Pansy/Sam

Rating: T

Summary : Pansy only wants the free doughnuts and coffee. Sam only wants to help.

Pansy had wandered into this place because it boasted free coffee and doughnuts. It had something to do with veterans of war, so she supposed she qualified on some level. Even if she was neither a soldier, nor a muggle, or even an American for that matter, she had been part of a war, no matter how reluctantly, and she was still reaping the consequences of being on the wrong side, cast out of her school, her home, the country that had seen her born. She was nothing now. A vagabond in a foreign country with a wand she couldn't use unless she wanted to get the local authorities on her back, and they were not kind to people like her.

So yeah, free coffee and food sounded like a good enough reason to mingle with the muggles. She knew she wasn't very good at blending in. A few years of living on the fringes of the muggle world did not make up for a whole pampered childhood sheltered in the pureblood society of the wizarding world. As a consequence, her answers to their questions were always a bit off, drawing raised eyebrows and even more questions until she felt compelled to flee. She had heard muggles didn't burn witches at the stake anymore, but she wouldn't bet her life on it.

Pansy sat at the very far corner of the room, nearest the table she coveted. The smell was enough to make her dizzy, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. She had to wait for all these people to speak before she could reap the promised rewards apparently. They seemed to be a mixed bunch. Some, like her, appeared to be as poorly off with their baggy, frayed clothes and greasy, hacked off hair. Others, on the contrary, seemed well adjusted. She was curious how people with similar traumatic pasts could end up in such different situations. Maybe she still had a chance in life? Maybe not… Maybe it was too late for her, but the idea did compel her to listen.

Muggle wars sounded brutal, but the scenes described were similar to one's she had seen that fateful night on the grounds of Hogwarts: fire and blood, the ground shaking under her feet and lifeless eyes staring up at her, her heart beating so hard it hurt, because every second could be her last… Pansy hadn't had time to flee like most of the other Slytherin students. Potter's supporters hadn't taken well her suggestion of delivering him to the Dark Lord when he commanded it in exchange for their lives, and they thought she needed to be taught a lesson. They hadn't even had the decency to use their wands on her, beating her with their fists and feet instead, as if she wasn't even worthy of magic. The marks they had left on her body had disappeared long ago, but the nightmares, the fear… They were her constant companions from that day on.

"Hey, you alright?"

Pansy flinched at the proximity of the masculine voice. She had let her guard down and had a moment of panic as she searched for an exit.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

The man held his two hands up, but she knew you didn't need a weapon to inflict pain. His hands were large and strong. Balled into fist, they would hurt, could probably break bones… But at a second glance, she recognized him. He was the speaker for this gathering. Surprised, she looked around and realized everyone had left their seats already, leaving the room half empty while the others plundered the table behind her. Her mind must have wandered again. It wouldn't be the first time her memories took over while the world continued to move around her.

"I'm Sam. You're new here, right?"

Pansy nodded, but when he waited patiently, his eyes never leaving hers, she felt compelled to speak, her voice raspy from disuse.

"Pansy."

How her name sounded foreign to her own ears. She hadn't heard it for a few weeks now, but the last time she had had been nothing pleasant.

"It's nice to meet you Pansy," he said with a smile that would put a Veela's to shame.

He almost sounded like he meant it, not that she would trust him, or anyone else for that matter.

"What did you think of the meeting?"

She shrugged. It had been horrible. It had stirred all those terrible memories she had tried to bury deep inside her mind, sending her into a spiral of flashbacks that was going to make her night full of terrors. She made a note of filching a bottle or jar liquor as soon as possible to make it more bearable.

"I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times before, but it helps if you talk about it. It's what we're here for."

She gave him a sceptical look that made him chuckle

"Sorry, sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I've just never seen someone say so much with just their eyes. It's kind of amazing. Anyway, we have meetings Mondays through Fridays, so you're welcome to just sit and listen if that's what you need."

Pandy glanced longingly at the table emptying itself of sustenance with every passing second. Her stomach growled in protest and Sam arched an eyebrow.

"And you're welcome to help yourself to the snacks. Volunteers regularly bring something in, so there's always plenty to go around."

He finally stood and left. Pansy waited for a minute, just in case it was a trap, but he stayed well away on the other side of the room, speaking to another man, one of the well adjusted ones with more muscles than she'd ever seen on a single person. Not moving from her chair, her hand darted back, snatching a couple of doughnuts which she stashed in her bag. Another one she took her time nibbling at until she was thirsty enough to stand to serve herself some coffee. There was even cream. This place was heaven.

Pansy returned everyday to the afternoon meeting, always in the back row next to the table. Sam smiled at her every time he noticed her there, but he didn't push, for which she was glad because she didn't look forward to the day he realized she had no business being there and threw her out.

She did start to relax on the fourth day. The atmosphere may be tense and the experiences they shared heart wrenching, but she knew she was in a safe space. No one came in looking for trouble, just peace. How they found it by pouring their hearts out was still a mystery to her however.

Should she try? But her war was not their wars. Even if the Statute of Secrecy had fallen following the alien attack on New York when the witches and wizards of the city had crawled out of the woodwork to defend their homes, Pansy didn't think they could understand. After all, if she still found the muggles strange despite having spent years amongst them, how could the muggles possibly comprehend her? Because Statute of Secrecy or not, the wizarding world was just as air-tight as before, keeping their secrets close to their wards. She'd bet the cookies in her pockets that what the muggle world knew of the wizarding one could barely fill a shoe box.

The second week, Sam approached her again, walking as cautiously and slowly as if she were a hippogryph.

"I don't bite," she told him before he could sit.

He grinned at her.

"Hello, Pansy. You look better."

She did? Her eyes narrowed at him, wondering if he was making fun of her, but he looked like he meant it. She supposed she'd never had such a steady stream of food before which might have helped.

"I meant it," he added.

Her eyes grew in horror. Was he reading her mind? Sam sat back as far as he could, hands up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She nodded and kept her eyes on her cookie, tearing a piece of it between her fingers and putting it in her mouth, savouring every crumb, making it last whilst keeping her thoughts busy with the mindless task of chewing.

"Does it help coming here?"

Pansy stopped, considering his question. Aside from the food, did it help? The first night after coming here had been as bad as she'd feared. The next few days hadn't been all that good either but she'd drunk herself to sleep. But then… She'd realized she wasn't alone. Other people struggled just like she was. She was normal, in a way. She was sure even those who had won the war, Potter, Granger and all those redheads… They probably had the same nightmares and flashbacks, they probably flinched at loud sounds and kept their backs to the walls… Except they had a clean conscience. They didn't have to deal with all the regrets and loathing she had for herself.

"Some," she admitted. .

"That's good. It's a start, yeah?"

She looked at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were so… open, and honest. Urgh. He would have been sorted as a bleeding-heart Gryffindor she'd bet. And he was waiting for an answer she didn't have. Unless it was a rhetorical question?

"What if…" she coughed, trying to clear her rusty voice. "What if that's as good as it gets? If the start is already the end?"

Sam didn't answer immediately, for which she was glad. He was actually giving her question some consideration as he rubbed his chin.

"Personally, I don't think there's an end. There's always room for improvement, so to speak, not to become better, but to feel better with yourself. It's a slow road, but you could always talk about what's holding you down. Put it into words so it doesn't have as much hold over you."

That sounded like some nonsense the old Dumbledore had said at a feast. What was it again? Fear of the name… Fear of the name only increases the fear of the thing itself. That was it! Potter used to say too, if to memory served. She hadn't understood it at the time, but what if those two had been right in the end? Was she afraid of putting her memories into words? She had spent all this time, years, running from her past, refusing to confront it, only to be haunted by it at every turn. She was so tired of living this way. She wished he could help, but…

"I shouldn't be here," she confessed, and too bad for her supply of free food.

There was taking advantage of random strangers, she was okay with that, and then there was abusing the trust of Mr Nice Guy. Even she had her limits. And people thought she was a dark witch. It almost made her want to laugh hysterically, and bawl her eyes out at the same time.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it. I kinda guessed."

Pansy stared at him. How? Did she have a scarlet letter of her shame cursed to her forehead?

"Your accent," Sam supplied. "British, right? It's alright. We're all brothers in arms. And sisters," he added hurriedly, wrenching a pathetic excuse of a smile out of her.

"I am. British. Or was…" She wondered how to best explain her predicament. If she was never setting foot here again, she wanted him to know why. "But what if we're not? Brothers in arm, I mean? What if I had been on the opposite side? The enemy. The bad guys."

Sam froze, his face shuttering close like it had never done before, and for someone as expressive as he was, it was like seeing him die before her very eyes. After a few minutes, he sighed, seemed resigned, but at least he was showing emotion again. For a moment there, she thought she'd broken him.

"Are you a friend of Bucky's?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know any Buckys."

Personally, she thought it was a stupid name. She wouldn't name her dog Bucky, not even if it sprouted antlers. Sam relaxed minutely.

"Good. One memory-addled assassin is more than enough, believe me. Just to be clear, you're not Hydra either, right?"

Again, she shook her head. Weren't those the villains who had tried to take over the world a few months back? The muggle world had been in a frenzy for a few days over that incident before some other scandal involving a naked lady took over. How the latter had taken precedence had baffled Pansy so much, the Daily Prophet appeared like a paragon of journalism in comparison.

"Good, good…" Sam said, smiling once more. Pansy didn't understand him at all, but to each their own demons she supposed. "Do your worse. I'm all ears."

Pansy scanned the room for eavesdroppers, surprised to find everyone had already left. Lingering tension left her shoulders and she sunk into her chair to make herself more comfortable. She was so tired.

"There was a war in my country." Upon seeing Sam's frown of confusion, she hurried to continue before he could ask. "A civil war, six years ago."

"Oh."

That was all he said, but it was enough for her to know he knew. Pretty well informed for an American muggle.

"I was on the losing side."

"But weren't you… Too young? I'm just guessing here, but you can't have been more than sixteen? Seventeen?"

"I'd just turned eighteen when the final battle took place. Already an adult in my world…"

Sam patted her hand which had been shredding the frayed edge of her coat. She stilled and took a deep breath, taking comfort and strength from the warm touch.

"But I was just a kid. We all were. I was stupid. I thought I knew better. I even thought we were in the right, that we were simply protecting our traditions. It's easy to have opinions when you're on the sidelines, spewing propaganda you've been fed since birth. It didn't seem like such a big deal at first, but then the war became too real too fast, and I make a mistake. I think that's where my whole life turned around. That single moment in time. I can't stop thinking about it. Not even when I sleep. It's been eating at me all this time… And maybe one day, there won't be enough of me left."

She looked up at him when he remained silent, startled to find his intense gaze on her. Free of judgement, for now, but if he knew… A shudder ran down her spine as she imagined his features contorting with disgust at what she'd done. Maybe he'd even approve of the way she'd been punished for it.

Pansy stood abruptly, her chair falling back, and she ran out of the room, the building, until she found the air she so desperately needed, breathing in greedy lungfuls. That was… What had they called it in the meetings? A panic attack? Appropriate. She fell back on her arse, trying to breathe in deeply, not caring what she looked like to the passers-by. She had stopped caring a long time ago. She was starting to feel better when a twig snapped being her, making her jump in fright where she sat.

Twisting around, she wasn't all that surprised to find Sam. That man was like a niffler with its gold and as persistent as a bad case of spattergroit. His expression, on the other hand, was hilarious, as if he couldn't believe he had made such a rookie mistake as stepping on a dead branch.

"Your stealth needs work," she said.

"May I?" he asked with a smile and a tilt of his head next to her.

She glanced around, finding she was on a stretch of grass between one road and the next. How in Merlin's name had she arrived there? And without getting run over too. No wonder people had been giving her strange looks.

"Be my guest."

They sat companionably for a while, even if she knew it wouldn't last. Sam liked to talk. Worse, he liked making others talk.

"You've never talked about all this before, have you?"

Pansy snorted inelegantly.

"No one to talk to. The wizarding world doesn't have places like that," she said with a jerk of her chin at the building she had just ran out of. "It's too small. Everyone knows one another. No anonymity, you know. How did you know?"

"It's all bottled up inside," Sam replied with a vague gesture towards her chest. "I'm not surprised you're still struggling six years later."

"It's not just that," Pansy said, her voice so small she wasn't sure he would hear her. "It's never stopped. What I did… It's common knowledge. So… When my kind recognize me, I'm free game. No one is going to want to defend me after all. Not even the aurors, the magical police."

Sam shifted next to her but she didn't dare look at him. She watched the car roll by instead. Smelly machines, but practical she had to admit.

"I'm not sure I understand," he said flatly.

Pansy sighed. This conversation was making her feel like shite. Yet, a weight lifted off her shoulders with every new confession she added, because someone else knew now. She wasn't as alone with someone else sharing her burden.

"They curse me, most of the time. Nothing too dark. They wouldn't want to seem worse than me. If I'm very unlucky, they won't use their wands, but on the good days they'll only insult me. It's not. Too bad, I know, but it's never stopped. I'll never have peace. I know I don't deserve it, but I'm so tired of watching over my shoulder."

"That's...what? I… Jesus. I can't believe I just heard that."

Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose. She couldn't see his eyes but he didn't look to angry. Of course she hadn't shared the worse yet.

"What the hell did you did that they think you deserve such a punishment?"

Pansy bit her bottom lip. She'd been skirting around the issue since he came to talk to her what felt like hours ago.

"Can you promise you won't be angry?"

"I'm already angry," he muttered. "I doubt I'll be angry with you but… No promises I guess."

"Alright," she sighed. "I get it."

But it took her several tried before she managed to get it out. She told him how she had loudly proclaimed, in front of the whole light side, that they should give Potter, a scrawny kid at the time, to the murderous dark wizard outside laying siege to their school.

"And…" Sam prompted.

She blinked. What the heck did he mean by that?

"That's it! Don't you understand? I basically advocated human sacrifice, and of a kid, too."

"Weren't you a kid as well?"

"Well…" They had been in the same year technically. "My point stands."

"You were just scared." Terrified. "I bet half the people there were thinking the same."

Her eyebrows shot up. Really? Or was he just saying that to make her feel better?

"I don't think you understand. That kid, Potter, he was the savior of the wizarding world. In muggle history, he'd be Jesus. Guess who I am?"

"You're no Judas," Sam replied with a wry smile. "You just acted out in a moment of fear, and unfortunately, it happened in the worst possible place with the worst possible audience."

Pansy wondered about that. How many times had she wished she had just kept her mouth shut. How different her life would be. Even Draco didn't have it as bad as she did last she saw in the papers. Terrible reputation, sure. But he wasn't exiled. He got attacked now and then, but certainly not as much as she was and Granger, of all people, championed him while she had no one. The unfairness of it all soured her mood once more and she stared gloomily at the horizon.

"Would you gone through with it, given the opportunity?" Sam asked.

She tried to imagine it: handing a bound, wandless Potter to the Dark Lord. She could see it quite clearly, her snotty seventh year self, trembling in her socks as she pushed the Gryffindor in front of her like a shield, but then she snapped back to the present and recoiled at the very thought.

"Back then, maybe, to survive. But now, no. I couldn't. I guess I changed too much. My whole perception of the world has. I… grew."

If she kept it up, she might even make a passable Hufflepuff. She smiled of her own volition, and for the first time, it didn't feel wrong, or forced. She still didn't have much to be happy about, but the knowledge she had become a better person somewhere along the road, despite all the grief, hate and hurdles thrown her way, made her feel as light as a pygmy puff.

Sam face a self-satisfied nod of his head as if to acknowledge a job well done, then stood, offering her his hand to help her up. She accepted it after only a slight hesitation. Was it only last week she had been thinking she couldn't trust anyone? And yet, here she was, accepting help, speaking from her heart, and thinking hope might not be such a lie after all.