Chapter One
Pansy
Someone was knocking on her door again, an urgent rapping that grated her nerves.
"Pansy, hurry it up, she'll be here any minute!"
It was her mother's nasally voice, the sound making her cringe so early in the morning. There was another exclamation from outside the bathroom door and Pansy rolled her eyes, trying to finish her makeup. "Pansy, you've not even put on your dress yet!"
"Maybe I would go a bit faster if you stopped knocking every three fucking minutes," Pansy snapped, coating her lashes with a third swipe of mascara.
"Watch your mouth!" her mother said through the door. "You know who is coming over, you can't talk like that in front of her."
"I know, Mum," she said, wrenching open the door to her bathroom to see her mother standing in pristine condition. Clothes pressed, dark hair curled, not a smudge of makeup out of place. How she made it seem so effortless, Pansy would never know. "I am the one who invited her," she continued. "Is Peter even awake yet? Go bother him."
With an irritated scowl, Mrs. Parkinson left her daughter to go check in on her son. Pansy was free for another five minutes and she took the opportunity to shut and lock her bedroom door.
Right. Time for the dress. Pansy crossed over to her bed and pulled down one of two dresses, this one a pastel sundress. Flinging her pajamas to the floor, she prodded herself to stay awake while she dressed. Things had been hectic that morning, with the paper coming and all. The comfy bed was calling her name, but she turned her back to it and went for the door, pausing at her side table to give a gentle stroke to Lizzie, an affectionate look on her face.
Lizzie was Pansy's Venomous Tentacula plant that she'd kept since second year because her mother wouldn't allow a cat in the house. Apparently highly dangerous plant life is more appropriate for a child than a kitten. But, then, Herbology was the only thing Pansy excelled at - not that she would dare mention it out loud. In all other classes she struggled, but for some reason had taken to Herbology at a young age, which she kept secret in fear of being made fun of like Longbottom. She rolled her eyes and scoffed with all the other students when assignments were given, but had never once received less than an Outstanding for any project. In fact, Pansy excelled so well at Herbology that she'd been allowed to test-out of O.W.L.'s at the end of last year and, as a fifth year, would be taking N.E.W.T. level Herbology. Pansy hadn't wanted to do it because then everyone would know she was good at Herbology if she was in class with seventh years, but her mother had forced her to. Only she and Longbottom took the test for Herbology out of their entire class, though she wasn't sure how he did as they received their scores over summer. Granger was the only other student tested, but she was pursuing other courses.
With a sigh, she held one of Lizzie's leaves between her fingers and gave a soft, reassuring rub. The plant hadn't liked her at first, wrapping her vines around Pansy's wrists and ankles, but Lizzie had warmed to her and grew to love Pansy in return. Lizzie gave a soft purr and wrapped a gentle vine around Pansy's finger. "I'll be back a little later," she whispered to the plant, untwining herself from Lizzie's grasp and making her way down the stairs after spritzing herself with perfume.
There was a spread laid out on the table - sweet cakes, french toast, apples, food galore. It was an absolutely ridiculous measure that her mother thought necessary, but Pansy knew the four of them would never eat all that and their guests would probably just nibble.
When Peter, still drowsy, reached for a bit of toast, their mother smacked his hand away. "It's not for eating," she chided. "It's for looks." Like most of their possessions. Meant to be seen, not enjoyed.
"I'm hungry," he grumbled, running a hand through his gelled hair and mucking it up.
"Nice one, you twat," Pansy teased, taking a seat across from him while their mother fretted, trying to flatten his hair that was now standing up.
"I hate life," he grunted, swatting his mother's hand away and fixing it himself.
"Why?" Pansy said, flashing her brother a devilish smirk. "Because you're in your early twenties and still live at home with Mummy and Daddy?"
"Fuck off, Pans," he muttered, putting his hands down, though one lone hair still stood.
"What did I ever do to deserve you children," their mother said in a worried tone, pouring herself a cup of tea. Both siblings didn't miss the fact that she tipped something else into the cup for her nerves. They shared a look - it was a bit early for the liquor, but it didn't surprise either of them.
"Right, I'm off to work," their father said, entering the kitchen while straightening his tie. Pansy laid her forehead on the table, stomach growling as she caught a whiff of the french toast. Not today. She didn't want to be bloated for the party later.
"You can't!" her mother squawked. "Today is the day The Daily Prophet comes. She'll be here any minute!"
"Merlin's fucking beard," Mr. Parkinson growled, throwing his hands in the air. "I've got a meeting in a half hour!"
"Postpone it," the woman said, her dark curls trembling as much as her voice. Another few drinks from her cup would even her out, Pansy knew that much. The two argued for a few minutes, their children sitting quiet, before Mr. Parkinson left the room in a huff to go Floo the Ministry and tell them he'd be late.
"Here she comes," said Peter, glancing out the kitchen window. Pansy looked to see the familiar blonde woman bustling up the long walkway. Their mother drained her cup.
"Patrick, she's here," Mrs. Parkinson yelled. A few seconds later, he bustled in, straightening his tie again. His wife nearly shrieked, frantic hands rushing to dust away the ash and soot on the shoulder of his robes. Just in time, too - there was a sharp knock on the door. In an instant, the four of them shot up, pushing their shoulders back to correct their posture and tilting their chins up in some faux sense of pride. When their mother answered the door and the woman walked in, photographer in tow, the Parkinson's smiles gleamed brighter than the rising sun.
"I'm glad you invited me," Rita Skeeter said to Pansy, then to no one in particular, "My, what a lovely home you have!"
Their house wasn't usually this clean. You could practically sunbathe off the sparkles reflecting from the white tile floor.
"Thank you," their mother said, smile as bright as ever. "We're glad you agreed to come, so we can put this silly mess to rest."
Pansy watched Skeeter's eyes, how they glimmered with disbelief, thinly veiled behind some false kindness. The woman was a rat, sniffing out the biggest chunk of cheese. No one mentioned that Skeeter had been the one to cover Mr. Parkinson's high-profile affair that almost ruined the family name.
"Right," said the blonde woman, pushing her glasses up farther on her nose. "Let's get started, shall we?"
The Parkinson's waited for their guests to sit before returning to their seats. "Please-," their mother said, "- have a bite to eat." Skeeter didn't act like she'd heard, but the slouching photographer grabbed a sweet cake in his grubby hand. Obviously, he didn't understand how these things worked - the food was just a display of hospitality, you weren't supposed to stuff it in your mouth, as he was doing. Only nibble, if that. The thought of nibbling made Pansy's stomach growl.
The four family members sat with their smiles flashed while Skeeter pulled out several sheets of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill, the photographer reaching for another sweet cake.
"Testing," Rita said, the balanced quill scribbling a word onto the parchment. It seemed to be working and the woman scooted her chair to the table with such a force that her over-sprayed curls gave a bounce.
"This is Rita Skeeter reporting for The Daily Prophet. Today we're setting the story straight on Ministry official Patrick Parkinson and his publicized affair with Rymea Fudge, young daughter of Minister Cornelius Fudge and, until recently, intern in the Department of Magical Education where Parkinson acts as Department Head." The woman paused, sucking in a long breath from the lengthy sentence she'd just spoken. Each of the Parkinson's continued to smile through this humiliating display. "Today I'm joined by Patrick Parkinson, his wife Pandora, his devilishly handsome son Peter, and their charming daughter Pansy, who I had the pleasure of growing close with last year at Hogwarts, when I exclusively covered the Triwizard Tournament."
Grew close with.
Pansy had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Skeeter had paid her and a few others off to be "sources" and make up whatever they wanted about the Triwizard champions and their love lives. True, it had been entertaining to have that much power, especially when Potter was such an annoying git, but she hardly considered herself close to Skeeter.
Merlin, the interview dragged on and on, each passing minute making Pansy's stomach growl a little louder. 'Not today,' she urged her body, thinking of the tight dress she'd have to squeeze in for the party and how this would be the first time Graham saw her all summer. That thought made her stomach squirm, though not in the way a girl's should when she thought of her boyfriend. It was more in dread than excitement.
"And what about you, Pansy?" Rita finally asked, turning her attention to the youngest of the Parkinson family. "What do you think of all this? Do you think your father betrayed your family? Or was it all a misunderstanding?"
Pansy's face was beginning to ache from smiling, though she continued to do so through the awkward questions. Skeeter had been frank ever since the first time Pansy met her and, though she bordered on rude, part of the girl admired the woman's gumption.
"The entire thing has been a ridiculous misunderstanding," she said, unafraid to make eye contact with the journalist. "My father would never hurt us," she continued. "And just look at my Mum, why would he ever need to find another woman?"
Both Rita and her mother cooed while all three men looked away in discomfort.
"And what are your plans now, Pansy? We haven't spoken since last school year." Just as Pansy was opening her mouth to speak, Mrs. Parkinson stole the spotlight.
"Our daughter was chosen to be Slytherin prefect this year, along with Draco, the son of our family friends, the Malfoy's. Pansy's boyfriend, Graham Montague, is going to be Head Boy this year."
'Yes, Mother, why don't you name drop a little more, I don't think the gnomes outside heard you.'
Rita's eyes gleamed, buying right into it. Malfoy and Montague were both prominent names, alongside Parkinson, within the Ministry. Pansy could see the wheels turning in Skeeter's head, wondering how she could work this into her story. "This must be very exciting for you all. I'm sure the three of you will be a very successful team!" she said. Pansy only smiled, offering nothing in reply. Prefects and Head Boy had nothing to do with being successful - it was their names that would take them far in life.
"We're having a party tonight to celebrate," said Mrs. Parkinson, eyes alight.
"Oh, I'd love to get a picture of the three of them for the paper," Rita said, taking the bait like some starving fish. Pansy knew it wasn't about her at all - Rita wanted to name drop and her mother wanted published proof that she threw the best parties.
"Oh, well of course you're invited!" her mother gushed, swatting a hand toward Skeeter as if she were being silly. "It's not every day we get to invite a celebrity over!"
That was about as much as the other three Parkinson's could handle. Pansy hid her face in a glass of orange juice, Peter gave a longing look to the doorway, and Patrick glanced down to his watch. The two older women chatted, exchanging details, and then it was time for the photos.
"Alright, you here," Skeeter said, leading Mrs. Parkinson to stand behind her husband, who was seated at the head of the table. "Bright smiles, bright smiles," Rita continued and the camera flashed while husband and wife beamed. "And you, Peter, come sit next to your sister. Todd, take it from across the table, I want the food in it."
Pansy grimaced when Peter sat next to her, the smell of cigarette smoke attacking her senses. The smile lit up her face just in time for the flash and, before she knew it, they were all shaking hands, Rita and the photographer out the door in the blink of an eye. Their father was gone not a moment later, muttering about being late for his meeting. Mrs. Parkinson put a hand to her forehead, declaring she needed to go lay down and Pansy turned just in time to see Peter's back retreating up the stairs to his bedroom. Things were back to normal.
With a lonely sigh, she followed her brother up the stairs, turning to her room instead. Might as well get her run in before the day turned hot.
Pansy slipped out of her dress, which joined her crumpled pajamas on the floor. Too tired to deal with looking for clothing, she flicked her wand and her athletic clothes shot toward her from the dresser. Once she was changed, she slicked back her growing hair into a ponytail with a feeling of triumph. This summer, Pansy had dedicated herself to becoming her ideal of feminine beauty. Every day she ran, sometimes twice, to try and shed the childish weight that clung to her. Skipping meals had grown to be quite a frequent occurrence, which her family either didn't notice or didn't mention. And each night was filled with the newest magical skin remedies while she obsessively rubbed Darlena Cotsmith's Hair Stimulant Ointment into her scalp. The girlish bob she'd worn last year was gone now, a satisfied smirk crossing her face when she felt the tips of her hair trail past her shoulders.
Pansy's image had consumed her. But, maybe it would pay off that night when Graham saw her. Maybe now she wouldn't have to be subjected to his long stares at other girls or the way he told her to readjust her clothes, so they looked more flattering.
Before she left her room, an owl was tapping at her window. Another letter. Pansy let the filthy animal in, clutching at the parchment and shooing it back out before it shit on something. She tossed the envelope into the stack with the others, all unopened, all in Graham's handwriting. She'd deal with them later.
At least, that's what she'd said all summer. But, later never came. Not later when she entered, sweaty from her long run. Not later after she showered or slipped into her fourth outfit of the day. Each day, she told herself she would go through the letters later, but now summer was gone and there was no more later left.
There was a rap on Pansy's door in the early evening, a common occurrence throughout the day.
"What?" she said, annoyance laced in her tone. She'd been lying in bed just staring at the dress for the party, worrying it would hug all the wrong places. When she'd first tried it on a month ago it was too tight, but her mother insisted it would be fine. If her mother made her get it, then Pansy didn't want her fit of self-criticism interrupted.
"They've got everything set up," her mother called through the door. "Guests should be arriving soon. I want you a few minutes late to make an entrance." The words sounded loose and Pansy could tell her mother had drank several more cups of her special tea since that morning. A grunt was all Mrs. Parkinson got in reply before she clacked off in her tall heels to bother Peter.
The party had been quite a hit. By the time she walked down the stairs in her purple dress, which she was relieved was actually loose in places, laughter had already begun drifting through the house. Graham was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled, though it never reached his eyes and Pansy gave him a similar smile in return. Dutiful as ever, he bent and pressed his lips to her cheek while those around them cooed. Then, without a word, they linked arms and made their party rounds with a tense feeling between them. Each greeting was met with a smile as fake as their own. Once that bullshittery was finished, they stumbled upon Draco.
"Pans! You look fantastic!" he told her, leaning in for a hug, which she dodged.
"You'll mess up my hair," she pouted, though she wanted nothing more than a hug from her best friend. It was just that Graham didn't like her being friends with Draco. Or any boy, for that matter. Draco rolled his eyes and forced her into a long hug anyway. Graham knew better than to say anything to a Malfoy, but Pansy didn't miss the dark look that crossed his eyes.
"Congratulations on making prefect," her boyfriend said to Draco, extending his hand. Draco took it, knowing nothing was amiss.
"And you for making Head Boy," her friend replied, a genuine grin on his face.
Pansy let out a long breath when the handshake went as a normal handshake should go and Graham released Draco's hand. She half-expected him to pull Draco close and give him an earful for hugging her.
No, not her Graham. He was as skilled at the bullshit game as she was. Instead of some threat, he gave Draco a pat on the shoulder and whisked his girlfriend away.
"You do look amazing," he said, though it was less genuine and more mandatory. If Draco told her she looked nice, then it was his duty as her boyfriend to do the same.
"Thanks," she muttered, not looking at him.
That was how much of the party went, them muttering a few words here and there with little in between. Pansy didn't understand the point of even dating when they could hardly stand each other, but when she'd tried to break it off at the end of last school year, Graham had gone berserk. Pansy had tried to walk away, but he jerked her back by her wrist so hard that he sprained it. Neither of them acted like it ever happened.
By the time the camera flashes were starting to fill the room, he had her alone in a corner, chiding her for not answering his letters all summer.
"I've been busy," she said, brushing him off. Well, it wasn't a lie. She'd been busy making herself look better for him. Ungrateful bastard. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, the same she'd seen when she tried to break it off, and fear rooted in her stomach. "Don't make a scene," she scolded, trying to act tougher than she felt. Before Graham could answer, Rita bustled over and interrupted, dragging Draco behind her.
"Picture time!" she said, Todd catching up with a huff of breath. "Here you go, dearie," she continued, pushing Draco on the other side of Pansy. "Smile!" she said, as Todd lifted his camera. Graham was already smiling, though, as if nothing were wrong, but his hand snaked under her arm. Pansy let out a small yelp, his fingers pinching into the sensitive skin underneath. The camera flashed right as she jerked in pain, though she was able to keep a forced smile on her face. It would probably look more like a grimace. Great.
"Wonderful party, Pansy," Rita gushed and Pansy nodded her head, giving a rushed thank you before pushing past her into the crowd. It took her a few minutes to weave her way through the people and one time she caught a glimpse of Graham looking for her with an even angrier look, but she managed to make it upstairs without anyone stopping her. Dim light flooded beneath Peter's door, the smell of cigarettes wafting out into the hall. Knowing her brother had already given up on the party made her not feel so bad for ditching. It quelled the guilty feeling in her chest as she shut and locked her door, rubbing the sore spot under her arm.
Not even wanting to see the pile of Graham's letters, Pansy extinguished the light in her room with the wave of her wand and felt her way through the bed, crawling in dress and all.
That's how she woke the next morning, her dress wrinkled around her. It took a while to shake the grog of sleep from her head, but as she did, she ran over a mental list of all she had to get done that day, rearranging them into logical order.
Right. First, read their article in The Daily Prophet and make sure Skeeter hadn't fucked it up. Then school shopping, then her run.
It took another half hour or so before she actually convinced herself to leave the comfort of her bed. Once she was dressed and ready for the day, she made her way to the kitchen, where the newspaper was always left by her father before he went to work.
The first thing she saw was the picture of her parents smiling up at her from the front page. Opening the paper, she found the picture of her with Peter, grinning over that ridiculous breakfast spread. The rest were pictures from the party, except the photo at the very bottom. It was her with Draco and Graham. Each time the photo moved, Pansy grimaced in sync with her picture. The average reader may just think Graham's hand was under her arm, like any normal boy may do to his girlfriend. At least the paper didn't make noises and her yelp went unheard. Somehow, she managed to keep smiling in the photograph. To her eyes, it looked quite forced, but she knew no one else would pay that much attention. Under the photo it read "Powerhouse Trio."
Pansy's eyes scanned the article, glad to see her family finally cast in a positive light for the first time that summer. There was more focus on their wholesome family than the public affair that nearly tore them apart and lost her dad his job. For every sickle Skeeter had paid Pansy to make up stuff about Potter, she paid back tenfold for this article. The journalist didn't disappoint.
Content, with the exception of her picture, Pansy went to find her mother for school shopping. And she did find her - passed out on the couch, still in her dress and heels from the night before. On the ground next to her was a spilled glass, a dark color staining the carpet. Looked like wine.
"Mum, wake up, we've got to go school shopping," she said, giving her mother a gentle shake. The woman gave a slight snore. "Mum," she said louder. Mrs. Parkinson stirred, blinking her eyes a few times before rolling away with a grunt. "Mum, we've got to go school shopping."
Her mother drew an annoyed breath and her daughter leaned over to see her eyes were closed again. "Pansy, sweetheart, aren't you old enough to go alone? Mummy doesn't feel well this morning. The vault key is on my dresser."
Pansy just stared at her mother, who began snoring again a few seconds later.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, making her way back to her parent's room. She snatched up the key and turned to the marble fireplace that dominated the room, grabbing a handful of powder and tossing it into the fire.
"Diagon Alley," she said, clear as a bell, an edge of anger in her voice. Then she stepped into the green flames and was spun away.