WARNING: This is my feeble attempt to write and finish a FRANSY (Fred/Pansy) fanfiction. My motivation behind doing this is all the complaints on tumblr (including mine) under the Pansy Parkinson tag (that I stalk for obvious reasons) about how there is no good Fransy fanfic in existence or if there are, they are uncompleted work with unpromising update dates. So, with that said, I would like to insist on you the point that:

THIS WILL SUCK;

…you have been warned.

A/N: Harry Potter and the characters, places, and references to said material belongs to J.K. Rowling alone. I am but a borrower of great things in the hopes that I can quell the thirst of my fangirl feels. Please read, and if you liked it, review. If you did not like it, well I'd still say, review. Criticisms from the light and the dark side are always welcome.

~ PROLOGUE ~

I woke up that morning from a sweet dream. I was in a meadow, holding hands with a certain fair-haired boy that I love, wandering free amid all the wild flowers and grasses and pansies for I which I was named. It was a wonderful place and we were having the time of our lives as we sat by a pond so clear it reflected the sky so vividly in its surface. "Pansy," he said my name, like a whisper that the wind carried like a howl, to be heard by all the earth. "Draco?" I said his, like a question full of hope, full of life and dreams and happy thoughts that are yet to be confirmed. He looked at me with solemn eyes of liquid steel, and for the first time in forever they mirrored the affection that I felt. He licked his lips and I wanted so badly to kiss him right there and then, if I wasn't so afraid he'd push me away. "I…" he started, and I inched nearer to him, closer to the warmth that he emanated, closer and closer, just a few inches more, just a few more, closer, and closer, and closer and –

THUD.

Pain radiated from my skull to the base of my neck. My back hurts too, but a little bit duller than that behind my eyes. I was on the floor, a few inches down from my bed. I closed my eyes and mentally kicked myself for being such an idiot and for succumbing to a dream that is so impossible in this lifetime, even the next, and possibly, even the lifetime after that.

"Pansy, darling?" My mother's voice broke into my reverie calling from somewhere in the house. An old enchantment carried her voice down to whomever she meant to receive it. I don't know why she bothers with the terms of endearment when she doesn't even give a fuck about me anyway. I sighed and grunted as I tried to stand up.

"Coming, mum." I answered weakly, knowing that the enchantment of the manor carried my reply to wherever she is. I am still reeling from the dream and from the pain of my falling off my own bed. I walked into the dining room in my pyjamas and a disapproving look welcomed my entrance.

"You know how I don't approve of pyjamas, Pansy, dear. I told you that a lady must wear sleeping gowns, especially you, since you are a pureblooded young witch. You are expected to be one of the best mannered and best dressed ladies in all of Wizarding England."

I grimaced a little, trying to come up with an excuse in my head, but I couldn't think, probably because of the fall.

"It's comfortable." I finally managed, wincing inwardly as I took a peek at my mother's face.

"Comfort is the least of your priorities. You must know that. How many beatings would you have to take for you to finally let that knowledge sink in into that thick skull of yours?"

Her voice is as calm as the eye of the storm and my heart started to beat madly in my chest. For eight years now, I have taken the beating. Every other day my father would whip me until I learn to keep my voice down or not shout, yell, cry, or scream at all. The only break I get from them is during school, and when I come back for the holidays, we recommence, even if it's Christmas. For two weeks now, my father had been on a business trip with the Minister so no beating for me. My mum says she can't be bothered with the dirty work. I don't know why despite the fact that I have been receiving this treatment for years, I still get wildly nervous and scared every time it is mentioned, and worse yet in the wee hours of the mornings when the sessions are about to start. Maybe they are right; maybe I am weak. They say my cousins mastered the art of silence at age 13 in the average. I am 15 now, and I still wail like a dying pig.

"I'm sorry, mother. I promise to wear something more suitable next time." I apologised humbly, hoping that her mood would return to the cold, calculating one, instead of the silent and menacing. She simply nodded and indicated the seat before me. I sat down instantly and began to primly eat the meal that was ready on a plate.

"I can't send you off to King's Cross today as I have some business to attend with Dolores. I'm sure you are quite capable of flooing in yourself."

"Yes, mother."

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up.

"Very well, Pansy, sweetheart, I hope you don't make so much of an embarrassment of yourself this year. And please work on your marks."

She paused and I was compelled to look at her. Her face was full of the sort of malice I see in them every time she's tormenting a servant or a house elf. And then she added, with all the contempt and ill-meaning she could find in her voice which of course, isn't a small amount.

"You and I both know that they are absolutely horrible, but that is what you're made of, so I don't know why I'm even surprised. Some would have said that if you are given by fate an unpleasant-looking child, it would give it enough brains to compensate for the physical inadequacy; I wonder why your father and I were granted such bad luck that you are neither of physical grace nor mental giftedness. We must have angered the Gods at some point in our lives;"

She started to move away from the table and I began to feel the lump forming deep down my throat. I pushed it down because I cannot manage to show any weakness in front of this woman I love and hate at the same time with equal fervour. She stopped again as she was behind me; I could feel her presence pulsing like a gigantic beating heart."Your marks, I don't care how you do it, but do something. You are an abomination. I have no doubt your forefathers will be disgusted if they aren't already."

I bowed my head and chewed my bacon, listening as her footsteps faded away in the distance. I would not cry. I would not cry. I chanted this thought over and over again in my head and I knew that it worked the moment I mustered the courage to hold my chin up high. I looked up and set my jaw in determination as I met the eyes of a house elf before me.

"Arrange my things in my trunk."

I told it, and watched as it scuttled away to my room to do my bidding. And then I slumped back in my chair, feeling as if all strength went out of me and evaporated into thin air.

A/N: Reviews are great sources of motivation.