Mister Draco Malfoy
And
Miss Hermione Granger
are pleased to announce their engagement!
A shriek of anguish echoed through the Parkinson Manor. It was followed by the crash of tea service and the breaking of priceless china.
Pansy rolled her eyes. Her mother was always one for dramatics. She leaned back on the velvet chaise in her room and counted. When she hit eight, her mother slammed the doors open with the beautiful engagement announcement in her perfectly manicured hand.
"Yes, Mother, please, come in," Pansy said, putting down her book.
"Did you know?" It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. Pansy just gave her mother an innocent stare as if she had no idea what she was going on about even though Pansy had found the announcement letter earlier during breakfast. "Did you know Draco was engaged?"
"Not in the slightest," Pansy lied with ease.
Knew? Of course she knew. Draco couldn't keep a secret from her to save his life. She knew the moment the doors opened to the Yule Ball when Draco couldn't take his eyes off the girl in the periwinkle dress. She knew when he would watch the brunette across the Great Hall during meals in Eighth Year and shoved him to ask her out already. She even knew when she helped pick out the ring from a famous muggle jeweler: a very large bezel-set rose-cut diamond ring not connected to any of the pureblood righteousness of the past. She even knew all that Dark Mark and killing Dumbledore nonsense back in the day. There was not much Pansy didn't know when it came to Draco.
"Now who are you to marry?" Her mother gasped, using the announcement as a fan. She was much like Pansy in her coloring, pale skin and dark features, but she had the curves of a woman while Pansy could be compared to a stick quite easily. Daphne always teased that Pansy had doxy bites for breasts.
Pansy shrugged and picked up her book to start reading again. "Hopefully no one."
Her mother stood by the window, looking out as she contemplated her next move. Pansy ignored her, falling back into the pages of her book. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.
"I'm announcing your participation in this Season," her mother announced. Pansy threw down her book, shocked and enraged.
"You will do no such thing!" Pansy started, getting up from her chaise and storming over to her mother. "I refuse to participate in your archaic–"
A hard slap echoed through the room.
"You will! You will attempt to find a husband this Season and restore our family name or so help me Salazar, I will throw you on the street without a penny to your worthless soul. Understood?" Her mother simmered with a quiet rage that Pansy knew could only grow more violent.
"Understood," Pansy said quietly, clutching her cheek and willing tears not to fall.
Just in time for the start of the Season, Draco Malfoy has announced his engagement. Though this author has been in the know for quite some time, it might come to the shock of the reader that his wife-to-be is not the assumed Miss Pansy Parkinson. In fact, it might even come as an even bigger shock that his love match is with one Miss Hermione Granger of The Golden Trio.
The first ball of the Season will be to celebrate the Malfoy-Granger engagement. While most are curious how the union came about, this author is more interested in the rumor of a new bachelor on the invite list: Mister Lucas Picquery, American Professional Quidditch Player for The Fitchburg Finches. Rumor has it, this Rake is finally looking to settle down. Rather convenient for the newly single Miss Pansy Parkinson, don't you think?
Lady BloodPure's Society Papers, April 20
'Rather convenient indeed,' Pansy thought as she read the new gossip column in the Prophet. Pansy would put a hundred Galleons into the pot to bet that Ginny Weasley had something to do with Picquery's arrival. That girl was always scheming. Which, on most occasions, Pansy enjoyed, as they schemed together and deserved the majority of the credit for the engagement the ball was centered around. Scheming against her though? Oh Ginny would not get away unscathed.
It was well known throughout her friend circle that she had no plans to marry this Season. She had no plans to marry at all. She was a strong, independent woman and planned to make her own way in life once her mother stopped breathing down her neck and making her jump through all these stupid Pureblood Society hoops. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew deep in her soul she was made for more than just being a housewife.
Damnit, Malfoy. Why couldn't he have waited a week to announce his engagement to spare her from this hell.
Once her mother had calmed down, they had made a deal; Pansy would participate in this Season without complaint and do her best to secure an engagement or Letter of Intent. If she did not find anyone by the end, then her mother would back the fuck off and never force her through another Season. It was a raw deal, because of magic. For if any man asked for her hand or sent her mother a Letter of Intent, depending on Pansy's mother's answer, Pansy would be magically bound to him or unable to see him again despite her own opinion on the matter.
Her mother made a huff of annoyance as she zipped up the side of Pansy's off the shoulder, emerald green ball gown. It was right off the runway, one of only five. It had cost her more money than she would admit to secure it, but it was worth it. The dark color against her pale skin created a juxtaposition of beauty and strength– something Pansy liked to think described her best. She was not about to head into a ball looking like a sad pathetic flower desperate for a male to sweep her off her feet.
Pansy did her best to ignore her mother's sour face in the mirror; Lady Parkinson did not approve of the amount of skin the gown showed, even if it were Slytherin green. She could tell her mother was trying to decide if the dress was a deliberate sabotage to scare away men, as it was much too revealing for a lady. That had been a condition of the entire deal: Pansy was not to purposely turn men away.
"I still cannot believe you lost Draco's hand," her mother prattled on. She had not stopped ranting about the engagement since it had been announced the week prior. "I thought tonight would be your announcement not that Mud–"
"Mother, if you finish that sentence I swear to Cersei I will rip this dress off and not attend even one event this Season," Pansy snapped. "Our name or my inheritance be damned."
Lady Parkinson shut up; she knew that Pansy's threats were never empty. The two women had a stare off in the mirror until the elder Parkinson woman huffed in annoyance and turned for the door. She stomped, petulant like a child, and stopped with her hand on the doorknob, assessing her daughter with a harsh glare.
"If your father was still with us, he would never let you speak to me this way."
And then she slammed the door.
Pansy took a deep breath and looked towards the ceiling. She would not let her emotions get to her; she would not cry. But damn if it didn't hurt to think that if her father was still with them, then she wouldn't be participating in the Season at all.
It is this author's greatest pleasure to announce that the Diamond of the Season has been determined. Astoria Greengrass entered the ball in a gorgeous ball gown of soft pink, like a beautiful garden rose, catching the eye of every attendee. Before the music started, there was already a line of men asking her to dance, even the most sought after Mister Picquery.
Lady BloodPure's Society Papers, April 30
If standing in the middle of the dancefloor and screaming at the top of your lungs was allowed at high society events, Pansy would have been the first to absolutely lose her shit. But lessons to mind her manners and that good Pureblood wives are seen and not heard made her keep all her screaming to the internal sort.
Astoria Greengrass was wearing her dress. The only difference? Astoria had charmed her's to a rose gold color that sparkled like a debutante's coming out gown with each swish of her skirts. It was infuriating because with her hair in ringlets, it made Astoria look like a little cherub picked for the heavens. A little virgin for the most eligible bachelor to scoop up and train to his very liking. Not a dress stealing fashion wannabe like she really was.
Pansy was going to throttle Daphne once they were alone. Daphne knew what dress Pansy had chosen for the ball; not only could she have stopped her younger sister from wearing the gown, she could have at least given Pansy a heads up not to wear the same exact dress.
"Ouch!" Pansy gasped when she felt a harsh pinch on the inside of her arm from her mother. "What was that for!" She rubbed at the spot that was already making her pale skin welt and redden.
"Do you think any man wants to dance with a woman that looks as if she will curse him if he even dares to ask?" Lady Parkinson chastised her.
At this rate, Pansy hoped no one asked her to dance.
"You need to stop sulking in the corner and start mingling. You allowed me only one Season so get going," he mother said, giving her a shove so that she tripped into the crowd. That was her mistake for wearing six-inch heels, but the height truly helped the gown.
"Alright there Miss Parkinson?" Large hands grabbed her small hips, steadying her and keeping her upright.
She looked up at the man that had caught her and shock consumed her.
The man whose dress jacket she was currently clutching did not sound like Longbottom; no this voice was deep, made of pure velvet and rich tones that made her toes curl. But looking at his face, his features, she was accosted by a very grown up version of Neville Longbottom. From his shaggy yet tamed sandy chestnut hair to the way his jaw had sharpened to the way his broad shoulders wore his formal robes so elegantly he could have been in a muggle fashion magazine.
"The fuck Longbottom?" she gasped at him. Her mother would slap her if she heard her swearing to an eligible bachelor at a society function, but it was Longbottom; he didn't count. She knew her mother still hated the Longbottoms to this very day, Bloodtraitors and all that, so it wouldn't matter how she conducted herself with Neville here. It was a bit refreshing actually.
"Oh, sorry, I– I just didn't want you to fall," he jumbled about, removing his large - oh so large and warm – hands from her person. She missed them instantly. This was not the Neville Longbottom she remembered from her Eighth Year when she'd seen him last.
"Not that," she swatted away his trepidation. Though he did not look nor sound like the Longbottom she used to know, his shyness and clumsiness with words still carried and solidified this was in fact her old schoolmate. "You just look. Well. Big hands, big feet, big you know. "
Neville raised an eyebrow. "You know?"
Her eyes went wide. "Oh come on, you know. The muggle saying. You look like a rather good shag."
A good, long, make you come multiple times over shag.
A grin broke over his features. It was a very handsome grin. Shy, but wide and captivating. Genuine with just a hint of a smirk.
"Merlin, you're fucking with me aren't you," she sighed, exasperated and yet intrigued.
"A little." He looked around the room and ran a hand through his hair, nervously. He opened his mouth to say something, but she swatted at his arm before he could say anything.
"Don't do that," she snapped at him, standing up on her toes– yes her toes even in six inch heels– to fix his hair back into place. She could feel him still under her gloved fingers and took the opportunity of closeness to appreciate his aftershave. Something woodsy, but natural. Half of her wondered if it was even an aftershave and not just his natural smell. The thought made her toes curl.
Only once his hair was back in place and she put some inches between their bodies once more, he continued. "I was actually on my way over to ask if you'd like a dance?"
"You want to dance with me?" she asked, her eyebrow near her hairline due to skepticism. Despite her friendship with some Gryffindors by now, she was sure the last time she had spoken to Longbottom was to hurl insults at him. "Why?"
"You were the best dancer at the Yule Ball. I figured that still applied," he said simply. She felt a warmth on her cheeks from his compliment.
"And you think you can keep up?" She tested him. Instead of launching into a defense of his masculinity and ability to lead a woman on the floor as she expected from most Pureblood men, he just held out his hand for her to accept.
He had forgotten to wear gloves. Forgotten or didn't know that he was supposed to. It was most unbecoming, scandalous even. She looked at his fingers, calloused from work and nails that had been attempted to be scrubbed clean, yet some dirt still lingered beneath them. Her mother's voice penetrated her thoughts.
"Don't you dare take that ungloved hand Pansy," Lady Parkinson said forcefully in Pansy's mind. What a scandal, dancing with a man not wearing gloves. She had a right mind to take off her own gloves, to touch skin to skin.
Pansy looked up from the hand and found her mother across the room, glaring in her direction. Though she had never been as good a Legilimens as her mother, Pansy pictured her perfectly manicured middle finger high in the air. She knew it would be enough for her mother to get the message. She turned back to Longbottom and offered him a dazzling smile.
"I'd love to, Mister Longbottom," Pansy said and placed her gloved hand in his ungloved one to be escorted onto the dancefloor.
Pansy was not sure what to expect when Neville turned her into his arms and his large hand came to rest on the small of her back. He held her tight, close enough so she could not float away, but still loose enough to give her a sense of self and independence in her steps. She turned her face up at him to find he was staring at her with eyes that sparkled with the promise of not just a dance, but of having fun .
She couldn't remember the last time she had fun dancing. But as the music swelled, she placed her gloved hand on his shoulder and couldn't help but return a simple smile of anticipation. The music started and their bodies began to move in the practiced steps. Neither of them counted the beats; they didn't have to. Neville Longbottom was a natural dancer, smooth and elegant, leading but still allowing her freedom.
The air grew thick around them. Their eyes did not wander. Even as he twirled her, she found him again quickly and a blush graced her features. He smiled as if he knew a secret. Her secret. They didn't speak; she felt no need. Each circle they turned charged the moment first with perfection and then with desire. By the end of the dance, her lips were aching to touch his.
Pansy stood in Neville's arms, the dance over but she felt as if she were still floating. Merlin, what had he done to her. It was one simple dance and yet her soul felt lifted into her throat. She wanted every dance to be with him.
"Pansy, you are done here," her mother's voice hot in her ear. It was not a trick from across the room this time. No, her mother was taking her by the arm and yanking her out of those large, wonderful hands.
Neville seemed to be in shock from the removal of his dance partner, but he recovered quickly enough to take two large steps to cut off Lady Parkinson's path.
"May I call on you, Pans– Miss Parkinson," he asked Pansy, not her mother. It was most inappropriate, but Pansy couldn't help the wide smile bursting from her bright red lips. Either he didn't know Pureblood etiquette or he was putting her wants and wishes before her mother's. She hoped it was the latter, but didn't mind if it was either. Unfortunately, she was too busy being smitten at the moment, her mother beat her to the answer.
"You may certainly not," her mother snapped and dragged Pansy away.
