Solitude
In the end, Pansy stood alone. She spent her days wandering the once-elegant halls of Parkinson Manor, clinging to memories of times long-past where purebloods laughed and danced and held the world in their hands. The new order of Wizarding Britain demanded that such times be left behind forever, lost in the cracks of time and swept under the rug that was The Dark Lord's rise to power.
Much like those former glory days, Pansy felt herself fading. No longer did her housemates come to call; letters from childhood friends were few and far between. The Prophet eagerly announced the redemption of the Malfoys and young Draco's quiet rise to the top of the business world. When the announcement was made that the young, eligible tycoon was to wed a former housemate, Pansy discontinued her receipt of the papers.
Pansy stood alone in a large rundown house and tried to pinpoint when things went wrong. How had she gone from having the world at her fingertips to being one of the biggest pariahs of the Wizarding community? Her sense of logic was distorted and dissolved. Perhaps she had made some mistakes, but for the life of her, Pansy was unable to identify what they were.
She realized that she wasn't perfect. She could even grasp the implications of having chosen the wrong side during the war. What wasn't fair, however, was the knowledge that people like Draco Malfoy—her one-time love—who had sunk so much further into the darkness than Pansy had ever dared, could remain one of the most prominent members of Society, building himself an empire and become the backdoor darling of the Wizarding World. Pansy's crimes weren't as heinous as Draco's had been. Her family, gone all these long years after the second war, had never joined the ranks of the Death Eaters.
And as for Pansy, herself, her biggest transgression seemed to be what she thought her most logical move. As the Battle of Hogwarts began, she had made a suggestion. That suggestion was what ostracized her from the world she once starred in. Sacrifice one for the sake of the many. Logic, plain and simple. And yet, because of it, she had lost everything.
Standing by her decision had only intensified the scorn that was now suffocating her. She supposed that were she to bow her head and present herself apologetically, they would eventually forgive her and allow her back into her own elegant world. To do so would be a violation of the very tenants of who she was, and Pansy would rather be hated for being herself than be a tolerated lie. She would stand tall, alone if she had to. She would show no weakness, and one day, one day, someone would thank her for it.
In the meantime, Pansy was left to suffer the days of isolation, clinging desperately to a belief that the pendulum would swing and she would eventually be rewarded, all the while watching those who had fallen further into deeper darkness blossom and thrive in the New World Order that rejected her. Fairness, Pansy knew, was a fallacy; but as she had never been on the short end of the idea, she was unequipped to handle herself without it.
And so the days went by, and Pansy slowly lost herself in the iniquity of her situation. Things would change for her. They had to. One day, one day . . .