Alley Rats
Chapter One
Pansy Parkinson stood on the street corner, staring at the headline glimmering up at her from an old copy of the Daily Prophet lying in a gutter: "The Dark Lord defeated! The war is over!" In a more somber manner, the names of the deceased scrolled along the bottom in elegant script. Nowhere did it mention the names of the Death Eaters that had lost their lives, nowhere were Pansy's parents remembered.
Fighting back tears, she turned away from the newsstand towards the nearest shop, suddenly confronted by the reflection of herself. Pansy's once glimmering blonde locks were cut short in a manageable bob. A torn and faded robe hung from her frame, sweeping along the dirty flagstones of Diagon Alley. Her pants were baggie, covered in pockets, and a far cry from the short skirts she once adorned her figure in. Topping off the ensemble was a hooded sweatshirt she picked up in a muggle thrift shop, which bore a large anarchy symbol across the chest. That effect was that any passerby would take one look at this homely figure, mistake it for some homeless guy, and continue on their way into any of the numerous brightly lit shops that lined the crooked street.
The accounts of all Death Eaters had been frozen, and unable to access the money her parents had left her, Pansy ended up on the streets, along with a number of other children orphaned after the final battle and in the following days when the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up and sentenced to life-long terms in Azkaban.
"Money for the poor," she intonated to no one in particular, her voice gravelly from chain smoking. As everyone streamed past, Pansy mused over an article she had read recently in a discarded Witch Weekly about anorexia. She failed to see the importance if the stupid bitch was starving herself, there were people living on the streets that were unable to feed themselves and everyone couldn't care less. "Food for the poor."
"Get a job," growled a crotchety old wizard as he hobbled into Flourish and Blotts, his beard tied in a bow around his neck. "Damn vagrants…"
&
"Erm… I'm sorry," the witch said, shuffling through Pansy's application like she was actually reading it. "We don't have any positions available at the moment."
"But you have a 'Help Wanted' sign in the shop window," Pansy said firmly, trying to hide her disappointment.
The woman looked startled for a second, the papers falling all over the desk. "I filled it this morning. Right before you came in." Her gaze never met Pansy's.
"Then why did you still talk to me?"
There was a lurking malice in Pansy's tone, making the woman start, her eyes panning up to look right at Pansy for the first time that afternoon. As they stared each other down, the shopkeeper's face hardened into a look of resolve.
"Miss Parkinson, I ask that you do not take that tone with me. He-Who-Must-Not-Be is dead and I will not be threatened by his servants. I'm sure you escaped Azkaban because you are a beautiful young woman and so obviously innocent that the Wizengamot had no choice but to let you off. Did you play the little lost schoolgirl card?"
"I see how it is," Pansy said, standing up. "I will show myself out then, have a nice afternoon Miss Kincaid. Rather common name isn't it? I would have that changed if I were you, makes you sound like a common muggle."
Miss Kincaid sat there in shock, her hand reaching for the wand sitting to her left on the desk. "What are you implying?"
But Pansy was already slamming the door shut behind her.
It was always the same, the employer would take one look at her name, ruffle through their desks until they pulled out a sheet of paper with the name of all the Death Eaters killed, imprisoned, and on the run, find her surname, see 'Pansy' scratched neatly beneath that, and ignore the 'acquitted' that was in parentheses next to it.
Standing in the bathroom of the Leaky Cauldron afterwards, Pansy stared at herself in the mirror, twisting her hair between her fingers. The women's words reverberated in her head.
"…you are a beautiful young woman…"
At any other time in her life she would have taken the statement as a compliment, allowing her ego to be gently petted. This time, however, it felt like a slap in the face, making Pansy consider how much of her life that she had gotten by on looks alone. Whatever the answer was, all that mattered was that it wasn't going to work anymore. Breathing in deeply she pulled out her wand, grabbed a length of hair and choked out the word, "Diffindo."
The blonde strands floated to the grimy stone floor, taking with them the dependence on her looks that Pansy never knew existed.
Walking out into Diagon Alley, hair freshly chopped short, and an attitude of blending into the background Pansy was shocked to see that everything didn't seem as bright and cheery as it used to be. Her eyes roamed over the boarded up shops, remnants of the war. People looked happy enough, but their eyes were wary, darting to the shadows every few seconds while fingers twitched nervously by their pockets where inside their wands laid in wait.
She also noticed a young man sitting atop a garbage can behind a café, magically reviving a tired looking banana. The peal turned yellow under the touch of his wand and to Pansy's eyes it was the most alive color she had ever seen. Brushing through the crowd, her eyes never left the fruit as it traveled to his mouth, disappearing between sumptuous red lips, cracked and blistered, standing out against sun-kissed skin.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the corner of a shop.
He looked up, eyes darting in a various directions to see if she was talking to someone else. When this person didn't make themselves immediately evident, he met her gaze and smiled. It was a wicked grin, which grew wider when his eyes flicked up to the choppy lines of her haircut.
"I'm Griff," he greeted, holding out a dirty hand.
"Pansy," she answered, gripping his hand firmly.
"Welcome to the other side of reality, Pansy."
&
"Damn vagrants," Pansy laughed, crawling into the back window of one of the boarded up shops, magically sealing it shut from the inside.
Pulling a few knuts from her pockets, she dropped them in a piggy bank sitting on the counter of the back room. The porcelain pig squealed happily and wiggled its nose. There wasn't much in there at the moment; they had to spend most of it on warmer clothes for the younger ones as winter approached. Pansy had been with them for only four months and already felt more at home than ever in her life.
There were plenty of kids that had gone to Hogwarts with her, and plenty that hadn't. Some, like her, were children of Death Eaters and old enough to not be taken in by the ministry and placed in foster homes. They were expected to exist in a world that thoroughly detested them. Others, however, lived there of their free will, having left their parents or homes for one reason or another; abuse, neglect, or just a need to be free. In all there were about twenty kids living under the roof, even though many only stayed there one or two nights a week.
Walking from the back room, Pansy entered what had used to be the front of the shop, but had been refurnished to be a day room for the children. The shelves had been laid down on the wooden floor and filled with cushions and old clothes to make places to sit during the day and beds for the evening. In the corner was a food station, where people brought what scraps they had found to be revived and multiplied as much as the original scrap could be manipulated.
It was early in the afternoon, so there were only two other people in the Back Alley, a name lovingly given to it by the residents. Griff was lounging in a shelf, lazily flipping through a book of charms, while a young woman with a shock of bright green hair was scanning the radio for music.
Shardae was half-banshee, her ears pointed slightly at the top and her eyes never fixated on a single thing for too long. No one knew her story, but the only time her banshee nature became evident was at night when she slept and the Back Alley would fill with her piercing screams.
"I was told to get a job today," Pansy said, flopping down next to Griff, who lowered his book and smiled at her, his eyes staring out at her through a curtain of curly brown hair. "I never really fancied myself a working stiff though."
"Well, I made quite a bit of money today," Griff beamed, making an allusion to a hand job with his fist. "Some bloke from out of town was lookin' for some fun before he went back to the wife."
Pansy scoffed, punching Griff in the arm. "I really wish you wouldn't do shit like that. You could get hurt one of these days, and who is going to care about a bruised and bloody Alley Rat?"
"The only time I am going to get hurt is when the fucker sees me stealing coins from his robes after he falls asleep."
"Don't worry about Griff, Pansy," Shardae interjected, seeing the worry written all over the blonde's face. "It's his choice and that's why we are all here, because the world wouldn't allow us to make the choices we wanted."
"Here, here," Griff cheered, tossing his book in a corner. "Now would either of you lovely young things care to accompany me to the streets of London from some honest panhandling?" He looked at Pansy as he said this, a wink in his voice, but she still looked upset.
"Cheer up love." He kissed the top of her head. "No big bad wizard is going to get me in the middle of the night. I'm better than that, this is my life."
Pansy started, hearing the accusation in his voice. "What would you know about this, you have only been here a few months? Before that you were pampered and perfect, mommy and daddy's little angel."
"I'm sorry I'm not an accomplished Rat like you are," she spat, getting to her feet. "I'm sorry that you think my life was somehow easier than this, that somehow I'm all the weaker for it. Well guess what, my parents fucked up, and now I'm here and right now that is about as far as I can see." Pansy gestured to the room they were in.
"Relax, Pansy. I didn't mean to impugn your rattyness."
She sighed, still angry. "Whatever, I'm going back out. Work is getting out soon and I'm sure there are plenty of people just dying to give me their money."
Pansy left the way she came in, wishing she hadn't made a scene, wishing that the girl everyone knew as Pansy was dead, hoping that she was as different as she felt. She was happy with where she was in life, but more angry as well.
"Money for the poor," she asked the first wizard she passed.