To tell the truth, I don't know why
But every night, it's "Family Guy"
On our TV (I love that show!)
Attention span, oh here we go!
Back to topic, for all of y'all,
Because a lawsuit's no way to fall
JK Rowling's got all the claim,
Already on her road to fame.
And me? I have no fame as yet
Why else would I post on that, rhyming meter! Who needs you! Still haven't started Heart of Darkness, but oh well! On with the show! Oh, wait. Minor announcement. I'm dropping the "arts" and "thous" and "thys" and whatever from the Morganna passages. It's a pain the arse trying to format the writing based on what will fit with that context. Ug.
-The Artist Still Known as Achicagoil
Epiphany
Rated: PG-13 for good measure
Chapter Three: Bending Things to Thy Will
The weather, as viewed by the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling a dank Saturday morning in November, mirrored Pansy's mood as she sat down for her daily intake of 'Horse Grain,' as the other Slytherins had begun to teasingly call her oatmeal and porridge. They knew better to remark as such to her face, and over all, Pansy was glad to have that matter settled; while her mornings had begun earlier than usual, a morning person she was not. Lately, she hadn't been an afternoon or evening person either, as far as Draco was concerned.
The mail arrived with its usual clamor and Pansy wasn't surprised to find an owl soaring down with a letter attached to its leg. Pansy absentmindedly stroked the owl's head as she untied the parchment from its support and watched as it soared away again with a grateful clicking of its beak.
Untying the ribbon that held the parchment rolled, Pansy set it aside and slowly unraveled the letter. The familiar privacy charms, invented for the Parkinson clan by a long deceased ancestor, prevented others from reading over her shoulder, as Draco knew. The majority of pureblooded families had privacy spells that only allowed family members to read from their writing.
Pansy scanned the contents of the letter, a slight frown on her face. The frown grew as she continued reading and by the end, Draco could have sworn she was positively white in the face and that her hands, hands that gripped the parchment in a much tighter than usual hold, were shaking the slightest.
"Are you alright?" Blaise Zabini asked from across the table, also watching the girl with concern on his face. Draco growled under his breath, mentally warning off the other Slytherin. Pansy was Malfoy property, even if not officially yet. Blaise caught Draco's glare and smirked at him, eyes dancing in superiority. "You look like you just swallowed a snake and you're fighting for control over your body."
Pansy stood up abruptly. "If my father has his way, I might just," Pansy replied, climbing over the bench and ignoring her breakfast that had been hardly touched.
"Where are you going? Do you need help or something?" Draco wanted to know, damned if he was to let Blaise best him.
Pansy shook her head, shooting the two with a sharp glance. "The only person who can get me out of this mess is myself, if I don't get killed first. I'm going to see Snape and see if he has any suggestions. Anything else is none of your concern." Draco dropped his posture as Pansy stalked off to the dungeons, too deep in thought to keep his back straight.
"Would your father know what might be going on?" Blaise asked, eyes also following Pansy.
Draco turned his head towards the Italian, fixing him with a glare. "Why would it be any of your concern?" he questioned, voice low and deadly.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "She's not your possession, no matter how much you pull claims and act concerned." Draco scowled back at him. "And because I look after my own. Pansy confuses me, but she also worries me. It's not often you find a pureblooded girl (in Slytherin, at least) who attempts to make something of herself; they're usually all, 'I'm marrying rich and only need to know enough etiquette to transfer a spoon from my plate to my mouth.' I don't know what changed her, but I'm also afraid it's going to keep changing her until she's not even human anymore."
Draco considered what Blaise had just told him. The boy was right, he mused. Pansy had adjusted over the few months they had been back at school, becoming a completely different person. But what if she kept adjusting until there was no girl left in her, no individuality that set her apart from others? He shook his head; he had other concerns to be worrying about right now. Like what had just happened between her and her father. "Right now, all we need to worry about is what's got her knickers in a twist. I'll write father right now. Jasper and Father are close enough that Father can inquire on Jasper's personal life enough that it won't seem suspicious."
The changes this book will bring you to will not go unnoticed, this is granted. Your peers and coworkers will the first to notice, along with family members and friends. However, it won't be long until you've caught the attention of somebody who plans to use you (and your new personality) for their own good, some high-ranking individual that is willing to place your family, friends, and well-being at risk just to get access to what you've become.
There really is no sure way to avoid the interest of such these individuals, and it's an almost guarantee that he or she will be completely willing to use you to his/her best advantage. Not being able to access the situation, I can only advise tips to avoid joining forces (or being forced to join) with such a powerful individual.
A key process is to remain polite with any and all conversation. Keeping a cool head and a polite tone is a means of devious acceptation. A boss is better understanding if you pull an, "Excuse This Poor Underling, But" and an outright "No, Sod Off."
Another input of avoiding the process of being used is to make excuses. However, there are right ways and wrong ways to make excuses, and an excuse, no matter how good, can only be used as sparingly as a trump card because after a while, repeated excuses become a "broken record," to coin a muggle phrase, and Lords get tired of hearing "why nots" instead of "yessirs."
There are several elements to make your excuse plausible in order to avoid raised eyebrows. Much like the section with revenge, an excuse must be correctly planned and run, but this time, you're on your own to pull such a stunt. When creating the justification, also remember that the majority of leaders, lords, and blackmailers have heard every plea in the book (although I have never located such a piece of literature myself). Outright lies and feeble attempts, therefore, are highly discouraged. Attempting to convince on the fact "Mommy told me not to" will only cause pain and teasing, and possible damage to your mother as well.
Another aspect of creating an excuse is to find a single lasting one, one to buy you time, instead of repeated excuses that merely buy you a couple of days at the most; remember to avoid sounding like a broken record. Therefore, excuses following the naïveté of age will usually work, if you're slick, remain cool, and are polite. Learn what your would-be "employer" expects in a person, what he has a weakness or softness for, even try to pull a pity-party by appealing to him through his past by coming off as a young Him in the making.
Half-truths are easier to work upon than full-out lies.
If Snape was surprised to find Pansy banging on chambers door at ten AM on a Saturday morning, he did not let on. He took one look at her rumpled, distraught form (still clutching the letter), and groggily stepped aside so she could come in. "This better be good," he growled, closing the door behind her and stumbling to a high-backed chair by the fire. "It's morning hours on a Saturday and I feel like Merlin's been shagging my brain all night long."
"Then maybe you ought to consider brewing yourself a hangover potion before late-night bingeing," Pansy replied smartly, not in the mood to hear another's whining. She sat down across from him, crossing her legs and leaning forward.
"Pointless to get wasted in celebration of my weekly, two-day holiday and then not get the wondrous delight of the Next-Morning Hangover," he informed, just as tartly. "What do you want or get out."
"Daddy's made a screw-up," Pansy informed straight to the point. "Daddy's made a screw up and now he's leaving me to fix his problem. Except that he doesn't seem to realize he's placed me in a position I don't want to be in." She handed the letter over to Snape and watched his facial expressions as he read. "And I need your help trying to concoct a way out of it without getting me, or anybody else for that matter, killed."
Snape swore under his breath and looked up at her. "Why come to me?" he asked, suspiciously. He couldn't quite read her expression.
"Because. You're high-ranking. Because you're a mentor. Because I have a feeling you've been put in this position before. Because you're the Head of Slytherin House, and if anybody in this castle is sneaky, it's you. And because… who else am I to turn to that knows the man?" She nodded to the letter. "I don't even have my own father to consult right now, as you might have read. If he hears I'm to defy him in any way, it's back to threats of disowning me. Except this time he might actually go through with it."
"What do you expect from me, then?" Snape wanted to know, sitting back in his chair. "This isn't my affair, and don't get me wrong, Pansy, but I'm not about to risk my arse because Jasper's an idiot with a big mouth and a little heart."
"I need help coming up with an excuse. Nothing permanent, but something that will buy me enough time until I can figure out what I want to do." She paused. "Before I came back to school this year, I would have been thrilled to get such a notion. But now… I feel more insightful and I'm not sure if this path is the one to take. If I were to take up with it, whose to say I wouldn't get killed for lack of enthusiasm? It's just not my style."
Snape rubbed his forearm where Pansy knew his dark mark lay. "Outright refusing is a death sentence," he warned, more for his benefit than hers. She nodded in response. "What you're looking for is something to buy yourself time?" Again, she nodded.
"I can only mentor you," was his response. "It says here you've got up to winter break to make your decision. 'Yes,' or… well, you're smart enough to figure out what the 'or' will lead to, I'm sure. What do you have in mind?"
"I think I have a way to appeal to him, but I'm not quite sure…" she trailed off, before explaining to him her plan.
It seemed that everyday, Snape cursed those over-bright, twinkling blue eyes that sat behind the rims of half-moon shaped glasses. Everyday, he swore at them and their never-ending knowledge of what was to happen in the school. And he also had specific words for times like these, when Albus more than likely knew about the situation, but forced the Potions Master to spell it out for his own enjoyment. Now was one of those times, as Snape hurriedly went over the discussion he'd had with Pansy Parkinson in his dungeons.
Albus smiled serenely. "So do you believe she may be yet listen to reason?" Albus wanted to know, fingers steepled together and elbows resting on his desk. Snape narrowed his eyes slightly; to Albus Dumbledore, any might redeem themselves, no matter what stage of trouble they found themselves. Wasn't he an example of that?
"I believe that Miss Parkinson will listen to none's words but her own. She's creating her own agenda and following it, Albus. And when she makes her decision, she'll more than likely be a strong opponent to those who fight her.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I will leave it to you to assist her in choosing what's right, Severus. You have my trust."
Yes, but how far would trust go at keeping him alive, and her alive, and who's 'right' did Dumbledore wish for him to follow? 'Right' was a relative term, so the question was 'Do what's right for Pansy?' or 'Do what Albus believes to be right?'
The cloak covered Pansy's form and the silver mask that adorned her face also made it difficult to breathe. In moments, she would be facing the Dark Lord, letting him know her decision. She only prayed he would buy what she had to tell him without a great deal of pain and/or outright death.
"My daughter," a hissing voice called out. It wasn't loud, but the gathering was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. "Come forth. I wish to talk to you."
Pansy kept her head down and shuffled to the front. When she reached the Dark Lord, she dropped down on both knees, as Snape had taught her, and kissed the hem of his robes. "My Lord," she murmured, keeping low, "you called for me?"
"Look up at me when I speak to you, girl. I have no time to explain myself twice because you were focusing too hard at my feet instead of my face." Pansy jerked her head up, resisting the urge to flinch. His red eyes acted as lanterns in the dark and he nodded his approval. "Much better, my daughter. Now, no doubt your father has had time to explain the situation to you." He waited for a reply.
"Yes, my lord, indeed, he has," was her dry reply. The 'situation' had been the reason for much fighting within the recess of the Parkinson household as of late. "And in regards to it, several harsh words have been passed through us."
Snape cursed mentally from the assembly of hooded Death Eaters watching on. Pansy was walking on the edge of a bottomless chasm and this was no time for sarcasm and dry comments, least of all with the bipolar Lord Voldemort.
"Fighting, child?" Voldemort replied, eyes narrowing the slightest. Again, Snape warned her mentally to watch her back.
"Indeed, my lord. My father does not seem to realize that I am offended to be his trump card." The Dark Lord nodded for her to continue. "The fact that he cannot live up to his own mistakes, and therefore uses others to cover for him (let alone his own daughter!), has me more than slightly irked. And then there's the bit that he's using me, when I don't feel I'm ready."
Pansy took a deep breath to calm her nerves to continue. "My Lord, for the first six years of my education, I was annoying and underachieving and my only concern was that my hair was curly enough to actually attract Draco Malfoy's attention. However, this year, it's like I've gotten insight on how pathetic my life truly was. I've started making changes and finely tuning who I am. My Lord," the pleading now filled her voice. "I've even discovered where the library was, and not only that, I'm using it."
The Dark Lord rose what would have been an eyebrow, had he facial hair. Or any hair at all. "What are you trying to tell me, my daughter?" he wanted to know.
"I need more time to discover who I am, My Lord, before I dedicate my heart and soul to your cause, My Lord."
"Give me one reason why I should not finish you, now and for all, Girl, for defying my orders," Voldemort hissed, twirling his wand around in a free hand. This was Pansy's only chance to convince him to let her live, and she was damned if she was going to sit back and go without a good reason.
"Because I am ready to join your cause, but I want to join for the right reasons. I want to unite because I'm ready to show the world what I'm made of, not because my father screwed up and needs me to cover his arse. Please, my lord." She let her blue eyes meet his red ones for a moment. "Most Hogwarts students take seven years to learn what they need in life. Only now am I finding I have one year to learn what I didn't in the first six."
Voldemort lowered his wand, eyes flashing once. "You should be pleased, Parkinson," he hissed. Pansy realized Voldemort was talking to her father, not her. "You've raised a daughter to be proud of. One that shouldn't be a father's excuse to get his own self out of trouble. I give you until the summer semester to make your choice, Girl," Voldemort stated, now turning back to her. "By then, I expect you to be ready to join me."
Pansy knelt once again, kissing the hem of his robe once more, having an internal bounce of joy. She had until July to put off Lord Voldemort once more. "You are as gracious as you are powerful, My Lord. Both qualities of an exceptional leader."
"Your flattery, while amusing, gets tiring. Return home and continue your learning. I anticipate the day you join my ranks, and if possible, would like to initiate you earlier than July."
Pansy nodded and retreated quickly. Safe. For now. If only Voldemort weren't so hell-bent on using her for his cause!
Draco was trying his best to act nonchalant about the entire deal. He was reclined on the black leather sofa closest to the fire, Pansy taking up one arm of the couch while he was sprawled across the rest. He was already on her nerves for that evening, since when he decided it a good idea to use her lap as a footrest. He was only getting the feeling back in his toes now.
Pansy was lost in her own world, reading a large tome on illegal poisons during the Renaissance; she was trying to memorize as much as she could before returning home for the Christmas holidays, particularly the effects said poisons had that made them banned from the ministry. Draco suspected she'd be doing a little potions brewing in the Parkinson Manor dungeons over the two-week break and resolved to make sure he knew where his drinks had come from when they returned. For now, the small box in his robe pockets interested him.
More importantly, the object in the box in the pocket in his robes, a bump in his log for sure. And how to transfer the object in the box (etcetera, such on, and so forth) from his possession to hers without her getting ideas and without him losing his cool.
"Either get out with it or leave me be," Pansy threatened, not looking up from her book. "The giggling of your foot is getting on my nerves."
"Get out with what?" he wanted to know, slipping his right hand into his pocket.
"Get out what you're nervous about telling me." She looked up. "And don't bother denying your nerves. I know you jiggle your foot as a nervous habit, the same way you tousle your hair when at a loss for words. And the way you cover your nails with a foul-tasting ointment because you chew them when bored." She met his astonished gaze evenly. "I know a great deal about you, Draco Malfoy. It seems I've done little but memorize your life for the past six years."
"And now?" he asked, toying with the silk bow he had tied around the box.
"I've got better things to do than concern myself with how you take your tea." She stood up. "Which is with more sugar and cream than tea, with just a hint of lemon. I'm going to bed."
Pansy was out of the commons before Draco could object and he sat back with a great sigh. Absolutely confusing, that's what all women were.
"Is Mistress sure she isn't wanting Nobbs to care for her trunks?" a small house elf practically begged, fraying the hem of her kerchief that wrapped around her body like a toga.
"Mistress is sure that she will send Nobbs flying down the hallway, nose first, if Nobbs does not leave her be to unpack her own things. Why don't you go feed the Venomous Dragonsnaps?" Pansy replied, leaning against her bed's frame.
"Nobbs is glad Mistress has returned from Hell," the house elf exclaimed, bowing low and exiting quickly; Pansy's suggestion of feeding the man-eating flowers had been just that- a suggestion- and not an order. When pressed for peace, Pansy could come up with creative orders for elf activities.
With a deep sigh that came from the relief of being alone, Pansy pushed the trunk to its side and muttered the charm to deactivate the booby traps she had set on it for those who opened the case without her permission. Her dorm mates claimed she was merely paranoid, but when a third year boy ended up in the hospital for a week, claiming he'd gotten his fingers crushed by a "closing door," Pansy knew the traps had been a good idea.
Reaching for the topmost item, Pansy stopped in mid-grab. A black-velvet box, tied with a green and silver silk ribbon, was nestled neatly in-between a couple of skirts and a pair of socks. Pansy carefully picked up the box, checking it for mysterious spells or hexes. When finding none, she slowly untied the ribbon and eased the box open. Then, she sat back on her haunches, amazed, confused, and slightly speechless. Amongst the gray interior of the box was a silver ring.
It wasn't just "some ring," Pansy had to admit as she slowly pulled it out to admire, for the ring was a piece of exquisite beauty. A miniature dragon's head held a blue diamond in it's molded teeth, ruby-inlaid eyes sparkling with a true dragon's fury. The dragon's body then looped around, forming the ring's band, as it competed with the tail wrapping underneath the dragon's head. Pansy traced the miniature wings, folded into the body, with a finger, before noticing the card that had fallen into her lap when she had been amazed by the ring's magnificence. She read it now.
P-
I had this made just for you, to show that ink-covered fingers and hands bent in the position of holding a quill would really tell nothing about how amazing a person really is. It's because you took the time to learn more about me than I knew. It's because I know just as much about you. And it's because I knew you'd appreciate its beauty and craftsmanship the same way I do you, even if your lowlife father doesn't realize what he is blessed with. Happy Christmas with my well wishes.
-D
---
Pansy told herself it meant nothing when she placed the note under her pillow that evening. She also refused comment when the note remained under the pillow for the next two weeks and ended up in her trunk to return to school with.
A letter from Lucius Malfoy to his son, dating back to November
Lucius Malfoy, to: Draco Malfoy
Hogwarts
I received your letter, most likely written in hurried haste, and wrote back as soon as I could. The only thing that comes to mind revolves around the fact that Jasper Parkinson is truly an idiot with a wish for death
Recently, My Lord called his inner circle for a meeting; he wanted to be sure of our loyalty to him. However, Jasper arrived late, smelling of Ogden's firewhiskey and unable to stand without a sway. Jasper has always had difficulty keeping a hold of his sharp tongue and cynicism; inebriation only added to the problem and he deeply offended My Lord with a muttered comment of the easiness of life before My Lord's service.
Parkinson used Pansy as a means to escape My Lord's wrath. Promised My Lord her services as a vengeful follower without consulting to Pansy first.
We might be Slytherin, and we might date back centuries, but pureblooded families care for their children and love them; Jasper is an imbecile for looking down on Pansy and using her as his trump card to avoid the Dark Lord's displeasure.
Your mother sends her love,
-Father
A letter From Draco Malfoy to Blaise ZabiniDraco Malfoy, to: Blaise Zabini
Darkwood Manor
Somewhere in Italy, Not Quite Sure Where and Definitely Not Caring to Ask
If I find you sending Pansy anything bent in the shape of a heart again, Zabini, you will regret it. Find enclosed the necklace I knew you tried giving to her for Christmas.
Happy holls.
-Draco
A letter from Blaise Zabini to Pansy ParkinsonBlaise, to: Pansy
TOPIC: Draco Malfoy
Parkinson Manor
Scotland
Hey, Pansy. Hope you're enjoying the holidays as I am; Mother and Father took my sister and I to our summer manor on the beach and I was introduced to muggle "water skiing". I'll tell you, muggles sure know what they're doing when it comes to an adrenaline high.
Could you do me a favor, because Draco seems incapable of civil conversation, and inform him that you're not his tool and that people may be friends with you if they like?
Thanks, and have a great winter break!
-Blaise'n Like the Sun
A Letter from Pansy Parkinson to Blaise ZabiniPansy Parkinson, to: Blaise Zabini
RE: Draco Malfoy
Darkwood Manor
Somewhere In Italy on the Beach, Not Quite Sure Where and Definitely Not Caring to Look it Up
You're a big boy. Handle your own problems. When you have a REAL reason to write me, feel free not to and save it.
Thanks, and you have a great winter break too!
-Pansy, who isn't dumb enough to turn her name into some cheesy lingo like "Pansy and her fields of bees and chipmunks and severe cases of asthma"
A letter from Hermione Granger to Ginevra WeasleyHermione, to: Ginny
Topic: Ronald Weasley
The Burrow
Thanks for the presents, Ginny! Mum, Dad, and I are having a blast in Italy. We ran into Blaise Zabini on the beach; he seemed a bit grim and mumbled something about Pansy and PMS.
Let Ron know that his gift of Bertie Botts-Flavored Bertie Botts Beans was… interesting. At least Crookshanks thought so, when he was able to open his mouth again. Several hours later.
-H
A note from Ginny Weasley to her brother, left on the kitchen tableGinny, to: The Prat
Topic: Bertie Botts…
The kitchen table
The Burrow
You spend three Hogsmeade visits looking for a Christmas present, and you buy her Bertie Botts-Flavored Bertie Botts Beans? Are you DAFT?
-Ginny
A Howler From Molly Weasley to her youngest sonMOTHER, TO: RONALD
TOPIC: YOUR LANGUAGE
Romania
I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE MANAGED, BUT YOUR SISTER WAS ABLE TO RECORD SOME OF YOUR LANGUAGE OF THE CONVERSATION YOU HAD ABOUT HERMIONE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT, RONALD.
I AM APPALLED BY THE LANGUAGE I HEARD COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOUNG MAN, AND SIMPLY WILL NOT DO WITH IT. YOU CAN BET THAT WHEN I RETURN, THERE'S A SCOURGIFY WITH YOUR NAME ON IT.
TO THINK, MY SON SPEAKS THE GARBAGE OF THE SLUMS.
-MOTHER
---------------------
Less letters, more story. I've finally started with the Draco/Pansy romance and hope I've established how much of a slime ball Jasper really is. When I first made him, I meant for him to be a hard-to-please father, but he's slowly turned into an Ass. I officially start school Thursday, the fourth, so I tried my hardest to get this chapter out now than never. The next one may take a bit in coming, because I can only ever write at night. Early morning, really, seeing as it's 12:30 right now. However, for some reason, my muse becomes sober whenever I go to write this fic. It's ten times easier writing for a Pansy/Draco than a Hermione/Draco EVER was for me.
Kudos to my reviewers (I love you guys, can I marry ALL of you?), as they have made many happy vents on my livejournal and my message board. I know I haven't mentioned names, and I don't wish to start now, but one particular reviewer, TheAnonymous1 absolutely made my day when I read the review she/he? Left (I will use CORRECT grammar and not use "they", for it will be changing the person I'm writing it). Seeing "syntax" made me giggle and bounce with joy, especially when complimented for it.
…Authors notes are such fun to write. I could go on forever, but I'll spare you and leave it at this. Muy love from one of your HMS Snitch and Bitch intakes!
-Achi