Author's Note: Kindness isn't in Pansy's character, and that much is obvious in this chapter. However, our leading lady may have more depth than she lets on. Come here, [come closer], take my hand, and let's take this journey together, shall we?
(Also I such and I'm so so so sorry for taking FOREVER to post this! I'm back on my regular schedule now and we're about to get weekly on this shit again)
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"This is fucking insane."
Pansy tightened her scarf around her head, tightened her fist around the door handle, and tightened her lips into a fierce frown as Potter veered around another left turn. His eyes had lit up at the sight of her father's gift - a cherry red Jaguar XK convertible. The fact that he moaned at the name of the car before she even fully presented it to him being evidence enough that her original suspicion was right, though if it hadn't been for his excitement she wouldn't have let him drive it in the first place. Now she needed to face the consequences for her idiotic gesture of kindness. It was the type of thing someone like herdidn't do for other people and she wasn't sure why she even extended the olive branch to Potter.
"You know if you keep going this fast, we'll get there sooner and you won't have as much time to drive it," she shouted over the wind, her eyes widening behind her thick-rimmed sunglasses.
Harry dramatically slowed and turned to Pansy with a wide grin, a look she had never seen on his face and it was… endearing, like seeing a poor person win the lottery. "This is fucking insane. Five-liter V8 engine, the adaptive dynamics suspension - fucking Christ, this leather- and the audio system, 525 watt-"
"Bowers and whatever, yes, you already fucking told me," she rolled her eyes and pointed forward when the light changed though she immediately wished she hadn't when the car jerked forward then stalled. Harry swore and shook the gear stick wildly until it lurched forward again then screeched away.
"How the hell did you get a Jaguar, anyway?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "My father doesn't have emotions. He has money."
He stayed quiet for a few minutes and the silence made Pansy's skin itch. He did that often and it always bothered her because she had no idea how the raven-haired, four-eyed detective could be so comfortable in silence while she squirmed in her seat waiting to see who would speak first. One part of her wanted to blurt out some nonsense to end the mindless torture of waiting while the other never wanted Harry to think she needed his conversation or, heaven forbid,he ever thought that he made herfeel uncomfortable.
No. Never.
If it were anyone else, Pansy would feel fine. After all, she had made lesser men wither under her silent stare. Harry was different, however. He was disappointingly exceptional. Pansy likedhaving the upper hand in tense moments but she could practically feel him thinkingas they sat in silence and she could feel the wheels in his head turning and she could feel him dissecting and analyzingand it made her skin itch. Perhaps this was how others felt when she put them under her judgmental microscope and while it certainly didn't feel good on the other side, she refused to lose.
"Fucking - sorry, fuck," he swore under his breath as the car faltered once more and Pansy was thrust out of her thoughts. Still, she rolled her eyes to the heavens and Gods above because Jesus Christshe was going to die in this stupid birthday gift.
"Potter, stop-" she swatted his hand away and jerked the gear into two different positions then gripped Harry's wrist and forced his hand onto the wheel. "Drive.You don't have to test all 155 miles per hour at once."
She tried not to look too bumptious as Harry's disposition visibly soured and he steadied his eyes forward but it was so difficultbecause rarely was Pansy the one to outmaneuver someone in a moving vehicle - she had half of London's taxis on speed dial after all - but she didknow luxury cars, her father's first love.
"Do you like the White Stripes?" Harry asked after three stop lights in silence and Pansy nearly smiled because this time the silence got to him.It was just odd - they were irrevocably tied together through misfortune and stress and, you know, tragedy and most people would revel in having a partner to go through the turmoil with. Not them, though. Even if the outright animosity had dissipated, the illusionof hate was all Pansy needed and she planned to live up to that.
"Who?" she asked in a bored voice because she knew the only thing that upset a man more than not graciously accepting one of their gallant compliments was not knowing which shitty fucking 90s bands they loved.
Harry was disappointingly unexceptional.
"The White Stripes!" he repeated incredulously. "Well, you areyoung-"
"You're four years older than me!"
"On the stand, near her hand was a candy cane; black rum, sugar cane, dry ice and something strange!" he shouted in a manner Pansy assumed may have been singing, but she couldn't be sure. "That really doesn't ring a bell?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were talking about a band, not the sound of crows devouring a small family of prairie dogs."
" Funny," Harry replied sourly and they spent the rest of the ride in silence and Pansy felt as if she had won though she didn't know why.
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The little boy, perhaps no older than nine with mud smudged on his chin and a bit forcing his hair to stick up, stared up at Harry unblinkingly. Pansy stood several steps behind him, her hand covering her mouth as she contained her laughter at Potter's terrible attempt to communicate with a small human.
"Ah," Harry cleared his throat and leaned down, balancing his weight by securing his hands just above his knees, becoming nearly eye level with the little boy. "Your mother perhaps? And older sibling or - I can't speak to children," he looked over his shoulder as her as if to explain and Pansy rolled her eyes.
"That's obvious," she snorted.
"No, I mean-" he sighed and straightened again, his cheeks reddening awkwardly - god forbid Ace Ventura reveal an imperfection, "-without a parent or guardian present. I can't speakto them."
Pansy rolled her eyes, walked past Harry and, with her hands on her hips, she gave the small boy a pointed look, "Get a grown up, will you? Your mum or whoever, let's go-" she gave him a light tap on the head to send him off and his face broke into a grin before he ran off. "Children like me, I think," she continued, looking back at Harry.
"When do youever interact with children?" he scoffed, taking a seat on one of the high bar stools. The pub had been closed when they arrived, which was odd for a Thursday evening, but the front door had been propped open by a cleaning crew of some sort.
"My father has had five wives, Potter. I have siblings."
Harry twirled his pen around his fingers and looked straight ahead and Pansy didn't speak either because she knew she more or less was the perfect candidate for only child syndromebut if he thought that he obviously hasn't spent enough time with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. She thought maybe that was something he should have known prior to beginning his investigation, but of course he hardly cared before a dead body appeared on her floor.
"What'dya want?" a booming voice tore through the silence and Harry was on his feet in seconds.
"Rosmerta Lee," Harry returned to his feet and held out his hand for the wary bartender. "I'm Harry Potter, DI with Scot-"
"I know who you are, Potter," she walked past his outstretched hand and retreated to her place behind the counter. "Everyone knows 'bout Harry Potter, the boy detective."
Pansy pressed her lips together and looked away from Harry and the middle aged firecracker for a moment to quietly continue her giggles. Finally, someone who didn't bow at Saint Potter's feet, though Pansy could never have guessed that she and Rosmerta Lee would share anythingin common. The tan-faced bartender was wearing a floor length skirt that looked like it had seen better days in the 90s, her make-up was well-done but dramatic, and her wrists were weighed down by large, tacky golden bangles. From her grubby trainers to her greasy, waist-length dark hair, Pansy had never interacted in such a way with sucha character before.
"I'm, ah, and this is Pansy Parkinson my," Harry hesitated for a moment, his mind working wildly as he thought about something Pansy could be besides the victim,though he recovered quickly, "associate. We just have a few questions."
Pansy arched an eyebrow. She was his associate.Fucking Tango and Cash, she thought to herself before mentally rejoining the conversation.
"-don't know anything about no Mundungus Fletcher. He took those packages out of here after a coupla days, I didn't see anything-"
"Rosmerta," he held up his hands, "I'm not here about Fletcher, exactly. He's in our custody but it has nothing to do with the fucking rice."
She stopped viciously wiping down the counter and cocked her head to the side, digging her fist into her hip. "What did that boy do?"
"He chased me down a dark alley at three o'clock in the morning and cut off about thirty centimeters of my hair," Pansy interjected, mimicking Rosmerta's posture with her hand on her hip. The two women locked eyes for a tense moment and neither broke the silence though Pansy felt her heart beat in her chest uncontrollably. Mundungus Fletcher attacked her while she was barefoot in an alley, she repeated to herself as if it was the first time she had ever admitted it. She was assaulted when she was drunk and barefoot and weak and defenseless but she will neverbe in that situation again - she will neverbe caught off guard again.
Her gaze hardened.
Harry looked at Pansy but she continued to stare ahead. Clearing his throat, he placed a hand on her shoulder and continued. "Fletcher is in serious trouble. Parkinson's case is a top priority for the Scotland Yard and we've already lost life in this investigation. Between you and me, the CPS is looking to pin him as an accomplice on that murder, on top of the assault and battery charge. Mundungus could get twenty-five years."
Good,Pansy thought. Fucking good. Put him away for life.
The look on Rosmerta's face told her that the bartender was of the opposite mind. She dropped the washcloth on the ground and placed her head in her hands.
" Idiot,"she groaned. "I toldhim not to listen to that crazy Russian. But 250 pounds, he thought that was somuch-"
"Rosmerta," Harry's voice softened as he interrupted her, "the higher ups are looking for a head to put in the guillotine. Fletcher is the perfect candidate but let's be honest, we both know murderingan old African woman isn't exactly his style. I have a couple other leads that point away from him, but I need your help."
"What are you going to do? Once you people get your claws in one of us, you never let go!"
"That's not true-"
"Yes, it is," Rosmerta rounded the counter again and pointed a harsh finger at Harry's chest. A look of indignation flashed across his face but it was quickly replaced with blankness again. "We made you, Potter, my people madeyou when your parents died. Now look at you - you don't care-"
"I've done everything I can-"
"Just last month," Rosmerta raised her voice to drown Harry out, "Cedric - dear, lovely, Cedric - was a top pick for Leeds Football Club, he was about to make millions, really put his family - his people- on the map, show the world we aren't so bad, the Romani people aren't just criminals and conmen. Not two days later, murdered. What did you and your people do? Nothing. Just another dirty gypsy boy found dead, what does it matter? Did the world some good, you all probably thought. One done, a million more to go."
Her voice ended in a small whimper and Pansy looked away. She didn't know much about the plight of the Romani people in England, just that Draco's father complained about their caravans on the nightly news and she wouldn't mind buying one of their long, bohemian skirts for Coachella next year, and that alone made her feel unequipped to join the conversation.
"Cedric Diggory?" Harry asked after an extended silence. "He's dead?I - I didn't know."
"Lucky you," she spat.
"This area isn't in my district. I didn't know, and I couldn'thave known-"
"Because you haven't been back! You been sent off by the Queen herself and forgot where you came from-"
"Rosmerta, this isn't why I came-"
"I got nothing to help you with, Potter. I don't know nothing about a murder or your little princess here. I come in, I work, I clean and serve drinks, then I leave at night. I wasn't privy to Mundungus' affairs."
The two fell silent with loud exhales. They both looked tired though it seemed for different reasons and Pansy suddenly felt bad for every time she had laughed about Harry being a "gypsy" with the others. He obviously wasn't, though he wasn't nota gypsy either - he was something in between, with either foot in both worlds, unable to completely fit into either.
"You had to have noticed someone you didn't recognize coming in," he finally said, his all policing, no fun exterior returning. "A new face who only stayed for one drink, if even that."
Rosmerta sighed, dropping her face into her hands. "A grubby lookin' fellow started coming in a couple weeks ago, asked about Fletcher, but he's not one of us. Russian, maybe? Honestly, Potter, that's all I got."
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Their drive back to the station was significantly less exciting. Pansy frowned behind her insect-like sunglasses and flower patterned headscarf while Harry drove her convertible at a determined yet unenthusiastic pace, his eyes locked on the road in front of them. The entire trip had been useless, she decided, because not only were they still clueless but Rosmerta had only succeeded in making her feel guiltyand making things moreawkward between her and Potter. It was hard to feel superior when you didn't even know what to say.
"What?"
Her head snapped towards Harry again, who was attempting to put his cellphone on speaker and balance it on the tiny dashboard.
"You gotta come down here, Potter," a garbled voice came from the tiny phone.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Mundungus. He's dead."
Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed that! Again, I'm so sorry for the delay and here's a cute little ole teaser to make up for it:
There was nothing else he would be able to gather from staring at the stiffening body that the forensics department wouldn't have on his desk by Monday. He needed air, he needed to breathe, he needed to think, he needed to get away from the fucking blood
