Four hours later, Ron heard another set of steps coming towards his door. The steps were determined, and had a stubbornness to them when the heel of one of the shoes (that he thought could be high heeled shoes for women) hit the stone floor beneath it. Ron tried to cool himself. Whatever happened he needed to seem calm and confident in the eyes of the prison supervisor. He was suppose to bargain, and to give the impression of being a reliable, serious business man, he had to put his act together.
That was his last undisturbed thought, because in the next moment, his cell door opened and brought a bright light in to his cell. His eyes fought to adjust to the light, and a moment later he raised his hand over his brow, and lifted his face to see the prison supervisor for the first time. What he didn't expect, was to see a familiar face in front of him. Grown from a teenager to an adult, but still recognisable, the once mean Slytherin bully Pansy Parkinson stood before him, with her hands on her hips and an indifferent expression on her face.
"Hello, Weasley. You remember me, I can see." she said, and smiled while she walked in and closed the door behind her. A hairpin hold her hair together, and she held a large leather bag in her left hand, her wand in her right.
Ron was still astonished that Pansy Parkinson, of all people, worked at Malfoy's prison, and was here to talk to him about the future of his hostage family. Not that he didn't think she was capable, in fact, he thought that running an illegal prison and kidnapping children was right down her street. But he hadn't seen this person since he was, what, eighteen, maybe twenty, and here she was. A ghost of the past.
She whipped her wand in the same manner as Malfoy, and a table and two chairs appeared. She pointed her wand towards Ron, and before he ducked for her spell, he could feel his wrists become lighter, and the grip around his ankles less tighter. His chains were gone.
Ron looked up at Parkinson, half suspicious, half amazed that she was freeing him. She raised her eye brow.
"Surprised?" she asked him, and continued, with a platitude in her voice.
"I have a wand with me that I can use to whatever purpose I wish. You don't. And if we're going to do business we need to act as equals. You are in fact a pureblood. In spite of your questionable relations with other kinds."
Her eyes gloomed of judgement for a few seconds, before it lightened up in a smile.
"Sit down please," she said, gesturing towards the chair opposite her.
Ron rose up, slowly, and pulled out the chair. He sat down, watching Parkinson smiling. She leaned backwards, towards the back of her chair and added, confidently,
"so we can talk about the important information you don't have, about the Deathly Hallows."
She knew. She knew he'd lied when he said he had more information about the Hallows. He, Hermione and Harry never held anything back from the public. They'd told every newspaper what had happened, attended more seminars than he could count, and had excluded no details, as to make themselves less interesting to the press later. He'd taken a chance, and she'd seen right through him. Ron felt a rush of panic, but kept his poker face on and tried to answer as collected as possible.
"What do you mean 'don't have'? You're no longer interested in…?" he was interrupted by Parkinson, who sat up and pointed her wand at him with a prompt movement.
"Cut the crap, Weasley. You don't know anything else than the rest of us, your memory was checked almost a year ago. I know what's been going on, I can read you like an open book." she said, not a hint of a smile on her face anymore.
"You were so stupid, that you attempted to bluff the entire Death Eater's movement and the ministry with false information, so that we would give you your little princess back. You were so gullible," she barked harshly, leaning towards him with her wand still pointed at him,
"that you thought you could just make up a story about the Hallows being hidden somewhere, and we wouldn't double check it. But the stupidest thing you did, was trying to bluff me. 'Cause you would never pull that off."
Ron could clearly see that she was satisfied with herself, she sat back, her back and neck straight.
"If that's so, why did you come here?" Ron asked.
She looked him in the eye, with a wilderness in her stare that lasted for about half a second. Ron expected her to dislike his direct questions. But she'd just said that they were there as equals, so to Ron's amusement, she was forced by her own words to answer him calmly and polite.
"Excellent question," she said at last, as she supported her elbows on the table.
"I came here, Ron, because I, in spite of my judgement towards you for trying to waste my time, understand your despair."
She looked him in the eye again, now trying to look sympathetic.
"I understand your regret for not being a good enough husband for your wife, clever and beautiful as she is, and for not being a good enough father for your daughter."
Ron interrupted her, "You don't know anything about my regrets."
He tried not to raise his voice, and first and foremost tried not to listen to her. She obviously tried to manipulate him, get into his head, push him over the edge. But even though he saw right through her, something in him refused not to listen. A small part of him, let her words sink in, and let her voice embalm his ears. That was the part of him that agreed with her. The one that drove him to do this. To sit in a meeting with this woman, without anything to offer aside from prayers and promises. She knew that as well. He shouldn't be surprised. Reluctant as he was to admit it, Pansy Parkinson had been stunningly intelligent. She became a Prefect alongside Malfoy in her school years. Her OWLs had been extraordinary, according to rumours. He remembered thinking that Hermione was the only girl in school that beat her. And she beat her good.
Parkinson didn't approve of his interruption. She watched him closely for what felt like several minutes, before she said.
"I wouldn't feel ashamed if I were you, Ron. Even though the role of a failure is hard to carry, you're not alone."
Ron looked down. For some silly reason he couldn't help but fall for it.
Parkinson clearly got what she wanted. She rose, whipped her wand so her own chair and the table disappeared, and made Ron shook from the tightening around his ancles again.
"I brought these, by the way, you can have them if you like. Don't worry, they're not poisonous, none of them are opened."
She opened the large leather bag, and picked up a large bottle of firewhiskey. She sat it by his chair, together with five or six more.
"That will last through the week, I'd think." she said, watching them as she still considered to give him more.
"Just to ease the sorrow."
Ron didn't answer, but watched her as she left the room (again, blinded by the light from the hallway) and looked after her a few moments after she'd closed the door. He then looked down at the bottles for a while. To ease the sorrow… He felt sorrow. She was right about some of the things she said, whatever purpose it was that led her to say it. He gently picked one up to hold it in his hand. He hadn't had a drink for ages. And it was sealed and unopened as she promised. Maybe he could open it just to smell the scent… It was crazy. Was he going to get drunk now, to make things worse? No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. He put his nose closer to the bottle to smell it again. He could just take a sip, that would be all, just a sip. Parkinson's voice was still whispering into his ear.
"I understand your regret for not being a good enough husband for your wife, clever and beautiful as she is, and for not being a good enough father for your daughter."
If he took a sip of this it might go away.