[Disclaimer: I do not own.]
Author's Note
:Well, I'm not sure why I'm writing this, but hey. Lucius and Harry had their say, it's only fair that Pansy gets to, as well.
Too Little, Too Late
Companion to Ma Belle Pensee and Always Loved You Better
"Damned if I did, damned if I didn't." Pansy may be dead, but she's still opinionated.
I'm still here.
I know they don't know it. I don't let them see me, and I don't let them hear me…sometimes I think they can feel me, though.
I never meant for things to end the way they did. I know I did some terrible things, but I'm not, and I wasn't, no matter what anyone might say about me now I'm dead, evil. I wanted to survive this war. I saw it quite simply. If I became a Death Eater -- something I've never had any interest in -- then the 'good guys' would want me dead. And I'd probably end up dead pretty quickly, because I'm no warrior, not like that nutcase bitch Lestrange. Then again, if I tried to join the Order, I'd be a blood traitor, and my entire family would be out for my blood.
Damned if I did, damned if I didn't. So I did what I thought was the smart choice -- there's a reason I wasn't a Ravenclaw, you know -- and tried to have it both ways. I wrapped Harry around my little finger, and I did the same (more or less) to Lucius. Lucius knew what I was doing, playing both sides off the other and making sure there was someone to pull me out of the fire if I got burned. Harry didn't -- it was better that way.
In retrospect, Snape would've been a better option -- than Harry would, I mean. He has to believe in second chances, so he would've given me one, instead of going off to turn me over to Aurors and then accidentally killing me. (Not that I'm bitter or anything…)
Of course, he's also probably above doing a girl barely out of his class, so there you go.
It's just; I made a bit of a mistake.
I kind of care. I kind of care a lot.
I'm not talking about the damn war -- I'm an immoral Slytherin bitch, remember? So maybe I wouldn't kill people with my own hands, and maybe I don't support Voldemort, but I'm no saint, either. I did awful things, and all I regret is getting caught.
I'm talking about my boys, my darlings. Harry and Lucius. I didn't love Harry, but I cared about him. I was fond of him. I didn't want to hurt him.
I did love Lucius -- stupid, isn't it? Every girl dreams of having a white knight come charging up on his magnificent steed to rescue her…I get that, but it's the arrogant, self-absorbed bastard with prettier hair than mine that I fall for.
Maybe he was a bastard, but he was my bastard. Just like Harry was my hero. (Excepting that whole he-killed-me bit, because that was about as far from heroic as it gets, and it wasn't exactly romantic, either)
I couldn't let go of this life. I'm not ashamed of it, I was terrified. I clung, and I ended up in this stupid 'limbo'…a ghost, of all things. At first, I couldn't make people see me. I had to stand there and watch as Harry tried to make me come back, before running for help. I had to stand there and watch Lucius's face when he came out of my fireplace and saw me lying there. Had to stand there and watch while he shook me and shouted at me like it was my fault, like I'd got killed to spite him and hurt him. Had to stand there and watch while he picked me up like I was made of porcelain. You know, he never touched me as tenderly when I was alive as he did when I was dead.
Maybe this is my penance. For the things I did -- like getting Tonks killed. Maybe this is how I make up for it. I'll be here. I'll watch over them -- they still need me, I don't care what anyone thinks.
Harry always needed someone better than me, someone who could love him back the way he loved me, but I took care of him for a while, and he still needs me.
Lucius never deserved me, but I love him anyway.
I know that before the war is over, one of them will be dead. I know it. Over me, I guess. (I'm almost flattered, in a twisted kind of a way)
There's nothing I can do about that, but I'll be with them, whatever.
Maybe tomorrow I'll sneak into Lucius's room and sit on the end of his bed and give him my best vapid look with, "So, babe, did you miss me?" (and, you know, duck whatever it is that comes flying my way)
Maybe tomorrow I'll sing to Harry like I used to, when he couldn't sleep. (I'm a terrible singer, but I always made him laugh, and that's no mean feat)
I've got forever, but I don't know how many tomorrows they have left.
So I'm sorry. For hurting them both. For having the stupidest, craziest, and most bound for failure plan in the world. For not being what Harry needed me to be, and being too much of what Lucius needed.
I'm really, truly sorry. I'm dead now, things that used to matter are a lot less important, and the important things matter more.
Lucius told me -- the dead me, the corpse -- that he loved me. I don't know if I believe him, but I'm willing to hang around. Maybe find out.
Harry said he loved me every day.
…I kind of miss them. I kind of wish I'd known them differently.
Harry…I could've been that pretty girl in his class. He could've blushed and told me that he liked me. We would've gone to Hogsmeade, and held hands, and he would've given me flowers and told me how pretty I was. He would've forgotten all our anniversaries, but I would've forgiven him, because I was terribly young and terribly in love. His friends would've hated me, of course, but I would've charmed them. We would've grown up, and got married, just like everybody expected us to, and had a few children -- a son, and two daughters, and we'd name the boy James and the girls Isabel and Marian. We'd grow old together, him still forgetting our anniversaries, and me still forgiving him. And he'd tell anyone who listened how we fell in love the day he took me for a ride on his broomstick and almost dropped me.
Lucius...I'd be the lonesome girl in the restaurant. My date stood me up, and I'm all on my own, pouting because that's the third time my stupid boyfriend has not deigned to show, when there's this terribly manly voice behind me asking if the seat is taken. He would've wined me and dined me and taken me to expensive places. Maybe we went to the theatre, or the opera, or maybe I made him take me dancing. And I'd move into his home like I owned it already, and he'd growl at me for leaving my shoes everywhere. And we'd get married, but we'd never have children, because we weren't the family type. We'd grow old disgracefully, but we'd be happy, because underneath everything, we'd love each other more than anything. Even when he was stupid and I threw things at him, even when he hated all my clothes and all my friends and thought I was a silly little girl, we'd love each other.
Dreams are free, you know.
-
Maybe one day, when everything's over, I'll tell someone about it. One of those young girls who thinks it's frightfully romantic to be a ghost, I'll tell her my story and she'll think it's frightfully romantic. She won't see the blood and the pain and the guilt, she'll see a pretty young woman who died tragically, in a terribly complex love-triangle. I know I always ate up those tragic romance novels, I'll find a girl like me, and I'll teach her how not to be. There are lots of girls like me.
-
I don't know how many tomorrows they have left, but I'll be there for all of them.
Even if it is too little, too late.