will never forget that day. It was the day she lost everything she had left.
"Reparations." Later, when he worked up the nerve to ask her about it (after four dates, when he had ensured she liked him well enough not to chuck him as soon as he dared ask the question). "That's what the worms at the Ministry have decided upon." She'd lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "They took it all. The Manor, the house in Como and the villa in Provence. Everything is being sold to make reparations for my crimes."
"But you weren't a Death Eater," he had said softly as he wondered if such a thing was even legal. He was no barrister, but surely...
Her icy blue eyes flashed at him, and when she laughed, it was that same shrill, mocking sound he remembered from school.
"I tried to turn over their Precious Potter, Finchy," she said, the hated nickname like fire on her tongue. "In their eyes, I was the Dark Lord's right hand."
*~*~*~*~*
Justin knows that at some point in the ten years between finishing school and meeting him, Pansy had a falling out with Draco Malfoy. He doesn't have to ask why. It was a matter regularly taken up in the gossip rags. (Justin wishes he didn't read them... but everyone has their vices). Draco had married a woman -- a woman not named Pansy Parkinson.
She's only spoken of it once, and he hasn't reminded her of it. They were both naked, and she was drunk. What sort of gentleman would bring up a woman's drunken ramblings?
In between kisses, the harsh bite of whiskey lingers on his lips from her breath. And suddenly, she laughs.
"I wouldn't have been so upset if he'd married anyone but her," she informs him.
"Who?"
Pansy snorts and rolls her eyes. "Draco. Do try and keep up."
He's never been the type of bloke to speak ill of another, but honestly... when a man is naked and in bed with a beautiful woman, the last thing he wants to talk about is her bloody ex. "Pansy, I don't know --"
Her leg hitches over his hip, and she rolls them so she's straddling him. "Astoria Sodding Greengrass. A perfect china doll of demure femininity," she slurs. "What a bint. I may have little soul left, and my personality may be nasty, but at least I have one."
Knowing what to say with women... that has never been Justin's forte. But when he reaches up to tug her lips to his, and his teeth bite at her lower lip, he murmurs, "Fortunately for you, I like soulless women with dark personalities."
Feeling her respond to his kiss, he knows he's said the right thing for once.
*~*~*~*~*
She's sleeping lightly when he comes to a realization. In her sleep, she's rolled back to face him, and Justin gingerly takes her in his arms and tugs her a little closer. She stirs, but doesn't wake. He looks down on her peaceful face, brushing a piece of hair back from her skin, and realizes that he's fallen in love with the broken woman in his bed.
It's laughable. And he can certainly never tell her. Loving Pansy Parkinson is the quickest way to lose her. He knows if he ever confesses his feelings, she will walk out the door and never come back to him. Justin can't help wanting to hold her close and protect her from the world. She has more strength than she realizes, and he loves that about her.
Perhaps that's why she's with him. He -- Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggleborn Ministry worker -- is her revenge. On Draco, on her father's memory, on the unbearable weight of the Parkinson name.
Or perhaps she does care for him. There are moments when he thinks she might.
In the morning, she will leave. She always does.
But at least for now, she'll come back.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Justin Finch-Fletchley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,300
Summary: He wonders what sort of woman Pansy might have become if she'd grown up knowing love.
Author's Notes: Written as a gift for darkhairedgirl at rarepair_shorts 2016 Wishlist event. My thanks to fiery_flamingo and mugglechump for checking this over for me. It's been a while, so my writing skills are a wee bit rusty! This story in inspired by Chasing Twisters by Delta Rae, one of my favorite songs by my favorite band. I hope y'all enjoy!
She loves as though she is seeking revenge.
Pansy Parkinson is a tempest, one locked away behind cutting barbs and icy smiles. No one notices the haunted look in her eyes, the way she shuns her former classmates (there's a difference between classmates and friends, you see; she had many of the former, and very few of the latter). Only he can see the thin cracks in her porcelain veneer.
Her robes are not of the latest fashion. In fact, they're about four years out of date. Her shoes are worn -- but well polished. After all, Italian leather isn't cheap -- and the silver strands in her black hair, brought out prematurely by stress, stand out. She doesn't even bother to hide them anymore.
He's careful to never call it 'making love.' Pansy would scoff and inform him that they don't make love, they fuck. In his mind (and in his heart), Justin makes love to her as gently as she'll let him. Theirs is a fragile relationship, born out of the uneasy post-war hierarchy that placed Muggleborn above purebloods, new money before old, and change before tradition.
It's rarely tender, though. In his arms, Pansy moves in a fury, and her touches are equally as demanding. Lips and teeth meet in harsh kisses, and her fingers never touch his skin without the prick of her fingernails. His body is littered with bite marks and red furrows where she has marked him as hers.
Only when they are sweaty and sated does she relax. She turns to face the open window, exposing her bare back to him. What extra weight she once carried (if any) is gone. He can see the outline of her spine through her skin. His fingers reach out to softly trace the ridges, and he can feel her stifle her shiver.
"Who hurt you, Pansy?" he murmurs into the darkness.
It's quiet in his bedroom. He can hear the late night sounds of London through the open window, so he nearly misses her whispered response when it comes.
"Who didn't?"
*~*~*~*~*
Her father was dead. Justin has known that for years, even if he wouldn't admit how he knew it. (The benefits of being friends with a high-ranking Ministry official... access to Ministry documents). Father and mother, both deceased while she was a student at Hogwarts. She was an only child, as were both her parents. Both sets of grandparents were long dead.
A file could never tell him the full story, though.
A beautiful but distant mother. A harsh father, unable to forgive Pansy for one sin she hadn't consciously committed.
"I wasn't a boy," is all she'll ever say on the subject. When she sees the look in his eyes, she's quick to snap back, "And he never struck me. Do not insinuate he did."
He wants to comfort her. Knowing her as he does now, it's plain to see how she'd lost hope so young. He wonders what sort of woman Pansy might have become if she'd grown up knowing love. Perhaps she wouldn't have dust on her conscience, or listen to the devil on her shoulder.
Justin knows there is more to abuse than physical, though. He sees it in her eyes.
*~*~*~*~*
She hates to talk about how they met, so Justin never brings it up. He knows it was unforgettable for both of them, for entirely different reasons. He was twenty-six, newly promoted, and feeling very proud of himself in his expertly tailored robes and shined leather shoes.
And then the lift door opened, and there she was.
It had taken him time to recognize her. After all, he remembers Pansy Parkinson's angular face and upturned pug nose. Her hair, inky black and cut in a sharp bob. He remembers a shrill laugh and biting comments; a girl perfectly at ease with her place in the world. She had money and a respected family name. To a teenager, what else was there?
This Pansy did not resemble the one in his memories, though. The clothes were shabbier, the hair longer, but the features... they hadn't changed a bit.
He will never forget that day because that was the first day he ever thought of Pansy as a human being.
She will never forget that day. It was the day she lost everything she had left.
"Reparations." Later, when he worked up the nerve to ask her about it (after four dates, when he had ensured she liked him well enough not to chuck him as soon as he dared ask the question). "That's what the worms at the Ministry have decided upon." She'd lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "They took it all. The Manor, the house in Como and the villa in Provence. Everything is being sold to make reparations for my crimes."
"But you weren't a Death Eater," he had said softly as he wondered if such a thing was even legal. He was no barrister, but surely...
Her icy blue eyes flashed at him, and when she laughed, it was that same shrill, mocking sound he remembered from school.
"I tried to turn over their Precious Potter, Finchy," she said, the hated nickname like fire on her tongue. "In their eyes, I was the Dark Lord's right hand."
*~*~*~*~*
Justin knows that at some point in the ten years between finishing school and meeting him, Pansy had a falling out with Draco Malfoy. He doesn't have to ask why. It was a matter regularly taken up in the gossip rags. (Justin wishes he didn't read them... but everyone has their vices). Draco had married a woman -- a woman not named Pansy Parkinson.
She's only spoken of it once, and he hasn't reminded her of it. They were both naked, and she was drunk. What sort of gentleman would bring up a woman's drunken ramblings?
In between kisses, the harsh bite of whiskey lingers on his lips from her breath. And suddenly, she laughs.
"I wouldn't have been so upset if he'd married anyone but her," she informs him.
"Who?"
Pansy snorts and rolls her eyes. "Draco. Do try and keep up."
He's never been the type of bloke to speak ill of another, but honestly... when a man is naked and in bed with a beautiful woman, the last thing he wants to talk about is her bloody ex. "Pansy, I don't know --"
Her leg hitches over his hip, and she rolls them so she's straddling him. "Astoria Sodding Greengrass. A perfect china doll of demure femininity," she slurs. "What a bint. I may have little soul left, and my personality may be nasty, but at least I have one."
Knowing what to say with women... that has never been Justin's forte. But when he reaches up to tug her lips to his, and his teeth bite at her lower lip, he murmurs, "Fortunately for you, I like soulless women with dark personalities."
Feeling her respond to his kiss, he knows he's said the right thing for once.
*~*~*~*~*
She's sleeping lightly when he comes to a realization. In her sleep, she's rolled back to face him, and Justin gingerly takes her in his arms and tugs her a little closer. She stirs, but doesn't wake. He looks down on her peaceful face, brushing a piece of hair back from her skin, and realizes that he's fallen in love with the broken woman in his bed.
It's laughable. And he can certainly never tell her. Loving Pansy Parkinson is the quickest way to lose her. He knows if he ever confesses his feelings, she will walk out the door and never come back to him. Justin can't help wanting to hold her close and protect her from the world. She has more strength than she realizes, and he loves that about her.
Perhaps that's why she's with him. He -- Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggleborn Ministry worker -- is her revenge. On Draco, on her father's memory, on the unbearable weight of the Parkinson name.
Or perhaps she does care for him. There are moments when he thinks she might.
In the morning, she will leave. She always does.
But at least for now, she'll come back.