Harry Potter belongs entirely to J.K. Rowling.
"I am delighted with your interest in me, Griphook, but I truly am not qualified to be working with you directly." Pansy simpers, refusing to even glance at the file cabinet with her name on it.
"Miss Parkinson," the Goblin sighs as he eyes her. "Though I appreciate your flattery, any witch is qualified to sit still and scribe."
Pansy clenches her teeth, even as she smiles. "But surely it would be a breach of confidentiality-"
"Breaching confidentiality would be sharing sensitive information you've learned at your place of employment with outside sources." the Goblin states. "Now, unless you are looking to confess breaking the law in such a fashion, I believe it is perfectly acceptable for a Gringotts employee like yourself to take notes while I meet with a client of the bank."
"Yes, sir." Pansy agrees, already scheming her escape.
The Goblins keep no windows in their offices, not even as magical décor to provide the illusion of being above ground, and so the only way in and out of each room is the door. Perhaps she can fake an illness? The intelligent thing to do would have been to nip into the horrid Weasley's House of Horrors for some puking pastilles or whatever else they imbue the public with. Even if that method meant exposing herself undisguised in Diagon, at least she'd have a sound course of action to avoid this.
Too late for that now.
The floo chime is ringing, a discreet signal which alerts the account manager that their client has arrived. Pansy's always been a phenomenal actress. Perhaps she can find a way out of this without any artificial help. Surely, anywhere in the world would be better than here, listening to a man who almost certainly either took part in her parents' murders while a scheming Goblin covertly tries to connive her into reading her father's will.
Pansy nearly scoffs aloud. As if she'd be that stupid.
Although, as Granger would say, the jury's still out on that one, considering Pansy is working for a man who is not only directly under the Goblin she most wants to avoid, but who is also a part of the most dangerous family of all.
In terms of injustice and cruelty, not even the Malfoys could have held a match to the Weasleys.
Pansy briefly ponders her usage of silly Muggle slang until an oversized Gryffindor lumbers into the room. She stiffens immediately, brought to such levels of discomfort that she almost forgets to greet their guest. Their client.
The client being a Weasley notwithstanding, Peony Parkinson would have thrashed her daughter to within an inch of her life if she were alive to witness such appalling lack of manners.
"Mr. Weasley." Pansy greets the man smoothly, extending a hand with a false air of coolness.
To her complete and utter surprise, rather than shaking her hand the plebian Muggle way, Charles Weasley bends to kiss her knuckles in perfect Pureblood fashion.
"Miss Parkinson." he responds, a strange half-smile on his face as he turns to greet her boss.
"Where did you learn that from?" Pansy speaks before her common sense can catch up to her curiosity, and she blushes when she recognizes that she nearly interrupted a Lord. Griphook uncharacteristically remains silent, and eyes the wizard in polite interest.
Charles Weasley, commonly known as 'Charlie', answers her inquiry with a shrug, and the civilized Pureblood façade collapses. No Pureblood would ever shrug to answer a Lady in public. This realization calms Pansy down; though he may have appeared to be a Lord for a second, Charlie Weasley clearly is not one. He's a scarred, imposing red-haired man in a plain robe that's clearly seen better days and boots that appear to be caked with mud. At least, Pansy hopes its mud.
Griphook continues to observe them silently, following Pansy's gaze and making assumptions of his own.
"Seeing as I work and occasionally live with Blaise Zabini, I do know my way around basic human decorum." Charles sounds amused as he finally offers an answer.
"Perhaps not well enough." Pansy retorts, lifting her nose into the air and waiting primly for Griphook's instruction.
"Good day, Mr. Charlie." the Goblin finally joins the party, perhaps to intercede before their client can start yelling at his employee.
"Good day to you as well, Griphook." Charles offers a hand, which the account manager shakes uncomfortably.
"I beg Miss Parkinson's pardon." Griphook replies, taking his seat behind the shining wooden desk. "She will be transcribing our meeting today."
"No worries." Charles offers, and Pansy could choke at his outrageous manners.
She returns to her chair, placed unobtrusively to the left of the seat intended for the client, and realizes she's bound to receive a spectacular view of his profile from this angle. Once Pansy is seated, Charles follows suit, and they all turn to Griphook as Pansy retrieves a scroll and pen.
While quills are required for documents imbued with magic, like a legal agreement, these asinine notes can be done just as reluctantly with a pen. Probably more efficiently, as well.
Pansy has never once been asked to sit in on a client meeting, and she's practically buzzing with suspicion. This is more than just an extended punishment for sticking her nose into Griphook's business. There's a bigger plan at work here- she just isn't privy to it.
Not one member hailing from the three families under Griphook's care has bothered to sit down for a formal meeting since the end of the war. Pansy happens to know that Harry Potter conducts his business with Gringotts via owl (probably to avoid the same thing as her).
In spite of this technicality, Pansy is still educated in proper procedure should a client actually appear. For example, she knows for a fact that it wouldn't matter if Voldemort himself were to arrive on business; she still wouldn't be invited inside the office. This meeting with Charlie Weasley is borderline illegal, but Goblins have been known to bend the wizarding law in order to achieve their goals.
Somehow, someway, Griphook is trying to manipulate her by keeping her there. Maybe he thinks sitting in on a will reading will inspire her to do the same? The chances of that occurring are equal to the chances of Draco Malfoy learning to play the kazoo: slim to none.
All half-baked escape maneuvers wither with one glance at Griphook's expression. He'd sooner let her die than allow her to leave the room on false pretenses.
"Now, to business." Griphook begins his volley. "Have you perused the agreement to your satisfaction, Mr. Charlie?"
"I have." the man responds, leaning forward in his seat.
Pansy reacts by leaning towards the wall, preventing her face from being any closer to the client's than necessary. When the man's eyes dart in her direction, clearly having noticed the movement, Pansy crosses her legs and pretends to be settling in comfortably.
He's a bit more aware of his surroundings than one would expect from a great hulking imbecile.
"And do you wish to proceed with the agreement, and officially accept your inheritance?" Griphook places both hands gently upon his desktop.
"I do." Charles nods with complete certainty. Pansy resists the urge to sneer as she writes, Weasley finally agrees to cease being poor.
No one ever said she had to remain impartial. These notes are cage fodder, anyways. Griphook is likely just using them as a pretense to discourage her escape. He'll undoubtedly burn them in the night to prevent the survival of any evidence that he broke protocol.
"Splendid." Griphook offers an expression that Pansy recognizes to be the Goblin version of a smile. "Now, we will begin with your signing that initial document outlining the terms of accepting a magical inheritance. Miss-?"
Pansy's already moving to fetch the client a quill. There's no need for prompting when a woman like Peony Parkinson has raised you. Pansy could host this brute with both hands tied behind her back, her wand in her mouth, and still look like a darling.
Of course, as all of the Gringotts blood quills are kept under strict security, they are unable to be summoned via wand. Pansy has to trot across the office and personally retrieve one from the lockbox, which requires the bare skin of a Gringotts employee's hand to open. The wards are apparently able to identify her particular magic. The quills are lined up neatly inside, and Pansy selects the sharpest-looking one before flouncing over to Charlie Weasley.
The wizard's uneven skin brushes against her own as he fumbles to accept her offering, and Pansy can't help but quickly snatch her hand out of his reach. Charlie looks up at her in confusion, but she just huffs and clenches her fists as she returns to her seat.
Pansy may never again be comfortable with unanticipated contact as long as she lives, but she surely is not obligated to pretend to be, especially not when it's a Weasley ignoring her personal boundaries.
"Why do I have to use a blood quill?" Charlie questions, returning his attention to the ringleader of this little circus.
"It is a magically binding agreement." Griphook explains, steepling his fingers as he considers how to answer. "By using your blood to sign such a document, Gringotts can immediately determine whether you are a worthy Heir, and the proceedings may then advance without delay. The Prewett magic will also recognize your authority."
"How will we know if the document accepts me?" Charlie asks in a tone that conveys clear doubt. Pansy notes that his hand remains steady as he signs, despite the pain he must be experiencing.
"That would be how." Gringotts gestures to the agreement in question, which has chosen that moment to glow gold and roll up with a snap. "May I?"
Charles hands over the bound scroll, which Griphook deposits directly into the cabinet reserved for the Prewetts.
"It'll file itself." the Goblin assures them, which snaps Pansy out of her distracted awe. She rushes to record all that she'd neglected to while watching the agreement accept their client as a worthy Heir.
"So, now what?" Charlie questions, crossing his arms.
Pansy can't help but eye the absurd way the threadbare sleeves of the man's robes stretch over his prominent muscles. How pitiful that a Lord of a Most Noble and Ancient family would look so uncouth in front of a Lady. Most respectable wizards wear robes much looser on the arms and shoulders, and in much more attractive fabrics.
Most respectable wizards are also far less fit than this one. Even Pansy can't disagree with that train of thought. Of course, the new Lord Charles Prewett becomes far less fit when you tack 'murderer' onto his title.
"Now, Mr. Charlie, we must address how you prefer to handle the legal proceedings." Griphook explains. "In order to legally accept your Lordship under the laws upheld by the Ministry of Magic, you must present yourself to the Wizengamot and allow any outstanding debts or contracts to be collected."
"I have no debts or contracts." Charlie argues.
"I have no doubt of your sincerity." the Goblin placates his client. "However, the wizard law exists to address any wrongdoings of your predecessors which were not settled before their deaths. That is my interpretation, of course. Please excuse me if as a Goblin, I am misinterpreting the business of wizards." Griphook's tone of voice has deteriorated into a snarl.
"Wouldn't any wrongdoings of my predecessors have already been tried and collected upon?" Charlie inquires. "It's not like my uncles were alive to defend themselves."
"It is Goblin policy to prevent wizard interference at Gringotts without the express permission of the account holder." Griphook's expression has turned cruel, though he is smiling. "The Prewett account has been in stasis since the moment of the previous Lords' deaths. Anyone seeking retribution has been compelled to wait for the new Heir's presentation."
"How soon must I appear in court?" Charlie begins tapping his foot on the marble floor. Pansy cringes with each persistent smack.
"I will set an appointment for you when you've ascertained a suitable date." Griphook assures his client. "Though you have not been legally declared the new Lord Prewett by the Ministry, you have been declared the rightful Heir by Gringotts, so we may begin discussing your new holdings immediately."
"Hold on a second," Charlie holds up his hands. "How long do I have to prepare before I'm obligated to go before the Wizengamot?"
"You must present yourself in the next seven days." Griphook replies.
"Honestly, I've never even heard of a Lord presentation. I don't have the first idea of how to prepare for that." the man admits.
"You could start by purchasing some new robes." Pansy sniffs, immediately cringing at her gaff and looking to her boss for his reaction.
Griphook smiles. "Why, Miss Parkinson, I've just had a splendid idea! Seeing as you know the political world of wizards so intimately, why don't you escort Mr. Charlie to make certain he obtains everything he needs?"
"I believe my social calendar is full." Pansy states plainly, internally bristling with anger.
"Surely, Miss Parkinson, no other Gringotts employee would be so useful to our esteemed client. You will prepare him for his presentation." Griphook orders.
"Or what?" Pansy scoffs. "You'll fire me?"
"It is a distinct possibility." the Goblin snaps.
"Well, you definitely can't fire me if I'm dead!" Pansy shrieks. "Which is almost certainly what I'll be if I go along with that absurd idea."
"Jesus Christ, Pansy." Charlie turns to face her exclusively, his expression beseeching. "You think I'm going to hurt you?"
Pansy's lip quivers, and she immediately shuts down her expression, unwilling to admit the fear that is twisting her stomach into knots.
"It's rather more to do with everyone else." she sniffs, attempting to regain an air of superiority. "What would your precious siblings do if they saw you in public with the child of a Death Eater?"
Charlie has been utterly flabbergasted by everything that is leaving her mouth, but at this remark, he actually laughs.
"You really think my siblings would be able to overpower me?" Charlie snorts. "Talk about an absurd idea. I wrangle Dragons for a living!"
"And they murdered my parents."
Even Griphook is struck silent after that statement. Pansy breathes quickly, panic exploding in her chest, and Charlie's expression is closed off and unreadable.
"Why would you say that?" he eventually asks, leveling a hard gaze directly into her.
"If I may," Griphook interrupts, "The Parkinsons were one of many families targeted by unknown assailants after the conclusion of your wizard war. It was a terrible tragedy, and a great loss. Seeing as how danger may persist for any Heirs of said families, I am entrusting that you will not risk the safety of my employee, Mr. Charlie."
Anger is radiating out of the wizard, so much so that Pansy can practically taste his magic as he quickly gets to his feet.
"I resent the implication that I would allow any harm to come to a Gringotts employee who is, for all intents and purposes, my responsibility."
Charlie turns to speak to Pansy, and is met by the tip of her wand. He raises his hands in careful surrender, eyeing how she shakes even as she readies to defend herself.
"Lower your wand at once!" Griphook snaps.
"My most sincere apologies, Sir." Pansy speaks quietly, gradually retracting her wand and replacing it up her sleeve.
"Griphook, you have my word that no one will harm a hair on Miss Parkinson's precious littlehead while she is in my presence." Charlie states in a hard tone, eyeing the Goblin in question as if he's just daring him to doubt the promise.
"I shall hold you to that, Mr. Charlie." Griphook steps around the desk to offer his hand.
Charlie shakes it solemnly, and then turns to face Pansy. "Miss Parkinson, I apologize for any action of mine that scared you."
"I accept your apology." she mumbles, frowning at the floor.
"Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow so I can start preparing for my- er, presentation?" Charles asks, making a clear effort to appear non-threatening.
"Fine." Pansy huffs, toeing her high heel into the floor and creating a scuff. "Where?"
"How about in front of Flourish and Blotts around noon?" Charlie suggests.
Pansy could slap him, she really could.
"No!" she has to take a deep breath and lower her voice, lest she start shouting. "I'm not- no. No public places. We have to meet at your house."
"…Alright." Charlie frowns, confusion evident on his face. "How about you just floo over to Blaise's flat, and I can collect you from there?"
"I suppose that's acceptable." Pansy crosses her arms tightly over her chest.
"Okay." Charles stays put right where he's standing, intending to force her to meet his eyes.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Charlie." Griphook dismisses him from the office. "I daresay a wizard of your caliber can find your way back to the floo station?"
"Yes." Charlie sighs. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, too. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Parkinson."
"Safe travels and good day to you, Mr. Weasley." she whispers.
As soon as Charlie leaves the room, the door shuts firmly behind him.
Charlie and Pansy… they're finally forced to interact! Pansy definitely revealed a bit more about herself than she intended. Poor Pansy. Good news is that Charlie's collecting the pieces of a puzzle, and eventually, he'll manage to put it all together….
I'm always happy to hear what you think. Feel free to leave any suggestions or comments!
-PBY