Authors Note: More writing from moi. Pansy Parkinson's POV, she's in her
7th year of Hogwarts. It's a bit "here and there" (no organization) but
that is the point.
Babbling and ranting ensues.
=D
Disclaimer: Anything you strongly recognize (and some things you don't, for that matter) aren't mine.
~*~
It's official.
Mum's loony and Daddy's going down with her.
They want me to marry Draco Malfoy. Yes, Draco Malfoy.
Now don't get me wrong, he's okay looking, if you like blond hair and all that jazz. And his popularity rates are rising. Oh yeah, and he has the sweetest owl he named 'Crabbe' because it's really quite stupid. And he buys me pretty bracelets with gems, and sometimes a charm bracelet. And he always sneaks crumpets to me when I miss breakfast.
But marrying him?
Ick.
And I suppose I should be happy and all, right? Because he's pureblood and I should feel "proud" to be held in his high esteem.
And I mean, I AM. Because, well, he is all they say he is. Except for the charming deal, 'cause he really isn't charming. Not the "sweep you off your feet" deal and all.
When it comes down to it:
I just don't want Draco Malfoy.
Not now, not ever.
But that isn't the point, not really. Mother asked me, "If you don't want Draco Malfoy then what do you want?"
And I shrugged and said, "Whatever, Mother. I need to go back to reading that fashion magazine Auntie brought me."
That, of course, was a copout, and that's how I speak to Mother. Via copouts, "Oh I'm busy. I can't talk now."
What I want isn't the fancy clothes and all of the money, although considerably that wouldn't be awful. I want the old cottage, the old cottage with the roof that isn't thatched and the brick chimney. I want the lacy white curtains and big hearth. I want fried doughnuts set out lazily on blue, chipped china plates.
The funny thing is, Draco can compliment me, and he often does. And he can dote on me and 'try' to love me and put bread on the table and money in Gringots and that's just so darn lovely. He can hold my hand as we go to a fancy party and he can waltz like no one's business. He wears the fancy velvet cloaks and sprawls out on Slytherin common room couches.
But it isn't right.
Not really.
And he smirks FAR TOO MUCH. He looks great when he smirks, notably. He also looks like an arrogant prat, that, of course, is the downside.
Mother's silly if she'd think that I'd ever marry him, for reasons noted above-
And then some.
She's always thought she knows what's best for me, and she doesn't. She couldn't be more wrong. I respect pureblood families, because let's face it, that's a big deal it took a lot of inbreeding for that. And that's a lot of work.
Draco and I knew each other as children; I've never liked him.
The response is probably something like this, "Oh really? You don't like the bloke and you're dating him? That's rich."
I admit Draco Malfoy is not some fabulous guy, by any standards, but he is my boyfriend, for the time being. I started dating him in my second year and I was young and impressionable at that time (although nonetheless still quite bratty) and he was cute. For a twelve year old and all. We sort of became, uh, how shall we say it? 'Attached at the hip?'
We became fast 'friends.' Friends who don't like each other, don't talk to each other and when they do only to spew 'nasty words' at each other. Friends who "accidentally" spill pumpkin juice on each other and secretly plan ways to put poison in each other's dinner drinks. But nonetheless 'friends.'
I didn't have many friends.
But then again WHO DID? We're Slytherins, and I say that with some sort of pride, although I'm not quite sure what sort. We're pathetic little blighters and we were difficult and unreasonable. We're strong and resilient, not compassionate, uncaring, every bad thing you could possibly think of.
And I say the word with pride:
Slytherin.
I think it's supposed to be that way.
In some sick and twisted sort of way.
It's awful and it's terrible but it's-yours. And that serves some sort of purpose.
So anyway, we Slytherins don't babble. And I've been babbling for quite some time now. I think I just tarnished my perfect reputation, actually I tarnished that
--when I was seen kissing Harry Potter in an old broom shed.
But that's hardly the point.
'Yours,
Always* and Forever
Pansy Rose Parkison'
~*~
La Fin
Babbling and ranting ensues.
=D
Disclaimer: Anything you strongly recognize (and some things you don't, for that matter) aren't mine.
~*~
It's official.
Mum's loony and Daddy's going down with her.
They want me to marry Draco Malfoy. Yes, Draco Malfoy.
Now don't get me wrong, he's okay looking, if you like blond hair and all that jazz. And his popularity rates are rising. Oh yeah, and he has the sweetest owl he named 'Crabbe' because it's really quite stupid. And he buys me pretty bracelets with gems, and sometimes a charm bracelet. And he always sneaks crumpets to me when I miss breakfast.
But marrying him?
Ick.
And I suppose I should be happy and all, right? Because he's pureblood and I should feel "proud" to be held in his high esteem.
And I mean, I AM. Because, well, he is all they say he is. Except for the charming deal, 'cause he really isn't charming. Not the "sweep you off your feet" deal and all.
When it comes down to it:
I just don't want Draco Malfoy.
Not now, not ever.
But that isn't the point, not really. Mother asked me, "If you don't want Draco Malfoy then what do you want?"
And I shrugged and said, "Whatever, Mother. I need to go back to reading that fashion magazine Auntie brought me."
That, of course, was a copout, and that's how I speak to Mother. Via copouts, "Oh I'm busy. I can't talk now."
What I want isn't the fancy clothes and all of the money, although considerably that wouldn't be awful. I want the old cottage, the old cottage with the roof that isn't thatched and the brick chimney. I want the lacy white curtains and big hearth. I want fried doughnuts set out lazily on blue, chipped china plates.
The funny thing is, Draco can compliment me, and he often does. And he can dote on me and 'try' to love me and put bread on the table and money in Gringots and that's just so darn lovely. He can hold my hand as we go to a fancy party and he can waltz like no one's business. He wears the fancy velvet cloaks and sprawls out on Slytherin common room couches.
But it isn't right.
Not really.
And he smirks FAR TOO MUCH. He looks great when he smirks, notably. He also looks like an arrogant prat, that, of course, is the downside.
Mother's silly if she'd think that I'd ever marry him, for reasons noted above-
And then some.
She's always thought she knows what's best for me, and she doesn't. She couldn't be more wrong. I respect pureblood families, because let's face it, that's a big deal it took a lot of inbreeding for that. And that's a lot of work.
Draco and I knew each other as children; I've never liked him.
The response is probably something like this, "Oh really? You don't like the bloke and you're dating him? That's rich."
I admit Draco Malfoy is not some fabulous guy, by any standards, but he is my boyfriend, for the time being. I started dating him in my second year and I was young and impressionable at that time (although nonetheless still quite bratty) and he was cute. For a twelve year old and all. We sort of became, uh, how shall we say it? 'Attached at the hip?'
We became fast 'friends.' Friends who don't like each other, don't talk to each other and when they do only to spew 'nasty words' at each other. Friends who "accidentally" spill pumpkin juice on each other and secretly plan ways to put poison in each other's dinner drinks. But nonetheless 'friends.'
I didn't have many friends.
But then again WHO DID? We're Slytherins, and I say that with some sort of pride, although I'm not quite sure what sort. We're pathetic little blighters and we were difficult and unreasonable. We're strong and resilient, not compassionate, uncaring, every bad thing you could possibly think of.
And I say the word with pride:
Slytherin.
I think it's supposed to be that way.
In some sick and twisted sort of way.
It's awful and it's terrible but it's-yours. And that serves some sort of purpose.
So anyway, we Slytherins don't babble. And I've been babbling for quite some time now. I think I just tarnished my perfect reputation, actually I tarnished that
--when I was seen kissing Harry Potter in an old broom shed.
But that's hardly the point.
'Yours,
Always* and Forever
Pansy Rose Parkison'
~*~
La Fin