Pansy Pureblood was a nickname her parents savioured glamorous over each inch of her and haughty glances exchanged. No other words or signals were needed for everyone to know that Pansy was special. Glamorous, beautiful, special, because her ancestors traced somewhere others did not. Esteemed witches and wizards, all occupying incredibly high roles and occupations in society; money a common fixture through the centuries, each generation swimming in wealth from the last and more often then not, increasing their fortune as time went on. Barring a handful of generations in economically tough times, the Parkinsons had steadily grew their wealth over the past few centuries, and each generation never ceased to remind the next what a great job they did for the last, and of course, the horrible tragedy that may fall upon them if the current generation did not repeat the pattern and let their fortune slip.
Their throne was more than just money and wealth, an aura shimmered around them. In certain circles the word 'Parkinsons' had an immediate effect on everyone, voices would stop chattering, heads would turn, and eyes would look eagerly towards the source of any news about that family. They were wealthy, they were well-cultured and mannered, they were influential, they were elite. To know anything about them, have any association with them, peppered one's life with ease and grace. Everyone wanted to be a Parkinson but they couldn't, and that was what was so special about it.
Her parents called her Pansy Pureblood because among all of the prideful plights she had achieved upon her birth, being a pureblood was one of them. One of the many reasons, that her parents ardently considered her above the best. In certain wizarding circles this quality held power and influence. Pansy Pureblood. It had been a simple admission of the truth, packed into a nickname, and a lofty 'only you can casually use this nickname because it's actually true', that followed in their eyes whenever her parents uttered it, especially in the company of others, as if the fact that they didn't even care that other people overheard this was just a mark of how effortlessly superior they were.
Her father was ambitious and excellent with money - most of the Parkinsons were. Her mother was devoted to being the best pureblood wife ever, and managing the most spectacular lifestyle, manor, and everything. Her father never saw any reason not to strive for the greatest, her mother said all living things wanted to move forwards and go forwards in their life, and simply being born into greatness didn't prevent one from aiming higher, becoming better. Everyone wants to be better than where they were, she had always said.
Pansy grew up knowing she was special, she was better, and that she could become even better.
The childhood years passed effortlessly and beautifully. She attended all the parties and social events with the other pureblood families; held at their lavish estates as if the setting was a sprawling reminder of their influence, wealth and nobility. She watched the sun die over lakes that pureblood families owned at garden parties, the glint of the light fading from expensive opal, crystal or gold chandeliers. Danced at ballrooms in the finest gowns of silk, lace, embroidery that her parents ordered or had tailored especially for these events. And of course, learnt the dance of small talk, bleeding into slightly heavier conversations where she would deftly weave her way through, never offending anyone or making connections sour, but yet always getting her way in the end, with the effortless light touch to it that most pureblood families in those social circles picked up.
She felt the envy from many purebloods of less well-known families or halfbloods hoping to move up at these balls, heard their thoughts chattering about inside their heads before they even left her presence, knew the jealousy and envy that throbbed darkly beneath the surface. Knew how much everyone wanted to be her, even if just for a day, and knew the heaviness that lay behind her very presence, but yet chose to ignore it, pretend she didn't notice, and play the innocently happy.
Pansy managed her childhood perfectly fine, knowing her position in the pack, knowing the heaviness that would always surround her, the responsibilities of becoming better, everything, but she was always the expert she would have to be at this, for she had sort of been trained from birth. It wasn't like she was a poor beggar picked up of the streets and then trained to be a pureblood, she had been steeped in all these feelings and dramas ever since she was born, and it was with a very expert and delicate hand that she welded it.
It was like a mask, a line she always had to meet. Some days she felt like her head was beneath a glittering lake of blood, and she was struggling to keep her head above the surface. Struggling to look normal, look like she was effortlessly floating her way through life like someone of her class and status ought to, trying to meet all expectations others heaped on her, as a pureblood Parkinson, and all she could do was secretly struggle underneath whilst smiling on the surface.
But for the most part, Pansy didn't think of those. She merely tried to make her way through life as normally as possible, just a touch more refined. The other reality she felt, the one where she struggled to keep things looking pretty despite all the feelings that lurked beneath the beautiful facade, these things she had no one to share with for there was no one outside her family she trusted, but otherwise, she didn't even think of that reality nor the feelings she felt towards it most days. It was always something at the back of her mind, a grey cloud, a burden, not something she truly tried to think about much as she otherwise went through her life, and all the other things she ought to be doing at whatever age.
Hogwarts was simple. Pansy was supposed to be the best, pureblood family, wealthy, influential, with a soft deftness of hand when it came to society things that she had been steeped in. It was pretty much known that most of the pureblood families were generally the best students at Hogwarts, in more ways than just marks. And every generation, every year, there had always been an aura that surrounded them which didn't fade. Pansy was no different to the rest of them.
When she arrived at Hogwarts she knew she had to be one of the best students in her year. The most high class, the person others wanted to look up to. The cream of the crop. Indeed she was.
She got her wish of which house she wanted to be sorted in, she was among other Slytherin girls of equal descent (so she never hung out with losers or anything), they were tight friends since the beginning, banding together without the need of words to express their deeper snobbery inside, and she felt like she owned the place throughout her years. Everyone knew her family's name, their wealth, their influence, everyone would see simply from the clothes she wore and the manners she had, that she was high-class, high social class, and her friends were to die for. Lesser known Slytherins or even a few ambitious students from other houses wished to get in her circle, but her and her friends were reclusive. They giggled to each other, chattered to each other, and Pansy maintained that throughout all her years at Hogwarts. She truly felt like the very best.
She could feel the envy drip of other people's eyes sometimes. They hated her because she wasn't nice or welcoming to them, but they weren't purebloods like her, so she couldn't be. It wasn't that she was mean - it was because she ran on a separate code than many other students, and she couldn't be nice to anyone not in her immediate league. Perhaps they sensed it, perhaps they were still jealous and could see all the good things she had and wanted to be in her position, even if they did not feel she was very nice to them, but either way, Pansy was still envied and that was just the simple reality through all the Hogwarts years.
Top of the hierarchy. Queen who sat at the throne of it all. Envied and wanted. People may hate her, but they couldn't deny they so desperately wanted to be her. Pansy truly felt like she was at the top and struggling to keep thirsty social climbers at bay. Again, she was hot and warm with other people who wanted to suck up to her in order to move up, in measured moments as to not burn any bridges, but also get what she wanted ultimately from everyone. She was only her true self (in all the fairness she would treat a real friend with) to a select few. To some people who were truly at the bottom of the totem pole...Pansy was truthful.
She was never mean. To be mean was to make up things that didn't exist. She was merely truthful in pointing out what was factually revolting or unappealing to many. She saw it as their fault. If they never changed themselves and walked around like easy targets, it could only be their fault if they got picked on or bullied right? Some called her a bully, but it was only a few that she absolutely couldn't stand she was a bully to.
All in all, Pansy was mostly high-class and she tried desperately to meet all expectations throughout the years. What to wear, what to talk about, what mannerisms to have, everything she did was to keep an image, the image of higher-class.
She wanted Draco Malfoy.
He was one of the most visible and influential wizards in her year at Hogwarts. He came from an equally good family, incredibly wealthy, and although she wasn't as close to him to like the way he treated her or interacted with her (she wasn't all that close to him really), the way he treated everyone worthy in Slytherin was the perfect mix of polite and charming and charismatic and socially skilled and cunning all at once, that she had no reason to not want anything to do with him.
He was one of the best boys in her year to date. The one that would make all heads turn with envy and jealousy. The one where respect and admiration and adoration followed. The one who everyone inadvertly deemed as one of the best. Most socially influential. It was a gift to be close to him.
Pansy had wanted Draco Malfoy ever since second year. She hadn't really been close to him then (and it hurt her even then), but she saw the way Crabbe and Goyle followed him, she saw the way other students in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff deferred to him, she saw the subtle way people bent towards him, and she knew she would only stand to feel great if she could be a part of him and his crew. Associated with him. Considered in the same bracket. Perhaps even the spot of being his girlfriend.
Second year, third year, fourth year, Pansy followed Draco around blindly when she could. She couldn't see him all the time, they didn't choose all the same electives, but when she could, she tried to laugh extra hard at his jokes, say something to back him up or support him, she tried to even just be physically around him a lot, as if reminding his friends and everyone in Slytherin that she had some closeness or relationship with him. Draco had never quite given her enough to make her feel validated, but he'd never given her any reason to stop.
She worked so hard at him, treating him nicely and watching for any signs that he liked her back, that he thought of her as any higher. Again, he never gave her quite enough so that she could sleep easy at night and not have to worry about this, but he never gave her any reason to stop. She remembered all those arduous years, of keeping up appearances in front of everyone else, trying to make it seem like she was so casually just in contact and association with Draco Malfoy (the way pureblood witches and wizards were supposed to), trying to make it seem effortless and natural, these rising feelings boiling and bubbling inside of her. The euphoria she felt when Draco gave her something that could be interpreted as fondness or adoration, the lust she felt burning beneath her skin when he pulled away and never quite gave her what she wanted, but yet didn't give her any reason to think he wanted nothing to do with her, the mix of them, high and low, crashing and falling erratically throughout all their rollercoaster of interactions in all of those years, that she had to keep secret because just like the pretense of being a glamorous pureblood wealthy wizarding family - no one outside of her family knew it was merely just a pretense.
She had to keep it all inside, for who could she go to? Admit all of this was some ruse? There was no one to keep her company ever since the day she was born. She had no siblings to confide in. All of this was just something that she felt.
She remembers the emotions, bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. Burning and begging to be released. Even though an ice-cold layer of secrecy lay over the surface. It was hot and cold all at once. She had to play cool, effortless, cold, on the surface, but underneath she couldn't deny those feelings, yearnings, lust, wishes, for Draco, even though she may have wanted to. It drove her up the wall enough she always felt like screaming into a pillow at night and flailing her arms and legs around several times, though she did not because that was what she used to do as a kid when she didn't get what she wanted and she didn't want to do anything that reminded her of her embarrassing kid years that she now regretted.
In fourth year she managed to work her way so close to Draco they dated for two weeks. In that year there was gossip and rumours that some students were old enough to date or consider dating; they had reached that age, and naturally, everyone thought that Draco and Pansy ought to date, as no one was not aware of their family pedigree nor status at this point. It was like a relationship that was just supposed to happen, announced by the prophets. Their classmates and housemates had gossiped about it among themselves, looked to both of them with a certain amount of deference and respect as if it had already happened. One day the topic came up.
"Careful," said Zabini, "people might think Potter will get a girlfriend before you do."
"Lies, everyone knows I am well sought-after. People who've heard such rubbish will think twice before believing it," Draco was so casually arrogant he didn't even need to practice the disdain practically dripping of his voice. It was just there.
"It's alright, no one thinks that," said Goyle.
Crabbe shook his head in agreement.
"Will you date Pansy?" asked Nott. It was well known that Pansy and Draco sort of orbited around each other in Slytherin for years now. She was just the a natural choice to run through.
"I don't know. Do I mind? Certainly not," said Draco, with a look at her that suggested he considered her a very fine pedigree and anyone was a fool to think he was an unlucky man to be in this position of choosing between her and some other girls. "Will you, be my girlfriend?"
He asked it casually, it was so fast he might've not put much feeling behind it, Pansy's heart skipped many beats, it felt like a long term dream she dreamed in silence had finally revealed itself to be correct. She couldn't go against her childhood fantasies like this.
"U-um, yes," she stuttered, a little too quickly for she had been so nervous. She didn't even know she could possibly become nervous or flustered like this until the stuttering.
They dated for two weeks. Draco was tough, he habitually showed of a little in every class to make it clear he was still at the top, he ordered his friends around whenever they did anything, he was the king of the Quidditch field with the same air he always had ever since second year, he took the lead so easily and effortlessly it was like he was born to do so. He always made the decisions, grabbed Pansy's hand and directed her to all the places they went, everything that they did, all the conversations he had. He was a natural leader and Pansy quickly followed. Draco was arrogant, domineering, a leader, impossibly full of himself, he had room to talk and talk endlessly, and he seemed to fill the space in their relationship. Pansy found herself not needing to do much under him, he could come up with all the things they did, all the commands, and she found it easy to play the role of his beautiful, pureblood, pedigree girlfriend or trophy wife.
But it was a double-edged sword. Draco was domineering, the best, on top, but yet he seemed to have a careless disregard for her. When Pansy thought he would listen to her, he gave comments or remarks that made it clear his mind was on something else entirely and he hadn't even considered how she may have felt towards certain things. When Pansy thought he might ask her what she thought or how she felt, Draco would already have some other plans in mind that were so out of it for the situation, that Pansy didn't feel as if he even thought of her at all. When Pansy thought Draco might finally realise the happiness he may have felt around her, in all the bittersweet moments they hung out where Pansy tried to play the same self she always did these years but on the maximum, he gave nothing to betray that he felt any greater way around her. He didn't feel the happiness she felt when she hung around him, didn't feel the same hope, the same carefreeness, as if all was right in the world, and for all the yellowed happy feelings Pansy mustered over the years in his presence...she did not feel quite the same from him.
He didn't seem to care about her. He didn't seem to understand she may be unhappy or where her sorrows lay. He wasn't even quite frankly when she admitted it to herself in disgust one day, even all that pleasant in general. He was sometimes rude, sometimes blunt, sometimes hateful in a way that made her feel like rubbish at the bottom of his shoe.
Worst still, was his horrible (back then) habit of getting too physical with his girlfriends. He would take her by the arm and drag her if he wanted something done with her, or to go somewhere. It was with a careless sense as if he did not consider what it might've felt like to be dragged anywhere (had anyone at Hogwarts even been in such a position to drag Draco by the arm anywhere?), he would put an arm behind the small of her back and take her through different rooms or passageways in the castle to where he wanted next, and Pansy felt the force that was so determined and hard it was like she couldn't break away or stop herself, even though she did not fully want to go anywhere with him, or do whatever he wanted to fill those moments. He would sometimes cling to her hand and pull them when he wanted her to follow, and it was with a force that suggested he didn't feel how hard he was. Sharp turns, twists and turns of classrooms and corridors; Hogsmeades and dates out on the lawns, a careless brush against her shoulder, a ghastly slap upon her face once when he was very annoyed, a kiss or hug that was all too rough, too hard...
But yet Pansy yearned for those moments because that was when the other Hogwarts students saw them - kissing or hugging - the power couple of the grade, and thought they were perfection humanified. He, with his heavy reputation of being a Malfoy, one of the wealthiest and most influential lineages, the glamor he upheld throughout all of his years at Hogwarts. Her, one of the last Parkinsons, wealthy and influential with the same aura and jealousy that swirled around her ever since first year. The two of them seemed like a perfect couple, and their kisses and hugs were even better. When they kissed in public, Pansy felt the jealousy ebb and ooze of the other girls, saw the way their eyes caught them as a pair and could almost taste the substitutions inside their brain as they swapped her out or themselves, and she could feel the image of perfection, so coldly cut and refined, that would stay in their head for a long time after.
She felt alive and electric at those moments, as if she had been on 'good behaviour' around him for a long time just to earn those kisses from him, those hugs, the everything. But yet she remembered the slap that burned across her face, his cold and uncaring eyes that looked blankly at her, emotionless for how she was feeling, before they tore away, and the absence of care he held in them for her. The cutting coldness that settled between them that juxtaposed to the burning beneath her skin at the fast euphoria she had felt.
Hot and cold. That was how they were. Hot and cold.
So beautiful and perfect on the surface. So bleeding, cruel and raw underneath. Her hidden emotions.
They broke up mutually after 2 weeks. It wasn't really much, they had both agreed it premature and just to prove to others that they could indeed date for they had reached the age, if they wanted to, and that neither of them were scared of dating or anything. There had been the same politeness and charm Draco always had, where he didn't give any signs he loved her, but yet he didn't give her any reason to think that he wouldn't want to date her again in the future. He didn't love her, but he didn't give her any reason at their break-up (a reason that wasn't accidental on his part) that he didn't not want her.
And Pansy knew they wouldn't be dating anytime soon, or for a long time yet, she knew that it was a relationship that was mostly happy in the eye of others, memorable, and that she would indeed have a higher status for quite some time (afterall, no one else got to date Draco Malfoy like she had), but yet there was a horrible cruelty and irony that twisted beneath the surface. Beneath the fabric of reality.
She had dated Draco Malfoy, and it wasn't all that it had cut out to be.
She wanted to date Draco Malfoy all these years, and yet the reality proved to be burning and bitter and sweet all at the same time.
Bittersweet.