The Leaky Cauldron was the perfect place for an enterprising young witch to make connections. At least, Pansy Parkinson thought so. There were bound to be hundred of witches and wizards making their way through the dismal place at some point or another. It was almost a tradition, to make one's way through there, even if apparition would do the job just as easily.

And if Pansy was one thing, it was traditional. Traditional wizarding values. Traditional wizarding dress. The former had cost her and her fellow Slytherin students some of their prestige in the wake of the Second Wizarding War, so she was determined to ensure the latter made up for it.

That was why she'd sat herself right in the middle of The Leaky Cauldron, clad in a summery robe of the finest materials, with Slytherin green stockings underneath. Some girls might have decided to experiment with muggle clothing, with T-Shirts and Y-Fronts and no doubt some other alphabet-based articles, but not Pansy.

And of course, she'd brought a stack of vellum and a genuine swan-feather quill with her. The quill might have been self-spelling, but nobody would be able to tell. She meant to present the image of a writer hard at work, an ambitious author with a creative soul and a pretty face that needed just a little boost to fulfill her dreams.

Some compassionate soul would notice her, a publisher or else someone who knew one, and soon enough her book would fill shelves all over Britain.. Soon enough, she'd have her revenge.

There had been all too many disappointments in her life. Draco Malfoy, for one, had turned out to be a simpering mother's boy who unfortunately proved the stereotypes about blondes. Professor Snape, her favorite teacher, hadn't been anywhere near the Slytherin he'd claimed to be. Even Lord Voldemort had turned out to be such a failure that he was soundly defeated by the Potter boy for all of Hogwarts to see! Even she could have beaten Potter in a duel...probably.

Her book was going to be her revenge. She'd write something that would reveal all of them for the fools they were. The idea first came from Rita Skeeter, the perfectly pleasant journalist with an unfair reputation wrought by envious haters. She saw the truth where everyone else was too blind, or else hid it for the sake of their friends. In truth, Pansy Parkinson would have loved to apprentice under Rita Skeeter, but her letter must have gotten lost in the mail.

So for now, she was going to write a book about how rotten they were. From Potter to Patil, nobody would escape her literature-based retribution. But Pansy was no fool – she wasn't going to let herself be sued for libel. No, she'd write a completely fictional story that nevertheless represented all the worst parts of them. And then what could they do? Sue her and admit that they did, in fact, enjoy being stepped on by Granger?

Her plan was curseproof.

And so Pansy started writing. Whenever a new person entered The Leaky Cauldron, she waited until they passed, and scratched furiously. Even if she had nothing to write, that would attract their attention. When somebody sat nearby, she would put a finger to her lips and let out a loud "Hmm...", as though considering the cavalcade of creative concepts that buzzed about her mind.

But the more people that came through, the more frustrated Pansy grew. They were ignoring her! A budding writer, and a very pretty one, no less. Even when she thought of a good idea and laughed for all the pub to hear, she got no more than a couple of glances. She'd once gone up to the bar to order a fresh butterbeer, and not one of the gentlemen there had offered to pay for it. Clearly, they had no idea what a real witch looked like. They must have been...mudblood chasers. Yes, that was right! Mudchasers! She laughed loudly and scribbled the idea into her notes – such genius could not be forgotten.

Lunch turned into the afternoon, then afternoon into dinner. The Leaky Cauldron was abuzz with activity, from Ministry workers turning in for an easy meal to travelers looking for something cheap, and even a few louts looking to get drunk before any reasonable person would. And yet still she was alone. She'd written no fewer than ten pages of her book, and plenty of notes beside, and where were her generous benefactors? Her curious acquaintances?

Perhaps The Leaky Cauldron was simply a stupid place. Filled with the kind of wizard who thought that wandwork meant urinating. Of course they didn't recognize opportunity when they saw it. She would have to find somewhere with a higher class of clientele, where the butterbeer was served in chalices and house elves offered to polish her sh-

"Are you writing a book?" Came a soft voice from beside Pansy. Her head snapped around to look at its owner, although she might as well not have. She was clad in a proper cloak, with a huge hood that obscured most of her face. "I do so love books. What are you writing?"

"A story." Pansy said, proudly. She decided that she liked this woman. She wore proper witch clothes and clearly had a good head on her shoulders – the only person in all of The Leaky Cauldron, apparently. "Sit with me, if you want. I'd love to have a chat with a fellow enthusiast."

"That would be lovely." The stranger sat on the chair beside pansy and pointed a pasty finger at a page of her notes. "Can you tell me what this means? My eyes are quite blurry at the moment. Wrackspurts."

"I'm so sorry." Pansy gasped. She wasn't sure what that was, but it must have been a terrible disease to rob this clearly intelligent woman of her sight. "It must be horrible!"

"It's quite alright. It's my fault, really. I-"

"No, don't say that!" Pansy shook her head. "You can't blame yourself for the terrible things that happen to you. I used to think like that," For about five minutes. "But you can't do it. It's the Wrackspurts, not you."

"You're too kind." The stranger said. Finally, someone was seeing Pansy for who she truly was. Was it too soon to say she'd found a kindred spirit? Perhaps even a sister? "I really am interested in what you're writing. My father is a writer, too. A journalist." And an answer to her prayers! She could just kiss this woman.

"Then I'll show you! It might seem simple, but it's really clever, if you think about it." Pansy reached for the page of her notes. "These are all of the things I'm planning to have happen in my book. It's based on real life, but not really, but a lot. It's set in the future; about eighteen years from now, and it's all about famous people. Harry Potter," She just barely held back her venom. She didn't want to run this woman away. "Draco Malfoy, Lord Voldemort."

"Oh, I know all of these people!" The stranger said.

"I thought you might. You look like a woman who knows what's what." Pansy couldn't actually see her face, but she knew. "Let's start with the funniest! Hermione Granger, the one with the hair. In my story, she'd going to be an honorary house elf," She could barely hold back the giggles. "She loved them so much that she decided to live with them and never stopped! She goes around wearing rags and cleaning socks, and her buckteeth grow back, too!"

"Oh." The stranger hummed for a moment, some tune that Pansy didn't recognize. "I don't think that's very likely."

Pansy deflated. Surely they couldn't come to blows so early? But she was a reasonable girl – she'd hear the stranger out. "And why not?"

"Hermione Granger is very clever, even if she trusts books too much, and she has a lot of good friends. I think she will work at the Ministry of Magic when she's older; she'd fit in very well with their rules. I don't agree with all of them, but she would."

"I...guess so." Pansy's frown faded. It was true that Granger was a stickler for the rules, and that was what the Ministry loved more than anything. That, and mudbloods. Not to mention, they hadn't even been able to tell Lord Voldemort was coming back, the fools. And if Granger was one thing, it was a fool. The Queen of the fools. "She'll join them any day now. But what will she be doing?"

"Oh, anything, I imagine." The stranger said. "She might even be the Minister of Magic."

Pansy barked out a laugh. "Yes, that's perfect!" She scribbled the fresh note down. It was so ludicrous an idea that it just made sense. She wouldn't have been surprised to see a centaur in the Wizengamot, the way wizarding Britain was headed, so why not Granger as the Minister? "I have some notes about Draco Malfoy, too."

"Oh, I don't like him." The stranger said. "He can be a very cruel boy, and his family, too. They should all take a long holiday and think about what they've done. Somewhere sunny. That always makes me feel better."

"That's right!" Pansy nodded vigorously. "Somewhere far away from the rest of us. In the book, he's going to be raising a kid. And his kid is going to fall in love with," She snickered. "He's going to fall in love with Harry Potter's kid!"

"Ooh, how lovely." The stranger said. Perhaps she simply wasn't the type to laugh, which made sense to Pansy. Somebody working in the cutthroat business of journalism would have to maintain an air of professionalism. "How do they fall in love? I've always thought that Hogwarts was a good place to fall in love. Longing gazes across the staircases...although I never got to experience it. I was busy trying to find my shoes."

"I hear you." Pansy nodded sadly. What the stranger meant was trying to find her feet, but she didn't want to embarrass the woman with her own literary prowess. Besides, they were having a moment. "I never had a real partner. I mean, I went on dates, but they didn't even pay for the meal and I wasn't gonna see them again after that." And there was Malfoy, who took three years to turn his cloak. "And speaking of Malfoy! He's going to be subservient to Granger."

"Is he going to work for the Ministry?" The stranger asked. "There will be a lot of people working for her, there. Or a personal assistant. He could have a little badge."

"No, like," Pansy considered a medley of malicious thoughts. "He'd be like 'Oh boss me around, Hermione! I like it when you do that, Hermione! Oh, your shoes are dirty, let me lick them clean, Hermione!'"

"I don't know if he'd be very enthusiastic..." The stranger said. "But it's good to have your employees happy. I think I'd use a scouring charm to clean my shoes."

"Malfoy wouldn't." Pansy huffed. "He's a bootlicker." The muddier the better. Stupid mudchaser. She laughed again.

"You look so happy when you laugh." The stranger said. "Is it because of nice thoughts?"

"The best!" Pansy nodded. Her benefactor was already beginning to see things her way. If she kept eating up her ideas the way she had, she could have the book published within a month! Perhaps with a special advertisement in the stranger's father's publication. "And here's one I'm really happy with. You know the old bat who sells candy on the Hogwarts Express?"

"She used to give me the spare wrappers for my art." The stranger mused aloud.

"Yeah, she's evil." Pansy agreed. What kind of idiot thought sweet wrappers would make for good art? "So I'm gonna put that in the book, too. She's going to grow claws and attack students."

"Does she do that, really?" The stranger asked.

"Metaphorically." Pansy said. "So, what do you think?"

"I think you're a creative person. There are better things to write, but this is a good way to get started. Have you considered fairy tales?"

"Not...that wouldn't do anything at all!" Pansy scowled. "I need to write this to get my revenge."

"Perhaps you'd be happier writing something else." The stranger said.

"Says you!" Pansy said, her kinship with this woman suddenly taking a blow. And she'd thought they had something special. "I bet you wouldn't even know a good story if it hit you in the face!"

"I think I would."

"Yeah, well," Pansy shot a glare. She'd had quite enough of this woman's disagreements. "You're probably so ugly that the words would run off the page! Come on, show me your face!" She grabbed a hold of the stranger's hood and tugged it back.

A pale face stared back at her with wide silvery eyes, her dirty blonde hair falling down to her shoulders. She immediately slammed her hands over her own ears.

"I have to cover my ears." She explained, quite calmly. "There are Nargles about and they've been trying to steal my thoughts."

"Loony Lovegood!" Pansy accused, her face a picture of shock. "Wh...what are you even doing here?!"

"You looked quite lonely." Luna said.

"I'm not lonely!" Pansy scoffed. One of Potter's closest friends had just wandered right up to her and played her for a fool! "I was being enigmatic, something you wouldn't know anything about! You're just...kooky. Loony Kooky Lovegoody." Yeah, that'd show her.

"That's not very nice." Luna said, as she ducked her head down so that her hood once more fell over it, then sat up properly. "But I can tell that you're not in a very good mood. Would you like to get some ice cream? I find that it cools down your head as well as your body."

"No! You're a loser!" Pansy pointed an accusing finger. "I'm not gonna get ice cream with a loser."

"Oh well." Luna stood to her feet. "I'm going to get some. Bye." She said, then turned on her heel to head for the door.

Pansy scowled at her table, at her notes and her partially-written book. She looked at all of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, none of whom had taken an interest in her despite six hours of desperately trying to get their attention. Then she looked at the cloak that was almost at the door.

"Wait up!" Pansy swished her wand through the air and darted after Luna. Her books and notes were swept up by an invisible force, then tucked themselves into her pack as she caught up to the other witch in the door-frame. "I'll go with you."

"Okay." Luna flashed a little smile, then continued walking. "You'll have to show me the way. The Wrackspurts really have made my vision blurry."

"Then how did you get here?" Pansy had the feeling she was going to be scowling a lot over the next hour or so.

"Magic."

"Apparition, then." Pansy rolled her eyes, then grabbed Luna's hand. "You'd better hope nobody we know sees us, or I'm shoving you into a puddle."

"Will you? How interesting."