Look at you jellybeans getting two updates in less than a week. This chapter is brought to you by my love of writing for you all and by my incurable, but productive, procrastination.
Seriously, you all are the best.
Disclaimer: I don't own a damned thing.
Harry bloody Potter sat down bar-side at the Wyvern, and Pansy dropped the tray of empty mugs she had been balancing in one hand. Pansy fell to her knees quickly, scowling down at the mess she made while trying to compose herself. By some miracle, none of the mugs had shattered, and her feet had been spared the pain of breaking their fall. She let out a soft string of colorful words as she slammed the mugs back in place and magicked them off to the backroom for a washing. What deity was playing a sick joke on her? Or was it Draco? She knew he was still upset with her over Nott's party. She understood he was still upset with her, but surely he wasn't so vindictive as to send Potter to her.
Getting back to her feet with a neutral expression restored, Pansy brushed off her apron and nodded to a couple of the regulars who looked vaguely concerned.
"I'll spit in your drink if you say anything," she warned Tom, who was still cradling a mug of coffee Draco had brought him earlier in the morning.
Tom was a beggar who lived out of a box in the alley across the street from the Wyvern. Draco brought him coffee every morning, and Tom pretended like he didn't know it was Draco Malfoy. She also noticed Draco had recently started bringing Tom a baguette from a nearby bakery each evening. Pansy knew Tom had a daughter who was just older than she and Draco, but she had only made one appearance in the entire time Pansy had been in Knockturn Alley. She couldn't even imagine abandoning your family like that, knowing they were in need. If not for money, at least a kind word. And Pansy knew Draco felt that. He had sort of adopted Tom, as it were. Pansy liked the beggar well enough. He was kind and coughed on Bex when the latter made passes at Pansy.
"First shot is on the house," Pansy told Potter as she put a menu in front of him. "It's watered down bottom shelf, though. If you attract loiterers, we reserve the right to kick you out." She motioned to the other end of the bar, "That's Dove. He'll be manhandling you out should the need arise."
"What the shot?" Potter asked.
Pansy picked the bottle off the shelf and passed it to him. He recoiled after taking a whiff, which caused Tom to giggle like a schoolgirl.
"Can I skip the shot and pay for a drink?"
"It's rude to refuse the Wyvern's hospitality," Dove commented from his end.
Potter frowned at the bottle for a moment before passing it back to Pansy with consent to poor him one. He knocked it back as quickly as she poured it and did a stand up job at not gagging. She grinned at him despite herself and let him know he took it much better than Dove had.
"That's rubbish, Vi, and you know it," Dove barked.
Pansy waved the brute off and asked Potter what he was having. She gave him a skeptical look when he requested a Butterbeer.
"What are you? A sixteen year old schoolboy?" she teased, grabbing a relatively clean mug. "We typically only serve Butterbeer to people who are too drunk to hold much more liquor."
"Or Dove," Tom added.
"Or Dove."
"Tossers," Dove grunted.
"Then what would you suggest?" Potter asked.
"Well, if you're hell bent on Butterbeer, a new pub. If you're adaptable, most are quite content with the house brew. We've got an inside man at Mulpepper's who plays around with the recipe, and no one's complained so far."
"Ah," Potter responded, and Pansy knew Draco—or Mr. Black—came to mind.
"You got a problem with the kid?" Tom said defensively.
"Of course not," Potter answered quickly and earnestly. "I hardly know him."
"There's that rumor circling about Black and Miss Weasley, Tom" Pansy reminded the beggar.
It had been a week since Pansy started it, and a part of her did feel terrible for spreading it. Draco had been avoiding her like the plague, equal parts peeved and non-confrontational. She wanted to say something to him, anything. But whenever she mustered up the courage to apologize, an anger washed over her, and she remembered he abandoned her to play mates with Ginny Weasley. And it stung. She wanted him to feel as shunned as she had been in the moment, but she also wasn't sure how much longer she could go one with the silence. Her regulars and Bex were good company, but they weren't Draco. She wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him.
Nott came into the Wyvern a couple times since the party, and he seemed to think that the rumor had fizzled out as rapidly as it had caught. Pansy thought there was some truth to it. Droves of gossip whores had stopped showing up on their own volition a couple days ago. Draco had brought two of them back to the bar the previous night. He bought each of the girls a drink, started telling them a story, and then hid in the backroom until the girls left an hour later. Pansy had to deal with them asking when he'd be back and if she knew if Ginny Weasley would show up later. She was determined to remember these mindless and loathsome conversations the next time she felt the need to be drunkenly petty.
She poured Potter a mug of Draco's least favorite brew—it had a hint of lemongrass in it. Most of the regulars loved it, but Draco swore it tasted like something died in the vat. Potter seemed to like it, though. He took a tentative sip at first and then a longer gulp for his second. Pansy left him to his own devices while she circled around the Wyvern, picking up tips left on the table (which were always insultingly sparse) and mugs left in dark corners. No one asked for a refill this time around, but she didn't ask anyone if they were ready to close their tab either.
After ten minutes of Pansy keeping busy on the floor, Dove and Potter each asked for more of what they were having, and Tom asked her to heat up his coffee. Pansy swapped out Potter's lemongrass brew for one that had a hint of blood orange. It was Tom's personal favorite when he could afford a mug. She and Dove watched Potter chug the glass as Pansy poured Dove a mix of Firewhiskey and the muggle brew Guinness. Dove was a good Irish wizard.
"He don't look like he can hold much," Dove whispered.
"He fought off the Dark Lord," Pansy murmured in reply. "He could probably drink us all under the table."
Dove hummed in agreement and told Pansy he'd cover Potter's next glass, so Pansy decided she'd give him what Dove usually had after he tried the guava brew.
"I'm Violet," she said to Harry, coming back over to dry dishes in front of him. He had this look on his face. Something similar to the one Draco wore when he wanted to talk about something but didn't want to bother people. Pansy gave him the new brew.
"Harry," he grumbled over his mug.
"Are you all right, Harry?"
"Are any of us all right?"
"Most of us don't down two mugs in less than fifteen, but I'm asking about you."
"I made a promise to someone, and I'm worried I can't keep it."
Pansy perked up, and from the corner of her eye she saw Dove do the same. They didn't get much dramatics coming in and out of the Wyvern, so when it showed up, the two of them were on it like Beaters on a Bludger. Months on months of listening to people's trouble taught Pansy how to remain calm and unaffected even if she was listening to something that genuinely interested her or if something she couldn't give two twigs for. Casually she leaned a hip against the bar, picking up a shot glass and a clean rag.
"Girl troubles?" she pressed nonchalantly.
"Boy troubles," Potter replied, and Pansy's brows shot up. He choked on his drink, waving a hand, "Not like that. I've no complaints with..." he waved a hand, "Ginny and I are happy and secure." Seemingly involuntarily, he rubbed a hand down the side of his trousers. Pansy had seen her brothers make similar gestures, and she wondered if he was holding onto an engagement ring as they had been once upon a time.
When Potter started on about being acquainted with a family people didn't expect him to, Pansy knew exactly who he was talking about. Perhaps if she was just a random tavern wench without any intimate knowledge of Harry bloody Potter, he could have gotten away with ambiguous references to feeling indebted to this family. But she was Pansy Parkinson, and she knew what it was like the harbor feelings or hate, respect, and admiration for a family. Well, she supposed, most people, at some point in their life, knew what it felt like to have contradictory feelings about a family; but Pansy could empathize with the feeling Potter was emoting. And it was one the reasons she knew he was talking about the Malfoy family without ever saying their name.
It was weird, she thought, listening to some speak so intimately about a family she loved so dearly. Potter knew the Malfoys in a way she never would, and she'd by lying if she said it didn't prickle her a little. She had been raised to show the same amount of love and loathing for the Malfoys. Before everything went to the wind, at any moment, Pansy could have been a part of the family or one of their societal rivals. She had to smile and keep an even temper. She had to be appalled by the things they were appalled by and ready to pounce on the appalling things they did. Pansy had been socialized to think like a Parkinson who would do what she could in the best interest of her family name. It didn't matter how much Narcissa adored her or how amusing Lucius found her.
Narcissa saved Harry Potter's life, though, and Boy Wonder felt he could never repay her for that. Halfway through his Guinness and Firewhiskey, he told Pansy that he didn't even think it mattered that Narcissa only saved him to save Draco.
"She could have told him," he commented, taking a long drink from the mug. "It could have all been over then and there."
"People would have continued to fight," Pansy replied quietly. They would have let themselves needlessly be slaughtered, but they would have fought. Detractors and doubters like herself would have been locked away—perhaps publically executed as a display of tenacity—but Voldemort's opponents would have kept fighting. "They always had."
Potter went on, and Pansy was unsure he processed what she said, "I owe my life to every mother I've ever met."
"You would have found a way, kid," Dove said. He had moved several chairs closer throughout Potter's monologue.
The Wyvern received a weird mix of people with different positions on the Second Wizarding War. Dove never seemed to really have an opinion of his own. He usually said what he could to cheer up people who were depressed over something about the War. Mostly because it made him uncomfortable when people drunkenly cried; but also because when they cried, he involuntarily made a cooing sound when trying to comfort them, which was how he earned his nickname. Tom, on the other hand, had a whole bunch of opinions ranging from the Dark Lord being an egotistical maniac to Harry Potter being an egotistical maniac. Frankly, Pansy was impressed he kept his mouth shut this entire time. Bex never spoke much on his opinions, but Pansy knew he welcomingly offered the Wyvern as a meeting spot for those who supported the Dark Lord—though, in those years, which business in Knockturn Alley didn't do the same?
"Yes, well," Potter grunted, trying to scooch in his seat but nearly tumbling over. Pansy and Dove both reached out to steady him. "I told a very important family," he added as if he hadn't just spent the last fifteen minutes clarifying that he was talking about the Malfoys, "that saving my life wouldn't go to waste; and what do I have to show for it?"
Pansy frowned at him. "Are you fishing for compliments, Potter?" He looked taken aback. "By most accounts, you saved the Wizarding World from a very long and gruesome Dark Reign. Most would say that's what you have to show for it."
"Yer talking about saving this woman's son?" Dove asked, and Potter mumbled something incoherently. "Far as I now, Draco Malfoy is doing well for himself."
"You try telling Narcissa Malfoy that, pigeon."
"He's in London."
"Everyone's in London, rooster."
"Yer a lightweight, Harry."
Potter gave them a goofy grin and braced himself on the bar, ducking slighty and growling out, "Yer a wizard, 'Arry."
"Should we call for someone?" Dove asked Pansy as he patted Potter's shoulder.
"Probably ought to sober him up a bit, yeah?"
"I am perfect," Potter said, absolutely not perfect.
Pansy had one of her regulars fetch a potion from Mulpepper's without divulging who the potion was for. The man was there and back within five minutes, and Pansy paid him in drink. The potion took a good ten minutes to work, but Potter was paying for his drinks as soon as the mixture worked its magic. He didn't look the least bit concerned about the mostly one-sided discussion he just had with them, and even departed with a "see you later."
"I like him," Dove told Pansy when the door shut behind Potter. "It's nice to know he feels like a piece of shite, too."
"And how often do you hear Harry Potter lamenting over a bloody Death Eater, eh?" asked the man who brought the potion back.
Dove jumped and Pansy squeaked when Tom shout out a spell that sent the man hurtling into the far wall.
"Tom!" Pansy exclaimed. "Outside!" she added as she hurried over to help the other patron to his feet. She gripped the latter's arm when he made to grab his own wand. "It's not worth it. Just leave him be." She gave the patron a light shove. "Go drink your brew."
She roughly shook front of her jacket and shared a scowl with Dove.
The traffic picked up at the end of the day as her usual seat warmers showed up not long after their day came to a close. Dove took off halfway through the rush when another regular brute came and swapped places. Pansy quickly put his order in front of him and then stormed to the other side of the Wyvern where a mass of brooding witches and wizards had taken up shop in the corner. She recited her usual cool welcome and waited impatiently until they all decided a couple pitchers would suffice. And the night went on as such for a good two hours. No physical fights. Some cat calls. Some threatened curses. Nothing Pansy couldn't handle with her eyes shut and hands fisted behind her back.
She genuinely enjoyed the rushes. Nothing kept her on her toes quite like a bar full of people yelling or the energy that buzzed from the patrons. She could get lost in the quick-paced environment, and the rest of the world would fall away as Pansy focused on specific tasks. It was moments like evening rush that made her cherish where she was in her life. Sure, she loved to dress up. She loved the feel of a satin or silk dress against her skin. But for what? To stand around, holding a champagne flute while pretending to be interested in whatever given man was talking to her? No. Pansy wasn't ready to return to that just yet. She had no reason to return to that life just yet. Thin funds aside, she was doing just fine.
In some stroke of luck, no one else she knew once upon a time wandered into the Wyvern. Although, as the night wore on and the crowd dispersed, Pansy found herself constantly throwing glances over at the door, but she wasn't sure who she was hoping would walk in. Honestly, probably Draco. He should have left Borgins well over an hour ago. There was a very high chance that he had snuck around back and went straight to their flat, but Pansy really just wanted him to come in and sit at the bar. Hell, she'd fix him whatever drink he wanted. If not Draco, though—and she frowned at herself for even entertaining the idea—she supposed Potter wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He was a rather amusing drunk, and Pansy needed to laugh if she couldn't talk to Draco.
But when last call came around, Draco still had not shown up. She knew he had been by the storefront, because Tom was munching on his baguette across the street.
Pansy stared blankly at the mugs she was filling up. She ought to apologize. It was partially, if not mostly, her fault. The very least she could do was ask Draco why he abandoned her. Then she could either continue ignoring him or move past it. Pansy wondered if their rift was eating at him, too. It's not like he had many other people here to talk to. Though, she reminded herself, Draco apparently had a mate in Ginny Weasley. But Pansy highly doubted Draco was spilling all of Draco Malfoy's secrets to Girl Wonder.
The brute who replaced Dove stayed around until the last of the drunks had cleared out. He helped clear up the glasses at the front of the store, though he knew Pansy could have magicked them into the backroom. And while she set the broom and dustpan to clean, he locked the windows. Pansy didn't even know his name. He was just an imposing figure who leveled other customers with glares when they got too rowdy. When he looked around the room for something to do, Pansy thanked him and subtly herded him towards the door. The regular gave her a thin grin and waved goodbye before passing over the threshold. She locked the door behind him and turned down the blinds with a flick of her wand. She unpinned her hair from its bun, and as she shook it out, the dark blonde color fell from her strands.
Her bar was eerily silent, Pansy noted, as her gaze swept over the room. Of course, it was always quiet when she closed shop, but something about this silence raised the hairs on her arms. Keeping her wand at the ready, Pansy slowly circled the main floor. It wasn't a large space, but there were several blind spots. From the main floor, she went to the bar, where she was convinced some kind of creature would be hiding. But nothing was there. So, without uttering a word, she sent a spell into the backroom. It was a quick, little one that caused a loud band when it entered the room. If anything was hiding, Pansy had hoped the spell would scare it out. However, after the spell sounded, nothing in the Wyvern stirred, save the door to the flat slamming open after a few beats of utter silence.
"Pansy!" Draco yelped from somewhere in the stairwell. "Pan…" her named trailed off on his lips as he barreled through the backroom.
She could feel her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest as Draco withdrew his wand from where he usually hid it. His still darkened hair was sticking up in all directions, so when he ran a hand through it, Pansy didn't know if it was to fix his hair or out of nerves.
"I noticed it as soon as the last customer left," she muttered, following him as he swept the floor.
"Who-"
"A regular from before I started working."
Draco nodded to the bar, "Grab today's earnings, and I'll finish up."
Pansy didn't need telling twice. She hurried over to the register and fumbled to open it as Draco sent a cleaning and fronting spell around the bar. He continued pacing the Wyvern from one end to the other as he did, his eye darting back and forth as if whatever was spooking them would decide to show itself. Pansy's hands were shaking slightly as she emptied the earnings into a pouch and threw a glance around the floor.
She waited for Draco to finish whatever he was in the middle of. He checked the door twice before coming back over to her. Pansy tried to swallow the lump in her throat as they made to leave the area. Draco seemed to sense her nerves, she thought, as he put a reassuring hand at her waist, kissed her temple, and lead the two of them through the backroom. Pansy threw one last look over her shoulder, holding tightly to the earnings.
Would they need to tell Bex? What would they even say to Bex? Hey, mate, there might be some sort of magical creature in the Wyvern. Can't prove it outside of the creepy crawlies my skin felt. Bex would howl with laughter and tell the whole bar how barmy she was being. Even if Draco jumped to her defense, she would never live it down.
When they were safely in the comfort of their flat, the two of them put a series of locks on the door and a ward or two for their own sanity.
"What the hell was that?" Draco whispered, leaning close to a wall as if to listen for any outside sounds.
"Everything was fine until that regular left," Pansy told him, untying her apron and draping it over the back of a chair. Her jacket followed as she added, "I've never felt so…violated, I suppose?"
"Are you going to tell Bex?" he asked, turning around to face her. It was the most attention and eye contact they had sustained in a week.
"And be made into a laughingstock? I'll pass," she scoffed.
Draco dropped into the old, creaky loveseat Dove had given them after Draco and Maude Mulpepper had brewed a potion to help the former with an unforgiving issue he had after a night with a dirty customer.
"Borgin got a shipment of magical objects last weekend that are supposed to ward off unwanted spirits. I'll get one from him."
Pansy snorted, "I'm not afraid of a bloody ghost."
"It could be a poltergeist."
"Even better."
"Pansy."
"I'll talk to one of the patrons who's pretty wicked with charms. If nothing pans out there, then we'll discuss bringing the Dark Arts into the Wyvern." He looked at her skeptically. "I don't want to risk an artifact acting up and bringing the wrath of the Aurors down on us."
"I just want to make sure you're safe," he said, and Pansy felt most of the tethers keeping her anchored to her anger lax.
Pansy rolled her eyes, because she didn't want to smile. Tentatively, she sank down next to Draco. When he didn't object or leave, she threw her legs over the arm and lounged dramatically over his lap. He chuckled softly but otherwise remained silent.
"I'm sorry, Draco," she muttered after a while of listening to his even breathing as he read some book that had been on their makeshift side table. "I should have checked my anger before spreading gossip. Sometimes it's hard to remember our actions matter."
Draco's eyes stopped bouncing over the page he was reading, and Pansy could tell her was fixated on something without taking it in. She stared up at him from her position, noting how shallow his breathing had become and the haggard paleness to his already fair skin. She struck a chord within him, but she wasn't sure why her apology would bring out that kind of reaction.
"I'm sorry I ditched you," he replied after a few moments. "We went out to be together, and I left you without so much as a warning." His brow furrowed as he said it. "I'm sorry," Draco repeated.
"Why did you do it?" Pansy asked before he could fully get out the last bit.
Finally, he tore his attention from the book and dropped it down to Pansy. Only for a moment before returning his gaze to the muggle book. The feeling came on rapidly, but Pansy had an intense desire to tear the bloody book from his grasp and send it across the room. She didn't, of course. It would ruin their apology. And it would require her to move.
"I just…" Draco trailed off. "I feel like, at times, I prefer to be Black rather than Draco Malfoy. Don't you feel that way?" he added. "People expect me to act a certain way, say certain things, talk to certain people as a Malfoy. But no one knows who I am as Black. I can talk to anyone I want about anything I want without fear of judgement."
Pansy blinked up at him. Not entirely sure how to respond. Of course she relished the anonymity of being Violet, the tavern wench of the Wyvern. But she was still Pansy Parkinson. She would always be Pansy Parkinson, and if she had the choice of being Violet or Pansy, she would always choose Pansy. Violet was merely a part of her, but she could never rely on Violet to be her.
"You know we're not Violet and Mr. Black, right, Draco?" she finally said, pushing herself up to sit properly. Draco's eyes flew to the ceiling in a half-assed eye roll before settling on Pansy. "Draco Malfoy can talk to anyone he bloody wants to. Violet and Mr. Black are just…" she trailed off this time, pondering her word choice. "Violet and Mr. Black are a set of traits we're developing. They'll be part of Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, but they're one dimensional. They don't have backstories. They don't have motives, hopes, or fears. They are our hopes and fears." Pansy slugged his shoulder lightly, because she didn't know what else to do. "We can't be defined by our hopes and fears, Draco."
"Merlin," Draco huffed, "you sound like a bloody motivational booklet."
"I am a bloody motivation," she snapped good-naturedly.
Another few minutes of comfortable silence passed between them. Pansy tested out some braiding style on her hair as Draco lost himself in the muggle book. The author's name, which was typed in bold face on the front cover, was vaguely recognizable. She wasn't a complete boor: she knew some prominent muggles. It didn't escape her notice that this might have been one of the first muggle names Draco was exposed to, though. The Malfoys and Parkinsons may have come from very long lines of Pureblood wizards, but Pansy's family was far more forgiving of rebellious activity. She had three brothers who had all experimented with muggle literature at some point in their life. Draco was an only child, though. He was expected to live and breathe Pureblood mantras and reflect Pureblood beliefs. Or, at least, he had been.
She opened her mouth to tease his reading choices, but Draco spoke first.
"I visited the Manor today."
Her hands stilled over the current weaving pattern she was working on.
"I was upset and thought I was apparating with no destination in mind, but I ended up at the Manor." Pansy refrained from reminding him how dangerous it was to apparate like that. Instead, she drew her knees to her chest. "I ended up in the flower garden. I didn't go in, if you were wondering," she told her with a glance in her direction.
Pansy shook her head.
"I just couldn't bring myself to do it, you know?" He finally set the book down on his lap.
"Were they home?"
"No," Draco said, and his lips twitched into something like a grimace. "They must have had a meeting or something."
"You should visit them," she replied decidedly.
"We'll see," he muttered. Draco licked his lips and picked his book back up. "I've got a lot of work at Mulpepper's and Borgins." He gave her a shrug when Pansy protested.
Pansy let the subject go. She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug before telling Draco not to stay up too late and then heading off to bed.
She laid awake in bed, though, staring up at the sheets that canopied her room. The day's events played through her mind on an unending loop and called forth questions that wouldn't let her rest. What was Harry Potter even doing in Knockturn Alley? Why was everyone and their mother treating her little slice of the world as an escape? Had these wankers not fought tooth and nail to keep Knockturn Alley culture contained? Why wouldn't these people just let sleeping dogs lie?
Grunting, Pansy flopped over on her stomach and turned her head towards the window. She didn't have blinds or curtains on it, but Knockturn Alley seemed to be perpetually cast in shadows. A small beetle rested in the corner of the pane outside, and Pansy thought about opening the window to squash it in her agitated state but decided against it. It wasn't the beetle's fault she had a bad day. A bad few weeks, really. And Pansy was content to blame the reintroduction of the Gryffindors in their life. They had been sailing smooth until that night.
Pansy pushed herself up, unable to sleep. Her gaze fell on the earnings from the Wyvern, which were placed on a stool in the corner. When she checked to make sure the light in the living room was out, she dragged her butt out of bed and over to the earnings. Pansy had done it countless times, but she still felt a pang of guilt and nerves when she dipped her hand in the pouch and grabbed a handful of the coin. She counted out a reasonable amount before dropping what she took into the handbag she kept under her mattress. Letting out an shaky breath, Pansy settled back into bed and tried to get at least a couple hours of sleep before facing the next day.
I really liked writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading it!
You're super cool. Reviews are super cool. Lucissa and Dramione are super cool. *nudges you with a goofy grin*