Hey there, HP fandom, long time no see.
This is set in early October of 2001, and it's pretty AU after the last chapter of Deathly Hallows (not including the Epilogue).
Disclaimer: If I owned the HP universe, Cursed Child would have gone differently.
Pansy Parkinson had always believed she was meant for a life of grandeur. Until she left for Hogwarts, Pansy truly knew nothing other than the finest fabrics, richest tastes, and most well-to-do families. Her maternal grandmother used to throw the most lavish parties that often rivaled the scale of the Yule Ball or Ministry Galas. Pureblooded witches and wizards from all across Europe were invited and stayed for days on end to bask in the glory that was the Storm Estate in southern England. She remembered it would take at least a month to clear all the stragglers out before the elves were tasked with restoring the wards and cleaning spells in each room in wait for the next big event. If she could have, she would have been content to spend year after year there; but another party or another family always called her parents to some other end of the countryside to immerse themselves in a different expensively furnished manor.
For the longest time, all she wanted was that life back. The carefree nature of being young and ignorant in a room full of adults playing twisted games of power and popularity. To be naïve and not see that gloved hands only hid sharp claws or the hooved feet under the long and beautiful cloaks and gowns. She thought she would trade anything for the bliss that ignorance offered, because now that she was old enough to discern the monsters from the mice, she found herself resenting the gilded cage ensnaring her.
Smiling at the relatively new widower who was telling her what a beautiful woman she had grown into, Pansy cast a quick and discrete glance around the ridiculously adorned banquet hall of the Storm Estate to find some sliver of salvation. Of course she still desired wealth. What sane person wouldn't want the security Galleons provided? However, Pansy was not so desperate as to marry a man who had once courted her grandmother when she was Pansy's age.
"-likely to get a better offer, dove."
Pansy blinked and snapped her attention back to the man in front of her with a frown.
"I beg your pardon?"
Firewhiskey and tobacco assaulted her sense of smell when he leaned closer and repeated, "There's not a witch or wizard alive who isn't grateful for Mr. Potter. Publically, at least, right? We all know the brave souls who stood with the boy while cowards offered him up."
"Ah, yes, that we do," she agreed. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure I can find a more attractive man to insult me."
"Miss Parkinson!" he called after her indignantly as she weaved through the crowd of gossipmongers.
The room was too hot, and the bitter October air was more preferable than the sharp eyes of miserable old bats circling through the estate.
"Bloody hounds," Pansy spat before pushing past a pair of couples to get to the balcony. "Merlin, preserve me," she muttered, leaning against the cast iron rail.
She almost sighed in relief when she caught a flash of familiar blonde hair. Her grandmother had told her that no one she knew would be in attendance.
"Mrs. Malfoy," Pansy greeted with a genuine smile.
"Oh, Pansy, darling," Narcissa clasped her hands, and Pansy felt more grounded than she had all evening. "How lovely it is to see you. I was just telling Lucius how grateful I am that your parents have been so kind to Draco."
"Miss Parkinson," Lucius nodded.
Pansy's heart dropped near to her gut, but she maintained a smile that betrayed nothing.
"They remembered how well you treated them after the First Wizarding War and said they would have felt ashamed of themselves had they not treated Draco with the same decency."
"It's very good of them," Lucius agreed. Pansy grinned at him.
As with most girls who had been in her House and year, she imagined, Pansy was somewhere between being completely in awe of Mr. Malfoy and utterly terrified. Her mother and father had painted such wild stories about a man who had so valiantly served under the Dark Lord with such strong conviction. She hadn't properly met the Malfoys until she was ten, so she had years of assumptions about Lucius built up in that time. He met each cold and proud one of them. Still, though, Pansy's parents raised her to aspire to aristocracy, and the Malfoys were what every aristocratic wizard ought to be. So Pansy had always pretended like she was nothing but awestruck by him and his family.
Looking back on it, Pansy supposed that why she took a strong liking to Draco. He had all of the coveted Malfoy traits with just a touch of softness from Narcissa.
"In truth, Miss Parkinson, we had expected our son to accompany you tonight."
"As did I," she replied. "You're always welcome to visit us, though," she added the offer out of courtesy. The Malfoys would never take her up on it, and it quelled any suspicions they may have held onto.
Lucius and Narcissa were too proud to admit being in public made them uncomfortable, so they managed to come up with a relatively believable fib that their freedom came at the cost of their free will. In the months immediately after their pardon, Narcissa complained to any pureblood who would listen that the Ministry had placed unfair restrictions on the Malfoys public exposure. She claimed they were, of course, allowed to make public appearances here and there, but for the most part, the governing body wanted them monitored and secluded to the Malfoy Manor. So the couple kept to themselves in the Manor, working with the most conservative number of House Elves and coming out only when they were likely to be in the company of those who had no room to pass judgement.
Wizarding London was not that place.
Honestly, even Pansy was hoodwinked when she first heard Narcissa's side of the story. It truly wasn't that unimaginable. However, the family actually walked out of the entire mess unscathed for the most part. Her own parents faced more repercussions than a slap on the wrist, but Draco, though somewhat reluctantly, told her that Potter owed his life to Narcissa. And that was all he said.
Pansy stayed with the Malfoys for the remainder of her time at the party. Whether or not they wanted to shoo her away, they didn't, and she was thankful for the space partygoers gave the Malfoys. There was no one to remind her of the past, and no one to imply her future prospects were limited. Only stoic Lucius Malfoy to sneer at any decrepit old man to walk their way and Narcissa to praise her in a manner her mother would never do.
After parting with her grandmother (and pocketing a pearl necklace that had been so carelessly left in her grandmother's unlocked jewel room), one of the staff saw her to the front door. She thanked them and waited until the door locked and the footsteps faded down the hall.
"Merlin," Pansy grunted as she snuck around back to the grove of apple trees which shielded the back end of the property from the rear windows of the estate.
Slipping out of her dress underneath her cloak, Pansy hung it on a low tree branch and quickly transfigured it back into the frock it had been before the evening started. With a little tremor in her hands, she pulled her clothes back on and made even quicker work of the cloak which hadn't been transfigured but charmed to confound anyone looking at it into thinking it was much more luxurious than it actually was. The moment the charm wore off, Pansy apparated, taking a handful of apples with her.
Draco was just getting out of the back room when he heard a loud pop that usually preceded Pansy's appearance. She was the only person her knew who had such an obnoxious sound accompanying their apparation. And though it annoyed him more than it should have, the familiar noise was oddly comforting. He supposed it was a strength in numbers ordeal. Her ridiculous entrances reminded him that he still had someone to split rent with.
"You're late," he commented when Pansy waltzed in with a bunch of apples cradled in her arms.
"Evening, Bex," she smiled at the only other person at the bar. "Apple?"
"What kind?" the greying man asked.
"Stolen."
"The best kind," he responded while beckoning for one.
She dumped the rest into a bowl behind the bar and snatched the apron Draco threw at her.
"We'll talk later," she added in a whisper to Draco when she passed him.
Draco nodded and flicked his wand to fill up Bex's drink. He glanced around the pub, The White Wyvern, and noted a strange looking couple sitting in the far corner.
"Who's the pair by the door?" Draco asked Bex and Pansy as the latter concentrated on magically wiping down several of the tables without using her wand.
"Hell if I know," Bex frowned, throwing a look over his shoulder. "Too clean t' be here."
Pansy hummed in agreement and called out, "Oi! No loitering. Get a drink or get out, gits."
"To make room for all the customers?" the man asked, causing his companion to snicker.
Without a moment's hesitation, Bex flew off his seat, casting a spell towards the door which threw it open with brute force. The pair jumped, and the man let out an undignified squeak.
"Ain't no room for smart arse wankers here," Bex hissed. "Ye heard the lady. Now either buy yer date a drink or get out of my pub and take yer smart mouth to the Leaky Cauldron. Hear me?"
"I'll take two Firewhiskeys," the man responded quickly.
"That's what I thought."
Bex motioned for Draco to bring them while he stood over the couple, his hand held out for payment. Pansy smirked at Draco when she handed him the bottle of the pub's cheapest Firewhiskey and two glasses. When Bex pocketed the coin, Draco gave him the two glasses.
"Make sure ye tell yer mates what a great time ye had wastin' my time, got it?" Bex said before spitting in each glass and placing them in front of the couple.
"I love it when you do that," Pansy told Bex when he sat back on his stool.
Draco grinned but remained silent and kept his eye on the couple in the corner. The man had lowered the hood of his cloak and stared at his glass with a mixture of horror and disgust. It wasn't the first time Bex had done something like this, and it wasn't the first time he'd seen customers staring into their glass like that. He couldn't even call them patrons, because they never came back.
The situation wasn't ideal—working for Bex when he could spare the hours—but it was convenient. He was looking to escape the Manor, and Pansy had offered him the salvation of being back in society without drawing unwanted attention.
Months ago, Draco had been wandering through Knockturn Alley and only stopped in the pub for reprieve from the rain which had started. And low and behold, Pansy Parkinson, the self-proclaimed Queen of Slytherin herself, was behind the bar, making a show of mixing drinks to fill the tip jar. He hadn't seen her since her parents' hearing after the Battle of Hogwarts nearly three and a half years ago, and he had assumed she was living with her grandmother. He learned that her father had somehow convinced her mother to shoulder the blame for their share of war crimes. Mr. Parkinson plead guilty to some minor crime which was settled by lawyers and high ranking Ministry officials with too much to lose, and Mrs. Parkinson was committed to St. Mungo's—where, according to Pansy, they did nothing but make her crazy—without public knowledge or records. The Matron of Stone Estate was under the impression that her daughter had fled to another part of the world with her husband.
It hadn't made any sense to Draco when she first revealed her history to him. Pansy came from an extremely wealthy, old blood family. Even if the Ministry took money from their reserves to rebuild, the Parkinson's amassed wealth would hardly take a dent. He couldn't comprehend why Pansy was living in a small flat above a dirty pub she was working at to afford the aforementioned flat. All she had to do was tell the Matron, and she would be protected by the Stone's power and taken care of with their money.
But she had told Draco, "I'm free here. These people don't know who I am or what I've done. I'm just another wench to serve them drink while my cleavage pokes out of my top. It's not a great life, but it's my life."
Draco visited her a few more times before she offered him a place to stay. The Manor wasn't the easiest place to live, and there were moments where he could barely stand to look at his parents without some terrible memory rushing to the front of his memory. He didn't even give himself a moment to consider her offer.
They lived off whatever money they could get from the bar, where Pansy worked primarily and Draco sometimes. Most of the time, he worked mornings at Mulpepper's and evenings at Borgin and Burkes. Their combined income covered their weekly rent, food, and whatever they could manage to stow away for future use. It was hardly an exciting life, and the tedious repetition reminded him constantly of the excitement money could buy. But the predictability of home-work-home was a relief compared to the shadows lurking in the rooms at the Malfoy Manor. It was just an adjustment.
Besides, he quite liked being known without being recognized here. He imagined it's the freedom Pansy spoke of. His parents were under the impression he was living comfortably with Pansy in some upscale neighborhood in London. Who would they believe if someone claimed their son was working down in Knockturn Alley when he swore he was not? It wasn't as if they were in a rush to venture down for themselves, and they were definitely not ready to hire someone to scope out the area. He knew his parents wanted no reason to give people cause for speculation. They wanted to stay under the radar, just as he did. Soon, of course, they would want to visit Draco and Pansy, but Pansy had taken certain precautions in the event her grandmother wanted to drop by which would work just as well for his parents.
She had grown into quite the con artist.
The man in the corner plugged his nose and shot back both glasses while his companion started dry heaving. It caused Pansy squeal with laughter. Even Bex cackled as the pair rushed from the pub like a werewolf was chasing them.
After a few more patrons filtered in and out, Bex looked over at the dusty clock behind the bar. He patted the countertop and reminded Draco and Pansy to lock up and put the earnings in the safe.
"I'll take it to Gringotts in the morning," Draco said.
"Good boy," Bex replied clapping his shoulder. "Keep the loiterers out," he added and disappeared out the front door.
"Your parents were at the party," Pansy told Draco as she hoisted herself onto the bar.
Draco shifted uncomfortably and tucked a loose strand behind his ear. He noticed the potion Pansy put in it to darken it was starting to fade as it always did at the end of the day.
"I just think they miss you, Draco." Pansy gave him a sympathetic look. "Even Lucius was particularly chatty tonight. He just wanted to know if everything was going well for you."
"I swear I'll visit them soon."
"You don't have to promise me anything, Draco. If you don't want to visit the Manor, you don't have to. But perhaps a card? You have parents who genuinely love you."
"I know."
He took the cap Pansy offered him to hide the blonde that was showing at the tips.
"You clean up back there, and I'll man the bar. We don't get much foot traffic when it's cold and raining outside."
They didn't get much traffic anyway, Draco thought. The Wyvern got enough to sustain its business, but it wasn't the Leaky Cauldron. Not many respectable witches and wizards wandered in; and if they were respectable, they usually were lost. It was fine by him, though. The Wyvern had been around for a while, and as long as Bex was in charge, it wasn't going anywhere. And as long as Bex was attracted to Pansy, they weren't going anywhere.
He started fidgeting with his hair again. One of the benefits of working at Mulpepper's was that the owner gave Draco a hefty discount on ingredients, and Pansy took advantage of that benefit to make potions which concealed her natural hair color for a day. For twenty hours, six days a week, Pansy's dark hair was a dirty looking blonde. Draco noticed she frequently tried to drop her posh tone when she spoke to people, too, and though it was rough when he first found her, she was getting better at it. It was amazing what a difference such small alterations made. He really did admire her for all the effort she put into conserving her freedom.
As for his own attempts at blending in with the peasants, he simply let Pansy coerce him into darkening his hair. The potions she gave him never seemed to hold as well as hers did, so he preferred doing most of his work in the storage rooms of Borgin and Burkes where who he was, was quite obvious, but completely irrelevant. And unlike Pansy, Draco made no change to his voice. He didn't talk much, and he tried to use new terms to insult people when he did speak; but he saw no point in trying to pick up a new manner of speech.
Within ten minutes of leaving, Pansy rushed into the back room and pressed herself against the wall beside the archway. Draco sneered at her.
"Potter's here," she croaked.
"What?"
Draco glanced out at the group who had walked in a moment ago, and sure enough it was Scarhead and his little merry band of mates. All completely red-faced drunk and cackling like hyenas.
"We have to move."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco replied.
Pansy fumbled with the rag in her hands before tossing it aside as she peered into the main room.
"Is this a joke, do you think?" she asked Draco. He stood in the threshold with his arms crossed, frowning at the giggling group. "Is Zabini back in town?" Pansy glanced around as if Blaise was hiding in some corner casting a spell.
"Just get out there," Draco urged. "If you don't act suspicious, they won't be suspicious."
Pansy nodded, and Draco followed her out with the bottles he could restock. She stiffly walked over to the table with a bowl of peanuts and a self-writing quill and parchment. The table erupted in cheerful babbles when she greeted them. Draco could see the tension in her shoulders, but no one at the table even seemed to register who was standing before them. Draco shook his head and started pulling out bottles he and Pansy would need for the drinks they group was calling out for.
Ginny Weasley was the loudest of them, shouting for a drink which Draco hated making. Her brother wanted a simple bottle of something "delectable" and wanted them to keep coming; while Potter requested an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, and Granger asked for two glasses. Pansy frowned over her shoulder at Draco as the quill scratched down what the last few people—Loony Lovegood and the two other Gryffindors neither Draco nor Pansy even remembered the names of—ordered.
"Loony knows," Pansy mumbled, coming to Draco's side and fiddling with the alcohol.
"Stop talking," he warned.
"Her father works for my grandmother," Pansy hissed in response.
"She'll be able to sense if you're panicking." He enchanted a tray and started placing the drinks on it as Pansy begrudgingly grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey. "Just take this over with your normal, charming attitude." When she still looked positively helpless, he assured her, "Your potion is still holding."
"Please," she quietly begged. "They have no loyalty to me."
"They're gratefulness to my family has already maxed out." After a beat, he consented, though, and told Pansy to start closing down in the back.
The tray followed him out to the table and set itself to serving the customers while Draco oversaw it.
"You lot are out rather late, aren't you?" he asked in a way he hoped passed for small talk.
"We are…" the she-weasel trailed off, looking over to the unnamed Gryffindors to finish her sentence.
"Pub crawling," the shorter of the two answer.
"Yes. Saved the best last, eh, Harry?"
"The Wyvern was recommended," Potter supplied.
Draco snorted, "By whom?"
The group glanced around at each other, and Draco wondered if they were even seeing clearly. Granger broke into a fit of giggles first, and all but Lovegood followed her. Loony watched Draco curiously.
"Have we met?" she finally asked.
He supposed it was for the best that he sent Pansy in the back to work.
"Unless you frequent here, I doubt it."
"Surely you went to Hogwarts. You have a very unique visage."
Draco pursed his lips and tested his willpower as the rest of the group took Loony's comments as an invitation to peer extensively at him.
"I must have one of those faces," he deflected with a forced smirk.
"I'd say," the she-weasel snickered, joined by Granger and the short Gryffindor.
Draco felt the back of his neck heating up, so he told them to enjoy the drinks and stole away before Lovegood could draw any more attention to him.
Pansy was finishing up with the dishes when he ducked into the back room with her. She didn't say anything as she took the tray from him and added it back to the stack of clean trays. Draco left her again and settled behind the bar, waiting for the group to either pay or ask for more.
He watched them with a certain level of resentment. They seemed to have no care in the world. They won the big battle and could now retire safely. None of them would have to worry about never getting hired, or even a mere tattoo removal. They could also stay up as late as they pleased and not worry about getting up before the birds to work. He was paying for his and his family's prejudices and mistakes that stretched back generations, though. He could sleep when he was dead.
Lovegood caught his gaze as he continued staring at the group without really seeing them. Her direct eye contact startled him, though, and he faltered before he could compose himself. You're just being paranoid, Draco thought to himself. Pansy's nerves were infectious, and he was placing unlikely assumptions on Loony Lovegood without a solid base. Draco's anxieties settled back down, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement which seemed to sate whatever curiosity Lovegood had. After a few more moments of taking in the rest of their group, he turned his attention back to his own issues.
Theodore Nott needed a potion order by noon tomorrow, so Draco had to get to Mulpepper's a good hour earlier to finish what he didn't get done this afternoon. He jotted down a note to himself with the quill and parchment Bex kept behind the bar to count tabs when customers opened them. Nott was interning at St. Mungo's, hoping to transfer from a hospital in Moscow he commuted to and from every day. Unfortunately for Pansy, Nott's primary Healer worked closely with Mrs. Parkinson. It didn't really take a clever bloke like Theodore long to track Pansy down when he sorted fact from the fiction the Parkinson's were spreading.
Despite her initial trepidations, Pansy believed Nott was an honest enough mate to keep this to himself. Draco supposed Nott also knew the consequences of crossing someone like Pansy.
"Oi!" someone among Loony and the Gryffindors called for his attention.
They were all getting to their feet. At different paces and imbalances, but rising nonetheless.
"'S'great, mate," the taller Gryffindor saluted him half-heartedly.
"A fine establishment," the shorter one agreed slowly.
"Make sure ye button yer mitten afore ye hit the ground," the she-weasel giggled.
"I don't hit the ground," Lovegood responded with a bit of a sluggish tongue. She grinned at something and then repeated, "I don't hit."
Draco started corralling them out as the weasel started mumbling about how he was going to be sick. He sighed as he locked the bolts behind them and placed Bex's usual enchantment on the knob.
Pansy finally showed her face after she heard the final lock click. She stood by the back room and Accio -ed the remaining dishes while Draco cast one spell to put the chairs up on the other tables and another to clear the trash the group left.
He immediately froze the second charm when one of their napkins was unearthed beneath the rest of the bottles and cracks peanut shells. A small motion sketch of a ferret being bounced around played in a loop on the napkin. Draco grabbed the napkin from the air and quickly resumed the spell, casting a cautious glance in Pansy's direction as he stuffed the note in the apron pocket. He would deal with the Gryffindors later.
Ehhhh?
Reviews are welcome, and I am grateful.