Title: Simple Response
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General
Spoilers: Philosopher's Stone to Order of the Phoenix
Period: circa unknown; many years after Hogwarts
Pairings: hopeful Pansy Parkinson/Draco Malfoy
Summary: Draco Malfoy lost everything he held dear during Voldemort's striving for immortality. Through marriage, he could gain back his wealth and stature. But for a Malfoy, giving into desire is considered a weakness, and some wishes aren't held by the hands of Gods.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The plot, however, is created by the writer and is not to be replicated by another.
Writer's Notes: This story is old. It was written at least five years ago and has been in the "progress" folder because it just never goes how I want it to. But, in what could be a vain attempt to get everything out of that folder, it has been beta'ed and posted. It disregards HBP and DH, and probably was written before OotP even came out. It tells the tale of Death Eaters after the Dark Lord's fall, and Pansy's love for Draco.
Simple Response
a hopeful pansy/draco
"I don't . . . believe . . . it," Pansy Parkinson whispered, her voice dangling somewhere between the fine lines of astonishment and abhorrence. She took another shaking step into the dark shop, her fingers brushing lightly against her lower lip as a sensing tide of disgrace enveloped her body.
Draco Malfoy placed a box of Canary Creams next to the Ton-Tongue Toffees and slowly turned around, connecting his eyes with Pansy's. He quickly spun back and continued stocking the dust-covered shelves of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "I wish I had a Sickle for every time I heard that. I'd have more than what my father left me," Draco replied in sombre tones.
Pansy stepped forward, intent circled through her baby blue eyes as she stared at the blond wizard who held her heart captive. Making a decision that was long overdue; she asked a simple question, expecting a simpler response. "Marry me! You could have more than you ever dreamt of, my love."
Draco let a miniature box of Canary Creams slip out of his hands as he slowly twisted toward Pansy with a surprised look appearing upon his pale face. "I dream of power; I dream of riches; I dream of Nero's Fiddle and the Hand of Midas. I doubt you have those hidden beneath your expensive robes, Pansy."
"I may not have those, but I do have love," she attempted to convince him."Love for somebody who could make something of himself if he really tried; someone who used to be something, someone who used to be someone!" Pansy blinked and searched Draco's features for the slightest hint of approval. She abruptly turned away, the disappointment hidden in her face, as a redheaded wizard entered from the rear workshop.
Fred Weasley wiped his hands on a greasy rag before discarding it into the rubbish bin. "I'd hate to interrupt this love fest, but we do have The Hand of Fardus. Not exactly as the legend boasts, but it is in aisle three, And Malfoy, get back to work. We don't pay you three Galleons a day to chat up the buxom customers." He flashed Pansy a stupid grin before he reached for the corn broom behind the glass counter and shoved it into Draco's hands.
"Someone broke a Scarab Sphere in aisle eight," Fred added. "I told George we should have encased 'em in rubber. I'm going to be picking scarab dung off my boots for the next three nights." He shook his head in mock sorrow and chucked quietly.
As Draco wrapped his slender fingers around the broom's handle and yanked it from Fred's loose grasp, he mumbled, "I know a place this broom could go."
Pansy smirked at a mental picture of the twins dancing around with brooms up their arses.
Fred continued, oblivious to all but the Scarab Sphere's fault in manufacturing--"or plastic--plastic would have worked too. I'll have to bring that up with George . . ." He walked back into the workroom, mumbling to himself and stroking his chin with his right hand.
A frown tugged on Pansy's lips as Draco jostled the broom against the wall. "Look at you," Pansy accused, her eyes scanning over Draco's washed-out brown robes that were more fit for a lowly house-elf than a wizard of his stature.
"I try not to, for fear of what I might not see."
"I see someone who used to be proud, who used to be able to stand up straight. Who wouldn't take orders from a common Weasley and who wouldn't--"
Draco whipped his head around, anger sharply flashing in his ice-grey eyes. "I used to be a lot of things, Pansy. This is the only way I can pay the bills! Father didn't exactly leave me a fortune. Any riches I thought my family possessed were used in Voldemort's quest for immortality. And look where that got him. He sleeps six feet under in a watery grave."
"At least he took Potter with him," Pansy interjected, hoping to have Draco smile for her, just this once.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "That was told--but it's not what happened. Potter retired on a barbaric island with scantily clad barbarian women."
"Sounds wonderful," Pansy mused half-heartedly.
Draco rolled his eyes towards the water-stained ceiling. "I wish I was there. Just think, for once I wish I were Potter. Disgusting, isn't it?" he inquired as blue-black scarabs scuttled across the floor, one slipping into a hole in his boot. Annoyed, Draco shook his foot, stepping on the scarab as it fell out.
"Hmm. What would Crabbe and Goyle think?"
Draco shrugged and exhaled sharply. "They'd probably just grunt like the trolls they are. Oh, did you hear, they're working for a sewage company, cleaning out the sewage tanks." Draco inwardly shuddered at the thought of such filthy, degrading work, but for the first time, thanked his stars he found work in retail, even if his bosses were the Weasley twins.
"Such noble work," pondered Pansy wryly.
"They were Death Eaters," Draco curtly replied. "When Voldemort fell from power, those who escaped the purge had trouble finding honest work. No one in their right mind would hire known Death Eaters, even if their wands have been broken."
Pansy dragged her eyes across Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The quaint little joke shop was packed with shelves without enough room between them for one man walking sideways. The floors were worn rotting wood, in long needing of replacement. The lights swung above them and did nothing to light the room--the large, curtain-less windows in the front of the shop provided all of the light.
"So why work here? The Daily Prophet and the Quidditch teams also hire known Death Eaters," Pansy asked eventually, recalling Adrian Pucey, who now plays for the Falmouth Falcons, and freelance writer of the Daily Prophet, Blaise Zabini.
"I have little skills in either, Pansy. Remember Hogwarts? My father bought my way onto the Quidditch team. Daddy-dearest isn't here to bail me out anymore," snapped Draco. Countless times he has wished he could go back to the way things were, but the more he thought about it, they way things were weren't that terrific either. It was merely a glittering façade of silver for society's sake.
Pansy ran her shaking hand along Draco's face, longed to press her lips to his. "When is the execution?" she gently inquired.
Draco snapped away from Pansy's touch. "My father will miss his own death. For he and mother committed suicide inside their cells last night. Don't be sorry, I provided them with the poison before the Aurors came and arrested them. I never wanted them to rot in Azkaban or have the Dementors suck out their souls."
"Another dark chapter in the life of Draco Malfoy comes to a close?"
"Yes. And another one will soon start," Draco commented sarcastically, wondering if she really thought his darkness ever ended. Only one thing keeps darkness at bay, Draco has learned. But he is in no need of love.