A.N/ Welcome to my submission for the third round of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! I would like to thank all my fellow Harpies, with a special shoutout to our captain, The Cinder Crown, and gingerdream for beta-ing! Our prompt was Woman in Black, a story which I new nothing about. But, as they say, sugar, spice and everything nice. Well, more like a cup of goth elements, a sprinkling of Miss Havisham and couple teaspoons of Corpse Husband. Here we are though! Hope you enjoy!
Concerning the song use, I'm hoping that, since I used small parts of the lyrics, there is no actual issue. I tried to find another way to include it but it didn't feel right, the song content and the plot are inseparable in my head. So I apologise if anyone finds it jarring, distracting from the story or simply distasteful.
Overcautious trigger warning: lots of mentions of death, both of adults and a child! Also, somewhat strong language but what can I say, angst calls for it.
Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Keeper
Prompt: The Woman in Black by Susan Hill: Write about someone trying to put the past behind them.
Song inspo: Agoraphobic – Corpse
Word count: 2217
Title: The weary and the damned
I can't do shit right, I can't learn my lesson
Pansy sighed, trying to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in her dress in an attempt to occupy her hands. The funeral had been private, only her and the pastor standing on the manor's small cemetery. There was no stereotypical rain or black umbrellas, just grim grey clouds hanging above, shedding their gloomy light on the earth below them. Fitting.
The weary woman couldn't force herself to keep up the pretense of caring and shooed the pastor off with dry eyes as soon as the ceremony was over. The old man had looked at her suspiciously, like everyone did these days. Pansy knew – she was aware of the rumors – of the gossip hidden behind the stares she got. She had almost ascended to legend in the small muggle Bulgarian community, having buried two husbands and a child. The Black Widow, the cold-hearted bitch.
Had she murdered her husband to marry her lover? Had she gotten rid of her boytoy as soon as he had nothing more to offer? Had she drowned her own baby?
The theories were endless and only got worse from there. At first, Pansy's heart hurt when she heard them. Dragomir, her first husband, had been an arranged marriage right out of Hogwarts – a friend of her father's. An old, frail, rich man, Dragomir had been the perfect pureblood husband for the perfect pureblood wife.
He'd died of old age – while he had been relatively young by wizarding standards, an indulgent youth had cost him in the long run.
Pansy had met Andrei a few days after Dragomir's funeral. He had been the baker's new apprentice and thus the one to make the daily trek up to her estate to deliver pastries she didn't care for. Unsurprisingly, a spark had lit quickly. The reclusive then 25-year-old had been thirsty for company and the interest Andrei showed towards her quickly became an undeniable attraction. They'd married a year later, too soon by most villager's standards; in their minds, no time would ever be soon enough for her to remarry.
When six months later they'd welcomed their premature daughter, the rumor mill had gone up in flames. Had a child out of wedlock pushed the couple into a sham wedding?
Truth be told, Celine had been the joy of their lives. Pansy had never seen herself as the maternal type but, as soon as the sickly baby had been deposited into her arms, she was a goner. They knew it'd be hard; their daughter had been born with too many health complications that would make her life difficult.
Nevertheless, no one could have accounted for the rare form of dragon pox that Pansy would attract from a travelling potioneer. She herself had been fine but little Celine, barely two years old and still susceptible to the slightest sickness, had fallen gravely ill. They'd tried everything they could, bringing in the best healers from London and the best doctors from Sofia, but there was not much to be done. Pansy's heart had broken in two, one half joining the small coffin that they lowered into the ground a week and a half later. The other half left too, along with her husband, who only lasted a month longer before succumbing to the wizarding disease that completely obliterated his muggle immune system.
As Pansy closed the door behind her, the large empty house reminded her of her new reality. She was a pariah. She could not go back to her parents – having married a Muggle was reason enough for them to disown her. She couldn't leave, she had nowhere to go. She couldn't even go to the village, the fear of what the prudish, intolerant people would do to the Devil's Concubine vivid in her heart. She was a twice-widowed 28-year-old mother of a dead child, eternally doomed into the life of a hermit.
Filled with anxiety, always be hidin' me
Feelin' inadequate's always what's drivin' me
She barely noticed as the years passed. She didn't leave the house – her only company was her old but faithful elf, her mother's gift to her on her first wedding day. Slowly but surely, she ceased to exist to the world around her. The villagers spun tales about the Ghost of the Manor – the lone, black-robed lady haunting the decaying halls. Children would sometimes climb up and try to get in – trying to sneak a look at the mysterious widow, in an attempt to prove the legend true – breaking windows with rocks and laughing at, what was now, only a spooky story they'd tell each other in the dark.
Pansy couldn't find it in her to care. She hadn't used her magic in forever, hiding her true nature from the world with the exception of Andrei. She barely had the strength to leave her bed. She just sat in the rocking chair she'd used when Celine was being fussy and stared out the window. She barely ate or spoke. There was nothing for her anymore but the past, the memories that faded little by little every day, and she faded with them. Her skeletal form was a shell of her former self. She had once been happy, full of life - even though most of her classmates would probably use cold and intimidating to describe her nature – but her time had run its course and all she had left was reminiscing...
Can't go outside, I'm afraid they'd be findin' me
Paranoid 'bout my privacy, yeah
And they always askin' questions 'bout my face, can't relate
Fuckin' caught my own reflection, broke a mirror the other day
Lady Parkinson,
We regret to inform you that a particularly aggressive strain of Cerebrumous Spattergroit has taken over the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Articles of your late husband report the existence of an ancient breed of Bubotuber that might be of great assistance. If you would be so kind, we'd like to send our Herbology Professor to collect a few seedlings and determine the plant's use in this outbreak.
With kind regards,
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress
The letter sat on her desk, opened but discarded. When she'd received the owl a week ago, Pansy had barely registered the information, dismissing it without sparing a thought. Pansy's elf, Ilia - who had been taking care of the post since the deaths of Pansy's loved ones – had permitted the Professor's arrival. However, her mistress had acknowledged her actions with her usual passiveness. But the sight of Neville Longbottom digging around in her garden was too jarring for Pansy's mind to just let pass by. The man was basically a stranger but still so incredibly familiar that it awoke something in her – something she had thought long dead.
If Neville knew anything about her situation, he didn't let show. Pansy was sure that Ilia would have probably informed him of her situation when he first showed up, since she had been the one to let him in and help him out with his research.
Neville stayed away from her wing of the manor and she observed him whenever he did work right outside her window, taking the chance to study him more every day. Pansy's broken consciousness could hardly connect the strong, easy-going man to the scaredy, cowering, overweight boy she'd tormented in her school years.
He'd already grown a lot during their seventh year but he seemed even taller now. Her mind had been focused on Andrei and Celine for so long that the details of anything before that were hazy but, with every rising sun, the fog in her head cleared. With every dig of the shovel in the soft ground, another moment of her childhood would sprout, as if he released them from a prison. At first, she prayed for the numbness to come back; when it left, she was forced to confront her guilt and fear for her past actions as her former victim worked away without a thought.
Was he still resentful? He had every right to be.
Was that why he was avoiding her? Was it out of hate instead of respect for her boundaries?
Her worries dissipated, however, when they first locked eyes through the window. There was no disgust on his features or any inkling of distaste. He'd just given her a wide, toothy grin and a small wave. The same smile she'd made an effort to wipe away every chance she'd gotten in Hogwarts. The same smile that now warmed her from within and drove her even more to the surface of consciousness.
At the start of the second week, she asked Ilia to open her window for the first time – the light breeze feeling so strange on her pale, sickly skin. On the tenth day, she requested the elf's help to leave the chair, taking shaky steps on atrophied legs around her room. By the time Neville's research was done, she'd made small but significant process, even going as far as taking a small walk all the way to the dining room. She could barely stand for more than a full minute – and even that required help and support – but the strange determination to live was pushing her with a force she hadn't encountered before.
Got a lot of bad shit that I'm takin' to my grave
Got a fuckin' date with death, on house arrest 'til trial date
"Lady Parkinson."
Neville bowed his head as Pansy wheeled herself into the dining room. It was his last night on the grounds, his portkey leaving early in the next morning back to Scotland. His findings had been hopeful and after 15 days away from the castle, everyone was desperate for a reprieve. She'd debated a lot about it, knowing she was still not in peak condition but it was her last chance. Last chance for what, she couldn't really tell. So she'd asked Ilia to extend the invitation, though the small feeling that resembled excitement terrified her. She was so used to being submerged in numbness that anything else was daunting.
"Please, Neville, Lady Parkinson is my mother." She gave a slight nod back, her voice hoarse and raspy from a long time of unuse. The muggle wheelchair she'd asked Ilia to bring her was really helping her reserve her strength and she could by now move her upper body somewhat freely for small periods of time. She still refused to touch her wand, the worn wood locked away in one of her drawers ever since Andrei's passing, but her faithful elf, delighted to have her mistress present again, had performed all necessary enchantments, offering her a much-needed ease of movement.
"Thank you for allowing me to use your gardens… Pansy. The plants here are wonderful, persevering even through such neglect." The broad man spoke with an open demeanor, which was foreign to Pansy, his words registering a moment too late. Even though the comment just passed over Pansy's head, his face fell and his eyes widened with realization. Pansy didn't think she'd ever seen someone displaying their emotions so freely, not since… not since Andrei. "I'm terribly sorry, that was very rude of me, I didn't mean- I mean, I know how hard- I mean-"
"It's okay, Neville. Please, go on. I'm okay." She searched her words and tone for deceit but she was surprised to find none. She was such a long way from okay but the mention of her previous life, of the pain that had caused her to shut down completely, was not as triggering as she'd expected. Her heart still ached and its pieces were barely held together but it didn't completely shatter all over again. As the dinner went on, Neville filled the awkward silence with tales of his work and their life in Hogwarts, the delight in his voice acting as a balm and soothing her torment away - at least for one night.
"In all honesty, if the students didn't need me and if I hadn't already overstayed my welcome, I would ask to stay for the rest of the month. I'm not sure that even Lord Dragomir knew of all the wonders that are hidden away here."
"You are welcome back anytime you want." Pansy impulsively responded , shocking both herself and her guest to a stunned silence. "I-I mean, I have no prior engagements. Easter holidays are just around the corner. Feel free to bring- feel free to bring whoever you want. The weather is lovely around here this time of year and the village hosts a delightful floral festival."
The young woman could feel cold sweat pouring down her back like freezing water. Panic rose in her chest, the responsibilities of being a proper hostess suffocating her. The small smile and slight nod he gave in return took some of the pressure off though and she could feel it in her heart that Andrei would have been proud. He never wanted her to end up like this – which had been after all the reason they'd connected in the first place. She could even hear his voice and, as she waved her newfound acquaintance off the next morning, she repeated the mantra to herself. Let the past be the past.
But I love when it rains 'cause I'm agoraphobic