Disclaimer: I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.
...
And my momma swore that
She would never let herself forget
...
She was all of thirteen years old when it happened. She never cried; she couldn't – wouldn't – let the tears escape. She was a Slytherin, for gods' sake. She didn't cry. No matter how painful the words her parents shouted at each other, no matter how loud the doors slammed, no matter how heart-wrenching it was when she heard her mother cry in frustration.
It'd been like that for a while now. Shouts. Rages. Broken china. Yelling. Heavy stomps. Doors slamming. Tears. Then the part she hated the most: the sudden silence. As if the house was empty; everyone and everything had escaped, leaving her alone.
That particular day, she heard her mother break the mirror in her room. Pansy loved that mirror. When she was younger, she used to play dress-ups in front of it, wearing all the fancy clothes her parents bought for her. And she'd dream of being the loveliest of all the girls, her hand kissed by all the admiring boys, and she was a goddess with her long silky black hair, shining in the spotlight.
She debated with herself on whether she should go check that her mother was alright. She heard a door slam, and thought her father had come in from wherever he had gone. She braced herself for more shouting, but none came. The house was silent again. She couldn't hear her mother anymore.
Cautiously, she stepped out of her bedroom, where she'd been pretending she was asleep and didn't hear a word they'd been shouting. As she took the few steps towards her parents' room, she noticed the wreckage of the living room. There were shards of glass all over the expensive rug, and the mantelpiece had a big chunk out of a corner, it's missing piece on the ground by the fireplace.
She poked her head in the room, and was surprised to find it empty. Once, when her mother had caught her out of bed after a fight, she'd beckoned to Pansy and held her in her arms, still crying. And her mother had said it'd be all alright after a while. Her mother had always sat on the bed after their fights, staring at herself in the mirror. But tonight, the room was empty.
The closet door was open. She peeked in and found it empty, too, except for her dresses - all the fancy dresses that she'd hoped to wear when she grew up and became a lady. She knew instantly what the empty closet meant, but still, she hoped that her mother ran into her father, and they'd be apologising to each other. She hoped and prayed that her mother would come back, her arm looped with her father's, and they'd both be smiling and everything would be all alright, like her mother promised.
She waited and waited for her to come back, staring at the picture her face made, tear tracks glistening, reflected by the broken shards of the mirror on the floor.
...
And that was the day that I promised
I'd never sing of love
If it does not exist
...
She was getting ready for another night at work. Her long black hair, usually straight and sleek, was puffed and curled but still glossy. They seemed to prefer it that way; they said that a girl was too boring if her hair was just straight. Usually, it didn't matter what anyone said about her – her skin was too thick to take on insults like that now – but it affected her job, and she needed the money.
As she dabbed foundation on her cheeks, and applied light grey eyeshadow to make her eyes appear smoky, her thoughts travelled to her job tonight.
She'd had enough practice to not think of him as a person. He was nothing more than an animal who had money, and liked it. He was non-different from all the other jobs she'd had.
The doorbell rang. She paused to pout her lips in the mirror and fluff her hair, before going to receive the 'guest'. Her mouth fell open at the sight of him.
"Ron Weasley?" she all but shrieked.
He was shocked, as well. "Pansy Parkinson?"
She couldn't do this. As tempting as it was to work on Ron Weasley – not for the pleasure nor the money, but for the scandal and publicity – she would not let that mangy redhead anywhere near her. She may be that kind of girl, but she still had her dignity, and no way would she stoop that low.
She made to close the door, but it seemed the weasel knew of her plan. His strong hand stopped the wood, and she hissed.
"I don't want you in here," she snapped. "I don't need you to throw your money in my face. Your side won, big deal! Just stay out—"
"Parkinson," he said calmly over her words. "Would you relax? I'm not here to rub anything in your face. I'm here because Daphne told me to be here."
Pansy's attempts at pushing the door closed ceased at the mention of her friend's name. "Daphne?" she asked sceptically. "And how in the world do you know Daphne?"
Weasley shrugged. "She's Nott's best friend."
Pansy's eyebrow rose at the mention of another fellow Slytherin. "And you're Nott's friend, are you?"
He eyed her in surprise. "Where have you been for the last three years? Nott married Hermione. It made headline news."
She was shocked, yes, but she had taught herself the art of the poker face. It was true, she'd been out of contact with the wizarding world, trying to remove her name from everyone's mind. She'd only come back recently, under the name Violet Desire, wanting nothing more than to be someone no one remembered. She'd only contacted one friend: Daphne Greengrass, or Daphne Zabini as she was now.
She scoffed at the redhead. "Ooh, looky. The famous Golden Trio all split up. And let me guess, did Harry Potter get his fairytale ending with your lovely little sister?"
Anger flashed in Weasley's eyes, but it cooled down almost instantly. "No, he didn't marry Ginny. But he did get his fairytale ending with Tracey Davis, if that interests you."
The dark-haired girl's other eyebrow joined its twin. "And what about Weaselette? Who did she end up with?"
He glared at her, but answered nonetheless. "She married your boyfriend, as it happens. Draco Malfoy, d'you remember him? Your Drakie."
Draco Malfoy. Hearing his name brought back all the memories of her childhood. Seeing Draco everyday, laughing with him, flirting with him, crying to him in third-year, loving him in fourth-year, and sleeping with him in fifth.
He was the one who made her realise love didn't exist. She'd spent her entire childhood believing love was real, that it lasted, until her mother left, and Draco left. And she was nothing more than nothing.
That had started the endless chain of boys. Always boys, boys, boys. Not a week would go by without her holding on to fire and let it fill her up, even if it was only for a few minutes. It was the only way she felt it, and she was never satisfied. But that was all there was to it. Just fire and flames and burning with someone for a while. Nothing more.
She didn't want to hurt again, like she'd heard in her mother's tears, like she could see in her father's eyes, like she could feel whenever she saw a boy with platinum blonde hair.
Her anger, disgust, and pity at herself choked her up.
"Get out of my house," she yelled, tears threatening to spill. Without another word, she slammed the door in Weasley's face.
...
I had sworn to myself that I'm
Content with loneliness
Because none of it was ever worth the risk
...
"Can't people respect that it's only seven in the goddamn mor—"
"Hi."
Pansy's half-closed eyes squinted harder against the harsh, bright sunlight, and Weasley's silhouette took shape.
"Oh, fuck off."
"Good morning to you, too, sunshine," he muttered. "Listen, I'm sorry for whatever I said last night that upset you. I talked to Daphne about what happened, and she said maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring up Hogwarts, so—"
Pansy waved a hand as she stumbled towards her kitchen. "Fine, whatever, whatever, apology accepted. Now will you get out of my house?"
"Well, I was wondering if we could talk a bit more."
The mug she was pulling out of a cupboard slipped from her fingers and crashed on the floor. She winced at the sound, but ignored the shards. "You were wondering what?"
She heard him walk towards the kitchen, and turned to look at him. He was leaning on the doorjamb, one hand in his hair as he grinned at her sheepishly. "I was wondering if we could—"
"Oh, I heard you the first time," she snapped. "What on earth are you thinking? I'm a filthy little Slytherin, remember? I'm your enemy."
He laughed at that. "Please. I've had more experience dealing with enemies, you know. All that forgiveness tripe, what with my ex-girlfriend – almost my wife! – married to a Slytherin, my best friend married to a Slytherin, my own sister married to a Slytherin..."
"Yeah, yeah, yaddi yadda," Pansy interrupted, not in the mood for long chatter. She was certainly not a morning person.
"So what say you?" he pressed, as Pansy found another mug, and began to prepare coffee.
If that's what it takes to get rid of you, she thought. Out loud, she said, "Fine, whatever."
He nodded, opened his mouth to say something complementing, but instead came out with, "Why are you making coffee?"
"Because I like it," came the short reply.
"No, I mean, why are you making it? Don't you have a Muggle contraption that mixes the coffee for you? Hermione and Harry think I've gone bonkers when I prefer to make my own coffee, when they've gave me one of those for Christmas—"
Pansy wheeled around, having enough of his chatter. "No, I don't have a coffee-maker. Do I look like I have enough money to buy a coffee-maker, when I can make it myself for free?"
He looked around the dimly-lit house, so far from the mansion he'd expected her to live in. "It looks far better than an average house of a... girl of your profession—"
Pansy's face soured. "'A girl of my profession' is called an escort. Say it with me, Weasley: escort. And that's just the nice way of saying it. Does that help you with the way you see me?"
It seemed like Weasley's eyes began to glow as he said, "I don't see you like that, you know. I see you as a girl who's had difficulties in her past, and is trying her best to live past that. Why can't you?"
He looked into her eyes for a last second, before leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen. A minute later, she heard the front door close. She felt her heart break as she recalled the genuine emotion in his words, and the coffee sat forgotten on the table as tears slid down her face for the first time since she was thirteen.
...
I've got a tight grip on reality
But I can't
Let go of what's in front of me here
...
He came back at night, nine o'clock sharp. She'd been preparing for a night out, hoping to find a drunk rich bloke at the local pub. As she flung open the door, he had raised his hand to knock.
"What do you want?" she said rudely.
He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I understand that I must have toed the line again, but—"
"Look," she interrupted. "I don't have the time for this. I have a job tonight. D'you hear that, Weasley? I have a job. Now go away."
He blocked her way. "How much did he pay you? I'll pay you double that. Just... I want to talk to you."
She laughed at that. "Weasley, people pay me to do my job, not sit around talking."
"Well, think of this as an easy job, then," he replied, not moving from where he was standing. "I'll pay you whatever; name your price."
She eyed him sceptically. "What can you pay? Everyone knows that the Weasleys are the poorest wizarding family in the whole of Britain."
He grinned at that. "Where have you been the last three years? I'm Head Auror, now that Harry's teaching at Hogwarts. So I can pay any price at all."
Pansy bit her lip. She knew it wasn't a bluff – she could see the honesty in his eyes. Looked like she'd been caught in her lie.
"Oh fine," she huffed, opening the door wider to let him in. "Fine. Fine."
"How much is the price?" he asked jokingly as he took a step forward.
Her eyes narrowed at him. "Because we're just talking, consider it on the house. Just this once."
His grin widened as he stepped over the threshold. "Just to let you know, I'll be coming a lot more often. So you better clear your schedule for an indefinite period of time."
She glared at him as she closed the door. "Don't push your luck," she said.
She felt something blossom inside her at the prospect of someone just wanting to talk. It was refreshing and heartwarming, and she knew it would become her new addiction. But there was no hope; it was simply a change of plans. She didn't want fireworks, she wanted the real fire. But she knew Weasley would replace her soon enough. If not, she'd replace him.
...
I know you're leaving
In the morning, when you wake up
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream
...
She woke up to the bright sunlight on her face, and an empty bed. But she was used to it. She'd gotten numb to the feeling of rejection coursing through her. She had learned not to take it personally; that those men were all after the same thing, and nothing more.
Then she remembered who she was with last night, and confusion broke through her shield, letting the rejection in.
Why would Ron Weasley just leave her like that? She had always woken up before him; if anything, she was the one who left the bed first. Did that mean he was over their little 'relationship'?
She sighed. She knew this would happen, didn't she? Was she really surprised?
Well, she had no right to be. She was nothing more than an escort, and she was a fool to have forgotten that.
She got out of bed, and began to prepare for her morning routine, trying her best to ignore the anger and frustration and pity she could feel welling up inside of her, doing her best to block out the picture of the flame-haired man in her mind's eye.
Her eyes landed on a yellow envelope on her bedside table. She snorted inwardly.
So the bastard decided to pay her now, did he? Well, it better be a whopping great cheque; she wasn't about to let him ignore half a year's worth of her job. So, only seven nights out of six months were spent on her actual job and the rest just talking or watching movies, but it was her time, goddammit. She wasn't going to let him bow out of that.
She opened the envelope, and instead of a cheque, a piece of paper was folded inside. Pulling it out, her expression grim, she read out loud, "Look in the kitchen."
Throwing the note on the bed and stomping towards the kitchen, she yelled, "Well, it better be because your cheque was too damn big to put in my bedroom, Ronald Weasley!"
When she reached the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was the shiny new coffee-maker with a bow around it. Instead of being impressed, she felt even more angry. She pulled at the ribbon that ran around it, and noticed golden threads formed words on the red silk cloth.
Look in your closet.
She narrowed her eyes at the ribbon, before throwing it on the bench. "What are you doing to me, Ronald Weasley?" she screamed as she made her way back to her room. "Are you trying to make me look like a fool? Because I sure do feel like one!"
On her last word, she flung the closet door open. Inside was a pristine white blouse and a plain black skirt. A note was pinned to the blouse. She pulled it down, and read: Wear these. Grab your purse and head over to Rosario's.
Rosario's? What on earth did he want her to go there for? They'd been there together once, to order pizzas for their movie marathon, so he knew she knew where it was.
Cursing him softly for making her do crazy things, she showered, pulled on the blouse and skirt, grabbed her purse, and headed out, all in twenty minutes. She was jittery, she didn't know what to expect; all that she knew was Ron would be there, and he better have a good explanation as to why he was doing this.
Ten minutes later, she parked outside the Muggle Italian restaurant, and went inside. Ron was there, grinning at her, half-sheepish, half-relieved.
"Can you please explain to me why on earth we're here?" she demanded in a whisper, as she stood in front of him, too angry to sit down.
His grin widened. "Because this was where I realized I was in love with you," he said. Saying so, he got down on one knee, fished in his jacket pocket, and held out a velvet box.
"Pansy Parkinson, when I was told six months ago by Daphne Zabini that she'd set me up on a blind-date with a girl, I didn't expect her to be you. I didn't expect her to be an escort who had no idea she'd be having a date, not a job, I didn't expect her to be stunning and witty and sarcastic, I didn't expect her to be so beautifully and tragically broken inside but tough and sharp on the outside, and I didn't expect to stay and fall in love with her. But you're that girl, and I'd much rather you were her than the kind of girl I'd been expecting, because I fell in love with you. Will you marry me?"
The entire time Ron was speaking, tears were flowing down Pansy's face. Never had she felt so loved or accepted, and the fire of anger burning inside her became soft flames of love. And she knew that maybe this time around, she had found someone worth hurting for.
...
You, are, the only exception
You, are, the only exception
...
Pansy smiled at Daphne. Everything that happened was all because of her. Daphne healed her through Ron, Daphne made her happy through Ron, Daphne helped her get her happy ending through Ron.
The blonde smiled back at her as she stood with her husband and daughter; eldest child Blanche stood between her mother and father, the spitting image of her mother, but with Blaise Zabini's dark hair.
The two flower-girls, Courtney Nott and Lucy Weasley headed down the red carpet as the grand piano began to play. As the ring-bearer, Daphne's youngest child Tarquin, and the coin-bearer, Louis Weasley, followed the flower-girls up the aisle, Blaise and Blanche made their way to sit with the rest of the crowd.
Then the bridesmaids walked the aisle with their partners: Victoire Weasley with Teddy Lupin, Dominique Weasley with Cayden Nott, Roxanne Weasley with Lysander Scamander, Molly Weasley with Lorcan Scamander, and Lily Potter with Scorpius Malfoy.
Ginny Malfoy and Hermione Nott followed them, leaving Daphne and Pansy. The blonde squeezed the dark-haired's girl's hand once, and said, "You deserve all this, Pans. It was about time you found happiness."
A tear fell from Pansy's eye. "And you gave it to me, Daph. I'll owe you forever."
Daphne smile was watery. "What are best friends for, right?"
She gave Pansy's hand one last squeeze, before making her way down the aisle as the Maid of Honour.
Following a cue in the music, Pansy slowly made her way to the carpet, and Draco Malfoy appeared.
"I'm sorry for everything that happened at school, Pans," he said softly. "Will you forgive me?"
Pansy stared at him in surprise. When did Draco Malfoy ever apologise? Nonetheless, she smiled at him. "It's all in the past now, Draco," she replied.
He smiled and held out an arm, which Pansy took, and together, they walked down the aisle. Her eyes were glued to only one person, as he stood beside his beaming messy-haired Best Man: Ron Weasley.
As she felt her heart burst with love and longing and satisfaction and that feeling of belonging, she knew this was it. She was home.
She'd gotten her very own happily ever after.
...
And I'm on my way to believing
Oh, and I'm on my way to believing
...
.
.
.
AN:
Written for Jg Rox's Rival Ships Challenge.
The Only Exception by Paramore
I know, not my best work. But seriously, these days, I can't write to save my life. It sucks. So basically this was a magical story, but the wizards are more... Muggle-ised, if you'd call it that. And Pansy had her wand snapped; that's another reason she went to live with Muggles for a while. Argh. Any questions, just PM me or something.
Theo Nott + Hermione Granger = Cayden Nott, Courtney Nott
Harry Potter + Tracey Davis = James Potter, Lily Potter
Draco Malfoy + Ginny Weasley = Scorpius Malfoy
Blaise Zabini + Daphne Greengrass = Blanche Zabini, Tarquin Zabini
Weasleys are all the same.
Review your thoughts and opinions.