A/N: Oh, I'm sorry about the slow updates. I'm been working on some of my other stories, trying to get them all caught up so that I can have some sort of working system for posting. Thank you, my loyal readers.
It was funny how even the most common of things, like a cool pillow against a flushed cheek, could bring such comfort. Pansy rolled to the other side of the bed, glancing at the alarm clock on the side table where her wand lay. It was almost noon, and Pansy still didn't feel like pulling herself out from beneath the covers. She glared at it the red digital numbers with a furiousness that could have made Salazar Slytherin proud. Nevertheless, the foolish muggle electronic refused to push back the hours.
In an attempt to get up, she told herself that she was sleeping in a soiled, dirty bed that hundreds of muggles had occupied nightly. As a side note, she added, doing Merlin-knows-what between these two sheets. It did little good. The snarky Slytherin Princess on her left shoulder told her that the pillow she was snuggling up too had been drooled on, but the child on her right insisted that the lump felt like a slice of Heaven's fluffiest cloud.
With a groan, she slithered out of the covers cocooning her and stumbled out of bed, thankful that she didn't yet feel the dizzying morning sickness tracing its way up her throat.
She had been so exhausted from walking though London the day before that she had been desperate for a place to rest her head. Pansy had finally settled on what she hoped was a reasonably priced muggle hotel (she cursed herself for not reading the book on muggle currency in Hogwarts' library). She had been forced to use what Draco had called the emergency card—the shiny little rectangle of plastic that she had promised to use only as a last resort. She pulled it out of her bag along with another card, both of which had been given to her by Draco only a week earlier. For some odd reason, they both claimed to be owned by one Penelope Parkers.
"You always did have a great sense of humor," Pansy muttered, only half amused.
She had signed the name without hesitation, and the man downstairs had been more than happy to except "charge". She would definitely use these cards again.
Pansy put the cards away and glared down at the skirt and button-up that she was still wearing from the day before. She would obviously have to go shopping if she wanted to go out into the muggle public more than once. Her eyes found the open bathroom door, and she found herself yearning for the touch of hot water and suds on her skin.
Clothing dropped as she walked across the small room to the tiny white tiled floor in front of the double sinks. She snatched a towel from its rack and her own reflection caught her eye as she backed away. Hips up she was pale and smooth, and her womanly curves, which she had tailored her robes to fit so very well, stared back arrogantly. Pansy's eyes glimmered with release when she ran a hand over her slightly rounded stomach. It had always been flat before, the envy of her roommates, but she liked the new look just fine. She wondered if Draco had noticed it before he left, when he'd run his fingers over her.
"Give it three weeks, Parkinson, and you'll like you're carrying a rice sack around your belly," said the reflection (or so she imagined it would say, had it been a 'magical' mirror).
The scorching water did her good. It left her skin reddened and her hair soaked and her eyes open to the world. She ran her fingers through her short black locks before deciding not to dry them magically, straightening her hair as was her usual habit after a bath. No, she would let her natural curl take form. It would only be a slight change in her appearance but a change nevertheless.
She opened her trunk and slipped on one of her lighter, casual robes, lounging down onto the accursed bed that had held her hostage for half the day.
"Now what?"
Her eyes met her distorted features reflected in the black glass sitting in front of her. A television, she realized. Pansy leaned up curiously, unable to recall seeing one of the muggle entertainment boxes in her life. Her parents had always ensured that their precious daughter would not be tainted by foolish devices such as the one she was presently examining.
"On," she commanded, staring at the box. Nothing happened. "I suppose that's not how you work. . ."
She spotted a few buttons along its bottom and hopped up, pressing the one labeled 'power'. The screen flashed on. She noticed a long, smaller rectangle beside the television, and began to fiddle with the remote's buttons. The pictures changed as she pressed the channel button down. She sat back down on the bed, watching a man grasp a woman in his arms and kissing her passionately on the lips. Then the man proceeded to tell her how his wife would never find out. She switched the channel.
Music blared through the room. She waited a moment, listening to the heavy, melodious beat before turning off the television and laying back down on the covers, arms draped over her form. She sighed, already bored with her new life.
"Come on, Draco," she whispered. Her eyes closed as if she was praying instead of wishing into thin air. "A sign, please. Tell me you're alive. Tell me that our lives can be put back together.
A rasping on the door brought Pansy back down to earth. "Room service," a hearty accent announced.
Pansy shot up as if she had just been hexed. She raced to the door, looking through the tiny safety hole. A round, cheerful face peered at the front of the door, a rolling hamper at her side. The young witch slowly opened the door.
"What?" she snapped.
"Hello, Miss," the woman said with a broad smile that made her glittering eyes almost disappear.
"I do not need your services," Pansy said haughtily.
"Would you like some towels, little miss?" the woman asked.
"No," Pansy forced. "I'm fine . . . but thank you."
The woman gave an annoying little laugh that made Pansy's innards twist. "Why, miss, you wouldn't know a Penelope Parkers, would you? A young man came by a few hours ago and dropped off a letter. He asked me to deliver it as I made my rounds."
Pansy's face dropped at the name. "I'm Penelope."
The maid held out a small brown envelope with the name scrolled across the top in curt, slanted handwriting. Draco's handwriting. Her lover had been here—in this place. But why didn't he find her himself. Why couldn't he sacrifice five minutes just to tell her that he was alive?
Pansy snatched the letter and slammed the door in the muggle woman's face. She let out a shaky breath and tore it open hastily.
Dear Ms. Parkers,
I regret to inform you that your request for a portkey to Hawaii, USA could not be filled at this time. For more travel information and developments, please contact the Department of Foreign Travels and Affairs. Thank you for your time and loyal membership.
Sincerely,
Roberta LaChagrin
Pansy laughed at the bubbly signature, reaching out for her wand. She tapped the paper lightly. "Information, Hawaii, USA, Department of Foreign Travels and Affairs, please," she said lightly. The words began to scrabble, letters fading and new ones appearing in their place.
One day has stretched into a lifetime, or maybe I simply have no patience without you. I don't have long, my love. They are always watching me. I can only deliver one message, and you must take it to heart. I want you to wait for me. But I need to move on. Move, my flower. They have already spotted you twice. Get out.