28.

Pansy:

Journalism is rubbish.

Another morning walking through the corridors, heading to the Great Hall. Only today, it didn't seem the same as the other days: people were looking at her.

There are many kinds of ways Pansy has been watched. For example, when gossip spread that she and Hermione were together, people started watching them the entire time they were together. The quick and chaste kiss that occurred in the Great Hall a couple of weeks ago was decisive, as a way to make what they had official, and soon they became the subject of greatest interest in the castle, hearing things like "Did you know that Granger is with that Slytherin? Isn't that silly for her? ", "Who would have thought that Granger was into girls", "Parkinson with a Gryffindor? It seems fake", "Really, Parkinson with a Mudblood...?" Pansy was annoyed at the memory. She could say, at least, that the person who dared to call Hermione that was very sorry. For the first time she had found something in common with Ginny Weasley, since making morons like that swallow slugs was a treat. Besides, it felt like a duty, it was the least she could do after being cruel to Hermione in the past; She had to defend her name, neither Pansy nor anyone else should ever call her that again.

Also, of course, she attracted glances for being flashy. Her self-confidence when moving always made students turn towards her (which she loved).

But this? Today was different. Very similar to the beginning of the year, a mixture of pitying looks towards her, others of morbid curiosity. She hated it. And it didn't make sense, nothing new had happened, people had already become bored of making fun of her... Or had something happened with Hermione? Now that they knew they were together...

She quickened her pace. When she walked through the door to the Great Hall, she scanned the Gryffindor table, but Hermione wasn't there. That only made her bad feeling worse. She moved to the table, where Sophie was sitting. Rachel was still in the Slytherin Common Room.

"Pansy," Sophie whispered, a little fearful.

"Oh, something is definitely not right," she wailed in her mind. She didn't have time to ask, as her friend held out the newspaper to her. Without saying a word, she began to read it.

CRAZY ABOUT THE LOSS.

OR JUST ANOTHER PURE BLOOD SICK IN THE HEAD?

At St. Mungo's Hospital, the well-known Aurora Parkinson lost her temper.

By Christopher Smith , Daily Prophet Gossip Correspondent.

Yesterday, March 29, Aurora Parkinson put on a great public show. The families belonging to the Sacred Twenty-Eight inevitably attract attention, both for their achievements and their failures, so these events did not go unnoticed. Already at the beginning of the year she was in everyone's sights, having been widowed in a very tragic case, and everything seems to indicate that we will not stop talking about her soon.

"It wasn't on purpose," said Amelia Jones, head of the hospital's Spell Testing Department. "Aurora turned out to be quite a fickle person, a colleague who is difficult to work with. When she came in drunk yesterday, we made her see that her behaviour was irresponsible and unheard of, that she was already crossing the line. She clearly did not take it well. The poor man. O'Neill received much of the damage, he had to be treated by the doctors. "

Aurora, in a fit of anger, cast various spells, some against objects, others against colleagues, including O'Neill (who did not agree to give interviews). It was a surprising fact for many, as she was a lady who was raised and lived in high society.

Not all witches and wizards know this, but Aurora Parkinson is not English by birth, and is well known on the other side of the pond. Born in Colombia, maiden name Reyes, daughter of one of the pure blood families of America, and one of the richest millionaires in Colombia. In her youth she was a model there, until she married and obtained English citizenship.

It is always impressive to see "the greats" fall. And even more so, when they do towards madness.

"The Directorate has already stopped her. If she wants to continue with the work, she must be under the care of specialists until she is discharged," Amelia Jones also said.

Aurora Parkinson (Reyes) does not seem to be grieving for her husband well. Will she have another fit of rage again soon? If so, let's hope there are no innocents around.

Pansy swallowed hard, and wished the earth would swallow her. A photo of her mother was featured at the end of the article, in which she was seen escaping the camera with a face of hatred that did not help her reputation, but rather made her look as crazy as she was described. She realized that in a section of the page there was something else:

Buy The Prophet next week if you want to find out, with the accompaniment of Colombian journalists, more information about Aurora Parkinson and the repercussions of her actions (both those of today, as well as her past before the marriage that led to her ruin).

She couldn't move. She was so stunned that her entire body felt numb, cold sweat running down her spine. Everyone was looking at her by then, she knew it without raising her head. They expected some kind of reaction from Pansy: anger, like her mother's, to whisper that she was as crazy as she was; shame on her face, and so they would feel sorry for her; or tears, in a dramatic act that meets their expectations.

"Pansy," Sophie called.

From her tone she could sense her concern, but her eyes were still stuck on the newspaper. Hadn't she suffered enough public humiliation already? Couldn't her mother just behave? Pansy suffered as much as she did, and she wasn't doing that! What kind of adult was this woman? Why didn't she think about the repercussions of her actions? Why did Pansy have to suffer again, for her selfish actions? Her stomach burned. She was getting angry. "Perfect!" she growled to herself, not sure if she said it aloud or if it just stayed in her mind.

"Pansy," Sophie repeated, firmer.

This time... She heard her name as if it were much further away. As if she were drowning and under water the sound was diluted. She got up, feeling her body heavy and slow. She wasn't going to just sit there for everyone to keep laughing, to entertain them...

She didn't react, she didn't say anything. She walked towards the exit with the most neutral face she could force herself to put on, with the calm of someone pretending that nothing happened. She heard nothing but an annoying low beep and unintelligible background noise. She saw nothing but the great wooden door... And she escaped there.

. . .

She missed classes for the day. She was mentally unprepared to endure the harassment again, the curious stares from others... It was a fact that Daphne was gloating over this news and was dying to use it against her. She was not going to be served up on a silver platter to be humiliated.

As expected, she was in the owlery, sitting in one of the windows with Mr. Pest for company. He seemed to sense that that day Pansy was on the verge of a crisis, since he had been staring at her since she arrived.

There was a screech coming from the door. Tousled brown hair peeked out from there.

"Pansy," Hermione greeted her.

She frowned in response. She wanted to be alone, but she must have guessed that Hermione would appear, as she knew she came to this place to calm down. Maybe she should look for a new hiding place?

"Sophie told me you didn't have breakfast." She walked over to Pansy, and sat next to her. "You didn't go to lunch either. Snack time just ended…"

She fixed her eyes on the ground, as if that way she could ignore her.

"You must eat," she scolded her, placing a napkin wrapped around something on her lap (it was easy to assume it was food).

"We are all worried about you."

"I don't care," she muttered.

She didn't want anyone's pity, she didn't want this kind of attention... She felt so angry and tired.

"Pansy," she tried again, her tone worried.

When she felt Hermione's hand grab her arm, she flinched and jerked, forcing her to release her.

"Don't touch me," she hissed angrily.

She saw Hermione's surprise out of the corner of her eye, but she pulled herself together quickly, putting on a stern face.

"Eat then."

"I do not want to."

"Pansy Parkinson," she said in an authoritative tone, "you're going to eat something even if I have to force you to swallow it."

She straightened unconsciously. Hermione had a natural talent for scolding. And, out of the corner of her eye, she also saw the worry flooding her. She let out a sigh, feeling guilty. She opened the napkin that had a sandwich in it. When she bit into it, her throat felt dry, but she didn't complain and forced himself to swallow it.

"Sophie and Rachel looked everywhere for you."

"It seems not everywhere," she corrected her, "they did not set foot in this place. Only a group of Ravenclaws came in today, to send mail. To be so clever, one would expect them to be more subtle when it comes to badmouthing people. I was in front of them, the fucking idiots." She looked up, connecting with Hermione's, with an irritated smile. "I am the laughingstock of the school. Again."

"It's just news…"

"It's the truth! My mother is crazy."

"Your mother is not crazy. She's just having a hard time."

Pansy turned her head to the opposite side, not feeling the strength to see her face.

"You read the newspaper."

"I did, and it was a very malicious article," she complained, adding bitterly, "Rita Skeeter's replacement is just like her. The gossip section is the worst."

Pansy remembered fourth year, when Hermione was a victim of that journalist. There was quite a lot of gossip around the Tournament, about her "love triangle" with Potter and Krum. It was quite fun teasing her with that. Although today she was more ashamed than anything else, she was tremendously idiotic and cruel to Hermione in the past and felt that she was never going to completely rid herself of that ghost. Would all this be a type of punishment? Were all the stones she threw coming back to her?

She took another bite of the sandwich. She would kill as many owls as necessary to have some juice, it was quite difficult to swallow the bread. But it felt good. Having a full stomach made her feel less miserable. And even less angry? Maybe part of her bad mood was due to being hungry.

"Now you know why I don't like my mother," Pansy murmured, having already eaten half her food.

"I have to admit I wasn't expecting that."

"Since my dad died she has lived angry, and crying."

"She went through a difficult situation."

"So did I. And I didn't make all that fuss."

"Each person deals with problems in different ways…"

"She's the adult," she cut her off.

Hermione didn't speak, she seemed to be considering her words with great care.

"You're right."

Pansy raised her eyebrows in surprise. She knew she was, but she didn't expect it to be confirmed.

"She is your mother, she must take charge of the situation, it is her duty. It is not that she is not allowed to collapse, she is human, but... She should have taken your well-being into account more, do everything possible to ensure that you are well above all."

"I know!" Her tone was more energetic, it was nice to feel understood on this subject.

"But she's doing the right thing now."

"What are you talking about?" Pansy didn't see why making the news like a madwoman who beat up her teammates was a good way to go.

"The hospital is forcing her to see a psychologist."

Pansy nodded slowly. She hadn't paid much attention to that part. Words like "crazy", "drunk", "fickle" had stood out more to her.

"She will have better guidance. Things will work out between you for sure."

"They will help her. I will continue to be the laughingstock of the school. It's her fault."

"You shouldn't be ashamed of your mother."

"She was drunk at work and half the wizarding world is making fun of her. Even outside the country they laugh!"

"People's opinions are just that. Opinions."

Pansy looked at her badly, annoyed. As if it were so easy to put up with being on everyone's lips!

"I... I really understand you Pansy," she defended herself. "I was also the laughingstock of the magical world last year, everyone saw the power to laugh at me as if they knew me, as if I wasn't a person with feelings. That's what the mass media does, dehumanize."

She shrugged in on herself, drowning in guilt. Hermione wasn't explicitly naming her, but she was included in that "everyone."

"Not just at Hogwarts, families of our classmates, even Mrs. Weasley! I felt very humiliated. And you know? I don't even have to use my example experience. Harry was trashed too many times in The Daily Prophet.

Nobody has to tell me what it's like to be criticized. Malfoy, calling me Mudblood. My own fellow Gryffindors, believing me to be presumptuous and unbearable. It's a horrible feeling. But you know what? They don't define you. The words and opinions of others are just that, and you can stand up to them. And beat them." Hermione's eyes radiated conviction and assurance. "As long as you know who you are and are proud of that, you will be able to do whatever you want, be who you are and be with those you love."

She rolled her eyes, wanting to dismiss her words, but feeling a little comforted deep down. Hermione was quite a good speaker.

"Was it so difficult for you to let me wallow in my misery?"

"You had most of the day to do it," she teased, with a kind smile.

"Your positivity disgusts me."

"Hey!" She complained, making an indignant face. "I'm just telling you what I would have liked to hear."

Pansy looked at her own hand, at her sandwich specifically, and remembered to keep eating.

"Do you feel better?"

She shrugged in response, and Hermione took the gesture positively.

"We should go find your friends, they…"

"I don't want to get out of here yet."

Hermione snorted.

"You're not cold? How can you keep wanting to freeze in this place? You've been here all day!"

"You'll have to drag me out," Pansy warned.

"You're impossible," she said, shaking her head. "You don't have to be so stubborn. Nobody will attack you."

"I'd rather not find out."

"You can't stay here your whole life."

"I can try," she murmured, once she swallowed the last piece of sandwich she had left.

"Am I going to have to force you?"

"Try and my army of owls will attack you," she threatened.

"You're ridiculous," she said as she got up from the edge of the window where they were sitting to grab Pansy and tug her.

"I don't want to!" She complained, and when Hermione did not give up and even gave her a mocking smile, she took out the heavy artillery: "I told you...! Mr. Pest, attack!"

Pansy didn't expect her joke to be taken seriously, so she was as surprised as Hermione when the owl flew towards them. Only... he didn't follow the order as is.

"Auch! Not me, silly bird, Hermione," she growled.

The owl shook its feathers, glaring at Pansy. He had bitten her hand and didn't seem to feel any guilt about it. Hermione covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. Seeing the other's indignant grimace, she found it even harder to contain herself.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, immediately reaching for Pansy's hand to check the wound. She frowned when she touched her. "You are freezing. I knew it."

"But I'm not cold."

She couldn't do much about the stern way Hermione looked into her eyes, so she sighed and stood up.

As they descended the stairs to exit the tower, Pansy inspected her hand. It wasn't deep, but it was deep enough that it started to burn. She suspected that Mr. Pest did not understand much of what she said, but it did bother him that she was shouting at the place... And he shut her up with a peck.

"I didn't imagine your mother like that," Hermione confessed, and when she saw Pansy's arched brow, she hastened to clarify, "Physically. You don't look much like her."

"So I don't look like my model mother, huh?" She said, crossing her arms and trying to sound angry.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"I'm not saying... You're cute. You just don't look alike. You do not have the same nose, or eye color... I would never dream seeing you that you are mother and daughter."

"But am I a pretty model level or...?" She teased, earning a glare from Hermione.

"I won't puff your ego up."

Pansy laughed. Annoying Hermione would always make her feel better, even if the world fell apart.

"I didn't imagine she would be Colombian either," she commented, resuming her curious tone.

"Does it matter?"

"Do you know Spanish?" Hermione asked as she turned to face her.

"Of course not. Why would I know?"

"I figured your mother could speak Spanish at home. Or once in a while, when she gets angry or very excited."

"Are you stereotyping my mom, Hermione?" She asked in an accusing tone, putting on a half smile.

"Of course not," she denied, waving her hands to reaffirm the denial.

Going down the last step, Pansy settled against a wall, leaning against it and crossing her arms.

"I don't know if I've ever heard her speak Spanish."

"Really?"

Pansy nodded.

"I never even went to Colombia."

"What... Odd," Hermione murmured, lost in her own thoughts.

"She doesn't get along with my grandparents, I don't even know them from photos," she explained, sympathizing with the Gryffindor's need for answers. "Even being from Colombia, she studied at Hogwarts. She wanted to be in the best magic school in the world. Between her studies and her marriage to my father... She lived most of her life in Europe. Sometimes I even forget that she was not born here."

"Makes sense," Hermione said, and leaned back against the wall to keep talking. "Will you write to your mother?"

"Why do that?" She asked reluctantly.

"I can imagine she's worse than you are. And she is alone."

Pansy lowered her head, conflicted between agreeing with Hermione and the resentment she still felt for Aurora.

"I'll see," she excused herself, putting her hands in her pockets.

She hissed and removed her hand as if it had touched boiling water. It didn't hurt as much as the movement implied, but scraping the wound with the edge of the cloth was not a pleasant sensation.

"Does it hurt?" She said as she reached for Pansy's hand to inspect it as if she hadn't already.

"Very much, Doc," she teased.

"Don't be an idiot," she complained, stroking the back of her hand with her fingertips. "We have no idea where the owl has been, it could get infected."

She drew her wand from her robe, and pointed it at the wound, whispering a spell to make it heal. Her skin was as good as new, and Pansy was beginning to suspect that Hermione was not of this world. Was there anything she didn't know how to do? She would like to discover an imperfection.

"Where did you learn healing spells?"

"Molly Weasley taught me some, for little things like this." After explaining, she kissed Pansy's hand, right where she'd been hurt.

A laugh startled Hermione.

"What the hell are you doing?" Pansy laughed. "Did that woman teach you the kiss part too? Is it a tradition of mother Weasley to give a kiss to the wounds of her babies?"

Hermione blushed up to her ears.

"Moron!" She screeched, releasing her.

"Heal, heal," Pansy crooned with laughter.

"Enough already!"

"I didn't expect you to do that!" She was already crying with laughter.

"I won't help you again," she declared angrily, starting to walk.

"Yes you will," she contradicted, following her closely.

"You're so... immature," she complained.

Pansy's smile widened.

"Hermione," she called her attention. "Thanks. I feel better."

She almost complained again, until she realized that the way Pansy was looking at her was sincere. And that she was referring to more than just the wound she healed.

"Good," she murmured, not so angry now. "Now we are going to find the others. Before Rachel hits someone."

"Rachel is very intense," Pansy said, rolling her eyes as she imagined the scene she might be making when she couldn't find her.

. . .

"I won't lose sight of you again. I swear to you," Rachel stated, pacing around the room, being watched by not just Pansy, but all of her roommates. "From now on wherever you go, I'll be breathing down your neck."

When Rachel got into bed, to keep threatening under her breath, Pansy looked at the paper between her legs. There were only two words on it: "Dear mother." She made a face of disgust reading only that, she was not sure she wanted to be so affectionate being still so annoyed, although at the same time it was a formality, that is how letters began. She took a deep breath, grabbed her pen, and continued writing. She made some blots and got stuck a couple of times without finding the right words, but she managed to finish the letter for Aurora. The next morning she decided that she would send it to her with Mr. Pest (a deliberate choice, that woman deserved a fight with that wild owl).

Her emotional complications took their toll, leaving her so tired that she fell asleep as soon as she laid her head on the pillow.