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Part Two | Pain & Fire
Thirty-Nine. No-One's Princess
Winky did her utmost to convince Pansy against her decision.
"Winky, I need to."
"Oh, Miss Pansy, I still can't-,"
"Look, Winky, I'm sorry about this," Pansy's words were strangled through the wave of tears that had began to fall, "I forbid you to tell Draco, or Neville - if by some miracle he awakes - any of this, your job, your only job now, is to keep him safe, do not let the Carrows have him again, do you understand?" She finished nearly out of breath, already hating herself for the look of betrayal Winky had thrown her way.
"Winky understands, Miss Pansy," the elf replied sadly, "I will go and replenish the stock of pain potions. Mr Neville probably won't wake soon, but when he does he is going to need them. Winky will strengthen some wards around these rooms and make arrangements with Mr Seamus."
"Please do. If I can't...convince...Winky if everything goes wrong make sure Finnegan knows to get everyone out."
"Winky will make sure, Miss."
Pansy nodded and watched the small elf leave the bedroom, and through some miraculous spot of chance, or luck or stupidity, found herself relatively calm. The piece of parchment from Rabastan was still scrunched within her palm and it had something of a grounding effect. Crushing the note in her hand created a focus, albeit a meek one, but a focus point nonetheless that didn't involve the weight of the reality of her decision.
Neville's face was unworried and serene-looking; obviously the dreamless sleep potion combined with the vast concoction of pain elixirs had done their job. The peacefulness that emanated from him was oddly intoxicating to her, especially considering her rapidly approaching plan of action.
Wrenching her gaze away from Neville's sleeping form, Pansy busied herself with dressing, appreciating the mundaneness that came from brushing her hair, and pulled on her socks, unconsciously pausing every minute or two to look back over at Neville, all at once grateful he didn't stir and yet terrifyingly uncomfortable that she knew he wouldn't, not yet. And when he finally did, she may well not be there to greet him.
The more she considered it, the chance of getting away from Rabastan and back to the castle seemed more and more unlikely.
She wouldn't know how Nevelle's wounds felt, or be there to state that he'd passed out after what the Carrows inflicted, she wouldn't be the one to explain what happened, or what Draco, and then Winky had done to save him - she hoped he would know how much he owed them. How much she owed them. She wouldn't be able to even try to make him better.
As she planted a soft, lingering kiss upon his forehead, Pansy took a long breath in through her nose, trying to take in every last part of his scent that she could, not knowing if she would ever kiss him again.
Rising, she allowed herself a few more seconds of the reprieve that came from watching his peaceful form, before she took one last deep breath and turned her body in one swift movement.
It took her only five steps to reach the door, her hand grasped the handle as she turned it, forcing the door ajar, before Pansy Parkinson exited the safety of her bedroom, and began the journey towards the most Gryffindor thing she had ever done.
The castle was exactly how she imagined it would be, deserted. The time read ten to seven now, and therefore most students would have eaten and returned to their dorms, or possibly wherever Neville was staying with his friends. Once upon a school year, in fact, in any other year she could remember, seven was no time for deserted halls and echoed, lonely footsteps. Were it only one year earlier, the halls would be full of the cackles of teenage girls, of stolen kisses between couples from different Houses. Pansy didn't know whether to smile or cry at the thought. Could, somewhere in a life that wasn't theirs, they have existed in a happier time as they did now: in love? Not hidden, and not fighting.
Fighting was all they'd done. For months. Nevelle openly defied everything flung at him with determination that erupted from him in every way, as the fire burned in his eyes and the Gryffindor lion roared from his soul. And then, there was Pansy, who had fought with everything she'd ever been taught, hidden, watching from darkness, her serpentine mask a guise, enabling her to hide from view.
They were both fighting; him in clear sight, and she with everything she's ever known.
Her determined footsteps click-clacked loudly, echoing around the deserted corridors as she made her way through the school until she found herself, far sooner than she would have liked truth be told, outside the front door, and descended to the grounds.
The gradient of the sloping area meant that Pansy walked even quicker as she headed towards the main gates, her wand was grasped within her right hand, rigidly pointed upwards as she eyed the cloaked, airborne figures that were swooping near the gated entrance.
Something happy. Think of something happy.
There was only one thing that made Pansy truly happy, and she had just left him to meet the one who had ruined his life. The realisation brought forth a tear Pansy hadn't realised was so close to her eyelid.
Not now, good times, think of the good times.
Almost every memory she had of Neville was a good one, but one instantly came to mind, her favourite place to revisit in her daydreams.
Greenhouse. Picnic. Neville. Greenhouse. Picnic. Neville.
I love you.
"Expecto Patronum!" she cried, and to her shock, a large white mist erupted from the end of her wand, it held no corporeal form, but it was enough, and as long as she kept the memory of that night alive in her mind, it was enough to get her properly past the gates, and able to apparate.
I love you.
The wrought iron opened easily without magic, they must not even bother to lock them anymore, Pansy realised. It made sense, she mused, not many students would brave sneaking out now. Taking one last glance back towards the majestic castle, she stepped through the ground's exit.
This is for you.
Pansy knew she could technically apparate once she was off the school's grounds, but made a few strides further down the path, her patronus cloud had begun to waver, and Pansy knew she didn't have long before it disappeared entirely.
Deep breaths.
I love you.
Don't think.
I'm sorry.
Just go.
Forgive me.
And with a sharp crack she knew would echo into the night, Pansy disappeared.
The address Rabastan had written down had led her to apparate into what appeared to be the tiny, dimly lit pub he had described. The room was so small that Pansy, who had appeared in one corner, didn't believe she was more than ten paces away from any other part of the room.
The bar was sparsely occupied, and Pansy counted six other occupants, three of whom she recognised. Draco's father, Lucius was sitting at a small table with a wide set man who she believed was Crabbe Sr, and another she did not know.
Leaning against the bar, his eyes already boring into hers, stood a familiar, greasy haired figure. Rabastan's posture shifted to face her, a crooked smile present on his sallow face.
Breathe.
Pansy straightened her spine, the jarring feeling that accompanied apparition was dissipating, and instead was replaced by a harrowing chill that seemed to be seeping into each of her very bones. She met his eyes with her own and nodded once, acknowledging the very person she wished to high hells she never had to acknowledge at all. Pansy set her jaw into what she hoped was a nonchalant expression and made her way towards him, avoiding the surprised look in the corner of her peripheral vision informing her Lucius Malfoy was currently bestowing her with.
She reached Rabastan within seconds, internally cursing the small proximity of the bar.
"Here to save your pitiful prick of a boyfriend?" he slurred.
"No," she answered, her heart hammering fast as she struggled to maintain composure. Her eyes trailed the circumference of the room as she continued, "I've come to prove that everything you think you know, is wrong." Pausing, Pansy briefly scanned her surroundings once more, looking for any way to postpone the inevitable exit, "And because I could really use a drink."
"Is tha' right?" Rabastan answered in one breath before throwing the remainder of a tumbler of black liquid down his throat. "A drink then. Afterwards we can make a move, and you can do all the provin' you want."
Her eyes found the numerous dusty bottles of liquor housed behind the bar, a sleazy looking bald man stood, arms crossed in front of the middle bottles. He stepped forward, his eyebrows momentarily raised in a questioning fashion.
"Same again for me, Frank, and Pansy?" He spoke her name with what in any other circumstance may have been gentleness. Here, however, it felt sinister and wrong.
Pansy briefly scanned the bottles, her eyes settling on a green hexagonal urn-like cruet close to her position, "I'll have some of that gin," she answered, scrutinising the label, "with gillywater."
"Coming up," Frank replied, busying himself with the beverages.
"So," Rabastan began, and Pansy wished he wouldn't force the politeness that put her on edge even more. Her fingertips grazed her wand, hoping it might grant her some form of strength, so far, however, it hadn't. "How's school?"
"Shit," Pansy replied honestly.
Snorting in response, Rabastan took the pair of drinks from Frank, and handed the gin and gillywater combination to Pansy before taking a deep glug from his own. "And how are dear Alecto and Amycus doing?"
Well, last I knew they, at your request, after my cowardly friend let you in her dense brain, tortured my freedom fighter boyfriend to scare the shit out of me to scare me into being more pliable to come here, to meet your ugly face.
"Friends of yours?"
He snorted again, "Not quite, pair of dumb fucks."
"You're not wrong there."
Try as she might, Pansy couldn't make her drink last for longer than around ten minutes, and before long, she was staring at the base of an empty glass. Her sense of fear was numbed slightly, but appeared full force as she felt a large hand wrap itself around her bicep.
"Time to go, Princess."
I'm no one's Princess, dickhead.
Her defiance, unfortunately, went no further than her thoughts as Pansy allowed herself to be manhandled by the Death Eater. She swallowed dryly as he forced her to her feet and brought her legs out from the barstool she had been perched upon.
"Let's go." Rabastan slurred, his hand still gripping painfully into her arm as she watched the surroundings of the pub dissolve before her eyes. Pansy had only side along apparated a few times in the last few years, and she had hated it every time, although this time definitely felt worse than most.
They emerged in a primarily bare and none too striking bedroom, but Pansy suspected it was Rabastan's own. A large walnut coloured four poster took up the majority of the room, flanked by two dusty bedside cabinets fashioned in the same dark wood. The drapes were bedraggled and at one point may have been white, now however, they sported an uninspired grey colouring.
Rabastan himself had let go of Pansy's arm, and settled himself at the foot of the bed. He sat confidently, his knees spread wide and his hands gripped together behind the back of his head. Pansy wanted nothing more than to avoid his gaze, but found her eyes drawn to his once more, the glassy, unblinking expression he wore was unnerving.
Okay, Pansy, you need to be smart here, keep him talking.
"Nice place," she remarked, pacing away from him as she feigned an interest in a nearby wall hanging, her hands had shot into the pocket of her jacket at the moment he had released her, and her right hand was caressing the smooth handle of her wand.
Rabastan scoffed in response. "Don't insult me, it's a shithole, but don't worry, you can decorate it any way you want."
What.
Even her strongest of intuition to make the situation as far from dangerous as possible, if that were even possible, wasn't enough to keep the bluntness from her voice. "Why would I decorate it?"
"Because," he rose, his thin mouth stretching maniacally, "in a few months time, you'll be moving here."
Will I, fuck.
"I don't understand," Pansy croaked, not entirely sure she was hearing him correctly, moving here, why on Earth would she move here? He wanted to fuck her, Pansy could see that. He most likely wanted to use her, and test her loyalty definitely, that was what she had expected, that was what she had expected to walk into.
"He still hasn't told you?" Rabastan queried, snickering at her, "makes sense, your father is a fucking coward, after all."
"What does any of this have to do with my father?"
He studied her for a moment before closing the gap between them. Pansy could see every individual strand of hair making up the clump that had fallen in front of his left eye. She fought with herself, pleaded with her subconscious to grant her with the strength to wrench her eyes from him, but she didn't, couldn't. She simply stood stark still, watching his dull, drunken eyes as he hissed at her a truth so vile that Pansy felt nothing but the thunderous, internal screaming her mind was unable to halt.
"Your father is only a Death Eater because he bought his way in. Care to take a guess at how he did that?" Pansy didn't dare guess and managed only to shake her head a touch as she swallowed, entirely rooted to the spot. "No? Why, with you, beautiful. He offered up his dear, pure blooded, almost of age daughter. And me? Well, I was the highest bidder."
"No, y-you're lying." Pansy stammered, no, she deciphered, this was not happening. The man would never have won father of the year, but he wouldn't have done something so heinous, would he?
"Yes," Rabastan countered, triumphantly, and Pansy felt a terrible cold flood through her veins as she felt his hand clamp the base of her skull, forcing her head forwards until a pair of unfamiliar, course lips met her own, so unlike Neville's….no, she would not think about Neville in Rabastan's company.
"Nnngh, NO!" Pansy heard her own voice shout as she realised her hands were poised outwards, palms facing Rabastan. Had she pushed him? She didn't know. As it turned out, she didn't seem to know very much of anything in that moment.
He was situated about half a metre in front of her, and if Pansy had expected a murderous look on his face at her action, she was sorely mistaken. Murderous would have been a vast improvement on the sinister grin he was currently presenting her with.
"You like it rough, baby, that's fine by me." He slurred, still clearly highly intoxicated, which luckily meant his uncoordinated clenched fist missed her jaw by a good few inches. Or it would have been lucky if he didn't use that fact as reason to change his tact. Pansy had no choice but to clench her eyes closed as he balled fistfulls of hair at the nape of her neck, anchoring her perfectly in place to take his second punch straight to the centre of her face, which he did as he echoed a howl of delight around the bedroom.
The sickening crunch, combined with the blinding pain was enough for Pansy to deduce that her nose was most likely broken.
"Oh, you liked that, didn't you?"
Pansy didn't respond, her left hand was pressed into her wounded nose, fear and pain gripped her, forcing her to remain static as she struggled for air. Somewhere close to her heart, she felt a distant warmth radiate from where she knew the shikkane, that had once belonged to Alice Longbottom, lay against her skin. It couldn't protect her, Pansy knew, just as it couldn't protect its former owner. Not from him.
"Now, I've waited far too long for this," she heard Rabastan say from somewhere ahead of her. His intent was clear, and Pansy managed to force her eyes open just enough to see him effortlessly rip his shirt open before discarding the garment to the floor at Pansy's right.
"No," she gasped, "no, I...no." Her head and hands shook heavily, but she wouldn't, couldn't submit to him willingly.
He's going to take me, but he isn't allowed to break me.
Her dismal decision was not much to hold onto as she felt Rabastan's boot make contact first with her leg. Her shin felt as though it had splintered into a thousand pieces as she collapsed, clutching the limb with both her blood-streaked hands. The second contact collided with her stomach, pushing the remainder of the air from her already winded body.
"Who would have guessed, prim and proper Miss Parkinson was a huge masochist," she heard him growl from above.
Pansy coughed, and the simple movement caused new pain to sear through her already agonising face.
Won't. Break. Me.
She became aware of Rabastan's hand closing itself around her right shoulder, and felt his hot breath as he whispered into her ear, "just admit you want me, darling, and the pain will stop."
The smartest thing to do, was obviously to do as she was told, but something deep within her refused. Pansy Parkinson wasn't known for being smart, Pansy Parkinson was known for being a stubborn cow and hell if she was throwing that reputation away for anyone.
Least of all him.
"Go to Hell."
The first time his fist had made contact with her face, Pansy had never considered he could be holding back, however the sheer force in which his hand connected with her jaw was unlike anything Pansy believed the human body alone was capable of. Just like before, he had clamped his left hand into an ironclad grip in her hair. The next punch met the skin just above her right eye, and the one after collided with the centre of her chest, forcing an abrupt outward breath with an excruciating whoosh.
"I'm going to throw you on that bed, and then I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll beg me to go back to punching seven shades of shit out of you, and," he tightened the grip on her hair, "do you know what else? You're going to love every second of it."
Pansy scarcely had time to process any part of his admitted plans before she became painfully aware she had been picked up and was being thrown, ungraciously, through the air. She landed atop the mattress with a soft flump.
No. No. No!
He was on top of her in what felt like less than a second, roughly clawing at her clothing, ripping her coat, and more importantly her wand from her person first.
Pansy closed her eyes at the moment she heard her top rip from his enthusiastic motions. She would not cry, inside she would sob, but he would not see a single tear. Of that she was sure.
Pansy had never felt more helpless as she lay, encaged by his too-strong thighs. Her top had been wrenched upwards, exposing her bra, clearly Rabastan didn't feel the need to unclothe her entirely, as her top remained rumpled around her neck.
She felt greedy hands grope her chest, her stomach clenching tightly as his hands snuck under the cups of her bra and she felt further surges of pain as he tugged and grabbed at her breasts, mercilessly.
Pansy eventually opened her eyes, if only to relieve some of the pain that came from clenching the muscles around her face. She didn't look at Rabastan, instead focusing on a large crack that weaved across the chipped paintwork of his ceiling.
The crack allowed part of her subconscious to detach from the present invasion of her dignity and her privacy. She knew he had began to unbutton her trousers, and she was aware of his hand roughly pushed downwards. She felt his fingers brush against the edge of her innermost area.
"You don't feel very...ready," she heard him sneer, and something, at his words, broke her resolve. Pansy felt every last piece of strength gather and focus in her right leg, the leg that was centred the most under Rabastan's crotch.
The roar that emanated from him as her shin connected with his testicles was like pure adrenaline to Pansy, and despite her injuries, the bottom of both of her boots found their way to the bottom of Rabastan's stomach. Drawing her knees up to as close to her chest as she was able to muster, Pansy only had one thought.
No, further down.
The soles of her boots hit him square in the groin, and his momentary lapse in concentration was enough.
Focus your magic.
"Accio wand," Pansy thought as loud as her mind was able as she kicked herself upwards, landing painfully on the floor, a fleeting feeling of triumph erupting through her she felt her wand fly into her hand.
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Rabastan roared, and the last thing Pansy saw before her apparition wrenched her from his presence was the same hand outstretched that moments before had been maliciously assaulting her.
A/N I'd like to thank 'Nuvole Bianche', by Ludovico Einaudi, for getting me through this.