Title: The Story of an End
Author: FragrantPowders
Beta: Emma/monifieth
Pairing: Pansy/Luna
Rating: PG/K-
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise. Not mine. JK Rowlings.
Author's Notes: I've used quotes from the Bible in this one. They are marked with an and notes as to where they're taken form can be found in the bottom of the text.
All stories ended the same way. With a flourished "the end" and a sharp, bleeding full stop. Pansy knew this and it was the reason she stopped running. She could have run forever (like some of the Death Eaters would probably do), but she decided that in the end it would come down to the same; to a moment where she would be cornered and made unable to fight anymore (made impotent). She was still a Pureblood, no matter how the war ended, and she still had her pride (besides that she remembered an old man and a speech; she remembered being given a choice). Pansy chose to stop running. 11 hours and 34 minutes after Voldemort had disappeared in a green-flashing second of mute sounds and motionless action Pansy Parkinson decided she had a choice, and she chose to stop running.
It was not because she was brave of heart (she was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor); she knew that it would have consequences (she was not stupid either) and that the Ministry could choose to make an example of her, but she stopped running anyway. In the middle of a dark forest with the thin, silver slice of moon far above her head she told herself that if this was the way it was supposed to end, then she had matters to settle and things to do (people to face, people to kiss goodbye).
Pansy looked down at herself; took in her wrinkled black cloak and noticed the white mask (oh so feared, oh so hated) still clutched tightly in her left hand as if it was the most precious of pearls. She stared at it for a long time (its black, empty eyes staring right back at her), wondering how she could have been so naïve as to think this was the one pearl of great value (her parents had talked of power; Draco had talked of power; always power) that she had had to sell all that she owned to buy. But regret always came too late…
When Pansy Apparated she left her mask behind to fall to the forest floor like some strange imitation of a snowflake (or maybe a tear never shed). It fell among grass and daisies, and days later wild boars would trample it under foot and leave it in pieces (some ends were like that; they would never be remembered because no one was there to see).
The beach seemed endless. Pansy walked forever and there was nothing but sand and gentle, little waves washing over her bare feet before gliding back into the ocean (like chicks returning to the mother hen). In the horizon the sky was changing from deep black spotted with stars to baby blue and golden edges on every cloud. Sunrise (the first day after the last battle; the first day in the rest of their lives). A few metres in front of her was a fire; not a bonfire or even a camp fire, but some sticks thrown in a pile to lighten up the night and welcome the day.
You will do well to pay attention to this, Pansy thought to herself; as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts (strange thoughts, but she remembered Luna reading it to her once, from an endless book that held no particular meaning to her, but that told her all the secrets of the world).
Luna was waiting for her (Pansy should have known, Pansy knew Luna well enough to expect), clad in silver dress robes and with forget-me-nots woven into her hair. Pansy stopped a few feet from her (outside the small circle of light from the fire) and watched her in silence.
Their story was not one of easy love and laughter or even one of animated arguments and attempts on trying to win the other over. No, their story was one of quiet meetings on the coast of France when everything else failed; their story was one of accepting that some things could never be, but were anyway (against all odds).
Their story was one untold and unknown to the world and that was the way it was meant to be, because neither of them had really dared to believe in them both surviving hell. Pansy smiled (a little bitterly; a lot hopefully), thinking that now they were really in trouble. Nothing had worked out as they thought it would. What to do now?
"You've already started celebrating?" Pansy's question did not disturb the silence of the beach; instead it mingled in with the waves' gentle splashing as they ate the wet sand. Luna looked up, eyes wide as always; the same shade of blue as the flowers in her hair. She looked beautiful, Pansy thought (beautiful in the same way as freedom and other indescribable concepts, the same kind of beautiful as the sunrise). "Why are you here instead of with them?"
Luna shrugged (something she rarely did; Luna always had answers and lots of them), and Pansy sighed, sitting down beside her. The flames seemed to be reaching for the sky; as if to lick the orange-golden gleam off it (like Pansy had licked cream off her strawberries in the summers when she was a little girl). It was peaceful in a way things could only be when you knew there were no battles to return to; no more people to kill or molest (no more dreams to destroy). Pansy took pleasure in it; made sure she would be able to remember this feeling when less calm times came upon them (because times like that would come; in a couple of hours or a couple of months, it did not matter).
"As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more," Luna said slowly, turning her head to watch Pansy with that intense gaze of hers; eyes roaming over Pansy's features as if to savour them (as if her face was something special, pretty, even). Pansy frowned; it was an odd thing to say, but by now she had got used to Luna's little quotes and speeches. "Is this the beginning or the end, Pansy? Are we the flower or are we just its place? How much will things change from now on?" (Three questions in one; that must have been some kind of record, even for Luna).
"Isn't that up to us?" Pansy answered by asking. Luna cocked her head slowly and turned her face towards the now blushing morning sky whose light made her hair shine like gold. She looked precious (the most precious of pearls; Pansy wanted to reach out and take her, no matter what she would have to give up in return); she looked divine (always the moon goddess, Luna).
"Perhaps," Luna got to her feet and looked down at Pansy, her shadow falling over the ground like a curtain of dusk and darkness. Pansy outlined it with her finger; stroking Luna's hair that was more a grey waterfall than night dark silk on the fair sand. "Come on, Pansy Parkinson – the wind of change has passed over this place, and we have no need of it anymore. We will find a new place to flourish."
Pansy looked at Luna's outstretched hand for a long time; minutes passed by in silence and she could not stop telling herself that this was the end. If Luna took her with her back she would have to start running again or she would lose everything (her Luna); she had sworn to herself she would not run anymore. This was the only place she could keep that promise without losing her pearl (she had made a choice, she had chosen).
"I will make sure you are safe," Luna said and this made Pansy look up. It had always been the other way around; she that had made sure no curses were sent in Luna's direction, she that had made sure the Death Eaters did not know where the Order was without the Order being on their way out of there. "I will take care of you, Pansy," Luna said and crouched down before Pansy so their eyes were on the same level. Pansy noticed that there were traces of deep, velvety red lipstick on Luna's lips (she knew no one who wore that shade of red, no one).
"Who have you been kissing?" she asked, a pang of jealousy rushing through her (maybe there were other reasons she had to say goodbye, maybe Luna had chosen too; and maybe she had not chosen Pansy). Luna smiled softly; eyes glowing as if the stars the sunrise had turned off had gathered inside her and were now shining in her gaze.
"Ginny; but it didn't mean anything – it was just because we were so happy it had come to an end."
Pansy had trouble understanding. She was afraid to leave this beach because she could not look past the end; the flourished end with its sharp, bleeding full stop. She was afraid. "But it's the end, Luna – what's so wonderful about it?"
Luna leaned forward and brushed her lips ever so softly over Pansy's; the blood red lipstick now also painted onto her lips. It was a soft kiss (almost chaste at first), a gentle kiss with tenderly parting lips and tentatively searching tongues. I will take care of you, it said.
I will take care of you.
"Every end gives way to a new beginning," Luna said when she drew back, lips swollen and eyes sparkling with a fire more heated than the one that still burned brightly only a few feet from them (and Pansy knew which light to pay attention to; which morning star to welcome). "Every end gives way to a fresh start and a second chance."
Pansy watched as Luna put out the fire and erased all other traces of them. It was as if they had never been there. Then Luna turned around to face her and they looked at each other wordlessly (some ends were like this; quiet promises of a better beginning and a new tomorrow). Then Luna held out her hand.
"Come," she said, "I'll explain it to them."
This time Pansy took her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it before taking the first steps on their journey back of the path her footprints had made in the wet sand (she was not running). Luna followed her, entwining their fingers and never letting go (it was everything Pansy could ever ask for of a second chance).
Some ends were like this.
Notes
New Testament, Matthew, chapter 13, 45 – 46
New Testament, Matthew, chapter 7, 16
New Testament, 2 Peter, chapter 1, 19
Old Testament, Psalm 103, 15 – 16