For Hogwarts, Assignment 3
Women's History, task 1: Write about a child dealing with the reality of having divorced parents
Warning: implied child abuse, murder
I.
They sit her down. Pansy feels uncomfortable as her parents stare at her. She kicks her feet restlessly, unsure what else to do.
They only ever sit down with her when she's done something wrong. Her mind races, trying to recall anything bad that she's done, but she's been a good girl.
"Have I been bad?" the eight-year-old asks. She pokes her lips out into a quivering pout just in case.
"No." There is no warmth in her mother's response. She regards Pansy with an apathetic expression, as though she doesn't want to be there, as though having to talk to Pansy is an inconvenience.
"Your mother and I love you very much," her father tells her, and Pansy beams. She's always loved her father the best. He isn't cold and cruel like her mother. "But we… Pansy, darling, sometimes mothers and fathers just don't work out."
Pansy turns this over in her mind. She runs her pudgy fingers over the leather arm of the chair, pursing her lips. It doesn't make sense, but she still nods like she understands. Her father always calls her his smart girl, and she wants to make him proud.
"Your mother and I aren't going to be together any longer," he continues.
She tips her head to the side, her dark hair falling in her face. Pansy quickly pushes her hair behind her ear, frowning. It makes even less sense now. "Where will you go then?"
Her father takes a deep breath. His eyes flicker to her mother. For several long seconds, neither respond. Finally, her mother breaks the silence. "We're getting a divorce," she says in a clipped tone, tapping her perfectly manicured finger against the silver bracelet on her wrist. "Your father will live here, and you and I will live elsewhere."
Pansy feels her heart sink. She doesn't want to live with her mother. Her father is good, and he loves her. Her mother…
The little girl sniffles, wiping her eyes before the tears can fall. "I want to stay with you, Father!"
Before he can respond, her mother interjects. "Well, you can't. Your father is a busy man, and he can't be burdened by you."
"Antonia…"
"Don't try to deny it, Richard. This was your idea. You could have offered to take her, but you're too busy for your own daughter!"
"That's hardly fair!"
Pansy closes her eyes and covers her ears. Fighting isn't uncommon in this home. Her parents are at each other's throats every other day. She keeps her head down, sniffling, hoping it will stop without violence. Even if she doesn't like her mother, she doesn't want to see her get hurt.
She's only eight years old, but she already knows what it feels like to have her world fall apart.
…
Pansy hides in the shadows, looking around to make sure her mother isn't there. Satisfied that it's safe, she hurries over to her father. He offers her a sad smile as he picks her up. "All packed, princess?" he asks.
"I don't want to pack, Father," she insists. "I want to stay with you!"
"I know, I know." He sighs and sets her down again, brushing his fingers through her hair. "But we can't always get what we want, Pansy."
She scowls. She's always been able to get anything; all she has to do is pout long enough, and her father will give in. "I can! I don't want to stay with her! Please, Father!"
He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know it isn't fair, but that's how life is sometimes," he tells her. "You'll still get to see me. You aren't going away forever."
He's never lied to her before, but she doesn't believe him now.
II.
Her father is at the platform. Pansy feels her heart flutter with excitement when she sees his bright smile.
Her mother's fingers curl a little more tightly around Pansy's wrist, and the eleven-year-old whimpers at the sharp pain. She doesn't say anything. By now, Pansy has learned that complaining will only get her into trouble.
She keeps her dark eyes on her father, offering him a smile as they approach. The divorce means she can only stay with him for one weekend every month, and she always misses him like crazy. Even if he spends most of his time in his study when she's there, being with him is so much better than being with her mother. He doesn't get mad and punish her like her mother does.
"Surprised to see you here, Richard," her mother says coldly. "It must kill you to take time away from your busy schedule."
"I wouldn't miss my princess' first day, Antonia," he says, his voice just as cold. He holds his arms out for Pansy. "You excited, sweetheart?"
Pansy pulls out of her mother's tight grip and hurries to her father, throwing herself in his arms. She buries her face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of tobacco and peppermint. "I'm going to be a Slytherin!" she says proudly. "Just like you."
He pulls back and ruffles her hair. "I'm sure you will."
"Say your goodbyes, Pansy," her mother says. "Quickly."
"Really, Antonia? You can't even let me have a moment with my daughter?"
"You don't even want her, Richard!"
"We are not doing this here!" he snaps.
Pansy doesn't want to stick around to see them fight again. Without saying a word to either of them, she carries her things away, her cheeks burning as she leaves them to yell at one another.
…
A boy with dark skin and high cheekbones finds her on the train. He sits across from her, studying her in silence for several moments.
"I just live with my mother too," he says.
Pansy scowls, turning her gaze to the window and watching the countryside pass by in blurs of green and brown. She doesn't know who he is, but he clearly saw her parents fighting on the platform. She wonders why he feels the need to talk to her about it now.
"Are your parents divorced too?" she asks.
He chuckles. "My mother is a widow."
Pansy has heard the word, but she's never bothered to learn it. "What's that mean?" she asks, turning her curious eyes back to the strange boy.
"It means that when she gets tired of people, they die, and she gets a little more gold," he answers, and there's a strange tone of pride in his voice.
"How do they die?"
He grins. "Under mysterious circumstances. I'm Blaise."
She returns his smile. "Pansy."
She rests her head against the window again, and her mind races. Is it really that easy to get rid of someone? Pansy files it away to consider later.
III.
"You aren't going to see your father this weekend."
Pansy shakes her head. "That isn't fair! It's his weekend!" she insists.
"It was until I saw your O.W.L. results," her mother says nastily. "A 'D' in Transfiguration, 'T' in Charms… You're smarter than that."
"I want to see Father! You can't do this!"
"I can, and I have," the older woman replies, smirking. "You will not leave this room all weekend. I expect you to have your nose in a book every time I come in here, or so help me, little girl, you will regret it. Is that understood?"
Pansy wants to argue, but she knows arguing will only make it worse. Instead, she swallows dryly and nods. "Understood."
When she's alone, Pansy doesn't open a book. She pulls out parchment and a quill. Anger clouds her mind as she begins the letter, but she doesn't try to calm down. Her mind is made up, and she will see this through.
…
Sneaking out is easy enough. She waits until her mother is asleep and the house is completely quiet before slipping out her window. Blaise is waiting for her, looking annoyed.
"First of all, don't actually write things like that down," he says. "That's a quick way to find yourself in a cell."
Pansy rolls her eyes. She doesn't feel like having to sit through a lecture. "Spare me," she grumbles. "Did you bring it?"
Blaise plucks a vial from his pocket and holds it up. "Second of all, are you sure about this?"
Pansy swallows. Maybe it's extreme, but she doesn't care. Her mother is cruel, and Pansy can't stand it anymore. She can handle being slapped around and screamed at, but now her mother is keeping her away from her father. It's the final straw, and Pansy will not stand for it any longer.
"She's your mother," Blaise says softly.
She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. When your mother gets tired of people, she gets rid of them, remember?"
His lips quirk into a ghost of a smile for just a fraction of a second. "I was just trying to make conversation, you know."
"But it's true."
He shrugs. "Yeah, it is. But you… Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Almost reluctantly, he hands her the vial. Pansy's hand trembles as she studies it. There isn't much liquid in it, but it's supposed to be potent. Can something so small really solve all her problems?
"I hope it's worth it," he says.
She nods. "Trust me; it is."
IV.
Pansy knows it will work, but she doesn't expect it to work so quickly. One minute, her mother is glaring at her, yelling for being out of her room before sipping the tea Pansy has prepared her. The next, she's choking and sputtering. The teacup falls from her hand, shattering against the marble tile.
Pansy watches, amazed. She knows she should feel horrified as her mother's face turns blue, but all she can do is smile.
"Such a pity," Pansy says. "Looks like I'll be staying with Father this weekend after all."
…
Her father holds her close as she cries. They're false tears that Pansy mastered years ago, but he believes her.
"It's going to be okay, princess," he tells her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Everything is going to be okay."
Pansy pulls away, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "Where will I go now, Father?" she asks, her voice small and trembling. "Mother had custody of me. I'm supposed to stay with her."
"You're going to stay with me," he assures her.
She wraps her arms around him, smiling as she buries her face in his chest. "Thank you," she whispers.
He's right. Everything will be okay. Divorce shattered her world and took her father away from her, but she's fixed it. Nothing will keep them apart any longer.