The next day was a Saturday. I had a family gathering to attend. Sometimes we got together for special events like birthdays or christmases. Other times it was for nothing at all and this was one of them. We were at my aunt from my mother's side house. I said briefly to the adults before heading to the coffee rooms where people around my age were, and we engaged in this name of one upping each other that we always did. Pricks.
I had a large family and lots of relatives. I might've been the only child in my immediate family, but I had a number of aunts and uncles, and even more great aunts and uncles, and second cousins. The Parkinson's were a large family who avoided the whole deatheater mess and as a consequence had most of their family members alive and intact, the future line continuing on strongly for generations, and we didn't die out like the fate of the Blacks or anything...
I took small notices of my family - not everyone was there though - as I sat and one-upped my cousins.
My parents were there. My mother was talking to many of my aunts. She's talkative and charming when she wants to be, usually the centre of attention, the life of the party, though always with a mature air, never for something tacky. She talked about her business, it was a topic she enjoyed talking about to many, other small thing here and there, old memories she shared with the others, a little about me. When I was younger my heart swelled with happiness and pride in myself whenever she said anything about me that was positive. My heart dropped when she said the slightest critique, though it usually wasn't much more than a small casual offhand remark for I was a well behaved child and barely did anything bad worthy of noticing.
I used to purposefully find things worth doing throughout the week or coming months so that when mother had these meetings with the rest of my family she had something to brag about. It wasn't that I wanted to prove anything to myself, I had always thought myself superior to others in a casual effortless way, but because I didn't think the others of my generation knew it, and I had wanted to make them see it. As if I couldn't bare it if people could steep in ignorance of me and the things I did in my childhood, which was already better than theirs. New items I got, my bedroom when it had been redecorated, achievements from my governesses and tutors, being the most popular girl out of my group of friends (for even tutored children got school outings with fellow classmates and opportunities to make friends, not that I needed it for I had always been popular everywhere I went), and so many more that mother would mention to the others.
It was childish, that's what it was. But I was a child once too, and I don't forget that.
My father was there as well. Only for a few hours. It was the case with a lot of the men there. They still had to work (often prestigious given our wealth) jobs. Not official jobs, but work nonetheless. We weren't so rich we didn't have anything to do and instead just lived a life full of indulgence. Nope, not that rich.
My grandparents from both sides were there. I was closer to the Parkinsons from my father's side who passed down the name. Grandfather and grandmother Parkinson doted on me like no end. The majority of the expensive gifts upon my birth was from them. They came from old money, did a wise job growing it, and passed down the strong streak to my father. They are still working now actually, they're not so old since witches and wizards traditionally have children young. Grandfather enjoys his job so he likes to continue growing his fortune, but he often lets the younger men take centre stage with their story's.
My great-grandparents from my father's side were there too. The average wizard's life expectancy was 137 3/4 years so my great-grandparents had a couple more decades though we all hoped it'll be the longest. They still worked though it was likely they were going to retire soon. They mostly listened to news from the family and gave advice. Not official jobs, but growing their fortune.
My mother was a Flint before she was a Parkinson. So the Grandfather and Grandmother Flint were there as well. They doted on me. The Flint family of recent generations had many male children strangely so I was one of the only female grandchildren and they loved seeing me spin and twirl in pretty dresses, or pampering me with luxury items for girls, inquiring about my life in particular, all throughout these years. They loved my personality beyond just my role as a granddaughter and looked forward to seeing me every time. I felt no less loved by them even though they're from my mother's side and in the magical world you were closer to your husband's family after marriage. We loved each other all the same, but didn't see the mother's side as much.
People were usually surprised to see that I was so close to my family. Details about our gathering or closeness might've been enough to send them into a shock and gossip about this new revelation all weekend long if they found out. I always kept it a little guarded secret, mostly because I did not want to bother with other people's ignorant assumptions about me. It was a mark of their low character, not anything to do with my family and I.
My mother's sister and three brothers were there. Aunt Patricia, Uncle Robert, Uncle Richard and Uncle Ronald. The Flints that attended Hogwarts with me were the grandchildren of my grandparents' siblings (who weren't there) so they were my second cousins, but still too close to date. It was funny, the way I categorised people in the wizarding world. Either family, or far enough to date. You could say I had been obsessed with marriage ever since I was a little girl.
From my father's side, his two sisters and two brothers' were also there. Aunt Deborah and Aunt Barbara, Uncle Lawrence and Walter.
I liked all my Aunts and Uncles, and I was considered one of the most successful children of my generation, so they liked me as well.
There were more children than adults, but we were quite a bit apart from them, talking amongst ourselves. Not all the children were there, but enough for a lot of talk.
Aunt Patricia had three kids - Oleander, Lotus and Hibiscus, all girls for some reason.
Uncle Robert had three boys - Nash, Alarick and Mason.
Uncle Richard had three boys and one girl - Rome, Rio, Sawyer, and Athena.
Uncle Ronald had four boys and one girl - Easton, Ezekiel, Cullen, Rodney and Galilee.
Aunt Deborah had a boy and a girl - Sebastian and Quinlan.
Aunt Barbara had two boys - Tremaine and Lukariah.
Uncle Lawrence had three boys and a girl - Ky, Jourdaine, Ford and Erith.
Uncle Walter had a boy and a girl - Killian and Rosielee.
There was at least one grandchild from each family present however, and it was usually up to them to talk for their sibling and represent how they were doing if they weren't there. Everyone had at least some decency to respect each other well when they weren't there. Well, we were all better than the majority of people in our generation not in the room so it wasn't as if we had any real reason for slandering each other. The thing about belonging to the Parkinsons or any other Sacred 28 family, was that you often felt so superior even if you disliked a family member, which was rare for most were better than the average person, you would still think they were better than any other person you'd met, and you'd still prefer their company or confidance over anyone else, so you couldn't really hate them.
The large family meant the Parkinson name was nowhere near dying out in the next few generations, so there wasn't pressure to have kids to prevent the surname from dying out, only if you wanted to. We took a bit of pride at this, as if some other Sacred 28 family's may have been struggling with the issue of their name dying out (though the only one that did were the Blacks), and each gathering sort of affirmed this, but otherwise we were not terribly close. There are limits with such a large family and besides remembering vaguely whose parents all the people my age came from were, and which parent of mine their parent was a sibling of, it was only a handful of kids I talked to on any frequent basis whenever we met.
I was also one of the younger kids, my parents had me a little later than other family's, so it was boring talking to someone from drastically different life stages.
Currently I was talking to Athena, Galilee, Quinlan, Erith and Rosielee. Oleander, the only girl who attended from Aunt Patricia's side was actually talking to the adults instead. She probably thought our conversation was boring.
Erith and Rosielee were younger than me and still at Hogwarts, Athena two years older and Galilee three and Quinlan one.
"I can't believe the Blacks lineage has died out," said Galilee, "the Sacred 28. You'd sort of think they'd be around forever..."
"I read it in the latest magazine of 150 notable witches and wizards of the past year, it's now the Sacred 27," said Athena.
"Excuse me? Can't they just...rename someone a Black? Weren't Bellatrix and Narcissa related? Couldn't Draco just...name one son a Malfoy, one a Black, and then the line starts again?" said Quinlan.
"Wizarding marriage contracts don't work that way. They're particular about names. All of Draco's children can only be Malfoys," I said.
"Wizarding marriage contracts kind of didn't help pureblooded family's stay pure," said Quinlan.
"It's all unofficial anyway," said Erith, "it doesn't really matter. Some other family would happen to be pureblooded for more generations and they'll be the Sacred 28, or maybe 29th. It changes throughout history."
"It's been the Sacred 28 for the past 110 years actually," said Rosielee.
"I like the ring of Sacred 27," said Erith.
"If you want to help the lineage continue, you should quickly marry and have kids," pointed out Athena.
"When's the wedding?" asked Erith.
Galilee was the only one out of all of us engaged.
"I don't know," she shrugged, "we've talked about it briefly but haven't come close to making a decision. It could be any date..."
Towards the end of the gathering, Quinlan caught me alone and came to me for advice. I was closer to Galilee, Quinlan and Rosielee out of all of the girls.
"I think I like a guy," she said, "but I'm not sure whether to chase him or not. Do I make it clear that I have feelings for him, or is that tacky and he'd never want to marry a girl that's desperate for him?"
Quinlan usually comes to me for advice. She looks up to me. She's the one that looks the most like me anyway, but a thinner version. She's one year older than me, but age doesn't matter when you're outside of school. It just melts away and we talk like equals.
"What would your social circles do?" I asked her.
"I don't know. Some would love the chance of honesty, some would stick to old traditions," she looked uneasy. It probably wasn't easy making a decision.
"What would he want?" I asked him.
Quinlan's eyes lit up, "I've been too busy worrying what others would think of me. I didn't think of how he'd see it. He'd..." her eyes fell, "think it's tacky."
Ah, solving one problem but finding oneself with another.
"A common view - don't be glum about it. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Well, now you know you'll have to give him a real good reason to give you a chance if you make it clear because you know he'll find it tacky. Or let it go and date a guy that you're sure you've never come of as desperate in front of. Sometimes it's nice to start with a fresh face that you've only felt good around," I told her.
Quinlan's eyes lit up again, "thanks. You're the best Pansy. Always full of wise and knowledegable advice on everything!"
"Your welcome," I smiled at her.
Except my own problems. I thought. I'm the advice giver of many, the wise sage, the old soul, the one everyone comes to rely and depend on, but yet I still have my own problems and pain with Draco Malfoy, twisting beneath the surface...
A part of me wanted to cry out at this. A part of me wanted to kill Draco. A part of me wanted him to touch my hand laid upon his chest in my bid to kill him, a look of realisation or something flare in his eyes, and then his attempt to prove me wrong, to prove that he is not worthy of killing or being dead because he would want to be so good to me I'd feel nowhere near that amount of frustration to do so and...
So many feelings. Twisted and hidden beneath the surface. Never truly leaving me.
Why is this chapter of my life with Draco Malfoy so hard? Why has it always been?
Author's Note: I wanted to give a little bit more background on Pansy's family but I've got more ideas for them besides what was shown here. I did feel like I wrote the scenes a bit amateurishly though, I'm nowhere as familiar with how to write good family scenes nor introduce a character's family in an interesting way as I'd like, but I tried to get across the main gist of them.
