Author's Notes: Thank you for all your lovely support, my dear readers and reviewers. I am well interested to hear what you think about this chapter, hopefully you'll be surprised. :) Enjoy it!


A Secret Correspondence

Pansy had been lying on the bed in the nursery for days. She didn't know how many, she just knew that the sun rose and set far more times that she was aware of. She never left the room except to walk to the kitchen to nibble at something and crawl to the bathroom to stay in the tub until the water turned to ice and she had to creep out, her skin white and wrinkled like a dried plum.

She hadn't touched anything in the flat. There were still dirty footprints from where the Aurors had checked the house and the sheets on the bed in the main bedroom were still crumpled and soiled with Borgin's bodily fluids. The place was silent and all Pansy could hear was her own breaths and heart, all day long.

She hadn't gone to the reading of the will. She didn't care. Had he left her the shop, the house and the money? She had been sure he had, who else would he have left all his possessions? He had only her. So, the will, opened and validated by a Ministry employee, was sent to the flat a week later. She was right, she had inherited everything and even more. Borgin had kept it a secret to have a vault at Gringotts filled with enough money and precious objects to last her a good few years. She was now wealthy and the money belonged to her and only her.

Strangely, though, she found that she didn't care. She remembered being told by her parents that she was never happy with what she got when she was a child, but somehow she knew that this was different. What she wanted was her son, and for Mr Burke to be released from Azkaban before his time. She couldn't have either, and the despair filled her heart.

She hadn't seen a soul in days. She had heard people knocking on the door of the shop from her windows, but she had ignored them. She had received letters from all over. Some from people present at the trial that she didn't even know, some from people she did know, and some from people she would have rather ignored. She opened a few and threw away the rest. She only kept Millie's, she didn't even know why. She kept Draco's letters too, but she didn't open them.

She had kept the Anti-Apparition wards off in the house, but had left them on in the shop. Any thief could have Apparated in her flat and entered the shop on his two feet. But luckily that hadn't happened yet. She just wanted to feel free to Apparate away from there whenever she wanted, even though she had never done it.

It was only after days of lying and sleeping and taking baths and nibbling at food that was becoming increasingly staler that Pansy finally decided that she had to do something.

She didn't know what was different when she woke up after the umpteenth restless night of sleep. Maybe it was the fact that she had dreamt Borgin, smiling cruelly at her as he pushed into her, and that she had woken up covered in sweat. Maybe it was that slowly she was realising that she was alone and finally the only owner of her own life, and that she wanted things to be different, to be better. But that day, she decided to search every single inch of the flat and destroy everything that had once belonged to him.

Then she would decide what to do with her life.

oOoOo

"Walk out of that door, Draco, and I swear…" Astoria's words trailed away, probably she thought that she was being more intimidating if she left her threat hanging in midair.

Draco stopped in his tracks. She was crazy. "You," he growled slowly, turning to face her, "don't control me." He stepped towards her. "You don't own me." He cocked his head menacingly. "And you certainly don't threaten me."

She darkened, apparently not scared in the least by his tone. "Why do you want to go and see her?" she hissed. "Hasn't she caused enough trouble already?"

Draco shook his head embittered. "You are the one who alerted the Aurors," he barked, "you are the one who caused trouble to us and to her."

"Oh," she hissed, narrowing her eyes, "don't you dare go blaming me!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why not? My father already did."

Astoria blushed furiously. Apparently being reprimanded by Lucius was something she hadn't expected and hadn't liked. Draco, on the other hand, had enjoyed every bit of it, even if it had happened behind closed doors in his father's study.

"Can't you see how close you were to be exposed as an adulterer?" she asked bitterly. "Can you even imagine the shame?" She gritted her teeth. "On your name as well as mine."

Draco darkened and unwillingly admitted that she was right. He had been that close to being on every newspaper with his story of infidelity and a bastard son. He could only thank Mr Burke for his indiscretion, and for taking his place in Azkaban. Draco shook his head bitterly. Astoria was right, but she had been the one to put their family into the danger of exposure, and Draco had to see Pansy.

"I am going to London," he announced firmly, giving her his back to wear his cloak.

"Draco," she hissed, "don't go." Her voice became softer. "Stay… for Scorpius."

Draco's muscles stiffened. What a demon she was that she had to bring his son into that. She knew that Scorpius would have been the only thing that would have made him stay home instead of visiting the other woman. Draco took a sharp breath, he had to be strong. After all, he wasn't going to see her to be unfaithful to his wife. Sex was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment. He wouldn't have turned it down, if the occasion presented itself, but for now all he wanted was to ask her about the baby. He wanted to hear from Pansy what it had been like to even glance at him for the briefest moment.

"Tell him," murmured Draco, his voice low, "that his father will be home soon." He opened the door and walked out in the still chilly June air, heading for the Gate of Manor where the Anti-Apparition ward had no effect.

oOoOo

The flat was a mess. A complete and utter mess. She had decided to throw Borgin's stuff on the floor, and since that had been his house for much longer than it had been Pansy's, she had found quite a lot of things that used to belong to him. Clothes, shoes, books, papers… She went through each and every single object she found, checking if its pockets held any kind of treasure, or if she could find bills or notes amongst his papers. She kept most of his books, for she loved to read, but discarded the ones that talked about the most effective ways of torturing people.

It had taken her hours, and still she was not done. There were still drawers magically sealed around the house and she was sure that they held the most precious secrets. She just wanted to strip his presence from every single inch of that place and wouldn't stop until she did.

She collapsed on the bed, tired but happy. She rolled on her side to face the wall and curled her body, bringing her knees up to her chest. She brought her hands up to hug the pillow under her head and closed her eyes. She would sleep a little bit and then she would search the house again, and finally she would Vanish or burn his belongings and taken great pleasure in doing it.

oOoOo

Draco couldn't believe that a girl would live alone in Knockturn Alley and not even ward her house with jinxes that prevented intruders from coming in. But it was true, because he had just Apparated in Pansy's living room from outside and nothing had prevented him from doing so.

He took a tentative step and tripped on something on the floor. He raised his wand to illuminate the room and found that there wasn't a single inch of floor where something hadn't been discarded there. Draco groaned. Hadn't he been right to fret? There she had it, that was the clear sign of a robbery. He felt the urge to call her name, but what if she didn't reply? What if she was… He shook his head as he pushed that thought at the back of his head. He raised his wand and headed to the bedroom where he had found her the other time.

It was empty, except for a pile of clothes and shoes on the floor. He looked at them closely and saw that there wasn't a single thing that seemed to belong to Pansy. Everything seemed old and smelled terribly, and it looked like they were piled on the floor as a temporary solution. Draco relaxed at the thought that probably there was no thief there, and that was all Pansy's doing.

But where was she?

He walked back into the hallway and pushed a door open. A bathroom, an empty bathroom. The tub was filled with clear water and as Draco dunked a finger to check the temperature, he found it icy cold. He frowned slightly and cast a Warming Charm on it, and a soft smile stretched his lips as he imagined Pansy being thankful for that gesture.

He walked out of the bathroom and found himself in front of another door that he had missed before. It was half open and as he looked inside he could spot some toys tossed on the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he came to the understanding that this was the room that Pansy had destined to their child. He pushed the door open as softly as he could and finally saw her.

Indeed, that room was a nursery. A small, pretty nursery that even though it couldn't have been compared to the size of Scorpius' room, it would still have been his son's room. His other son. The one he had with Pansy. Draco's heart hurt as he thought about him.

On the small bed pushed against the wall, Pansy was sleeping peacefully. She was hugging her pillow with her skinny arms, and the green dress she was wearing had inched up her creamy legs. She was so beautiful, defenceless and inviting that Draco only wanted to lie with her and pull her to his body.

And he did, for they would talk later.

He pocketed his wand and smiled as he stepped towards the bed. He sat on it and slowly lay down behind her. He stilled when she took a sharp breath, but relaxed when she didn't stir. He wanted her to wake up in his arms. He turned to spoon her from behind and let his arm slide on her stomach, under her breasts. He had to resist the urge to cup one in his palm because that moment was not about that.

He leaned his cheek on her ear and pulled her towards him. He took a deep breath and inhaled her scent. Merlin, he had missed her. He tightened his arm around her and felt her shoulder blades poke into his chest and her buttocks come to rest on his groin. He couldn't resist, he turned his head and planted a kiss on her temple. Then another one and another one, until he was showering her with soft, delicate kisses. He was so focused on feeling her warm skin under his lips, that he didn't even notice her hand ghosting on his own on her stomach.

It was only when she breathed, "Draco," that he stopped and smiled against her skin.

"You looked so—"

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and her tone was not what he had expected. She sounded alarmed and Draco couldn't have imagined why.

He raised his head to look down at her, but it was too dark to see her expression. "I thought we needed to talk," he replied unsurely. "I need to talk to you."

She shook her head before pushing it in the pillow. "I don't have anything to say to you," she murmured, her voice broken.

Suddenly, Draco understood that there was something wrong and that this was not what he was expecting when he had decided to come and see her. "Pansy," he called her soothingly, "what's wrong?" He planted another kiss on her temple and felt her shiver under his touch.

Pansy grabbed his hand and pushed his arm off of her. She turned and sat up on the bed, pulling her dress down to cover her legs. She shook her head forcefully and with a flick of her wand and a muttered incantation that turned the lights on in the room.

He looked at her from the bed. She was so pale and so small, he just wanted to touch her. To understand what was wrong and to kiss her discomfort away. He stretched a hand towards her and brushed his fingers on her upper arm.

"Don't," she warned him, without even turning to look at his face.

He stopped and withdrew. "What's wrong?" he asked again.

She shook her head and snorted. "Why, what a stupid question, Draco," she hissed bitterly. "You don't know?"

Draco sat up too, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He turned to look at her, but still she wouldn't look back at him. "I don't," he replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.

She shook her head and when she finally let her eyes linger on him, he saw how coldly she was looking at him and his heart ached.

"Pansy…" he murmured, stretching a hand towards her.

She jerked away from him and pushed on the bed, until she was sitting at the very bottom. She stood up and walked away, without even so much as turning to face him.

"Hey," Draco called her, standing up. He walked to her side and took hold of her wrist, making at her turn to look at him. "What's wrong?" he asked for the third time, impatience and annoyance in his voice.

Pansy flared her nostrils. "You," she replied coldly. She tried to wriggle free of his hand, but he kept his fingers firmly clutched around her wrist.

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. "What did I do?"

Pansy shook her head bitterly. "You would have let me go to Azkaban at your place," she hissed, the hatred in her voice was almost palpable and it invested Draco like a cold wind.

His grip on her loosened slightly and again she tried to wiggle free, but his fingers clutched at her tightly when she moved and he felt her muscles jolt, probably in pain. He didn't release her though. He took a sharp breath. "Now wait a second," he started, and was startled to hear his voice being so shaky, "that is not—"

"What?" she cut him off. "It is not—what?" She shook her head bitterly. "You would have let me get imprisoned at your place."

"No," he assured her hastily, "no, that's not true." He swallowed, his breathing was becoming quicker; he was scared. "I would have never let you go to Azkaban. You were never in—"

"You," she hissed, trying hard to free herself from him, "you said you never came here." Her eyes were shimmering with tears. "You agreed with what Astoria said." She brought a hand to his chest to fist his robes. "She said that you didn't know why someone like me would have written to you and you agreed."

"But that was the plan," he replied quickly, "Mr Bolden would have used the excuse of a third person breaking into the flat to kill Borgin." He smiled weakly. "And it worked…"

Pansy shook her head forcefully. "You don't see it, do you?" she asked bitterly. "Mr Bolden was not working for you."

Draco snorted. "Of course he was, I paid him."

"Blimey, Draco!" she cried. "How can you be so blind?" She grabbed his robes and shook them forcefully. "He was working for Astoria. His story… it would have never worked, not with my letter… Your wife's deposition, that was what they were after and you…" she shook her head, "you just confirmed everything she said." She gritted her teeth. "Just to save your skin."

Draco's lips parted in surprise. He hadn't thought about it that way. Mr Bolden was his employee, he was loyal to him. How could he have done that? How could Draco not have noticed? Was Pansy right? Was he really that blind? He shook his head, but he could understand why she was upset now. "No, Pansy," he murmured, "believe me, I didn't—"

"If it weren't for Mr Burke," she hissed, and finally a tear escaped the corner of her eyes and rolled down her cheek. "If it weren't for him, I…"

Draco looked concerned at her, he brought his free hand to her face to brush away her tear, but she jerked her head away. "Don't touch me," she hissed, wiping away the salt herself, "and let me go!" She tried to squirm away from him, but he still kept her there, afraid that if he let her go she would have disappeared forever.

Draco's free hand went to her back and he pushed her towards him in a tight, almost painful embrace. She leaned her head on his chest, but Draco suspected she did it only because she had no other place where to put it. He could still feel her moving in his grip as if to try to get away.

"Pansy, please, believe me," he breathed against her hair, "I would have never let something happen to you."

She fisted the front of his robe again and he felt the collar digging in his neck as she did. "I don't believe you," she hissed.

He swallowed. "You always say that I don't know how to lie," he reminded her, "it's not a lie."

"Shut up!" she cried. "Just, shut up, Draco. Shut up and go away and never come back."

He held her even tighter. "No," he whispered frantically, "no, Pansy, you don't know what you are saying." He pushed her against himself as if he could have melted their bodies together. "Tell me about my son, Pansy. Tell me about the baby."

He knew he had said something wrong when she stilled completely and he couldn't feel her breathing anymore. He withdrew slightly and she jumped at the opportunity to push him off of her. This time she succeeded as if the anger and bitterness in her gave her strength. She growled at the back of her throat for the effort of getting him off of her, and she stumbled against the wall and fell to the floor when he let her go.

He stepped towards her and knelt to help her up, but she pushed his hand away and stood up herself. She looked at him with pain on her face. "How do you know?" she hissed.

Draco stood up too. "Mr Burke," he murmured, "after the trial I went to—"

"I don't want to talk about it," she cut him off icily.

Draco darkened. "But I want to know," he murmured weakly, "I want to know what he looked like." He smiled softly at her. "Please."

"No!" she cried, "I said I don't want to talk about it!"

Draco took a deep breath. "But Pansy, I do, I need to—"

She brought her hands to her face and crumpled on the floor again. "No!" she screamed. "Shut up! Why do you want to torture me?"

Draco felt his heart ache. "I don't," he whispered anxiously. "I swear I don't."

"Then go away," she cried between sobs. She looked at him through teary eyes. "Go away and never come back," she continued, her voice shaky, "I hate you."

"No, you don't," he whispered frantically. He felt his heart being yanked from his chest at her words.

She nodded, a glint of madness in her eyes. She leaned against the wall to stand up again. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy," she gritted through her teeth, stressing every word, "I don't want to see you anymore." She swallowed a stray tear. "Don't come here," she hissed, "don't write to me. Don't talk to me. Don't even think about me." She looked away. "Forget about me."

Draco's head was spinning. Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had he thought he would hear such words from Pansy. They hurt. They hurt more than the curse that Potter had thrown him in the bathroom in their Sixth Year. They hurt more than every single cruel comment his father had made in the past about him. They hurt like hell and the more time passed the deeper they sunk into his brain and the more pain he felt.

"Don't be ridiculous," he murmured weakly, "you don't mean it…"

"I do," she hissed, "get out of my house. Get out of my life." She looked at him with so much detestation, that Draco had to bring a hand to his chest to see if something had stabbed him for real or not. "Go away or I'll call the Ministry to tell them what happened that night." Her tone was icy cold now.

Draco's mouth hung open in surprise, his eyes were wide and filled with disbelief and pain. She couldn't be serious. He didn't believe her. "You wouldn't," he breathed feebly.

"Try me," she hissed.

Draco swallowed. "Pansy, I—"

"Get out!" she bellowed, cutting him off.

He stilled, looking at her without fully understanding what was happening. She was pushing him away. Forever. That couldn't have been true. That couldn't have happened. He had killed her husband, they had gone through a trial and he had thought that they would have come out of that mess stronger and closer. Instead, he had lost her and somehow he felt like it was all his fault.

"Pansy…" he murmured one last time, but when her cold stare pierced his head from side to side he suffocated the words he wanted to say and looked at her with pain-filled eyes, hoping she would cave in. But she didn't, and the more she looked at him, the more he ached.

He lowered his eyes and sucked in his breath, before focusing on Wiltshire and his Manor and Disapparating from that place.

When he Apparated right inside the Gates, he fell on his hands and knees. Before he could even understand what was happening, snow started to fall all around him and he stared as some flakes landed on his hands and melted away. He looked up and saw no clouds in the sky. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, the snow stopped falling as suddenly as it had started.

Was it really over? Had he really lost her forever? No, that was impossible. She would have come around. He knew she would. She had to. They couldn't survive apart. She would realise that and she would come crawling back to him. He just had to wait.

oOoOo

Pansy was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. Her head was hidden between her arms, her knees were drawn to her chest.

She was crying. She was crying in despair, her small body shaking with sobs from head to toe. She could feel the tears spilling from her eyes and running down her cheeks and onto her neck. They were uncomfortable, but she didn't care. She let her wailings echo on the walls of the flat, she didn't care if some neighbour could hear her.

She had all the right to cry. She had lost the single most important person in her life and she wasn't convinced that it was all Draco's fault. Maybe it was her fault as well. She shook her head, tears spilling on the floor. She might have behaved impulsively, but she had to remember Draco's words at the trial. She let out a louder sob and reminded herself just how little he had showed to care about her back then.

And now he was gone. Forever. And her life would be so much… better? Worse? She didn't know and she didn't want to think about it. She just wanted to wail in peace until she had no more tears to shed. Until sleep took away her pain. Until she had forgotten about him.

Because he was really gone.

Forever.

oOoOo

"Alohomora!" cried Pansy for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time the drawer didn't move. She was growing impatient. She had managed to open every single drawer or cabinet or box that had a lock with that spell, but this drawer – the one in Borgin's bedside table – seemed to be protected with an incantation too powerful to be breached with a simple Unlocking Charm. To Pansy, it only meant that Borgin must have put something important or precious in there, and with that thought her desire to yank it open was driving her almost crazy.

She pointed her wand towards the drawer again. "Diffindo," she said, but her spell only smashed against the piece of furniture without causing it any damage. Pansy let out a growl of irritation, raising her hands above her head. Now she was convinced, there was something important in there, and since the will stated that he had left her everything, that something was hers.

She tried an assortment of other spells without even coming close to scratching the surface of the drawer, until she was left there, panting for the effort and boiling with rage.

Clearly, that was the wrong approach. The object was spell-proofed and she could have spent days casting incantation after incantation against it and still come to nothing. What to do? She didn't want to use a potion, it could have damaged whatever the drawer contained, and she certainly couldn't have used her bare hands and her almost non-existent force. She let out a cry of frustration and sat on the bed.

Could she hate Borgin even more now that he was dead? The answer was yes, because she just couldn't believe that he would torture her even from the hereafter. She shook her head. She should have expected that. She just wanted to destroy every single thing that had once belonged to him, if it weren't for the fact that now it all belonged to her. All of them, even the most dangerous and devious artefacts that he had in the shop downstairs.

Pansy's head snapped up. Of course! She had a room filled with artefacts. Of course, there would have to be something that would come handy at that very moment. She had catalogued most of the recent ones herself, she just had to think hard at what object might have worked.

She stood up and walked briskly towards the door, climbing down the stairs three steps at a time. She jumped the last two steps and landed right next to the empty mice cage. She had freed them in Knockturn Alley, and they had looked at her with their beady eyes for the briefest of moments, as if to thank her, and then disappeared from her sight.

She walked towards the cabinet where Borgin used to keep the notebooks with his notes on the artefacts, and opened it. She took one out, choosing it randomly from a pile.

Mummy's hand. Cursed Feather. Hangman's Rope. Cursed Necklace. Mask of the Devil. Bones of Destiny. Cursed Coins

She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach as she stopped and looked at the description of the coins. Under the notes on the mouse, there was a paragraph on how the coins worked on a person. She felt nauseated by the fact that he had used her as an experiment, not only torturing her but testing the artefact on her. She closed the book and threw it away.

She darkened and picked another one. And then another one and another one, until a small pile of notebooks were lying on the floor. There wasn't much that would have come handy to her in there, but she knew that she couldn't stop. She took another notebook.

Bohemian Cards. Glass Eye. Spiked Wand. Dissolving Crayons. Book of Dark Spells. Soul Sucking Camera.

She stopped and went back. Dissolving Crayons. What where those things? She looked at the description that was given of the artefact. Harmless. The crayons dissolve any surface that they come into contact with, even when said surface has been protected by a spell. Particularly useful in case of a robbery.

That sounded just right. She stood up and went to the front of the shop. The place was still a mess from that night, when she had gathered as many artefacts as she could to use on Borgin. She never got the chance to, though.

She raised her wand. "Accio Dissolving Crayons," she said out loud.

A colourful box flew into her hand with a rattling noise. She looked at it. It looked like a normal box of crayons, with a sun and a big flower on the top. They looked harmless, he had been right, but she had come to know that nothing was what it seemed in that place. She picked up a pair of gloves from the counter and decided that if the crayons didn't work, she would set the bedside table on fire. She bit her bottom lip. No, she wouldn't. She needed to know what he was hiding.

Pansy went back upstairs and into the bedroom. She wore the gloves, and opened the lid of the box. The crayons looked absolutely ordinary to her. She took the blue one and stared closely at it. Could something so common be exactly what she needed?

She fell on her knees in front of the bedside table and drew a line on the drawer, moving back a little to see how it reacted with the surface of the piece of furniture. At first, nothing happened and Pansy just sighed in annoyance. Then, slowly, she saw the line that she had drawn cut into the wood. It burned the material until there was no more blue to be seen, and then stopped.

Pansy's lips stretched into a smile. It was working! She brought the crayon to the drawer again and started to draw a circle. She looked at it as it created a crack in the wood, burning the material. She continued and continued to draw over the same line until the crayon had cut through the whole width of the drawer. Finally, after almost half an hour and a slight pain in her wrist, the circle fell to the floor and Pansy managed to put her tiny hand into the opening.

She was right. There was a pile of envelopes there, probably bills or cheques or important documents that held secrets and treasures. She drew them out and smiled. Finally! The last secret that Borgin had kept from her. She hoped it was going to be money, and a lot of that.

She sat on the bed and looked at them, frowning slightly. They were letters addressed to Borgin and, Pansy was sure, she had already seen that writing. She couldn't remember where, but she had. It was vaguely familiar. How could it be? Was that a secret correspondence? She skimmed through the envelopes and saw that the writing on the first few ones was different from the later ones. And, from their state, the letters seemed to be in chronological order.

She wondered what they contained. Who and why would send so many letters to Borgin? The latest ones were quite recent too. She was confused. She shook her head, since she had the letters right in her hands, she just had to open them to see what secrets he kept from her.

She opened the first one and suddenly she understood why she had already seen that writing.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I hope your affairs are going well. I'm sure you have a lot of work nowadays, especially now following the fall of Lord Voldemort when so many wizards and witches need to find a trusted person to whom they can discreetly sell some items that might be cause of embarrassment with the Ministry. I know my husband has already planned a visit to your shop, for he considers you the best in the business. I dearly hope that you are not exhausting yourself with work though, because I would be supremely unhappy to hear that. And it is exactly with that thought in mind that I have decided to write to you.

I'm sure a man such as yourself can cope with the amount of work that he will have to face in the upcoming months. You are so well-organised, I'm positive a new wave of clients will only bring you delight. In case, though, you find yourself in need of a helping hand, I feel confident to suggest to you to use the help of a certain Miss Parkinson. She is a fresh-out-of-Hogwarts, intelligent witch with a keen eye for detail and a sharp mind. She has never worked before, but she is quick to learn and willing to work hard. She was top of her class at School and had been made Prefect in her Fifth Year. Professor Snape was very fond of her and always praised her Potions skills. She is extremely good at interpersonal relationships and would surely be a valuable addition to your shop. The fact that she is reasonably pretty should also be a perk, as I'm sure you understand how important one's image is.

Furthermore, I would like to add that she is a family friend, and we would be incredibly displeased if you wouldn't at least give her a chance to intern in your shop.

I do hope to hear from you soon – the question is quite urgent indeed.

Best wishes,

Narcissa Malfoy

The fact that Narcissa had written a letter like that to Borgin didn't upset Pansy in the least. Narcissa had never kept it secret that she was the one who had arranged her interview with Borgin, and even though she had never seen that letter before, she wasn't surprised. Narcissa had, of course, praised her beyond recognition, but Pansy knew that it was only to let her land that job and make her stay away from the Manor and from Draco.

There was something that upset Pansy though, and that was why Borgin would keep a letter like that, and especially why he would keep it in a place like that. As if it were some kind of treasure.

She folded the letter and put it away before picking up a second one. Similar envelope, same writing.

Dear Mr Borgin,

My husband and I would like to thank you for giving dear Miss Parkinson the opportunity to apply for a job at your shop. She will be at Borgin and Burkes tomorrow morning as you requested. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with her services.

Best wishes,

Narcissa Malfoy

Pansy folded it back and picked the third one.

Dear Mr Borgin,

We are glad you found Miss Parkinson's job interview satisfying. We are confident that she will start at the shop as soon as possible. I'm sure you won't regret employing her.

Best wishes,

Narcissa Malfoy

Pansy shook her head bitterly. She was sure that Borgin must have regretted her employment now. She picked another letter and noticed that the writing was different. It wasn't Narcissa's, even though it looked equally graceful, it was slightly less secure. She started reading.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I hope you don't find it inappropriate if I reply to your letter, instead of Mrs Malfoy. She herself had deemed me more suitable to answer your doubts about Miss Parkinson.

But I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself. How rude, indeed! My name is Astoria Greengrass, the youngest daughter of Mr and Mrs Hyperion Greengrass and soon to be married to Master Draco Malfoy.

Pansy stopped reading, her eyes wide. Why would Astoria write to Borgin? To answer what doubts about her? What was that? Why did that devil of a woman write to her husband? She glanced at the envelopes and saw that there were a lot of them. Too many. Had they had a secret correspondence? What would they talk about? About her? Why? Astoria was considered suitable to answer Borgin's doubts about her? What doubts? She had to keep reading because curiosity was killing her.

Mrs Malfoy is certainly a gracious host as I am staying at Malfoy Manor, and knowing how much I care for Miss Parkinson and how much I would like to help her, Mrs Malfoy told me about your letter and suggested that I write to let you know that I might have a solution to your problem. I know perfectly well that Miss Parkinson has only just begun at the shop and I'm glad you already find her a great help. But you are right, you can't possibly pay her more than what you suggested. It sounds like a fair and more than generous amount of money for a first-time-worker salary. About Miss Parkinson's concerns that she won't be able to find an accommodation, you won't have to worry. Let me take care of that, I know just the right place for her and I'm sure she will stop complaining about the money.

Yours sincerely,

Astoria Greengrass

Pansy's hands were crumbling the sides of the letter, and she wasn't even aware of that. That little tart made Pansy boil with rage. More than generous amount of money, how could she say something like that? She who had never had to work a day in her life, who lived in a Manor in beautiful Wiltshire, who was richer than what most people in Britain would ever be. Pansy was sure Astoria did laugh at her when Borgin had written to let them know that she was complaining about her salary. She was sure she mocked her as she sat with her sister and her future mother-in-law. She tried to tell herself that she didn't care, but she knew she was lying. She just wanted to use the coins on Astoria at that moment.

She folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She picked another one and started to read it.

Dear Mr Borgin,

See? There was no reason for you to fret. You managed to keep Miss Parkinson without having to overpay her. I'm afraid we all know that our dear girl can be a little too much covetous for her own good, but Mr and Mrs Malfoy agree with me when I say that she is absolutely worth every single penny.

Please, do write again if you have any more concerns about Miss Parkinson.

Yours sincerely,

Astoria Greengrass

Pansy gritted her teeth. Well, wasn't Astoria a lovely person? Helping Borgin with his problems and creating some more for her. She remembered those first years at the shop, with not enough money to get through the month, in her small flat in Diagon Alley.

What had Astoria written? That she had taken care of her accommodation problem? Pansy had been contacted by Miss Strasears a week after she had arrived in London. Had that been arranged by Astoria? Was she the reason why she hadn't managed to get a raise? Because she had found that incredibly cheap place where to live? How very kind of her indeed…

The following few letters were particularly uninteresting. Apparently, Borgin wrote to Astoria to tell her his doubts, problems and achievements, and she usually wrote back to him with set phrases such as 'everything will be better' or 'I'm glad business is going so well' or also 'yes, the wedding was a success, wasn't it?'. Sometimes Pansy was not even mentioned in Astoria's letters and she wondered how annoyed the girl must have been when Borgin indulged in talking about himself instead of giving her news of her.

Then, finally, she found a letter, one that might have been written sometime after Draco and Astoria's wedding, and the content made her blood freeze.

Dear Mr Borgin,

As you said, yes, we are now trying hard to give the Malfoy household an heir. I'm confident you understand how important that is, to have someone to carry out your name and inherit the treasures that one worked hard to obtain. I'm sure it will not be long before I become pregnant with a son – Malfoys always have male heirs.

Concerning what Mr Nott had said to you at my wedding, I'm sure he didn't mean to sound disrespectful. We both know that you and Miss Parkinson are not equals and I'm confident that he wasn't suggesting that you have any kind of relationship – apart from a business one – with her. That said, Mr Borgin, you have to consider the fact that she is a pretty, young lady and that she has a fertile womb – even though, you are right, she is a little too small to seem able to bear children, but I'm sure that you can feed her until she becomes a strong and willing broodmare.

But I won't push the subject any further.

Yours sincerely,

Astoria Malfoy

Pansy was glowering at her words. A broodmare? Is that what Astoria had called her? How dared she? And something told Pansy that the little devil would have pushed the subject much further than that if she hadn't been a lady.

There were many other letters that followed that one, and many occasional references to Pansy and the fact that she would have been suitable for bearing Borgin's children had been made. Borgin might have been too daft to notice, but Pansy was sure that Astoria was a devil and she had constructed a little snare for them both. Anything to keep Pansy away from Draco.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I think it's a wonderful idea! You should definitely ask Miss Parkinson to marry you! That would come to the advantage of you both. First, you wouldn't have to pay her anymore, and I'm sure that having her in the house won't be too much of an expense for you. She doesn't eat much and I'm sure she has gotten used to live on the bare necessities. You did well to keep her on a minimal salary for all these years, you trained her in the art of saving money without even noticing. Secondly, she will be ever so grateful to you, for you are giving her more than she has ever imagined by marrying an important and respected man such as yourself. You should ask her straightaway. I'm sure she will be thrilled.

Yours sincerely,

Astoria Malfoy

PS—How curious indeed that Miss Parkinson asks to go meeting Mr Malfoy or his clients every Wednesday afternoon. But I have no doubt that their relationship is strictly business-related.

She tossed the letter on the bed and picked another one.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I feel so sorry for the way that little, ungrateful woman treated you. I'm sure you don't deserve to be refused, especially by someone like her, who has no status or money, or it's not even a pureblood such as yourself or me. My parents too miss the days when all that counted was the purity of the blood that ran in our veins. Was Miss Parkinson born fifty years ago, she would have never dared to refuse your respectable proposal.

Evidently, with a secure accommodation and the salary you give her, she isn't too keen to marry and give up her freedom.

I think I can help with that, though. I am sure I can persuade her landlady that she is no more a suitable tenant. She is already quite behind with her rent, I'm sure I will not find it difficult to convince her to terminate their contract.

Yours sincerely,

Astoria Malfoy

Pansy gritted her teeth. She had no words to describe Astoria. Even the foulest language would have not done her justice. She was a snake, a devil incarnate and Pansy felt like she hated her much more than she hated Borgin right at that moment. Yes, Borgin was evil and devious, but she was starting to believe that he had been a puppet in the hands of Draco's wife.

And Miss Strasears? She had thought so high of her, she was so fond of that woman whom she had never even seen, just because she had always been patient with her and her late payments. Until the moment she had kicked her into the street. She had hated her then. If Pansy hadn't been kicked out, maybe she wouldn't have accepted to marry Borgin. She shook her head, of course she wouldn't have! Astoria was so good at controlling people, even the people that she…

Pansy raised her eyes to stare in front of her. The night before her wedding, Lucius had said something. What had he said? Something about word games… Yes! "It's our dear Astoria, she is so very interested in word games. She amuses us awfully."

Pansy took a sharp breath. She raised her wand and, biting hard on her bottom lip, she murmured, "Flagrate." She wrote the name of her landlady of when she still lived in Diagon Alley up in the air: GEORGINA STRASEARS. The letters glowed red in front of her. She looked darkly at them before flicking her wand. The letters moved around as if they were trying to rearrange themselves in a different way. They did, and Pansy felt her stomach churning as she looked at the name that they were spelling now: they read ASTORIA GREENGRASS in a crimson colour that looked almost menacing to her now.

She flicked her wand again and they fell on the floor, dissolving like sugar in a cup of tea. She felt sick, she felt stupid. Had Lucius tried to tell her something? Did he even know? Why had she been so slow? What kind of name was 'Strasears' anyway? She gritted her teeth. And what if she had known back then? Would that have changed something? She shook her head. Nothing. Not a damn thing. She had been at the mercy of Astoria ever since she arrived in London.

Pansy had screwed Astoria's husband and as a payback Astoria had screwed Pansy. And she had done it so well, Pansy felt that if someone had kept scores of their skirmish they would have surely found Astoria to be the winner.

She picked another letter.

Dear Mr Borgin,

You are definitely too gentle with that girl. Staying in your shop at night because she doesn't have a place to stay… You surely don't run a charity as you rightfully pointed out. And I can't believe that she still refuses you! She is probably expecting you to take care of her for free because you are her only friend. I think you ought to let her get a taste of what it means to have nobody to take care of her. I'm sure she'll come around after she has to sleep in the streets.

Kick her out. She will thank you one day.

Best wishes,

Astoria Malfoy

Pansy found out that her hands were trembling with rage as she tried to take out the next letter from the envelope.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I'm so happy to hear such good news! And I can reply right now at your invitation and tell you that Mr Malfoy and I will surely attend your wedding! I wouldn't miss the sheer joy on yours and Miss Parkinson's face for anything in the world!

I'm glad my suggestion to let Miss Parkinson taste life in the street came useful to you. I'm sure she will be an obedient wife, and if from time to time she'll forget where her place is, you will surely know how to remind her. Pain and fear are much more effective than love and gentleness when it's up to correct one's behaviour.

I'm also glad you are keeping your bride virginal until the night of your wedding. But, alas! I feel obliged to let you know that that practice is not very common anymore, especially amongst witches and wizards whose blood is soiled. That said, I'm sure Miss Parkinson will be as pure as the snow, and if she is not I'm confident you'll find the right way to punish her for her licentiousness.

Best wishes,

Astoria Malfoy

Pansy swallowed. She had understated the danger she had dodged by being intact the night of her wedding. She felt grateful that Lucius had given her the potion and lucky that she hadn't let Draco take her before her wedding. Had Lucius known that too? How much exactly did he know? She took a deep breath. It didn't matter, for she was not important to him. She had been when she was younger, and he had used her tiny teenage body for his pleasure, but now… She was sure he wouldn't have wasted time on her and would have easily sacrificed her if he had to.

She continued.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I have to say that I'm surprised but extremely glad that Mrs Borgin was pure. Now all you have to do is to produce an heir to your fortune. I am sure she'll get pregnant in no time. You just keep trying every night.

I also have something to announce to you. I am pregnant myself! I think it was your wedding that finally blessed our union, for it happened the night that you and Mrs Borgin tied the knot. I am confident it'll be a son, but I haven't been visited by a Healer yet. I will let you know because I'm sure you want me to keep you informed.

Best wishes,

Astoria Malfoy

The following letters talked about Astoria's pregnancy rather than Borgin and Pansy. A string of boring details about the baby and the mother in tow. She hoped that Borgin had fallen asleep reading them.

Then, another letter caught Pansy's attention. It seemed to have been sent before the coin incident.

Dear Mr Borgin,

You shouldn't think those negative thoughts. I'm sure there is nothing wrong with you. If Mr Burke says that you are unable to have children that doesn't mean it's true. He is nowhere close to being a Healer, he is only an apothecary. He surely can't be considered a reliable source of information.

Keep trying. I'm sure Miss Parkinson will be thankful.

Astoria Malfoy

Weirdly, in the same envelope there was another letter in a different writing.

Dear Mr Borgin,

I hope you don't mind if Astoria showed me the last letter you sent her, but she was worried for you and I would never forgive myself if I had some information that might help you and didn't share it.

This might be absolutely nonsense, naturally, because I'm sure that Mrs Borgin would never be as stupid as to do what I'm about to suggest, but there's no harm trying, right?

Mrs Borgin used to take an anti-contraceptive potion when she came to visit Malfoy Manor. I am certain of that because I was the one procuring it for her. I have no idea why she would she need it, since you found her still intact on your wedding night, but nonetheless she did take it. Naturally, considering how much you want a child, she surely won't be as inconsiderate as to keep taking it at this time, but you never know, right? She might feel like she is not ready to have children, or might just be an act of defiance from her part. Either way, you should check amongst her personal belongings for a small, pear-shaped phial with a thick red liquid inside. There might be more than one, she always used to stock them up when she was at the Manor. She has to take a phial every first of the month for it to make it effective. You will surely find her in need of taking a new phial on the night of the first of the upcoming month.

If she is really on the potion, her disobedience is beyond control and you should give her a lesson that she won't forget.

Best wishes,

Narcissa Malfoy

Pansy closed her eyes. Everything was making sense now. How he had known about the potion, about the time and day when she would take it. Of course, he would have never found out by himself, he was not as intelligent as he thought he was. Narcissa had told him. Pansy could very well believe it, but still, it burnt to know that she would even suggest to him that he punish her. And in a way that she wouldn't forget. She automatically brought her hand to her side, where the scar lay under her robes. She would have never forgotten, of that she was sure.

Suddenly, she wondered if being with Draco had been worth all of that. For the first time, she was glad that she had told him that she didn't want to see him anymore. There was no more Borgin to hurt her now, but still… who would have known what kind of tortures those witches would have come up with? She hated them so much, so much she would have loved to push a cursed coin into their stomachs. Or on the smooth skin of their faces.

The letters that followed were full of compliments for the way Mr Borgin had handled the situation. More than once, Astoria asked for details on the way the coins had burned Pansy's skin, the shape, the pain, the sound of her screams. Astoria was glad that it had been so effective to reduce her to almost complete silence and make her much more subdued. Then, every now and again she wrote about her pregnancy, then her delivery and her son. Finally, she congratulated for Pansy's pregnancy.

She read another letter.

Dear Mr Borgin,

Now that I have little Scorpius, I'm sure you'll understand that my time has become sparer. But nonetheless, I want you to know that I will never stop writing to you when you ask for my advice or for a solution to yet another problem that your wife is causing you.

I have to admit that I am surprised just as much as you are that Mrs Borgin would continue to find excuses to go out in the afternoon. Especially on Wednesday afternoon since, if I remember correctly, wasn't that the day she used to meet my husband in Diagon Alley for the job he had assigned her? I'm afraid to admit that my husband goes to London from time to time on Wednesday. I'm sure that is totally unrelated though.

Yet, one is never too careful. I know I said that you are surely healthy and able to produce an heir, and I would never state the contrary, but you never know what kind of vipers one has in one's bosom. I don't know if you understand what I mean, Mr Borgin, but Mrs Borgin might have not been as true a wife as we have always thought her to be.

You should make sure that the child that she has in her womb is really your child. I hate the very thought of it, but I'm afraid my husband has always had a soft spot for Mrs Borgin, and blond hair and fair skin are trademarks of the Malfoy household.

If you find the child to have such traits – or any other you don't recognise, for I know that Mr Zabini also seemed to be friendly with your wife – I'm sure you understand that you'll be forced to take care of the situation. I'm sure Mr Malfoy – or any other person involved – would thank you for your actions. You just have to make sure not to raise someone else's child as your own. You need an heir that will carry on your name, not an impostor.

I'm confident you'll know how to take care of that.

Don't let the mother hold the baby, for it will only be worse for both of you.

Best wishes,

Astoria Malfoy

Pansy slid from the bed to her knees on the floor. She brushed her hair away from her face as she felt her stomach tighten and a retch of vomit rise to her mouth. She leaned on her hands and pushed her head forward. She hadn't had much to eat in the past days, and her vomit tasted more like bile than anything else. She threw up until her stomach contracted around nothing.

She didn't move for a long time, her body shaken by slight tremors as she stayed on all fours. The pungent smell of her own sickness made her even sicker, and all she wanted was to Scour it clean with a flick of her wand. She couldn't move though. She felt empty and stupid.

Would Borgin have kept the child if Astoria hadn't told him all these things? Would he not have killed him? How could Astoria write those things? Pansy's child was Draco's, he was Scorpius' half-brother. Astoria knew and she wanted him dead. She wanted the child of the other woman reduced to nothing. She was a mother herself and yet, she couldn't bear to let Pansy be a mother. Not to Draco's son.

Pansy pushed herself up and stretched her hand behind her back to seize her wand from the bed. She pointed it towards the puddle of vomit in front of her. "Scourgify," she murmured, her voice hoarse, her throat in pain.

She didn't want to read any other letter now. She just felt completely empty, as if all of the things that had happened to her could have been avoided if this secret correspondence that she discovered had never taken place. Astoria was a puppeteer and she enjoyed to manoeuvre people to do what she wanted. Pansy had never suspected that she wasn't cruel, but killing an innocent child… That went well beyond Pansy's expectations.

Now she wished that Draco had killed Astoria rather than Borgin.

She shook her head. No, she didn't wish that Astoria was dead, she wished for her to be alive and at her mercy to do as she pleased. Pansy had a whole shop full of dark artefacts that she would have put to use. She would have made her scream until she lost her mind.

Absentmindedly, she took another letter. There were only few left since Borgin died shortly after the delivery. In all of them she congratulated him for the way he handled the situation.

She approved every single thing. The murder of the baby, her imprisonment, the fact that he had kept her wand away from her. She agreed that he had to keep her alive and she urged him to try to have another baby. She wanted him to use the Cursed Coins again and wanted him to describe Pansy's reaction another time when that happened.

In her last letter she told him that he should have started trying to impregnate her again if he thought that she was ready. She suggested to him he took her with force and didn't show any gentleness, if he wanted her to learn.

Then nothing else. The letters stopped and, for a long moment, so did Pansy's heart. She would have cried, had she not dried her eyes out already in the past months. She tossed the last letter on the bed next to the others and pointed her wand at them. She would have burned them until there was nothing left of those horrible words that a monster of a woman had found the courage to write on parchment. She would have destroyed them forever.

She raised her wand, but stopped suddenly. No, no, she wouldn't. She would have never been able to get her hands on Astoria, but there was someone else who could have. She knew she had told him not to write to her or visit her or think about her, but she had to send him the letters. She had to let him know what kind of devil he had married.

Yes, Pansy would send the letters to Draco. That would be her revenge. She would show him how his own wife had killed his son. She would hurt her. She would hurt them both.

oOoOo

Draco was beyond himself when he received a package from Pansy. He knew she hadn't been serious when she told him to forget her. He knew she couldn't resist him.

And there he had proof of it. She hadn't sent him a letter, but a whole parcel, addressed to him and him only, to open in his study. He couldn't wait. He sat at his desk and hastily started to tear the paper from the package. A small note flew out and landed on the table. He picked it up and looked at it. He frowned at her words, then he looked at the content of the parcel and frowned even deeper.

A stack of envelopes.

What was he supposed to do with them? He didn't know, but he would find out soon, for he took the one on the top and opened it and started to read it, surprised to see his mother's writing in front of his eyes.

oOoOo

Draco pushed Astoria against the wall of their bedroom, one of his strong hands clutching strongly at her long neck as he made her stand on tiptoes. His other hand on the wall next to her face.

She brought her own hands to his as she tried to loosen his iron grip around her throat.

"I only have to squeeze to kill you," he growled.

She took a sharp gulp of air. "I only have to scream for Scorpius to hear it," she panted.

Draco gritted his teeth and let her throat go. She slumped on the floor, coughing and panting sharply. He grabbed her soft and beautiful curls and brought her up to her feet, tilting her head until she was looking up at him and her flushed throat was exposed to him.

"Why?" he growled, pulling at her hair.

She bit her bottom lip to stifle a whimper and looked up at him with wide eyes. "Because she took something of mine," she replied and her voice managed to be like ice despite her situation of disadvantage, "and I wanted to take something of hers."

Draco punched the wall near her head and she closed her eyes at the sudden movement. "Except, I'm not yours, Astoria," he barked.

When she opened her eyes, he saw that they were full of hatred. "You are," she hissed, "by law."

He yanked at her hair until she had to bring her hands to her scalp to try to push him away. "You killed my son," he hissed back.

She let out a soft cry as some hair was pulled from her head. "Your son is sleeping in his bedroom," she spat, "that was your bastard."

Draco let her go and stepped back, his eyes fixed on the woman he had married. He shook his head forcefully. "Pansy is right," he hissed, "you are the devil."

Astoria's hands went to her hair to fluff up her curls and get the shed locks off of her. Her glare could have frozen a cup of water. She looked at Draco for a long moment then she cracked a cruel smile. "She would know, wouldn't she?" she asked, her voice icy. "After all, she is no better than I am, she is a murderer."

Draco flared his nostrils and took a step towards her. "She is not a murderer," he snapped.

Astoria didn't seem intimidated by him. "Even if the Wizengamot found her innocent, that doesn't change the fact that she killed Mr Borgin," she hissed coldly.

Draco cocked his head and smirked cruelly. He closed the distance between the two of them and grabbed her upper arms until he could feel her muscles shift under his digits. "Oh, but she didn't kill him," he growled softly, "I did."

Astoria's eyes widened as she swallowed. "You are lying," she blurted out, sudden panic in her voice at the revelation. "Pansy did it… she did…"

Draco brought one hand to brush away a curl from her face. "What, Astoria?" he asked softly. "Are you scared? Do you not think of me as able to kill a man?" He looked into her eyes and was pleased to see them filling with fear. "Do you not think that I would be able to kill you?"

She tried to wiggle away from his hands, but he kept her in place. "Then why don't you?" she asked, her voice shaky.

He let her go, looked away and stepped back. "Don't tempt me," he hissed.

She swallowed loudly. "Draco…"

"If I don't kill you it's only because of our son," he growled. He looked back at her. "But don't think, even for the briefest moment, that I wouldn't delight in seeing your little body twitching under an Unforgivable Curse." His eyes pierced through hers. "Just like Borgin did to Pansy."

Astoria lowered her eyes. Draco was excited to see her discomfort. "Then you would be just like him," she murmured softly.

Draco clenched his jaw. "I never said I wasn't." And as Astoria looked at him with big, scared eyes, he left the room that he didn't want to share with her anymore.