Disclaimer:
Should you find yourselves in doubt
Be glad to know that I'm about.
There's nothing out there any lamer
Than this rhyming set disclaimer.
No, I don't own Harry's world
And now it's time the fic's unfurled
How's that for being a loser? One of my reviewers mentioned wanting to know how my story is going to change with HBP out. My chicken-like reply follows this: I'm going to avoid HBP spoilers. I have had this story planned since before HBP. And Microsoft word screws over my italics, so please, quietly deal with me?
-Achicagoil
Epiphany
By: Achicagoil
Part One, Section Two: Creating the Effect
Whether it be a cruel trick of fate or the several cappuccinos she had drunk to "calm her nerves before bed," Pansy found herself unable to sleep that evening, mind wandering to every which corner and recess that had not crammed with useless information over the years. And it settled on the book she had bested from Granger with her Slytherin 'wit' and 'charm'. Mother told her it ran in the family, and Father had been quick to reassure her that Pansy's Slytherin qualities must have been inherited from her mother.
Rolling to her side so she could reach to the floor without leaving the shimmery-green sheets ("Imported from Italy. A back to school present from my parents," she had bragged earlier in the commons. And the great hall. And loudly during classes, should the Gryffindors care to know as well), Pansy reached down for her bag and fumbled around before obtaining the desired material. The leathery material of the covers rose and fell, casting ominous pockets of shadows around the title.
Settling back and not caring for the sleeping sake of the other girls in her dorm, Pansy mumbled a feeble "Lumos!" and hovered her wand over the beaten cover of the self-help book. Once again, shadows were cast over the book's pages, dancing figures twirling around the slightly lit recess of the room.
Finding thyself forgotten, confused, and in the presence of males fleeing the other direction? Pansy furrowed her brow in concentration. The book could not be further from the truth. Is denial one of thy best friends, coming up with meager excuses for the things thy mind dost not deem process? Something rung a bell there and the snob in her brain silently muffled it down with a few pillows. Dost thy thoughts attempt to muffle the thinking in thy brain, dam the trickle of self-knowledge for the influx of stupidity, and there forth induce handicap parking for the 'More Well-Endowed Perfection That Is Thyself'? That was odd. How did the book know that much? For Parkinsons did not walk long distances. 'Handicap' was a means of parking for those willing to take advantage of it. Perhaps this book ought help refine, than rather assist. Ahh, yes. Refinement was always appreciated when offered; Pansy could be perfect, yet refinement always made room for more perfection, as her mother insisted. Then possibly we might be able to help. Introducing chapter one of the text: Finding a New You.
Fatigue hit Pansy's mind like a large hippogriff carrying a ton of bricks. Not even bothering to close the book (and ignoring the light glow the book itself was now emitting), Pansy's eyes drooped shut upon themselves and her brain shut down. Sleep was good. Sleep could refresh, even "make a new you." And sleep brought change.
Sunday morning conveyed a new sense of refreshment and knowledge to Pansy's mind as she exited her bed two hours earlier than usual. Musing over her wardrobe, she thought one of the most uncharacteristic thoughts that had ever crossed her mind. "Are all my skirts this short?" she questioned, pulling out one and holding it up against her legs. "And what's that charm to lengthen them again?"
The next uncharacteristic thought came as she was buttoning up her blouse. "Has it ever occurred to me that such a small top might, instead of flattering, turn out to be revealing for small, ungainly amounts of fat that all teenagers accumulate while growing?"
And one of the final ones came as she looked into the mirror. "Wearing as much make-up as I usually do makes me look like I'm wearing a mask. What's the point, when I have to take it off at the end of the day anyway?" For the first time since she was ten, Pansy settled for merely tying back her hair in a ribbon and taking off for breakfast, grabbing her school bags before leaving the room.
Heading out of the portrait hole, Pansy came across a slightly unsettled Draco Malfoy trying to hide behind a tapestry just on the outside. Rolling her eyes, Pansy shuffled to the cloth and picked up the side to confront him. "Hide and Go Seek this shoddy will only work on Crabbe and Goyle. You couldn't fool a Gryffindor hell-bent on justice right now. Might I suggest behind a couch next time, Malfoy?" she questioned, turning around smartly and heading in the direction of the great hall. With her back turned to him, Pansy missed the confused furrowing of his eyebrows as he muttered, "'Malfoy'? Since when have I been a 'Malfoy' to her?"
Breakfast was not an affair Pansy frequented with her time off. On most weekends, noontime would find Pansy casting sloppy silencing charms on her dorm mates as she attempted to remain dream-ridden for an extra hour or so. Missed meals were often taken in the kitchens, behind the portrait of the fruit bowl and the giggling pear. At least then, the still groggy Pansy would find herself with house elves to bully around, even if they would not allow her to place a sharp kick in the-
She seated herself at the long Slytherin table and helped herself to a bowl of porridge, finding the nutty and fruity breakfast appealing for a change; oftentimes, Pansy would refuse to eat anything that once had roots and were, at the same time, charged by the pound. Parkinsons ate by the charged amount, instead of weight. However, the changes of the morning allowed her to merrily finish off the amount in her bowl and she stood to stretch and then head off to the library. The essay due for Binns class the next school day, while disagreeable to her mind the previous day, now called like a siren and her fingers itched to get to work.
On her way to the library (now permanently etched into her mind), Pansy's thoughts drifted into her bag, where the book from the library lay, nestled between spare parchment and the latest Glamour, the witching magazine for young women. She was surprised that what the book had told her lasted longer than the fashion tips from the dog-eared pages and only paid half attention to where she was going when a red-topped form slammed into her. Pansy's view of the stone floor was magnificent, but both of her hands smarted from catching herself and her bag had spilled out its contents.
"Err… sorry," an awkward voice told her as footsteps quickly receded from her form. She furrowed her brows and glared at the retreating forms of two-thirds of the dream trio. Apparently, the infamous Harry Potter and his ever-loyal sidekick Ron Weasley didn't have the time or patience to deal with those they wronged. She would remember it for future references. Perhaps Morganna Le Faye's section on revenge would play useful.
"Did… they plow you over?" a familiar, timid voice asked. Pansy rolled her eyes and turned to face the bushy head of Hermione Granger.
"No, not really. I enjoy spreading myself across the ground in such a manner. It gets interesting during passing time for classes. You see, I write down the names of all those who trample on me and eventually slip poison in their pumpkin juice. Then I laugh amongst my other foul-doing Slytherins as we sip well-aged wine and plan evil plans for world domination."
Hermione gave her a squinty-eyed look, trying to decide whether or not Pansy was being demeaning or teasing. Pansy smirked and let out a bark of laughter, which normally would have forced her to recoil in fear of having performed an "ugly" action. "Forget that, Granger. I was joking and I suppose I shouldn't expect you to understand sarcasm coming from a Slytherin." Gathering her supplies and stuffing them back into her bag, Pansy heaved herself onto two feet again and saluted the Head Girl as she walked away. "Heed no worry about me, although I appreciate whatever concern you might have had over my body. You might want to warn your boys about the concept called 'revenge' and what it entails from a Slytherin. I'm mighty peeved about being snuffed like that."
"Did… did you start reading that book you got from the library?" Hermione asked, her puzzled look turning into one of studious concentration. Pansy raised her eyebrows as she headed towards the library.
"What would make you think that?" she wanted to know, turning the corner to leave Granger more mystified than she had found her.
"Because it would make a lot of sense as to where your shoddy personality disappeared to and the decent human being it left behind…" Hermione muttered to herself, heading the direction Pansy had come from.
From behind a statue of Nimue, Draco's brow furrowed in deep concentration. It had been years since he had heard Pansy speak to a person in a manner that didn't remind him of a preschooler. It was even longer since Pansy had been civil to a person her age (or younger) (or older), let alone somebody beneath her pureblood status. And there wasn't a time that he could recall when Pansy didn't call him "Drakey-poo" or "Drakey-love" or something of equivalent disgust. He silently disappeared the way Granger had gone, hoping to write a letter to his father about her odd antics; maybe Lucius could explain things…
A letter from Draco Malfoy to his father
Draco Malfoy, to:
Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Manor
Rosewood Manor, in hiding
Destination Unplottable
Father,
Would you know of any reason for Pansy Parkinson's recent behavior? I should be thanking my lucky stars that she no longer latches herself on to my arm, but I'm also concerned that she no longer wishes to even be associated with the Malfoy name. Perhaps the warning you sent her father got too strong of a reaction? I mean, she hasn't called me by our surname since ever. It's been "Drakey"- 'something-endearing' for as long as I can remember. Or as long as she's been able to latch herself onto my arm. Take your pick?
Perhaps I am overreacting. I will let you know if something comes up or changes more drastically.
Send Mother my thanks for the sugarquills. Really, do.
Your son
A letter from Pansy Parkinson to her parents
Pansy Parkinson, to:
Mother and Father
Parkinson Manor
Scotland
I already sense it coming. I saw Malfoy head off to the owlry earlier and knew, just KNEW, the little snot was sending his problems to Daddy to deal with.
If Lucius gets on your case for "punishing Pansy too severely" over "attaching herself to Draco," I would like you to diplomatically inform him to let his own son deal with his own battles. If Draco wants to play twenty questions as to my personality change, he may ask me himself. Not ask his father to ask my father to ask my mother to send me an owl asking me if the house elves are poisoning my food. In which, no, they aren't, Mother.
Excuse my out-of-characterness in this letter, though. I found an interesting read on self-refining in the library and it's been assisting me in making several fine-tuned adjustments in my life. And I do loathe it when people are unable to handle their own problems. I send my love to the both of you and if Mother would let Lady Bulstrode know that I am not behind the recent transfiguration of her daughter's cat into a poisonous pillow. That was a couple of sixth years seeking revenge… apparently, Millicent decided the commons fire wasn't hot enough and that their potions essays would be a wonderful way to restart the dying embers.
Do something evil to the house elves in lieu of me!
Your ever-humble daughter,
Pansy
A letter from Hermione Granger to Harry PotterHermione Granger, to: The Boy Who Still Hasn't Died
Copy To: His redheaded friend
Topic: Pansy Parkinson
The Gryffindor Announcement Board
The Gryffindor Commons
-I couldn't find the two of you before lessons so I hope this will find you instead.
You royally ticked off Parkinson when you ran into her and she's acting… peculiar. Different. Changed, to say the least. I think I might know why, and I'm working out the odds of my hypothesis being accurate, but in the meantime, might I suggest the two of you watching your backs? She'll be looking for revenge and I have a feeling she's a tad bit… smarter than usual.
I half hope that she does get revenge on you lot. You plowed her down and ran off in the direction with barely an apology. Remind me why I spend my waking moments with you two?
-H
A reply from Ginny Weasley to Hermione Granger
Ginny Weasley, to: Hermione Granger
Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson
The Gryffindor Announcement Board, posted under Hermione's note
QUOTE: Remind me why I spend my waking moments with you two?
-I would like to know as well. My only answer would be that their stupidity only heightens the effect of your intelligence.
A reply from Harry Potter to Hermione Granger
Harry Potter, to: Hermione Granger
Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson
The Gryffindor Announcement Board, scribbled under Ginny's comments
-Ron and I will watch our backs. This is Pansy Parkinson, Hermione. Why are you so worried?
A reply from Harry Potter to Ginny WeasleySir Harry Potter, to: Lady Genevra Weasley
Topic: RE: RE: Pansy Parkinson
The Gryffindor Announcement Board, under his comments to her comments to the original comment
-Do you care to repeat this to my face, dear lady, or shall I be forced to show you my worthiness in a more personal setting?
A reply from Ginny Weasley to Harry Potter
Lady Genevra Weasley to: Sir Harry Potter
Topic: RE of the RE to the RE power
The Gryffindor Announcement Board, under all the comments to the comments
-Your place or mine?
A reply from Ron Weasley to Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley
Ron Weasley to: my best mate and my SISTER
Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson
The Gryffindor Announcement Board, in thick black marker over the previous replies
-Just because I approve and agree to put up with your relationship does NOT mean I want the details of the In-Closed-Rooms plastered over the entire Gryffindor commons. Harry, mate, if you touch her inappropriately and I find out, there will be hell to pay. Ginny, if you touch him inappropriately and I find out, I'm telling Mum. I do hope this is understood and the topic is getting dropped now. There will be no touching of anybody by anybody else, not while I'm around to stop it.
A note from Ginny Weasley to Hermione Granger
Ginny, to: Hermione
Hogwarts
The Library
-Well? Isn't he being rather hypocritical? Can't you talk to him or something? I mean, it's not like I haven't noticed that glamour on -your- neck.
A note from Ron Weasley to Harry Potter
Ron, to: Harry
Hogwarts
The chair next to me in Charms
-Fine. Do what you want. If you impregnate her, Dad will kill you. The twins will kill you. Bill and Charlie will kill you. Mum will make you get married. And Percy might show up to play minister at the funeral… or wedding… or whatever. I don't care if she has hickeys that look as if you burned a crater out of neck. "Ginny is perfectly capable of taking care of herself and causes more damage to you anyway," right? Remind me the next time I interfere with your relationship that Hermione is not to be double-crossed.
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You might notice that the letters are longer than the actual story… But they're the parts I have the most fun with. Feel free to review, with an extra cookie to the handful of you who already have. It's nice to open up my inbox and see email from the various places telling me there's a review. Next chapter will hopefully be up… er… eventually. Before school, which is less than two weeks away for me… Senior year, w00t. Also, I set a warning for the time it will take for the next chapter to come out: I seem to have a rather lousy case of carpal tunnel in my right wrist from hand-sewing my Hogwart's robe's seams in… It's slightly more than painful, and it might be a drawback….