Author's Note: My new Pansy/Neville is dark, depressing, and extremely violent. Ultra XXX extreme kind of violence. This is your warning: vivid details on rape, violence, and physical child abuse. Please continue with care. I will put warnings every chapter. This chapter is mild, but this fic won't stay that way. Heard?
Part One
Chapter One
(Where Pansy does some illegal stuff and Neville growls a lot)
His hand felt brittle against her palm, his skin sagging and dry, his bones old and fragile. Weak. Pathetic. Sometimes, she hated herself for the awful thoughts she had in her head. Never would she let on that little, secret truth, but truth it was. This man had taken the squandered family wealth his father had blown through in his short lifetime and built a staggeringly successful company. He survived Pox, debt and war, and the marriage to an ungrateful woman. He provided for his family and overcame a lifetime of hardship.
He should've been stronger than this. Stronger than the thin, motionless hand she held in her own.
"Papa," she spoke softly, the word falling from her mouth even and unaffected by the thudding of her heart. "Can I do anything for you?"
"I'm fine enough for now, my little spitfire," he coughed out, his voice haggard and thin and nothing like the brassy bell it used to be. He used to sing to her when she really was a 'little' spitfire, he used to use those once strong hands to toss her in the air and catch her safely.
"How about I open the window? Get some fresh air in here. Some light?"
He attempted to squeeze her fingers, managed to tug on her fingers. She stilled and held fast, hating how she wished he had died in the war instead. He wouldn't have grown so old if he had died in battle instead, wouldn't have seen the world fill with wolves.
His eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to fall asleep. She listened closely for the sounds of his breathing, her heart prepared to break. Though, weak as it was, his grip held tight to her fingers and she remained still and quiet as her father rested in his bed. The fireplace was lit though the weather was nice, and it provided a soft background noise to focus on, to get lost in. "Tell me about your training," he said a bit later.
She forced a steady breath through her mouth. "Antonio is whipping my behind, Papa. But that's a good thing."
"Yes. I don't want you hurt again. You'll teach your sister won't you?"
"I've already begun," she admitted.
A small, painful sounding chuckle came from his chest, the blankets lifting slightly as his dull eyes blinked open and sought her out. "I should have known better. I should have had you training at that age. But that's the regret of an old man."
She squeezed his fingers again even as the memory of moldy carpet and a burning magic filled her nose. "I don't blame you. Not for anything."
"She's young, but it's for the best. Hard times are ahead for her. For you both, I fear."
"We will be fine, Papa. Don't you worry."
"I'm your father, it's my right to worry about my girls."
"You know I would do anything to protect her," she said, because Posy was the one chink in her armor, the one person she truly loved even though so many years separated them.
"Promise me you'll protect your mother too."
Finally, her eyes watered as they'd threatened to do for the last several hours. Not at her grief, great as it was.
But because of the simmering rage that had become a second skin to her ever since she left Spain. "What right to my protection does Pearl have?"
"Promise me. She's your mother, Pansy. Promise me you'll protect her."
She met the fading eyes of her dying father and did the one thing she was best at. She lied.
"I promise, Papa."
oOo
Present Day
"Can I ask how you even got into this business in the first place, Parkinson?" Daphne Greengrass asked, her voice a pristine chime that Pansy found sickeningly sweet.
"Oh Greengrass, you know just as well as I how I got into this dirty business." Pansy said snidely, eyeing Daphne's perfectly manicured fingernails and the pearls at her neck. She had forgotten how high maintenance her old schoolmate truly was.
"Still… I'd love to hear your side of the story. Your friends miss you here in Britain."
Pansy smirked, not missing the way she said 'Your friends'. Daphne didn't consider herself part of that group, which was just fine with Pansy seeing as the two faced bint was worse as a friend than an enemy any day of the week, any week of the month. Yada yada.
"I'm sure they do." she said easily. "But I don't miss them. Or Britain for that matter. You know what Southern France has? Sunshine."
Daphne laughed the political laugh of a Pure-blooded socialite wife, turned business owner, turned wealthy entrepreneur. "Please tell me more of your travels these last years. We've hardly spoken in that time since you left."
And for good reason too. Pansy couldn't stand this Greengrass sibling, and she wondered how on Earth Draco had managed to put up with seeing her constantly. Her actions always belied a hidden motive. Every word dripped with a sweet poison. It was tragic when Daphne's first husband had passed, a horrific accident no one could prevent. And her second husband had very publicly committed suicide. But when her third husband had ended up poisoned to death, Pansy wasn't surprised in the least when people began to question why a witch as young as Daphne was a widow three times over.
A wealthy widow.
Pansy smiled and pulled out her favorite dagger. "I got this in Spain." Travels was Daphne's word for 'jobs'. Illegal jobs that Pansy took for the money, and sometimes the thrill. The wicked curve gleamed under the light of Daphne's massive office, Pansy expertly playing the blade through her fingers with a quickness that had taken years to hone. The hilt spun in the air before Pansy gripped the metal and handed to Daphne. "Careful not to touch the sharp part. It can be lethal."
A bare look of disgust crossed Daphne's clear and made up face as she gripped the leather covered hilt. "How… lovely. It feels so cold."
The dagger came to Pansy's hand willingly and she slid it home in his holster. "Enchanted."
"Ah. Why use such a barbaric - yet beautiful - weapon, when we are trained to use our wands?"
"You know there was really only one thing I was ever good at in school, Daphne. Is it really any surprise this is the career choice I made? It keeps me away from this dreadful place and away from my dreadful mother." The statement Pansy made was full of truths and lies, and she purposely made it that way.
The truth was rarely so simple, yet it couldn't be any more plain than what was said. Pansy had terrible grades at Hogwart's, bad enough that she'd hardly get hired for anything more than some brainless, paper pushing, menial job that would drive her crazier than she already was. She figured that was her punishment for siding with the bad guys when she was younger. Umbridge certainly didn't get her any good marks on her OWLs. And she never opted to go back to school for 7th year either.
"I suppose not." Daphne said sharply. She was used to her mindless peons, sheep who did exactly what they were told. But Pansy wasn't a sheep. She was a ghost.
"France is my favorite but Italy had the best jobs." Pansy said dangerously, purposely reminding Daphne of the very career they were discussing. The Royal Family of Italy had paid Pansy's way through her early 20s, until they turned on her. Their loss. If there was anything she wanted Daphne to take from this meeting, it was that Pansy wasn't to be messed with. She had faced the Italians and won, twice. Then she had successfully escaped China, though admittedly, she could have done so with a little less noise. She was no longer the bony, spoiled rotten child from their youth. Sure plenty of traits had carried over into her adult life, but Pansy had stomped out the rest with years of hard training and discipline. She was seasoned, she was experienced. And damn did she look good in leather. Not much could withstand the swift and cold fury of her favorite dagger.
She was very dangerous, most people just didn't realize it at first glance. Anyone she had known from her childhood saw what they wanted to see: the bratty bitch she had been in school. Small and lightweight. But she could pack a punch and she lightning fast. Very few saw what she really was, and thus underestimated her nine times out of ten. But she couldn't afford for Daphne to do the same.
She continued. "Of course my track record isn't perfect, I had an incident in China-" She admitted only because of the very public nature that "incident" had taken. "But who can predict an Earthquake? Even the best Spellthief couldn't do that."
That was true enough. The pure chance of it was almost hysterical. Her bounty had been well hidden, taken weeks of planning, and yet foiled all because of a 6.3 Magnitude earthquake knocked around some water pipes and literally flooded her out. And it certainly wasn't her fault the damn diamond fell down the drain. The biggest diamond in Wizarding history. That she stole from the Italians…. Twice.
"True." Daphne said, leaning forward causally. She had one of those black squares on her desk that held fine white sand, a little zen garden with vivid black stones. She ran a small ornamental rake through the sand, carving wavy lines. "Theo recommended you for the job and I was happy to hear a familiar name." Translation: the job is illegal and I don't like getting my hands dirty - unless it was killing off rich husbands.
"No one knows what the plant does. It's magical no doubt but why? No one knows and I want it. It could provide massive profits."
"Retrieval? You want me for retrieval?"
Daphne's eyes flashed in vicious need for the briefest of seconds. "Yes."
oOo
First order of business was staking out the place.
She hated this country almost as much as her mother and she had no plans of wasting time. Pearl was playing dirty, so Pansy knew she had to play it straight. She could be patient when she wanted to, even though she really wanted to go in swinging and simply take what she wanted… Pearl wouldn't dare say no to a bag of gold, as immoral and wretched the plan was it was all perfectly legal thanks to the idiots at the Ministry. It would work.
But first she had to get that bag of gold.
She dressed down, black jeans, a plum purple blouse underneath a cream colored leather jacket. She pushed her feet into her boots, strapping them up with quick, familiar fingers. But then came the harder choice. She slipped her wand into her hand, looking at the curved Willow with disdain. She hated it, honestly. And she hated when she had to use it. She much preferred the enchanted dagger at her side hip, her ward picks in her cuffs, or the potions she had locked into her sash. She was leaving the sash at home today, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone else to realize she was back in England.
The first time she had come home after being away, a year of training under her belt and her arrogance level sky high, she took whatever jobs she cared for and left behind many enemies, then she'd buried her father and something inside her had changed. Stealth hadn't been her forte… yet. Now she knew how to pick jobs, and she was much better at them too.
But she still hated using her wand.
It was nothing against the beautifully curved, glossy Willow that she'd had since she first received it at age 11. She loved that bend in her wand, it reminded her of her dagger the way it gently curved to the side. No, her problem wasn't the wand. It was who she was when she used it. It was the power that coursed through her veins. It was that power she didn't like. She couldn't control it, and if there was one thing Pansy absolutely hated, it was not being in control.
Years of discipline and training sat under her belt now, but still she yearned for control over her life. She fought daily for it and she would continue to do so for as long as she lived. She knew exactly the kind of person she was. A bitter, bitchy witch who would never dare give away even an ounce of her hard fought independence.
People did stupid things to gain control. Pansy learned quickly it was the smart moves that mattered, if you wanted control. She couldn't handle constantly using magic, if her time at Hogwart's taught her anything. She was too emotional, too dramatic, and too susceptible to the draw. Magic played the biggest part in shaping her young life, and it hadn't been pretty.
A year after school, she been drunk at a bar in Barcelona and unbeknownst to her, vulnerable. What followed had been the worst week of her life, and if she let the nightmares get the better of her, she could still smell the disgusting aroma of moldy carpet and burnt magic that she associated with it. It had been the memory of that haunting combination of scents that drove her into her trainer's arms.
Her first smart move.
And finally she figured out to keep her wand in its holster hidden underneath her shirt, and put her dagger at her hip. Always, she went first for that dagger. If she needed her wand, it was there. It was ready for her. It would come easily and she knew how to use it. Control.
But the last time she had used her wand in battle, a man had died at her hand. He had deserved it. And sometimes she wished she'd taken her time to carve him up like a Christmas Turkey. But it was the last time she had used her wand in a fight and she knew the next time would likely play out similarly. If she pulled her wand on someone in duel, they better be prepared for a swift death.
In the end, the need to not be recognized overrode her hatred for using her wand, and she swished it up carefully and her long, black hair turned a dirty blonde color. She lightened her eyebrows, turned her indigo eyes an ordinary dark brown, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Hardly recognizable now. She quickly braided the length of blonde into a tight braid at the back of her head and put on a mild makeup charm. Something simple, gloss on her lips and a little shadow behind the eyes. She watched her eyelashes lengthen and felt a calm, steady feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. She looked like a witch out for a walk, and not like a thief casing the place for her next job. Perfect.
She Apparated to the edge of a grassy lot, and tucked her wand into the holster that rested against her spine. She had never been here before. The Conservatory was built sometime after the Second War ended, a tall glass building full of boring plants and trees where people could go to walk around and learn facts about those boring plants and trees to their little heart's desire. It was attached to a large ballroom which would be rented out for private events, making it a prime location for people around her age.
Modern and sleek, and yet she could sense the edge of natural magic in the air.
And on the other side of the ballroom was a hallway with private storage and offices where, according to Daphne Greengrass, the Fern was being kept safely and away from the public. Pansy may have accepted the job from her old schoolmate, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe a single word out of that two-faced, lying whore's mouth. If Daphne said it was in one of the offices, it might be true. It might also be being guarded by a three headed dragon with flaming nunchucks and wouldn't Daphne find it amusing to hear Pansy had lost her life trying to steal a plant?
But the idea of Daphne hiring Pansy only to set her up made absolutely no sense. A big portion of Daphne's company was in the potion making business. It made sense that Daphne would want the newest plant on the market for research so she could get a jump on making and selling new potions from it.
The money she was paying Pansy for retrieval was nothing compared to what could be made in profits, and yet it was low enough that if the plant turned to bust she could write it off and make the money back elsewhere.
But it was the bag of gold Pansy needed for her plan to work.
According to what Pansy had picked up from her own little research into the plant, no one else had figured out what was so special about it. The public had no idea it was being kept at this modern garden, and that was a good thing for Pansy. Magical for sure, based off initial reports, but what properties it could add to potions was as yet unknown. They hadn't even given it a proper name yet. They simply referred to it as "The Fern". The picture she'd spotted in The Daily Prophet had shown a simple, small green plant with very standard fern like looking leaves. Not that she was an expert on ferns, but a fern was a fern.
With that thought in mind, she casually made her way across the well maintained lawn and stepped onto the grey sidewalk that led to the front where a group of young witches stood, chatting amicably. They saw her approaching and immediately grew louder, handing her brochures, complimenting her jacket, pointing out the lobby.
"Self defense class being held outside today!" one witch said with far too much enthusiasm. "Just follow the sidewalk around the building that way!" she pointed. "And you'll see it!"
"Thank you!" she said to them. "I think I'd just like to wander a bit alone, if I can?"
"Sure! Gift shop is opened until 4!"
"That sounds lovely, thank you." Pansy said with a mock sincerity as she brought the brochures to her face and feigned interest.
Who cared about plants? Honestly.
She leisurely made her way through the front doors and into the main room, hating the hot, muggy air and the overpowering smell of dirt and plants. People willingly came to this place, and Pansy hadn't the faintest idea why. The air was thick and heavy from the Misting Charms that covered the place at night, and according to the first brochure, the magically created atmosphere was engineered specifically in quadrants to host the many different types of plants.
Someone had put a lot of time and effort and idea into this place, she thought as she walked along the designated and well maintained paths. Pansy couldn't deny it was a magical garden, if you could get over the damn humidity.
She grudgingly admitted to herself she enjoyed the soft pink water lilies that sat by a large window that faced the front, but the real allure had been the simple latch on that window. She could easily escape through if she needed. The next path housed the sentient plants, Roses that begged to be admired, literally, and singing Tulips that recited Opera at her when she walked by. She told them to shut up and eyed the windows across the walkway. She spotted the same, simple latches on all the panes and smiled.
All the while she took note of every exit and memorized the different pathways, the brochures kept in her face like armor, and managed not to attract any unwanted attention. In her head, she mapped out different escape routes should there be an actual guard to worry about when she made the swipe. She walked by a pedestal, upon which a lush orchid grew in a large arch over the window. The sunlight streamed through and hit the creamy whites and vivid purples and reds, the soft blacks somehow delicate. The biggest orchid she'd ever seen, she had to give credit where it was due.
It was beautiful and exotic and drew her eye in a room full of beautiful things. And not unexpectedly, made her think of her father who'd given her orchids for her birthday every year. She steeled her heart and purposely walked away from the display. Burying the only parent that actually loved her had been harder than she ever imagined. Harder than the years of training she put herself through. Harder than the abuse her mother liked to dish out. Far harder than Spain had been.
But she couldn't let emotion rule her. Not now. She continued her search and found herself walking into the famous ballroom. She wondered just how many brides had first come here and sighed in admiration at the glitzed out room with its stunning chandeliers dangling from the high ceilings and glittering marble floors that sparkled under the candlelight. The late summer sun streamed into the room with dazzling rays, and made the floor literally sparkle.
Most women would have sighed and fawned over the sight.
Pansy just barely managed to avoid snorting and wondered how long it would take her to run across the room if she found herself being chased. A full on sprint? Maybe 10 seconds. She was very fast, and her boots were magically enhanced to grip whatever kind of surface she was walking on. Not even ice could bring her down. The well maintained marble flooring wouldn't give her any trouble.
No, the trouble seemed to be the two guards that stood watchfully by the door that led to the hallway she needed to get into. It was cordoned off with velvet robes and the guards both had Auror Badges pinned to their hips. With relaxed eyes and a relaxed facial expression, she met their eyes and then moved on, as if she were just another would-be bride looking to book the extravagant ballroom and not a Spellthief casing the place for a job.
She barely caught sight of down the hallway, of the other guard standing beside another door, before her feet took her out of sight and towards the floor the ceiling windows along the outer wall. She ignored the Don't Touch sign and pressed her fingers into the beaten glass and actually found some admiration for the way the plates overlapped each other in varying shades of clear to frosted. At least that was interesting to look at. Far more than the silly marble floors and floating chandeliers that must have cost a fortune and looked like every other fancy chandelier.
Then she realized one of the windows was actually a door, and she pushed through and followed the path out back. She found the self defense class about to start. Witches around her age all wearing anything from yoga pants and sports bras to sweats and baggy tee shirts that said 'Wolves Are Friends!', they stretched and organized in a shady, grassy part of the lot. She found a wooden bench flanked by two bushes a little down from the door and sat down, enjoying the shade that covered her. A sign at the edge of the property stated that this was a "Wolf Friendly Area".
She thought about those Aurors.
There was a lot of history between her and the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol department at the ministry, and even more between her and the Aurors. She'd spent a fair share of her time running away from the Aurors, and one in particular, that their presence worried her. She was guaranteed to be recognized for one, and what's more, the last time she spoke with the head of the Auror Department he'd made her promise to stay the hell out of the country. He then put her on a boat, wrongfully thinking the duplicated scrolls he had confiscated were the originals, and she sailed happily to France with her contraband scrolls in her undetectable pockets. She could just picture the look on Potter's face when the Duplication Spell finally wore off, and he realized he was the one who sent her off with the scrolls he'd been trying to save.
France had been a lot of fun that year after she got her big pay off, though it still bothered her that Potter had even managed to catch her at all. She was a thief. The first rule of robbery was don't get caught.
Since Potter assumed the scrolls were safely retrieved and in his custody, and his heart was softer than room temperature butter, he'd let her off easy. But she doubted he would be as accommodating next time... if there was a next time.
It was safe to say she couldn't let the famous Head Auror realize she was back in the country, but Pansy wasn't worried about Harry Potter as she continued to scan the grassy lot surrounding the Conservatory. He only caught her because she'd been so focused on avoiding another Auror.
The Auror she was actually really worried about… was…
Here.
Her eyes landed on the physical manifestation of her very thoughts and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He managed to look taller than she remembered. His hair was cut shorter than it was 3 years ago, the last time she'd seen him, and the dark brown of his hair curled just behind his ears. His kind brown eyes swept across the field, looking over the group of women as they gathered around him excitedly.
Of course he would be the one teaching the Self Defense class.
Leaning back into the bench, Pansy drank her fill on the sight of Neville Longbottom in his loose black pants and tight white tee shirt, her eyes lingering on his wide shoulders. The first time they crossed paths after school and he'd nearly run her over in a clumsy disaster. Her hands had come to his shoulders and held tight as he accidentally slammed them down to the ground and she felt the wind knocked out of her. Not because of the fall…
No, it was because his shoulders had felt hard and strong beneath her fingers and her mind had immediately assaulted her with the made up images of her riding him while she gripped his shoulders and they both found release.
It was fucking insulting.
The moment had struck a chord in her, the image and the feeling of those shoulders permanently burned into her mind forever. It was a cumulative effect, she convinced herself sometime later. The arousal that instantly came whenever she thought of those shoulders, it simply could not have been just because of his shoulders. No matter her little efforts, she couldn't forget. So she told herself it was the added up sensation of a male body pressing into her body, his breath in her face, and his hard shoulders beneath her fingers. Surely that made more sense?
That was the turn on, she told herself. She had been hard up, she told herself.
But the next time she was intimate with a man she had found her mind wandering to that intense and vivid sensation her fingers never seemed to forget.
Only Pansy could be turned on by someone's shoulders. Tory had gone on for hours about how Draco's baby blues melted for her and only her. Or his sexy little smirk with his sexy little lips. Bleahh! As if she wanted to think of Draco in such a way.
But those were things girls swooned over on a guy. Hard packed abs and tall fellows with dreamy eyes and a sexy smile.
Not Pansy. One feel of Neville's shoulders and she was cursed to forever remember the moment. She had spent the length of two breaths digging her fingers into the muscle before she shimmied herself free and cussed him out for his clumsiness.
He'd responded by shoving his Auror's badge in her face and demanding she hand back the priceless Star Crystal Ball she'd just stolen.
"Catch me if you want it." She had said without hesitation, satisfaction a living thing in her when she realized he had actually growled at her impassioned cry. And her feet had taken her in the opposite direction from his surprised, dopey face. "I'll catch you, Parkinson!" and it had been a promise.
It was their thing. He chased her, she ran from him. Their paths crossed a few more times over the years, and she always managed to get away from him. But the sight of his shoulders stretching beneath that white tee shirt had her wishing she'd been a little slower a time or two.
She'd always secretly admired his physique. Draco looked like he could grace the cover of some vampire romance novel, with his lean, pale, well defined muscles. Neville didn't have that definition, he was just strong.
Unfortunately for him, those were his only attractive qualities. Even as he lined his class up and took them through basic, beginner drills Pansy had learned many years ago, she could still see traces of the clumsy, idiot boy Neville had been. She didn't much care for his plain brown colored eyes or the way they were spaced so far apart. Or the way his lips seemed rather flat and too wide for his face. She found herself so drawn to his shoulders and yet nothing else about his appearance pleased her in any way. She told herself to stop fantasizing about his shoulders when the fantasy would never match reality.
But that was a good thing. How embarrassing would it be is she was actually attracted to Neville Longbottom?
She snorted. That would be ridiculous.
No, she just needed to make sure he wasn't going to be anywhere near this place when she lifted the plant. Because whatever else Neville was, he was a damn good Auror that kept her on her toes when he chased her. She'd barely gotten away with the scrolls, though barely was just good enough. And in her avoidance of him, Potter had managed to snag her and ship her off. Though it worked out in her favor, she couldn't forget that she'd been caught.
She hated to admit it, but that group she had picked on more than once in school ended up making a great team at the Ministry. Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom ran the Auror department and despite the epidemic, they did it well. The Granger girl became a lawyer, working to grant the wolves civil rights. And if someone had told 17 year old Pansy Parkinson that she'd one day be following Granger's work so closely Pansy would have laughed herself silly.
But life was funny like that.
She stuck her brochure in her face and watched over the edge of the paper as a pair of guards walked by, their expressions watchful even as their gait was unhurried. It gave her pause. Her research into The Conservatory told her they didn't keep anything truly valuable on the property, which meant the guards were here for the plant. That was 5 guards so far for one tiny little fern.
She trusted Daphne when she said she didn't know what the plant was for about as much as she trusted a dragon telling her he was vegetarian. Actually, she trusted the dragon more than Daphne. That and the added security made her rethink a quick grab. The job might be too hot for her. She could hear Draco's voice in her head, Don't get Arrested.
They weren't just guards, she realized as they walked right by her. She spotted their Auror Badges pinned to their hips. That made four Aurors for sure, and the the 5th was most likely an Auror too. All guarding a small, unknown plant. Yeah right.
The Fern was important. And someone out there knew why.
Decision made, Pansy made a show of yawning before stuffing her brochures into her bag. She stood at the same moment the guards rounded the corner and walked out of sight and her eyes betrayed her as they curiously glanced towards the class again, and to the instructor leading it.
Longbottom was in the middle of a demonstration when he looked right at her, his mouth turning down in a frown. She gave him a flirty smile and made her way off the property before he could get a better look at her. She had to meet with a friend.
oOo
It had been years since she had stepped foot into Malfoy Manor. She was happy to see the gardens were back to their magnificent state, unlike the last time she had been here when the roses had been drooping sadly and the weeds were growing out in every direction. She'd spoken at length with Mrs. Malfoy at Tory's funeral, so she knew Narcissa had spent the last few years putting all her time and effort into making the Manor a colorful, livable place again.
Unlike when she'd visited right after her final year at school, the front door was a gleaming masterpiece, expensive Black Timber polished and smoothed into a tall archway flanked by stained glass windows. The door knob was probably worth more than she got paid on her last job, but felt cold and heavy as she pushed through without knocking.
Not that that deterred the house staff from greeting her promptly the moment she stepped into the extravagant foyer. The old marble floors had been replaced, new marble of greys flecked with blacks, and veined with real gold stretched beneath her feet and it made Pansy wonder just how much Narcissa had to spend to erase every trace of the war from her home.
As the first attendant took her coat, the lock picks hidden in her wrist cuff twinged beneath the leather, begging to pick apart the old wards. Blood or not, her picks didn't care one bit. They just wanted to be used, to be challenged. She would never attempt to break into such old blood wards, but her lock picks were nearly sentient in their eagerness. She shushed them when the attendants weren't looking.
Then the young lady turned to her and said, "Mr. Malfoy is expecting you."
They passed the 'Fancy Parlor' as she called it in her childhood, the one for proper guests, and she caught sight of the new furniture, the new paint job, the shining hardwood floors. The halls split and the young girl the Malfoy's staffed led her up a curved set of stairs that had been completely redone in the same Black Timber the front door had been made of, and into Draco's private parlor.
"Mr. Malfoy will be by shortly. Can I get you any refreshment?"
Pansy turned on her heel and took the room in, spotting Draco's private selection of whiskey by the window. The desk was the same black ebony monstrosity she remembered. Tall shelves lined with books on Magical Law flanked a wider shelf which displayed priceless trinkets and artifacts. She kept turning and came back to the attendant. The girl's eyes were downcast, pinned to the dagger at Pansy's hip. Her shoulders were tensed, in fear. A slow grin crept along Pansy's face and she said, "What's your name?"
"A-Anita, ma-"
"Don't scare the help, Parkinson," Draco snapped meanly, walking into the room. "Thank you Anita. Ignore her, she doesn't bite."
"Yes, I do," Pansy purred, walking to the crystal decanter and pouring herself a strong drink. The dark amber liquid swirled in the expensive crystal glass. She eyed each of the decanters, all less than half full, and knew Draco had been drinking heavily. Not surprising.
She slid into the nearest chair and crossed her legs as 'A-Anita' left the room as quickly and quietly as a mouse. The movement pushed the hemline of her expensive and ridiculous dress up a few inches, just as she wanted. The fabric was synthetic and breathable, painted onto her body. It wouldn't hinder her movement in any way, and she looked hot as hell in it to boot. She wouldn't have worn it otherwise, having long ago decided that she would never be caught unprepared again. She was always ready to fight… or run if she had to.
The dress color was blood red with a deep plunging neckline, but not deep enough that anyone would see the small knife she had tucked between her breasts. Everyone could plainly see the dagger held magically by the sheath to her hip, the wicked curve of the blade shiny and deadly both. They would never expect someone dressed like Pansy was to have more weapons on her person. But she did. Far more than just the two blades.
She was always prepared.
Draco poured himself a drink, a much larger drink than the one she had, and ignored her posturing. He didn't say anything and her thoughts wandered to Posy, and how much she would have loved the dress. She would have said it was Puuuuurfect in her dramatic voice, she would have pushed her hands down her sides as she wiggled and said, oo-la-la.
Sipping heavily from her drink, she looked up at Draco expectantly when he walked towards her. It wouldn't be any good to put Draco at ease, because the very thing on her mind that she wasn't supposed to think about was the reason for her visit. She needed him to have his wits about him for this, and she worried about those dark circles under his eyes.
Those shadowed eyes went first to her bare legs, then to the dagger at her side, and finally to her face making the sides of her lips twitch up. She couldn't help it, a part of her always liked seeing him in his tortured soul mode - and fact was, since the death of his wife, he had taken up permanent residence. It was out of respect for Astoria that she hadn't remained standing. Usually she would have perched by the window, her heels putting her almost eye level with her old friend. Any small advantage she could find she would use to help herself, she'd use in a heartbeat.
Now she looked up and met the bitter blue eyes of Draco Malfoy and stood slowly, balancing on the balls of her feet. "Oh Drakey - you look old."
His pale eyebrow rose a fraction. "And you look slutty. Are you going to stab me this visit, Pansy?"
Within the next second she had her favorite dagger in her hands, playing the blade through her fingers with swift, familiar movements. "I'm not planning on it."
"That's probably the best I'll get," he said, and took the steps toward her, dragging her up into a bone crushing hug. Their words might have seemed strange, but their friendship was like that. Strange, filled with mean words, but permanent.
She slipped her dagger back into its sheath and returned the motion, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and clutching to him tightly. The tremble in his frame made the angry place inside her rise to attention. He was thinner than he'd been at Tory's funeral, and she hated that. He was skinny enough. She was a shit talker, and as classic as it was, she used her words to deflect. But there were few people in this world she cared for and two of them were hurting badly. She was doing what she could to help the other, but Draco was in her arms and she could feel the heaviness in his heart. It had been months since Astoria slipped into a painful, brutal death. And she suspected Draco wouldn't be over it for years to come.
He held onto his pain. The fool. The secret heart of herself, the part no one ever saw, wanted to bundle him up. She wanted to take him back to her villa in Italy and keep him away from all the harmful elements their homeland had to offer. But she knew just as well as any that he would never allow such babying, and he would never return to the last place he had taken his wife before her pain became too much to bare such travel.
Her tone, however, when she spoke was rude. "Poor Malfoy, no friends and no wife."
His head shook against her neck and she ignored the soft wet spot she felt knowing it would only embarrass him. Oh, on second thought, she said, "Wow and now you're crying. That's pathetic, Draco."
"You're such a bitch sometimes, Pans," he said, finally pulling away from her. His finger came up and brushed away the wet spot on her neck, his eyes deceptively dry.
"You want an apology from me?" she asked, placing her hand dramatically over her heart.
"No. I wouldn't waste my time attempting something so impossible," he gestured for her to take a seat again as he leaned back into his own chair and his dry, bitter eyes turned hard.
"You pay me a lot of money for legal advice you never follow."
Rolling her eyes she said, "Potter doesn't know I'm back. And it's been a few years. He's probably forgotten all about me."
"That's optimistic coming from you. Potter would be happy to see you sitting in a cell, though probably not as much as Longbottom would."
"He can't still be upset about that little incident?"
"That little incident where you stabbed him?"
"I barely got him."
"He says it still feels cold."
Pansy set down her drink and pulled her enchanted dagger out. The hilt wrapped in black leather straps came to hand like it had a thousand times before. The blade glinted like a wink and she felt a true smile tug at her lips, her finger running the length of the curved metal. The silver felt warm to the touch… to her. To anyone else it would be so cold it would burn after even a second of contact. She hadn't done the enchantment herself. No, it had been an emotional storm full of her own fury and icy determination all channeled into a single, swift heartstrike that had altered her blade permanently.
"I barely got him," she repeated. According to the metalsmith she spoke with, one with an affinity towards charming such items, he had never seen such a potent enchantment before. Not on a weapon. She hadn't told him that her blade had soaked for hours in the Heart's Blood of her rapist.
"You stabbed him in the shoulder," Draco's voice drew her attention.
"I could have stabbed him in the heart. He's lucky."
Draco narrowed his eyes at her, and she felt annoyed at how much emotion he had been showing lately. "You know he has a picture of you in his office?"
"Oh I sent him some rather racy photos once, I'm sorry if you got an eyefull."
"Don't be lewd, Pansy. I think he uses it as a Dart Board. He drew a large, red X through your face."
"Mmm," she hummed with pleasure. "That just means he's thinking about me."
Draco made a show of giving her an exasperated look. "Whatever Daphne wants you to do, you need to be quiet and quick about it. Don't draw any attention from the Aurors. And absolutely don't get arrested."
There it was. The little phrase she'd been waiting for.
"That might be a problem," she admitted and then told him all about her trip to The Conservatory. "What do you know about that stupid Fern?"
He sat silently, sipping from his drink far more often than she. Thinking. His brain going faster than a new Firebolt. "Did you recognize any of the Aurors? Or they you?"
She shook her head no. "I disguised myself."
"With Magic?" his eyes widened in surprise.
She didn't dignify that with a response, instead playing with her dagger absentmindedly.
"Maybe there's hope for you yet, Parkinson," he finished his drink and stood to pour another, his hands reaching out quickly before pausing just as suddenly. "Wolves."
Her head shot up at his quietly spoken word. "Wolves?"
"Why else would there be five guards on your Fern?"
Wolves.
Of course it was the wolves. There wasn't a more hot political topic and wouldn't be for years to come. The Epidemic was bigger news than either war. "She wants to test it with Wolfsbane."
"If her company could find a way to enhance Wolfsbane, she'll make millions."
The only problem was… "She would put a premium price on it, most wolves won't be able to afford it. They can't afford Wolfsbane as is, and supplies are heavily in demand." she said, her heart fluttering with panic.
"The Families would fund her. You know Marcus always had a soft spot for Daphne, his family would back her easily."
"And if I'm the one that hands her the plant -"
"You have to get her back first." Draco interrupted. "Don't jump five steps ahead."
"If I do get her back," she sucked in air hard through her teeth. "If I get her back safely… and I have this potion waiting for her…"
"Daphne wouldn't do you this favor. You know she wouldn't."
"Money isn't the issue, Malfoy."
"You need money to get -"
"Spellthief for Hire. Right here. Hello. Hi! I'm always bringing in more money."
"Pansy, look at me. There's no guarantee that she can enhance the Wolfsbane potion, she's just rolling the dice right now. I know her business. She doesn't have the kind of funding needed to put into that kind of potion research right now. She just doesn't. If you leave the plant with the Aurors…"
"Yes, they have the money to throw at the problem but it'll take longer. Retrieving the Fern for Daphne is best for me twice over. I get the money I need to pay off Mother Dearest, and Daphne gets the plant which could help me out in the long run."
"But you draw attention to yourself in that scenario. Unwanted attention. Potter won't put you on a boat to France again, Pansy. He catches you this time, you will be in Azkaban faster than my father."
She stood, unafraid of him. "I came back to this fucking country for one reason. I'm getting my little sister back from my Psychopathic Mother, Draco. Are you going to help me or not?"
"Posy is a 9 year old wolf. How do you plan on getting her out of this country undetected? They don't just hand out Portkeys anymore."
Her fingers went to the glinting emerald pendant on her neck. His eyes followed the movement with a frown. "You know damn well I've been prepared for this for a long time, Draco."
"When…" he shook his head. "Must I remind you that Portkeys are illegal?"
"Portkey? What Portkey?"
"I don't think you should take this job."
"Too late." Pansy shrugged and finished off her drink. She would do anything for Posy, and she wasn't going to give up until her Mother was dead in the ground.
As if he followed her thoughts, he stood and took her glass. "How far would you go?"
"Baby sister has been locked in a cage for 3 months now." Pansy whispered to him. "What would you do?"
"The law may yet win out. Granger is working on it."
"And I should wait for our Government to get over their fears? Accept that Werewolves are people too? With rights?"
His silence was all the answer she needed.
"I've been coming and going for years now. This time I'm not leaving until Pearl is in the ground, and my sister is safe with me."
He nodded. "I'm just afraid you won't be leaving at all this time, Pansy."
She left his study then, her boots clicking against the new floors and her belly full of whiskey. She didn't have the heart to tell him she didn't care if she left this time. As long as Posy was okay, she didn't care if she ended up in the same grave as her Mother. Posy may be so much younger than Pansy, her heart soft despite her Lycanthropy, but she was a fighter. She would make it no matter what.
Pansy's hand tightened around her dagger unconsciously. As long as Pearl lived, her precious little sister was in danger.
And Pansy wasn't in control.
