Chapter Two: Dinners and Journalists

A/N: Hi there! Welcome to chapter two!

Still looking for a beta... if anyone wants to... no? okay...

And thanks so much to the two new followers, I hope you're liking the story so far!

(I'm sorry, but it's a very nice boost when people appreciate the effort you go to in your writing...)

Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: The following story is based on the excellent works of J.K. Rowling, they are not mine. Not including the characters you don't recognise, which are mine.

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The Quibbler

Monday the Nineteenth of April, the year Two Thousand and Four.

Excerpt from page three. Author: Pansy Parkinson. Editor: Rolf Scamander.

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The following morning I woke up, for the first time in a very long time, feeling happy. Not excited, ambitious, or expectant. Just happy. It was wonderful.

I was unsure of the dress code for the luncheon, but decided to go with a soft green, summer dress, that was strapless and fell lightly to my knees. It had a white ribbon to wrap around my waist which I promptly spelled instead of any meagre attempts at tying the bow myself. I tied my long hair in a ponytail, leaving a few curly strands out to frame my face.

I may seem to be too focused on what I'm wearing during these moments, but I find they reflect my attitude at the time, so I hope they don't frustrate you too much.

I thought I looked pretty, and happily made my way to Diagon Alley, where our agreed meeting place was Gringotts at 11 o'clock. Miss Granger was there to apparate us to an undisclosed location, which ended up being a Muggle venue just outside of Central London.

I thought it was a bit tacky, but I suppose that's rich coming from someone like me, raised in a wealthy family with nothing but the purest silver to use as cutlery, and house-elves to cook and serve us for dinner.

I'm beginning to see why others hired writers to help them with this, but I will stick through it. I mustn't keep straying off the thought I begin writing with.

Now then, I attended a number of dinners and lunches with the three girls, and met their husbands, or in Miss Grangers' case fiancé, as well as Mrs. Weasley's daughter Victoire, and their adopted son Theodore, whom everyone called Teddy. I don't think young Theodore actually did have adoptive parents, merely his Grandmother, a distant aunt of mine, and plenty of friendly volunteers within the Weasley family.

At the same time, I kept up my news subscriptions, and even signed up to Witch Weekly after seeing myself and Miss Granger on the front page one morning. I was not in any way challenged in my alias until mid-December, when Mrs. Potter tried to show me an article from the Quibbler. I do not even know what she was trying to show me, only that I pushed it away as soon as she held it out.

I think it was simply instinct for me at that point. My father, my real father, was a cruel man, and my mother, whilst a lovely woman, was eventually beaten into submission by said cruel being. However, he worked hard to instill hate within me towards muggles, 'mudbloods', half-bloods even, 'half-breed things', and anything that was not approved by or that was contradictory to the Pureblood Mantra he lived and breathed.

I must have vocalised disgust, for she looked at me with her eyebrows raised. I tried to apologise, and reach for the magazine, but something held my arm back as I did so. Perhaps it was my father, from beyond the grave, still keeping me in-line. In the end, I voiced a sincere amount of 'sorry' and 'my mistake' and disapparated from her house in shame.

I received an owl the next day from Mrs Potter, containing the notification of a dinner with her husband and his Muggle cousin. She ended with a request of an explanation of my earlier actions.

At that point, I was thoroughly enjoying having friends, and so, not wanting to lose what I'd had for so little time, prepared myself for the evening with much haste.

As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Potter had purchased a quaint, two-storey house in Godric's Hollow, not far from the town church, which was the apparition point. What I did not know until I arrived was that I was not the only guest for the evening.

Also in attendance was Mr. Potter's two friends Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Seamus Finnigan (a man who had dropped off the public eye's notice whilst travelling the America's with his Muggle wife, a woman he met whilst hiding from Snatchers during the Christmas break before the Battle of Hogwarts) and, to my horror, Mr. Malfoy.

He had brought along a date, too: Miss Astoria Greengrass. I knew her sister, Miss Daphne Greengrass, quite well, but she was unfortunately not to make an appearance that night. Or should I say fortunately, for it would have been hard to keep my disguise around my best friend from school.

The dinner went quite well, though at first it was strange to be casually eating dinner with a group of people I once knew as scum, not to mention the Muggle relation of Mr. Potter. I found myself, for most of the evening, talking to Miss Greengrass, who was in positive thoughts of a marriage between herself and Mr. Malfoy.

Inside, I may have died a little, for I did once love him and hope to have a future with him, but on the outside I was merely congratulatory. I think my disinterest was more interpreted to the fact that I, or my alias, did not know the two very well, so could be excused personal interest in the matter.

Mrs. Potter never did question my behaviour of the previous day and, having not come up with a decent explanation myself, I did not seek out the conversation with her.

It was at this point that my two stories finally link together. You must have been wondering where I was going with all this, but there was a point to it all, I promise.

The evenings' major topic was me. Not Anna, but Pansy. Mr. Malfoy brought my identity up first, speaking of my sudden disappearance. Apparently, though I had not noticed, he had been checking on my house whilst I was asleep or away, and talked to my house-elves to see how I was. He had also followed me on my ventures out of the house, though only when I didn't use a disguise.

He mentioned not having seen me in some time, and that he was worried I might have done something I'll regret. He asked Miss Greengrass to pass on his concerns to her sister, to see if she would care to visit my home and check on me.

Mr Weasley took the opportunity to mention that Mr. Thomas was also seeking out any class members from Hogwarts that were yet to release a public statement of their events during school and, more interestingly, the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. Apparently, many reporters were after myself and Miss Tracey Davis, as we were the only two living Slytherins of our year who were yet to release our stories.

Miss Greengrass had done so, though it revealed very little into her thoughts and merely reported facts. It was quite disappointing to see her writing saying only that we got what we deserved, and she was glad it had ended the way it did. I would suggest it wasn't her story at all, but I knew how spineless she could be when the public attention was focused her way.

Miss Millicent Bulstrode had not released a story, for she was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts, whilst with myself and Miss Davis as we tried to get out of the school, when a section of the roof caved in on us. The two of us managed to get strong enough shield charms up to protect ourselves, but Miss Bulstrode was not quick enough. Miss Davis knew something of Healing Spells, but was not able to revive our friend.

I digress. Yet again. I would give another apology but I am sure many of you readers are eating up the little snippets I have offered you of my story and will not complain too loudly.

Mrs. Potter offered her thoughts of me finally realising what a rude, insufferable girl I was, and was now protecting the world from my horridness by hiding away. Miss Granger followed with the opinion that I perhaps found myself to not fit in with the new world, or perhaps was ashamed of my role in hindering its' glory.

I found the need to excuse myself not long after this conversation ended, and offered the petty excuse of a stomach ache, and the need to return home before my innkeeper closed the building for the night. I think they saw right through my lie, as I had been out with them several nights, and often for much later than that particular night. However, they seemed to notice I was somewhat distracted, and graciously offered me leave.

I remember that as my gaze floated around the table, my eyes met Mr. Malfoy's for but a moment, and he seemed to look right through my disguise, but I left before he could say anything.

A few days later, whilst out in my Pansy form to quieten rumours of any disappearance of mine, I had my first run in with an aspiring journalist from the Quibbler, which by that point had become a major newspaper, though it still had sections of invisible fleas and fictional ancient runes that could tell one's fortune if they could successfully translate it.

The scrawny youth turned out to be Mr. Dennis Creevey. I'm sure that, had his brother Mr. Colin Creevey survived the war, there would have been both the Creevey brothers hassling me that day, with one taking notes and the other flashing his camera.

Mr. Creevey offered to help get myself into the public eye and run a short, non-detailed version of events, to test the reactions of others and possibly do a follow up story on what I had been doing since I finished school. I declined good-naturedly, and quickly disappeared into the crowd, a skill I have found myself to be very capable of even without a physical disguise.

I stopped by an Apothecary in Knockturn Alley to secure some ingredients for a weed-killer, as my rose bushes were currently being strangled to death by the magical weed, Dorian's Snare. After buying what I needed and a small box that I found quite handsome in appearance, I left and headed back to Diagon Alley where I made a quick stop at Flourish and Blotts.

I had only intended to look in a section upstairs where magical gardening books are found, when I ran into none other than Mr. Malfoy. I did not notice him at first, but whilst intently reading the introduction to one book (after first assuring the man beneath the title that I only wished to see if it contained information on roses, and not to read the entire book without paying for it and have to suffer his wrath).

I noticed out of the corner of my eye a man standing at the end of the isle who was watching me. I had intended to covertly look up to see who it was, and may or may not have uttered a soft scream upon identifying the man.

He gave me a levelled look before coming over and enquiring my health. I gave him an affirmative "very well, thank you," and attempted to put the book away and leave but he grasped my wrist and led me further into the book store where fewer patrons investigated the contents of the shelves. One needn't be surprised, for a glance at one book gave me the title "Indoor Renovations – A Do-It-Yourself Guide to Muggle Carpentry".

I will not give you the details of the following conversation, save that he was worried about my well-being after I appeared to have shut myself away for the best part of a year, and requested my company at the Manor for dinner that evening with the two Greengrass sisters.

I had to decline for I was otherwise engaged that night with Miss Granger who invited me to help her babysit Victoire Weasley and her siblings whilst her parents went out for dinner, and Little Teddy Lupin was to make an appearance, too. Of course, I couldn't tell Mr. Malfoy that. He was adamant I come along, but eventually settled for another night in three days time.

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Please send thoughts to the Quibbler Office in Diagon Alley, all owl post to be directed through the third floor window.

All Howler's merit reply. Consider yourselves warned.

The views expressed throughout this article are the views of the author and not necessarily those of the Quibbler itself.

Pansy Parkinson's tell-all story will continue in next Monday's Quibbler.

Until then; don't forget to check your house for ashwinders! A daily check might save your home.

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A/N: Tada! Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you thought with a magical review!

And don't be scared by the howl "All howlers merit a reply" I'm just trying to go for an actual newspaper setting, I shan't bite your head off if you leave a you-know-what ;)

Have a nice day / morning / evening / ungodlyhourofthenight :)