There was too little information to use to make any sort of viable plan. There was a moment of hysteria, that this was all too much and it wasn't fair, she didn't sign up for any of this!; and then it was squashed down with everything she had.
Being scared wouldn't help.
It was fight or flight - freezing didn't help anybody but predators. And, barely walking, nothing special - she was all too aware she was prey.
Gilli worried about her for a day or two until she got her act together, melding seamlessly (she hoped) back into the happy, bubbly, toddler facade. It was easy enough. Comfortable even, after months and months of practicing it. Still, she asked her questions carefully and tried not to do anything too odd.
She teased out information from Gilli about Father (a busy man, important, terrible temper, working for the Ministry by the sounds of it) and Mother (quiet, sharp, proper). They sounded like a right pair.
There was only so much she could ask about them though. She walked a fine line between child-like curiosity and piercing fear. And for all that Gilli knew, they're only a House-Elf, there was a lot they couldn't say or didn't know.
And it would take just one command from their Masters to spill it all.
She treaded carefully.
She started learning sentences and learned to jump. She was probably nearly two now, but it was difficult to tell the passing of time when everything seemed the same. Gilli never talked about her birthday. She was still growing though, so she assumes she's aging too and Gilli never mentions their own birthday, so maybe it's a cultural thing. Swiftly, she was growing into a jumping, chattering toddler, testing out her body and Gilli's boundaries.
Figuring out how to get out of her crib at night without triggering whatever alarms Gilli had took trial and effort but she did it.
(they were triggered when she was in danger but if she could get down safely, they wouldn't trigger at all)
That night, she peered into the empty drawers of that dresser on the far side of the room that she'd never been able to reach before. It was made of the same dark wood as her crib, perhaps they were a set, and the drawers had little brass knobs fixed to them. She scurried over to the windowed wall, the moon illuminating the room in its silvery glow. She was still too short to see over the window-sill, so she pushed the stool from the carpet right up to the wall. The ward or whatever around it's perimeter gave no resistance as she pushed it all the way, uncaring of the loud sound of the stool scraping across the floor.
Given the way she used to cry as a baby and the lack of any outside response, she doubted anyone outside would hear a thing.
Sweaty from exertion, but pleased with the way the night was going, she clambered onto the stool, hands pressing against the cool glass and took her first look at the outside world.
It was a cloudless night. Stars scattered in the dark skies, in a way that modern pollution from before had made impossible, and though it was dark, there was still plenty of moonlight to see with.
Her room must have been on the third-floor at least, the ground dizzyingly far away. The exterior wall was made of dark brick, the colour hard to tell in the night. Her room must have been the side of the house, well-manicured hedges and neatly organised rows of flower-beds spanned the ground below. The gardens met some sort of boundary in the distance, although it was difficult to tell if it was a fence, or a wall, or something magical from this distance. And beyond that -
Beyond that was a forest. A thick, black, gently swaying layer across the horizon, filling the window-panes from edge to edge. Those were the distant shadows she saw across the ceiling so long ago, that she used to trace when her eyes were still unformed and blurry. It was so much more than the few trees she'd been expecting.
And there, right at the furthest point on the horizon, was a thin, thin band of flat green. Perhaps a farm, or a field, right where the forest ended.
It gave her hope.
There were perhaps ways to track down wayward children but for now - she imagines jumping out of this very window and flying. Into the forest and beyond.
Free.
It was an odd relationship. Gilli played both jailer and caretaker exceptionally. Friend and foe. It wasn't like either of them had a choice but it didn't make it any less true.
She was older now, sure that her second birthday must have been and gone already. She was taller and her meals were actually solid foods now, although kiddy-sized. And she'd been let out of the room for the first time ever to practice using the loo. Gilli had kept a firm hold of her hand the entire time.
The bathroom she'd been led to had been no less plain than the rest of this house, though really only containing a toilet stall and a sink. There was a little wooden step-stool in front of the lav, and for once, she didn't bother at playing the confused toddler. Simply, pulled her pants down and sat. She drew the line at pretending to go through potty training. Absolutely not.
There was still a bit of a learning process, the flush looked a little different, but overall, she was glad at least going to the toilet was the same.
There was a mirror above the sink, and before she could even think to stop herself, she was kicking her stool over and scrambling up.
A little girl looked back at her, serious grey eyes staring back. Her skin was pale and her hair was straight and pitch black. Her face was baby-soft, all round and chubby-cheeked. She was a pretty cute kid, despite everything. The strange little girl's mouth tipped down at the corners.
She looked nothing like her old self, she noted with muted disappointment.
She tried for a bit of a smile, but it fell flat.
Her appearance gave her little to no clues. Not a redhead, not a Weasley. Not a blonde - not a Malfoy. Not from any family obviously not-Caucasian. It didn't narrow things down by much.
Gilli took her on little scheduled toilet breaks three times a day and reminded her to yell for him frequently if she needed the loo. Which was, admittedly a small thing, but it meant that whatever Magic the House-Elf uses, it now allowed her to call on Gilli, probably like Mother and Father did.
She always slowed her steps on her trips into the corridor, both on the way and from the loo back to the room. It was decorated similarly to her room, with detailing in the ceiling and what looked like fogged glass sconces screwed into the wall. The walls were a drab light grey, the frame of the molding and the wall trimmings a contrasting white colour.
Further down the hallway, she occasionally caught signs of the mysterious Masters – an ashtray on a hall table, the barest wisp of smoke just visible – and the gilded golden frame of a painting on a wall, before she was inevitably pulled back into her room.
Her suspicions about the bedroom door were also proved wrong. It was not fake, she knew now, but she never attempted approaching it without Gilli at her side. It seemed obvious to her that the other occupants of the house wanted her out of sight and out of mind, and she did not want to see what they would do to her if she challenged that.
And, well, it was probably a given that it was enchanted to hell and back, and Gilli would probably know the second she touched the doorknob.
Regardless, it was the new normal.
Short trips outside her room to the bathroom and freedom to stare out the window at night. She got used to it quickly, much to her dismay. No matter how much she stalled her feet, she never saw anything else useful or anyone. There were no portraits to question on her dead-end section of the hallway, and though the ashtray further down the hall occasionally saw some use, she never saw the smoker.
The trips to the window at night were growing boring and dull.
Gilli didn't know anything more, or wouldn't provide her with any more information. She was quickly running out of acceptable questions to ask.
She was an adult in a child's mind and she was so very, very bored.
Driven by sheer boredom, she tried to do something, tried to see if there was something dormant in this body, some energy, some magic. Nothing. She tried to will the carpet in her room to change colour, bend the fabric of the universe to her will, force it to listen.
All she got was sore eyes from squinting in the dark. She bit back disappointment and anger and decided to sleep.
Nothing was changing. Nothing was happening. It felt like she was waiting, waiting for something to happen, to kick start something into motion.
Like that brief moment teetering at the top of her crib, just before that swooping fall -
(And then it happened.)
Gilli shook her awake roughly, and she batted back uselessly at his grabby hands and attempted to roll over - until his frantic muttering finally permeated the morning brain fog.
"-up! Little Miss must! Mistress is waiting! Little Miss must wake up!"
She jolted upright. Gilli made a squeak of sharp surprise. "M-mother?" Her tongue was dull from sleep and the word was soft, despite its weight.
Gilli nodded frantically, shoving fabric into her hands - a dress, her mind supplied. "Little Miss is to be having breakfast with Mistress! Little Miss and Gilli can't be late!"
Oh, god. Mother - her stomach squirmed, as she shucked off her bed clothes quickly and slipped into her dress. It was made of thick satin, a deep green colour, of course. If there was any doubt of allegiances, she thought a little hysterically, before biting it down.
Gilli chaperoned her to the bathroom, and then made quick work of her hair - braiding back two sections from either side of her face and securing them behind the crown of her head with a matching green ribbon.
And then they were tugging her out of the bathroom and past the door where her room lay, towards the other end of the hallway
The painting that she had only ever caught glimpses of is not a portrait, to her disappointment, but the image of deep, dark wood. She thought she'd seen there was a glimmer of something silver between the trees before Gilli tugged her onwards.
She passed the hall table, the ashtray empty today, no cigar and no smoke.
There was one door at the end of the hallway, but Gilli tugged her towards a set of stairs that she'd never noticed, leading downward with quick steps. She struggled to keep up with them, putting all her concentration into making sure her feet didn't miss a step for fear of causing a commotion or ruining her dress.
On the level below, the design was much the same as the floor above and she paid it little attention as Gilli led her past two doors, before stopping at a third. Involuntarily, she found her feet slowing to a stop a few paces from it.
Her heart thudded loudly in her chest.
"Gilli will go in first and let Mistress know Little Miss is here," They whispered, eyes flicking between the ominous third door and her. They opened their mouth, perhaps to say something, wide-eyes staring back at her own. In the black reflection of their eyes, she could almost make out the cowering figure of herself. Instead, Gilli closed their mouth, dropped her hand and abruptly disappeared with a pop!
Alone in the hallway, she stiffened, thoughts spinning. Mother had never shown an interest until now. She didn't do anything different yesterday. Had shown no signs of Magic. Hadn't asked any questions about Mother and Father recently.
So - unless they'd been watching her, been interested for a while, it couldn't have been her that had changed the rules of the game. It must have been them.
She steeled herself.
She could still do this.
"Daughter- mine," A woman's voice called from within. "Won't you join your Mother for breakfast?"
She took a deep breath; and pushed the door open.
And stepped into the room.
She could do this.
She turned to shut the door behind her quietly, careful to only turn to the side, less she let the woman see her back. In some cultures, it was an insult; in others, a symbol of ignorance - or trust. She wasn't sure which message she intended for the woman who had never deigned to see her.
She dropped into a low curtsey, stumbling only a little before she corrected her balance.
"Mother," She said into the still room, keeping her eyes on the dining table and letting them rise no higher. Her voice was high-pitched, and childlike. She winced inwardly at the slight awe audible in it..
There was a moment of stillness. Her knees trembled from their bent positions, still swooped in a curtsey as the woman before her let the moment draw out. There was a prickle up her spine, the feeling of being scrutinized from head to toe.
"What a polite little girl," The woman said. There was a dainty clinking sound, of a teaspoon against a china teacup or saucer, probably. Beneath her, her trembling knees made the fabric of her skirt quiver and she knew, she knew, that it would not be missed.
And just when she thought the building ache in her muscles would betray her – "Come, join your Mother for breakfast."
She rose slowly, suppressing a grimace with what she hoped was a blank expression. "Thank you, Mother." For the first time, she let her gaze rise above the table and looked at the woman who had given birth to her.
Mother looked like her, if she were perhaps in her thirties. She sat to the left side of the head of the table. Similar dark hair in an elegant updo. She was dressed in an opulent purple robe, made of some type of velvet or something like it, but it did nothing to hide the paleness of her skin and the gauntness of her hollowed cheeks. She looked like she was dying.
Morbidly, she wondered if Mother bought her here to say her final words.
Keeping her expression neutral, she sat herself at the end of the long dining table, where her usual breakfast - oats, honey and raisins - awaited on a white placemat and rows of silver cutlery sat on either side of the dish, daring her to pick the wrong one.
She tried not to frown, eyes flickering over the different spoons.
"Unfold the napkin and place it over your skirt first," She glanced up, watching as Mother unfolded her own white napkin and placed it out of sight, under the table, "You are young still, three-years old today, using a teaspoon is acceptable." Mother pointed to the small spoon resting on the saucer, behind the handle of her teacup.
She nodded carefully and mimicked Mother's motion with the napkin. It was almost too big for her so she only unfolded it halfway. She checked the place setting around her bowl until her eyes alighted on a spoon resting on the saucer of her empty teacup. She picked it up slowly and checked to see if Mother was still watching.
She wasn't. The woman's face was turned towards the window, gaze somewhere distant, lines softening.
She set the spoon down slowly, ignoring the temptation to sneak a bite while Mother wasn't looking, and instead, turned her head to see what has the woman's attention.
These windows seemed to face the front of the house. There was a stone path that led from somewhere below them to a heavy looking iron gate far in the distance. Well-kept lawns grew to either side of the path, like ironed green fabric. At some mid-way point, between the house and the distant gate the path split into two, forking around a large tree, with wide boughs and dark green leaves. It grew tall and its branches were spread wide.
If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now. She was almost certain she'd been born into some prestigious, old House; the grounds were so large, the house was too luxurious. The very dining table they sat at seems miles long.
"You must be wondering why I called you."
She snapped her head back, meeting Mother's eyes straight-on. "Yes, Mother." She said, softly, fingers bunching up the napkin below the table.
Mother looked wan and tired. She would have been prettier if she had some life in her. Without aplomb, she began:
"We had hoped for a boy."
And just like that, it clicked. Oh, she hadn't been neglected because of anything she did. Or didn't do. It wasn't because her Magic wasn't showing up. It was not because she remembered who she was Before.
It was because she was a girl.
And they had wanted a boy.
She looked down carefully, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her face as stone-still as possible.
"We tried again." Mother said, after a moment, "But it didn't take - there are no second chances."
Mother wasn't looking at her, but down past the table. The woman had miscarried. And would not carry again. She felt a spark of empathy, before it fizzled a quick death - something cold blooming in her chest in realisation.
Things were never so simple.
Neglect so a little girl would feel eager for companionship, eager to please. Something sad to make her feel pity and empathy. It might even be true, but she remembered being an adult and could recognise the words for what they were - sly, and perfectly placed. Like a puppet on a string.
What did Mother want from her three-year-old daughter?
The woman lifted her hand from below the table and reached for her teacup. She took a sip, inhaled and exhaled.
"Still, Our House must carry on. Your Father is the only one of the Main line left." There was no sorrow behind her words now, just impassive coolness.
Mother's back straightened, sitting tall in her seat.
Ah - here it comes.
"You must be educated on these matters, know Our Family Magics, and find a suitable betrothal to tie yourself to." She set the teacup down, the clink ringing through the room. "You must birth an Heir to this House and bring it back to its glory. Do you understand?"
She stared unseeingly.
That Mother had just asked her young daughter to marry and pop out kids to bring a dying House back to life? She was a child!
No, she did not understand, but Mother's gaze was dark, something cruel threatening to bubble over, and she forced herself to nod regardless.
"Do you understand?" Mother's voice was sharp.
She forced her fingers to unclench around the napkin below the table. Smoothed out the creases. Careful.
"Yes, Mother."
"Gilli!" Mother hissed. The House-Elf popped in immediately, standing stiffly. "Let Master know I'll take over her education -" Mother paused, eyes flicking back to the child across the room. "And that I've given her a Name."
She stilled - all unpleasant thoughts of the future vanishing in a startled breath.
A Name.
This was it - a Name would tell her who she was, where she was.
Mother stood from the table, moving like water, the fabric of her robe catching the light just-so, and went to the window.
She followed Mother's gaze, out into the gardens, and down towards the Great Tree that split the path. From this far away, she could just make out splashes of violet-blue at its roots - flowers.
"You will be called – Pansy, Pansy Parkinson."
Pansy Parkinson. The flowers in the gnargled roots of the tree swayed slighty in the wind.
Oh, what a sad little life you lead. Raised to be sold like a mare to be bred. Alone with only a House-Elf for company.
Abruptly, Pansy realised Mother was still talking.
"You will eat breakfast with me every morning and begin lessons from eight o' clock." The look in Mother's eyes was sharp, assessing. "We will continue until I say to stop and then we will do it again the next day and the next."
"Yes, Mother." Pansy said, dutifully.
"We start tomorrow." And with that ominous sentence, the woman swept out of the room.
Pansy almost slumped in relief.
She made it through her first meeting with Mother.
She had a Name now. Knew where she was in the Story even.
Pansy - Pansy - jumped when Gilli popped in next to her, wringing their hands anxiously. "Little Miss be okay? Little Miss-" They babbled.
"Pansy's okay." She said with a trembling grin. Gilli's eyes widened at her Name.
She finished her breakfast quickly and the House-Elf led her back to her room, letting the comforting chatter wash over her as her mind worked furiously.
So - Pansy Parkinson.
Pure-blood, but that much was obvious now, given the context. Not a major player, which was a relief. A Slytherin, which was fine. And obsessed with Draco Malfoy - which was…
The barely-there recollections of the who the character was made alarming sense, given the speech Mother just gave her. The girl had tied herself to a promising Heir with all of her might. But from what she remembered from the Story's ending, Draco Malfoy ended up with a Greengrass girl instead.
More alarmingly, she didn't remember Pansy in the Story's ending - the Epilogue. The scene tied off loose ends, gave the Story it's happily ever after. But Pansy Parkinson was not in it.
Did she live? Or was she struck down, some unnamed Slytherin? The thought made her trip, her feet feeling numb. Distantly, she registered the soft cream of her carpet. The thick threads beneath her fingers.
The only scene of Pansy Parkinson she remembered with any clarity was a sibilant voice over a crowd:
"Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."And a stupid, stupid girl:
"But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!"And that the whole room had turned against her, wands raised.
She didn't think they killed her, in the Story, she must have gotten away somehow, but she couldn't imagine it made her many friends.
Still, now she knew. And knowing was an improvement.
She was three now. It was late summer, an August birthday, going by the leaves outside. She'd have just turned eleven by the time Hogwarts began. There were roughly eight years until then, and now that she knew - she could finally make plans.
Mother already sounded like a gruelling taskmaster, and with such heavy expectations on her shoulders disappearing into the woods would be impossible.
But once she was at Hogwarts? She could beat back the current and make her changes. Once she was in the thick of the Story - she could change her lines and add her extra sentences. The adults in the Story never paid enough attention, saw what they wanted to see, and the children were just children.
And Pansy was no child.