Disclaimer": JKR owns all this, blah blah blah, etc. etc. etc. I'm just
borrowing them for a little fun. I hope you enjoy it.
ONE LAST DANCE
She twirled round as if her feet had left the ground, her dull brown dress swirling around her feet. She thought wryly that she would leave the ground soon. She ignored the dark memories that had a bad habit of reminding her; her mother abusing her, her father and her older brother's death, even her mother's death made her feeling. Her mother had hated her and she had hated her mother, but there still had been a bond between them that nothing could've broken. Worse memories flooded her mind; her periodical rapes by her uncle, her mental sadist of an aunt (whom she had lived the best part of the last seven years), the hurt caused by Draco.
She had lived a hard life, she knew that but somehow, she had always managed to escape into books and into her mind. She had nearly become a schizophrenic before her aunt had died but she had somehow survived. 'But there would be no escape in Azkaban,' she reminded herself, an excuse for what she was about to do.
Her fingers formed beautiful Indian shapes and moved constantly with a grace that came from within, a grace, which could not be taught. No matter that there were death-eaters leering t her, that they were fighting over who would sleep with her that night, no matter that Draco looked and felt disgusted by her, no, none of this mattered, all that mattered was that she gave this final dance all that was in her.
Her feet pointed with swiftness and she turned once more. This was the night. The night that the death-eaters met the opposition head-on. She knew who would win. The opposition, but she would go on trial, and they would find her guilty of being a death-eater. The dementor's was a hopeful wish. A wish to forget her life, but in some strange way, her father and brother comforted her.
She would die dancing tonight. When all would fight, she would dance for the heaven, so close to her that there was hope but so far, that that was all there was of it. Maybe Draco would realise. She had had no choice in this. She had never wanted to become a prostitute, well, more of a courtesan, as mostly the rich death-eaters slept with her. She hoped that he did; yet she hoped that he didn't.
She let go of all her thoughts as the fight started. Somehow, she had wanted to dance Indian dances, none other. She had taught it to herself, with the help of private tutors.
Somewhere in the distance, away from where she was, where her mind was, she heard someone call out her name.
"Pansy!"
She paid no attention to it and kept on dancing, even as the green light came towards her. She danced till the green flash reached her, and then, stopped dead in her tracks. She lay there, dead.
ONE LAST DANCE
She twirled round as if her feet had left the ground, her dull brown dress swirling around her feet. She thought wryly that she would leave the ground soon. She ignored the dark memories that had a bad habit of reminding her; her mother abusing her, her father and her older brother's death, even her mother's death made her feeling. Her mother had hated her and she had hated her mother, but there still had been a bond between them that nothing could've broken. Worse memories flooded her mind; her periodical rapes by her uncle, her mental sadist of an aunt (whom she had lived the best part of the last seven years), the hurt caused by Draco.
She had lived a hard life, she knew that but somehow, she had always managed to escape into books and into her mind. She had nearly become a schizophrenic before her aunt had died but she had somehow survived. 'But there would be no escape in Azkaban,' she reminded herself, an excuse for what she was about to do.
Her fingers formed beautiful Indian shapes and moved constantly with a grace that came from within, a grace, which could not be taught. No matter that there were death-eaters leering t her, that they were fighting over who would sleep with her that night, no matter that Draco looked and felt disgusted by her, no, none of this mattered, all that mattered was that she gave this final dance all that was in her.
Her feet pointed with swiftness and she turned once more. This was the night. The night that the death-eaters met the opposition head-on. She knew who would win. The opposition, but she would go on trial, and they would find her guilty of being a death-eater. The dementor's was a hopeful wish. A wish to forget her life, but in some strange way, her father and brother comforted her.
She would die dancing tonight. When all would fight, she would dance for the heaven, so close to her that there was hope but so far, that that was all there was of it. Maybe Draco would realise. She had had no choice in this. She had never wanted to become a prostitute, well, more of a courtesan, as mostly the rich death-eaters slept with her. She hoped that he did; yet she hoped that he didn't.
She let go of all her thoughts as the fight started. Somehow, she had wanted to dance Indian dances, none other. She had taught it to herself, with the help of private tutors.
Somewhere in the distance, away from where she was, where her mind was, she heard someone call out her name.
"Pansy!"
She paid no attention to it and kept on dancing, even as the green light came towards her. She danced till the green flash reached her, and then, stopped dead in her tracks. She lay there, dead.