You guys rock
Both of my sock(s).
School is my (writer's) block…
And although I may talk
HP's under lock
It's part of Jo's stock.
…It's nine o'clock
And I still hate Bach,
So let's eat some pock(ie)
Or anything else from the baroque period, I realize. It's all, "Woohoo! Let's sound EXACTLY THE SAME!" Um… on another note, my last disclaimer poem got a line cut off the end. It's "And me? I have no fame as yet/Why else would I post on I don't know if all mentionings of get chopped off or some disgruntled worker for chopped it off, but if they did, I wish they had asked first. My rhyming meter was even MORE off because of it. On with the show, then.
-Achi
Epiphany
Rated: PG-13
Chapter Four: Musings and Then Some
Draco's least favorite time of year slowly rolled around with an early morning frost and clouds of invading pinkness from the Great Hall. For most people, Valentine's Day was for celebrating half-naked cherubs and snogging couples, but since puberty, Draco realized Valentine's Day was more for teasing the unfortunates and harboring underclassmen-crushes on pretty figures. In example, himself. For Valentine's Day, fifth year, he had to kindly let down a handful of Hufflepuff second years.
As kindly as a Slytherin could, he corrected himself. Only two of them went off in tears and he'd been questioned for the uncommon charity.
As it was, the hall was decorated in unattractive pinks, reds, and golds that clashed with the cloudy skies reflected on the ceiling, magical pink and red chain links lining the walls of the dining areas. Draco was slightly amused to see house elves, decorated in cherub togas and strap-on wings, running around the tables, trying to serve the half-groggy Hogwarts students the best they could.
He watched with lowered lashes as Pansy glared at her daily porridge, colored pink for the holiday. He held back a snicker as she grabbed the closest house elf and played twenty questions about the defilement of her breakfast. He almost didn't notice as Blaise took a seat next to Pansy. However, he did notice as a jewelry box made its way out of the Italian's pocket and next to Pansy's plate. The blonde hairs on the back of his neck rose and he growled under his breath.
Pansy looked up from the house elf. "What's this?" she demanded. Draco congratulated her on her terseness and once again, like many times since Christmas holidays, his attention became fastened to the intricate dragon wrapped around her right hand's ring finger; he never expected the ring to end up in the engagement ring spot, and was pleased to see her wear it out of her dorm anyway.
"A Valentine's Day gift. Surely you realized today was February 14th?" Blaise asked, stretching casually.
She looked down to her bowl of porridge, over to the cowering house elf, and then to the paper links suffocating the portraits in the Great Hall. "Oh," she replied simply, blinking several times. "I hadn't realized I was going to get dragged into this yearly mess."
Blaise now shrugged nonchalantly and Draco was not fooled by the show. His keen blue eyes could sense the nervousness in his rival's actions, offhanded shrugs put aside. Pansy had blown both hot and cold to Blaise, keeping him on his toes, since Christmas break, while she had pointedly avoided Draco at all costs. However, Draco was not put off by Pansy's cold reaction. He merely figured she was overwhelmed by the ring and wished for time to figure out her thoughts. He hoped.
"You're supposed to open it," Blaise commented, nodding towards the box. Pansy's eyes momentarily met Draco's in a silent question. He grinned behind a hand at her response and she nodded slightly in reply.
Picking up the box with a little caution, Pansy grimaced at the pink and silver ribbon, quickly ripping off the offending article before flipping the box open. Draco had to admit her grimace had been well hidden; he'd only noticed it because he was expecting it. "Wow, Blaise, this sure is… something," she commented.
Blaise grinned at her tone. "I was at a loss as what to get you, so I asked around and was told that girls like jewelry. Mom insisted on giving this to you; it's a family heirloom. I was thrilled. It'll look great on you." Taking the box from her hands, Blaise pulled out the pendant and went to fasten it around Pansy's neck. "You make it beautiful, Fair Lady," he purred.
Draco was tickled pink to see a heart-shaped adornment hanging from the end of a chain. Rose quartz and garnet were inlaid to make half of the hart and a metal band connected to complete the shape. He held back his snickers at the look of astonishment, confusion, and disgust that crossed Pansy's face. Girls may like jewelry, but Blaise had also forgotten many girls were picky. Even Pansy, the new Pansy that had emerged from the waste and chaos, enjoyed tasteful sparklies but a rose quartz heart did not amount to a diamond dragon.
"Wow, Blaise… I don't know what to um…" Pansy trailed off, face taking on an odd look of horror. "It's sure… pink."
Blaise practically beamed. "I thought you might like it," he stated.
"Amazing, Blaise. You sure know girls to a point," Draco stated, fighting his first instinct (laughter) for control. "I would never have thought to get Pansy a heart for Valentine's Day." While Draco's sarcasm went over Blaise's head, Pansy smirked at him. Suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed together and she cast Draco with a confused look. She jumped back, quickly looking away, grabbing her things, and taking a stand.
Mumbling a quick apology and even quicker thanks, Pansy practically ran out of the hall, leaving Draco confused in her wake. Draco glared to himself and also stood. Instances like this had been happening for two months now. The other day, he'd caught Pansy mumbling to herself while reading a book. She would have begun yelling had she not noticed his presence. Instead, she hurriedly shut her book, muttering, "This isn't over," and running off in the direction of her dorm.
Quietly he mused, only getting so far. She'd had that book since September, always carried it about in her bags, and referred to it with her problems. As far as he knew, it was a self-help book. That she had told him. However, he wondered how Pansy could finish dusty tomes on illegal potions in days, yet keep a hold of the ratty, torn pages of the thin booklet for over half a year. He'd have to ask around about it later. For now, he merely sat back and watched.
Pansy had the book closed and from the other side of the table was glaring down upon its tattered cover. "I don't have to listen to anything you tell me," she muttered, talking to the material. "I run my own life. You're only a book. I don't have to follow anything you have printed within your cover.
The peeling gold title flashed in the light of the library, as if to challenge her. "I choose my own mate. I don't care if Blaise has connections to the black market. I don't care that he has dashing good looks and wavy black hair. I don't care that he gets me Valentine's Day trinkets, no matter how hackneyed, when Draco doesn't. This is a Pansy discussion. Not a You Make the Decision For Me."
Hermione Granger watched from several tables down, making a show of reading A History of 101 Magical Ailments. When Pansy had first bested her on the book, Hermione had been too irked to warn the unpleasant girl about the magical devices in store for her. Now, five months later, Hermione was getting worried. Of course, she had noticed when Pansy's style became bearable and her school work became topnotch, but Hermione was living proof that Opening a Book would lead to excellent school grades. However, over time, Pansy had slowly moved more and more into herself and began to push people away. She'd become quieter. Granted, anything was more silent than the Pansy from Hermione's sixth year classes, but the level Pansy had become introverted on was alarming. Even teachers quietly talked about the Slytherin from behind closed doors and thick walls, but Hermione only knew this because a Head Girl with a new book meant talking to a brick wall.
Hermione knew that, at this point, only Pansy could beat the battle in her mind. Already, Pansy was showing signs of defiance. Hermione prayed that she could withstand the battle while finishing the book. Only then, could the girl decide which path she wished to choose, having gone this far into the material.
'Never trust a thing if you can't see where it stores its brains indeed,' Hermione thought, snapping her tome shut and hurrying off; it would do her no good to worry about the female, and merely viewing Pansy's battle made it difficult for her to concentrate.
Kamalia Parkinson was not one for deep thought. She enjoyed arranging dinner buffets and creating agreeable placement charts, not worrying about what her daughter had gotten herself into. However, with Jasper's newfound bitterness towards their only daughter, Kamalia figured it was up to her to worry for the both of them.
Worry she did.
Kamalia understood that Pansy had become more studious, and was thrilled at the possibility of raising a daughter whom others could only be jealous of. Kamalia also realized that Pansy's more conservative way of dressing lowered the unladylike rumors passed around her inner circle of friends, most of them more than likely coming from Lady Bulstrode and her troll of a daughter (Kamalia quietly thought that Millicent fancied the young Weasley girl anyway, but did not speak her suspicions. At least not around Lady Bulstrode). And privately, Kamalia was tiptoeing through the tulips over the fact that Pansy had survived from not joining Lord Voldemort with a simple, "I'm not ready," although only for the time being. Kamalia would not state this around any of her present company, but she surreptitiously thought the Dark Lord's beliefs were a little too radical and hypocritical than wizarding society needed. However, Kamalia was becoming unnerved by the correspondence and meetings she had had with her daughter as of lately.
Over Christmas holidays, Pansy had been secluded. Family dinners had gone on with silence, Kamalia finally giving up on forceful conversation after Pansy merely nodded and Jasper ignored anything having to do with his daughter. When not dining or in the library, Pansy closed herself up in her bedroom, mumbling comments of being tired. Christmas day had been a somber affair, the opening of presents practically taken as any other day would have been. Kamalia had been overjoyed to find Pansy had purchased her a boxset of bodice rippers (how she loved heaving bosoms and throbbing packages!) and for Jasper, a set of the finest Cuban cigars Pansy's weekly allowance of two galleons allotted. However, Pansy's reaction to a heap of various gifts, including a new pair of dress robes and an out of print copy of Ars Alchema had barely been acknowledged.
After several months and even fewer pained, quick notes admitting a continued existence, Kamalia was at a loss of what to do and had turned to the only hand she agonizingly trusted with her deepest thoughts, no matter how much she loathed it.
Narcissa Malfoy sat across from her, legs crossed and tea balanced on one knee. "You say the problem is Pansy?" the lady asked, chilly blue eyes boring into Kamalia's own. "Draco's mentioned that she's been acting slightly odd, but he thought it was because of the midwinter gift he got her." Narcissa smiled slightly at the talk of her son. "I remember when Lucius first started courting me. I couldn't look at him directly for weeks. Granted because when I did…" she trailed off and a slight blush colored her cheeks. Kamalia bit the side of her cheek, keeping her mouth shut.
It wasn't that Kamalia hated Narcissa. At least, not without a good reason. However, Narcissa had been the embodiment of everything Kamalia had wanted- long and pure bloodline, a full vault at Gringrotts, slim and chillingly gorgeous, and married to Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius Malfoy had been a fish any pureblooded family wished to snare in a net, and Kamalia had been among those considered suitable for marriage. A long outstanding bloodline, plenty of gold, and a pretty enough face for "trophy wife," Kamalia was of age for Lucius Malfoy to court when he had been looking to marry. Indeed, he had even considered as such, and nearly had courted her, when Narcissa's elder sister left for a muggleborn wizard and left the family in dishonor. However, Narcissa had never been one to be bested and had climbed back to her feet with a bounce and a drop of a handkerchief. Before Kamalia even realized what had happened, Narcissa and Lucius had headed down a white aisle with projectile rice aimed for their heads. In return, Kamalia ended up with…
Jasper Parkinson was a good enough man. He was pureblooded, yes. Attractive in his youth, the secretive man had been quick with his tongue and willing to prove his worth to any who asked for it. Now an adult, Jasper was a man gone to seed. Days were spent with a handy bottle of Ogden's finest in his left hand and an angry quill in his other. Alcohol and a sharp tongue were bad to mix, Kamalia surmised. He had come to this conclusion the hard way, and their daughter had almost paid for it with her life. As much as Kamalia cared about her own status, she did love her daughter with a mother's heart. Such a deceitful manner would not be forgotten and Jasper would get his just rewards.
That is what Narcissa had left for Kamalia when Lucius Malfoy had been manhandled out from under her nose. From the attractive, caring father, Kamalia ended up with the sarcastic, drunken bastard with enough love in his heart to turn the sky green. And the last time Kamalia had checked, the sky was, indeed, blue.
"But it's not that," Kamalia stated, returning from her thoughts to the conversation at hand. "She's… She's not the type of girl to stay secluded from a boy. Not before the book, not after the book."
Narcissa knit her eyebrows together. "What book?" she asked.
"Pansy mentioned in September that she found a book on self-help that she was trying to follow. When she started reading it, her personality changed. A lot. She became more studious, more reliable, and definitely more respectable. I've had the majority of her professors write, asking for a reason of the change. I merely told them she was correcting the flaws in her character. Except, now it seems that her flaws were more like gaping chasms into an abyss and she's filling them in, pebble by pebble."
"Would you by any chance know the author of this book?" Narcissa asked, blue eyes calculating.
"Morganna. Morganna LeFaye, King Arthur's half-sister."
It was Valentine's Day evening, and Pansy decided if she saw another shade of pink (or red), she was going to enroll herself into an insane asylum and start on a mass killing spree of cherubs and floral vegetation in the time being. The day had progressively gone from bad to even badder.
Worse.
Whatever the correct grammar was.
Currently, she was too tired to ponder grade school knowledge as she prepared herself for bad.
Pansy's mind had been going a full three hundred and sixty degrees over the thoughts and prospects of a relationship. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, a full-fledged gang war began between her heart and her head, and the victor had yet to emerge. Her head was telling her to run to Blaise and throw herself upon him for the necklace (yuck!) he had presented for the Day of Love. Her heart, on the other hand, was telling her to march up to Draco and demand where the hell his Valentine's Day present was. Somewhere in between, the small portion of Pansy's brain known as "reason" and another small portion of her heart called "feeling" had informed her that the headache and heart burn she had gotten would most likely continue into the late evening.
'This could be easy,' the slick, oily part of her brain informed her. 'Tall, dark, and handsome, willing to show his love to you, siblings, an Italian villa by the sea. What does that other boy have to offer you? Death eating? Family tradition by following a war you don't want to be in? Why doesn't he care enough to send you a present on this day, anyway?'
'The day isn't over yet,' Pansy's heart pleaded. 'He'll come. I know he will. Draco loves me for who I am, not because I've proven myself worthy of his time. I don't even know if he's following his father's footsteps; the war might even be over by the time school ends and I won't even have to consider the process of fighting off Voldemort myself.'
'You should make the choice that's best for you. Draco didn't even look twice at you before you came across my book, only when it improved you.'
'Neither did Blaise,' the heart fought back.
'Why keep fighting? It only increases the pain,' the brain taunted back, a drawling tone now adopted. 'I'll only win in the end.'
Pansy screamed in frustration and stormed into her bedroom that she shared with the other girls her age. About to throw herself down on her bed, she stopped abruptly.
A single rose sat on her pillow, a silver ribbon tied to its long stem, a note attached to its end.
Pansy untied the note, read it carefully, and just as gently set it down upon her bed table. She picked up the rose with just as much care, clutched it to her breast, and laid herself down upon the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.
'This is why I keep fighting. Because he knows me just as well as I know him, yet we keep surprising each other anyway,' the heart finished, knowing it was right. The brain had no reply.
Draco admitted he was amazed to see the long-stemmed red rose resting against his pillow. He untied the green ribbon that was connected to the rose, read the card, and grinned a special grin. They complimented each other as well as his parents did.
A note from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson, attached to a rose on Valentine's DayAt least I know better than to get you gaudy jewelry. I've already done that. Mother would have never permitted something so hideous sitting around in the treasury anyway.
Be mine, for this day? And be ready to melt down that necklace and pawn it?
-D
A note from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, attached to a rose on Valentine's DayIf I find you didn't get me anything for Valentine's Day, I swear to god I will lead Blaise on for the next month, consequences or no. Gods I hate this holiday. Why am I even participating in it?
-P
A letter from Lady Zabini to her son, dating back to February 4thMama, to: Blaise
Hogwarts
Darling, I have just the gift for you to give our bella dame on the holiday of love. I had this necklace made for you. What lady couldn't resist silver and rose quartz? I will let you know, if your father had ever made any such necklace for me, I would have started having children a little sooner, if you get my meaning.
Make sure to use protection, love.
-Mama
A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry PotterRon, to: Harry
Topic: Hermione
Oi, mate. Why is Hermione acting all twitchy and expectant and upset all at once? It's like I've accidentally got her preggers and we're waiting to tell her folks (no, she's not, and no, we're not). Do you have any idea why she's acting like a bomb? Or a hormone-driven preggers-lady?
A note from Harry Potter to Ronald WeasleyHarry, to: Ron
RE: Hermione
You didn't forget Valentine's Day, did you? Because that would do it…
A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry PotterRon, to: Harry
RE: RE: Hermione
Fuck.
A note from Hermione Granger to Ginny WeasleyHermione, to: Ginny
Topic: Your brother
Gryffindor Message Board
Gryffindor Commons
Dear Ginny,
The next time you see your brother, can you inform him that he is so low I am not even stooping to hex him in this case, and that he bloody well pull a miracle for my forgiveness?
Much love,
Hermione
A note from Ginny Weasley to Hermione GrangerGinny, to: Hermione
RE: Your brother
Gryffindor Message Board
Gryffindor Commons
Dear Hermione,
The message will be passed. Another concern arises from the midst: he's not so low that I couldn't hex him…
Awaiting with puppy-dog eyes,
Ginny
A note from Ronald Weasley to his sisterRon, to: Brat
RE: RE: Your brother
Gryffindor Message Board
Gryffindor Commons
Don't you dare, you brat, or I'll rat on what I found you and Harry doing a week ago in the broom closet outside the portrait of Circe and the pigs. This is between Hermione and me and I don't need you to get involved.
A note from Harry Potter to Ronald WeasleyHarry, to: Ron
Hospital Wing
Hey, mate. When do you think Madame Pomfrey will release you from the hospital wing? I think Hermione's almost ready to hear your apologies, and what consists of Making It Up To Her.
Just so you know, Ginny's said your mum took her side of the argument. And as a warning, there might be a howler coming in the mail sometime. She hinted as such.
A note from Ronald Weasley to his motherRon, to: Mum
Topic: Dear Mum,
The Burrow
England
Dear Mum,
Before you send the howler, think of Madame Pomfrey's reaction to normal loud noises in the infirmary. Now think of what her reaction would be to a magically induced one that produces ten times as much noise.
With that covered, I'd like to let you know I have paid homage to Ginny's anger, apologized to Harry for almost ratting on him, and plan to make it up to Hermione as soon as she forgives me long enough to hear me out. Otherwise, I'm still in a lot of pain and don't think I'll be riding a broom any time soon.
Much love,
Ron
------------------
: Feel free to guess conspiracy theories in any reviews as to how my fic will end. It's rounding up to a point where there are only a few chapters left… Two, maybe three? In the meantime, I will recommend a story of my own, for any searching for a GOOD read. "Temporary Insanity" is by Arbitrary and I've been following it since it came out. Yes, it's Draco/Hermione, but the wit is excellent, the characters are AMAZING, and the situations make me melt like butter in Florida and wish I were Hermione. Go read it. Then plead for Arbitrary to update as quickly as possible… it's been over two months and last time I waited four ;;