A/N: It's been a while. Sorry about that. I've had to deal with some personal stuff including settling into a new job. It'll probably be a few months before I get back to weekly updates. For now I'll update when I can. Anyway, to make up for it, here's an extra long chapter. Most of my future updates will probably be in the range of 2k – 3k words.
As always, thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
- x
Half-buried archways and Doric columns stuck out of what seemed more a wrecked coliseum than someone's home. The curves of toppled statues, glassy white, stood out like giant pearls. A gazebo lay on its side making her think of a giant toppled cage. The modest cottage she grew up in could fit inside that cage.
Miss Parkinson and her friends sat against a gushing fountain several yards away. The students set off alone as soon as they arrived, forgetting so much as a thank you for apparating them there. Not moving from where she arrived, Minerva strained hear ears, but the whipping wind carried neither clue nor whisper of how the girl felt. Half a quidditch pitch away, Parkinson, Davis and Greengrass looked identical to the Black, Rowle, and Bulstrode girls from her year. Vapid girls who memorized their entire family trees, but couldn't tell you their favorite subject after seven years at Hogwarts. How would any one of them react to losing everything? Parkinson was just like them after all. She made petty comments about Miss Granger and Mr. Potter in the Daily Prophet, habitually insulted students, and, Minerva suspected, was responsible for at least some of the hexed students that ended up in the infirmary every week. A spoiled brat, mediocre student, and a bully.
Guilt pricked her heart as she saw the hunched girl and her friends walk toward her again. The bullies of her youth were decades in the past, and Minerva wasn't a girl anymore. But Pansy was, and today she mourned her parents' passing. Whatever Parkinson might think, Minerva didn't become her guardian to make her life hell.
"The funeral will be held at the cemetery grounds beyond the forest." Pansy pointed to a tree line that marked the end of the grounds. "A carriage will deliver us along the causeway there." Pansy spoke to the wind instead of talking to her professor directly. It must be uncomfortable for Pansy to suddenly find herself accountable to a Hogwarts professor who never paid her any mind before. McGonagall climbed into the carriage next to Daphne Greengrass.
Miss Davis and Miss Greengrass snuck one last look at the decimated estate, probably imagining what the buildings looked like intact. It must've been their first time at the Parkinson estate then. Minerva had suspected as much. Mr. Zabini was a brilliant transfiguration student; top of the class if not for Miss Granger. Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis possessed less talent, but worked hard for what they earned. The trio never partnered with Pansy, yet only they came with her today. A valuable lesson for Miss Parkinson to realize who her real friends were.
After riding for a kilometer through the elm and oak forest, they strode into a clearing. Thick reds, yellows and browns carpeted the grass. Amid the autumn patchwork, tombstones and memorial statues stood at regular intervals. It was an infinite chessboard of granite and marble headstone pieces. Starting from the row closest to her, the grave markers wove back in time to the first of her ancestors. Pansy could visit every Parkinson that ever lived. What half-blood or muggleborn could say that?
A raised black marble platform occupied the spaces left for Pansy's parents. Leaves crunched beneath her feet as they walked to the seating area. The sky was a murky crystal ball. Morning dew covered the fallen leaves making them smell like decay and earth.
The seating area was only five rows long. Pureblood families liked turning funerals into exclusive affairs. It was one last chance to snub anyone the deceased didn't care for. In this case, the deceased were the ones being shunned. Seven guests were attending including the undertaker. They all fit in the first row. Pansy sat near the aisle. A short, balding wizard walked over to her as soon as she did. His stomach stuck out like he swallowed a cauldron. "Miss Parkinson," he picked up her hand and kissed it. "I'm Mr. Howell, chief probate attorney at Parkinson and Rowle."
Pansy nodded. "Pleasure. I presume you are to thank for today's arrangements?" Howell nodded. "You have the Parkinsons upmost gratitude."
"A privilege. Your father was a brilliant man and a great friend. You know, I was only Junior Aide to the Assistant of the Undersecretary for the Minister before I met your father. He believed in me enough to lend me a chance, and I've never had to look back." His eyes were watery, and Pansy avoided them so she wouldn't be tempted to tears as well. "I am truly sorry for your loss. In the coming months I will fight the Wizengamot to reinstate your property rights to all Parkinson assets. Look for my owl soon."
As he left to sit down, a cello's G note rippled through the air, making the cold breeze become still. Everyone looked down the aisle. Two attendants ushered her parents' hovering coffins to their final resting place. Pansy couldn't recognize the composition, nor did she care. Her eyes followed the rigid cherry-wood boxes, each dressed in a red and white sash stamped with the family crest; a soaring firebird. The sashes fluttered more in tune with the music than the wind; like sails propelling her parents to the beyond.
The last time she saw them…well she could never have imagined it would be the last time. A breakfast lecture about O.W.L.s. Dad hiding behind the newspaper as she yelled goodbye from the door. Mum saying a dignified and proper ciao that Pansy didn't hear as she ran to meet her friends. Had she only known then. If she'd known that Voldemort would hurt them so badly that their faces would stiffen in permanent agony, making an open casket funeral indecent. Had she known that the next time, she'd be staring at two cold, unfeeling boxes; she would have looked for mom's almost imperceptible smile as she said goodbye, or dad's amused mumbling as he read the Prophet over his morning earl grey.
She wasn't brave enough to see their mortified expressions, but maybe it was for the best. Her last memories of them would be of them being perfectly…perfect, as mum would have wanted. Only, not seeing their faces again made it all surreal. Like an elaborate hoax. Like they weren't really gone. They'd just been with her. Logic tore a hole in the feeling. No one could outwit the ministry's forensic aurors. Not a scrap of evidence got past them. Her parents were gone. Malfoy knew why, and she blew any chance she had of finding out.
The coffins parked on the marble platform. Pansy waited for a final, drawn out note to end before she picked up a bouquet of flowers from her bench. They were blue dahlias; the stark sky blue of a clear summer day. In the center she added two white pansies. Her namesake flower symbolized thoughts and memories. One for mum and one for dad, who would both live on in her memories. She set the arrangement between both coffins, and faced the audience.
"Today we lay to rest Hector Allan Parkinson and Helena Christine Parkinson; my father and mother. They were loyal friends to those they trusted, great philanthropists to the causes the believed in, and devoted parents. Taken before their time, they nevertheless led exemplary lives." Pansy stopped for a breath. She spent Saturday coaxing her brain to cough up some words worthy of her parents, but the daylong effort felt as fruitless as trying to squeeze juice out of a rock. This was the best she could do. "Above all else, this example is the greatest legacy I inherit from them. As their sole heir I will do my best to preserve their memory. However, it is not just me that they have touched with their lives, but all of those present as well. I now invite each guest to approach their altar individually and pay their final respects."
Starting with Blaise, each of the seated walked up behind Pansy and faced the altar. They were brief. Pansy swore some of them only counted the time before moving along. McGonagall went next, slowly placing a wrinkled hand at the altar, and bowing her head. She whispered something Pansy wished she could hear. The undertaker behind McGonagall stamped his feet until Pansy glared at him. No one else personally knew Hector and Helena, but McGonagall at least knew not to act as if she was in a queue for a burger or something.
Once everyone returned to their seats, Pansy bowed to the caskets to offer her own last respects. Instead, the same thoughts that hadn't left her alone the last few nights simmered in her mind. How? Why? Dad promised everything would be all right. A salty tear rolled down her face and fell on the bouquet. Pansy sobbed and bent her head to hide from the guests.
It was no good. She couldn't stop the tears or the questions from flowing. What would they say if she could see them one more time? Did the Dark Lord kill them himself? Did he send someone to do it? Did he send Malfoy? No way mum or dad did anything against the Dark Lord. And so what if they had? It didn't mean they deserved to die. Her brain pricked with anger. That anyone could do that to her mum and dad. That their supposed friends would do nothing to stop it. Lucius Malfoy might even be responsible for it. One way or another she would find out from Draco.
She breathed deep and brought her mind back to the present. She stared at her parents' altar. I'm sorry I was never good enough. Sorry that I did NOTHING while you both dealt with such a burden. No matter what happens, I will find out who did this. I will make them pay. I will make you proud.
She wiped her eyes and took her seat again. She'd practically promised to lift a mountain for them. Even as she made the vow, words of doubt crowded her mind like a swarm of worker ants. She didn't know how she would do it. Her mind was tremulous. Her heart was fire. She allowed herself to feel hope, if for no other reason than because she'd never felt like this about anything before.
As hope burned through her, the coffins before them smoldered and rumbled too. Blue flames flared out from underneath, and engulfed them whole. The fire licked hungrily and rose over Pansy's head. The searing blue pillar turned orange then receded, dancing low. Howling winds swept in from the four corners, and wound together with the fire. "Akkkkkaaaaaaa," the flames ripped apart forming two wings; a firebird was born. Its plumes shone deep red; roaring flame captured in a crystal shard. The firebird cried again and beat its wings. A searing wind kissed their faces. It swirled upwards in long circles until it became a second sun in the sky. A single feather retraced the firebird's winding path in reverse before landing in Pansy's lap. Two headstones occupied the altar's place now; her flowers lay in the narrow gap between. She shook hands with the other two mourners as they retired. Professor McGonagall and her friends were the only ones left now.
"A beautiful service Miss Parkinson."
"Thank you." Pansy smiled weakly. She was done crying. Today was a day for dignifying and remembering her parents. The hole she felt in her heart that first day remained with her. It would always be there. But she also had to remember: from this day on, she lived for them too.
"Thank you all for coming." Pansy looked at her friends and even McGonagall.
Pansy crammed her copy of Defensive Magical Theory into her rucksack, crushing some rolls of parchment underneath, then squeezed in her potions book. Hopefully she hadn't snapped any quills or cracked any inkpots, but she felt too tired to check. She looked in the bathroom mirror. Her face drooped like a dilapidated candle. Would Draco try anything? What about the other Slytherins? Would Potter and friends heckle her some more? Would the Prophet have anything more to say? The questions wouldn't leave her alone all night.
"You know, McGonagall would let you off if you ask." Tracey tied back her hair.
"You do look tired." Daphne agreed.
"No. I won't spend another night worrying about my first day back." She couldn't show the other students any weakness either. She could handle the Longbottoms, Patils, and Macmillans of the school. Slytherin house, though, posed a bigger problem. Everyone in her house would be out to get her. She pinned a silver and green badge to her robes. Her being a prefect would only egg them on.
The three girls walked out of their dorm, and Pansy slipped on a pile of leaflets near their door. "Careful everyone, rabid bitch on the loose!" She picked up a leaflet. Pansy featured on the cover: on all fours, frothing at the mouth, and chasing a Slytherin student. It read: When Parkinson Attacks, Ten Tips to Traverse the Commons Safely. It snowed 3 inches of these pamphlets in the common room overnight. Between portraits, Pansy saw posters that read 'Lost Mutt: Answers to Parkinson' and 'For Your Safety, Travel In Pairs' with her picture on them. Near a bookcase she saw a flute in a glass case with the label: "Taming Flute: Play In Case of Attack."
Draco sat near the fireplace. He pretended to finish some lines for defense class, but Pansy saw his ears stand when she came in. As she walked through the common room a redheaded firstie barked at her and scrambled to breakfast. Pansy flicked her wand toward a study table. The pamphlets flocked to the table into neat piles. "There," she announced. "We don't want a fire hazard in addition to this nasty business, do we?" She left behind a disappointed Draco. It must have taken him all night to dress up the common room.
"Guess he's not going to listen to Nott and let bygones be bygones, huh?" Daphne said.
"No, but he has to try much harder than that to get under my skin," Pansy answered.
"If he's going to do this," Tracey smiled. "We should let the school know how you pounded the snot out of him. That'll really make him look pathetic."
"No" Blaise said. "House fights are supposed to stay in Slytherin. If Pansy leaks it to the school, Slytherin will only hate her more. If Draco takes things too far, though, he could loose their support."
They entered the great hall to a squawking of crows. Left and right students chattered, looked her way, and then turned back to their friends. Whispers mixed with occasional chirping and gleeful cawing, like a flock of ravens eyeing a tasty piece of bread. Pansy wouldn't mind so much, but their clucking carried undeniable joy.
The group sat exiled in the same corner of the Slytherin table that became theirs since last week. "Miss Parkinson," McGonagall caught her with half a bagel in her mouth. The other Slytherins snickered.
"Professor?" Pansy swallowed.
"If I could speak with you for a moment." The transfiguration professor led her a few feet away from her table. "I commend you for being so serious about your education." Pansy smirked; McGonagall knew well that she barely had an Acceptable in transfiguration. "However, if you were to take a personal day, I'm sure your professors would understand."
"I'm fine, professor." Pansy stared directly at her to make the point. McGonagall looked at the corner where her friends sat quarantined, then back to her. "Well, if you need anything, Miss Parkinson, my door is open to you."
Pansy nodded, and walked back to her seat. She scooped at the porridge in front of her, and shoveled a spoonful into her mouth. A gasp and a cackle reached her from down the table. Crabbe elbowed the guilty third year quiet: Daphne's sister, Astoria. Draco stared right at Pansy behind a glass of juice. His eyes gleamed.
Pfftch, she spit out a mouthful. Bits hit the table. They did something to her food. She yanked the nearest napkin, and fervently wiped her tongue clean.
"Miss Parkinson, is something the matter?" McGonagall came back. Pansy shook her head. She didn't need a reputation as a snitch. She had no proof anyway. "Please observe proper table etiquette. If you have any food allergies, leave a note for the house elves."
"Of course." Some Gryffindors across the hall chuckled at her. She tried to hide the blush that crept onto her face. "Sorry professor." This time Pansy tracked McGonagall all the way until she reached the professors' table. Her friends also looked slightly embarrassed. "Thanks. They snuck something in my porridge while you lot were lollygagging."
"Don't get paranoid on us Pans," Daphne said. " 'stori came to say hi to us, but that's it."
"You're being a right pain in the arse, but we wouldn't let anyone poison your food." Blaise smiled.
Pansy stared down at the milky slop. It looked fine. Just to be sure, she pulled a small compact from her robes. Lips, mouth, tongue…nothing looked swollen or oddly colored. They were right. She sheepishly put the mirror back in her pockets. Draco was just playing mind games with her, and of course she let him lead her on like a stupid cow. She heard another snicker from down the table, and slammed her fist. "What –"
BOOM.
Her bowl erupted like Mt. Vesuvius right under her. Pansy's face and robes were painted in milky oats. Heads snapped to the source of the cereal detonation. The great hall roared as Pansy stood up.
Daphne held a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Pansy I'm so sorry…I…"
"Let's get her out of here." Tracey ran over to her. Pansy locked eyes with Draco who held his side like it was going to burst.
"Ahem." Umbridge sounded like a squeaky windup toy. She wore a little pink cap that seemed to crush her head and neck down into her squat shoulders. Her sweet old lady smile told Pansy that she was screwed. "And just what has happened here?"
"My porridge exploded." Laughter filled the hall again until Umbridge's smile shut them all up.
"I can see that Miss Parkinson. Your bag please." Umbridge held out her hand, and pansy reached under the table for her rucksack. Pansy heard paper tear and inkpots butt heads as Umbridge rummaged through her things. How humiliating. Couldn't they at least do this outside the hall, so she didn't look like some delinquent dripping in oat clumps?
Umbridge dumped the bag's contents on the Slytherin table. "There you have it." She excavated a small blue box from the pile. A Bombtastic Bomb. "Infernal little things," Umbridge chirped. "I'm sure you are aware that under Educational Decree number 30, all Weasley products are strictly prohibited."
"That's not mine!"
"I'd say you've earned yourself detention."
"Wait, someone put it in –"
"My office this Friday at eight sharp."
"But –"
"Purifico." Umbridge erased the slop coating Parkinson with a sweep of her wand. She turned to leave before adding. "I thought you were one of the good ones, Miss Parkinson. Pity."
Laughter bounced off the walls and the enormous vaulted ceiling. As the hall heaved up and down with noise, Pansy felt like a laughing giant had swallowed her. She threw her things back into her bag as quickly as possible and stormed past the Gryffindor table.
"What'd I fell you, Georgie, the Explosive Enterprises line needs a label. Warning: must be smarter than a dazed lawn gnome to use," one of the Weasley twins said. Someone else chimed in. "Poor thing. She must've tried to rearrange her face with that bomb." The buzz turned into torrential laughter.
She stood halfway up a shifting staircase when Pansy remembered she had defense class first. She turned back to the third floor and entered the girl's bathroom.
"They got what they deserved, you ask me. Death E—." Two younger girls shared a bathroom mirror. Her presence stole the last few words from their mouths.
"Go on." Pansy threatened. The girls mistook this for permission to leave her sight. They fled with misapplied lipstick and soaked hands. She got one last look at them; Pansy never forgot a face.
The slammed door reminded her why she fled the great hall. She let herself be completely blindsided. No. It was her supposed friends who didn't notice when someone put a bloody explosive in her food. They were supposed to look out for her. And Umbridge had to interrogate Pansy in front of everyone, and then ignore her when she tried explaining. Like the Weasley's would ever sell her any of their crackpot products. She was a junior inquisitor and a prefect for crying out loud.
Something like a slug crept in her ear. She fished out a blob of oatmeal, and threw it on the floor in disgust. That Bombtastic Bomb could have killed her, and Umbridge only cared about handing out detentions.
She made it to defense just before class started. "Where were you?" Blaise asked as Pansy sat between them.
"Nowhere." She was still upset.
"Never mind that." Daphne interrupted. "I'm sorry Pans. It must've been Astoria. She slept through Binn's class and wanted to know about the goblin rebellion of 1233 and…"
"It's alright." The words pricked her tongue.
"I'll talk to her. Don't…"
"I said it's all right." She could strangle them all right now, but she really didn't have anyone else. If these three ditched her, she'd have better luck surviving a full moon with that half-breed Professor Lupin than making it through term.
"Good morning." Umbridge smiled at the head of the class with her hands folded in front of her. "This week we shall cover a rather difficult subject: the Unforgivable curses." Her squeaky girlish voice undercut the severity of what she said. "As always I am committed to maintaining a safe learning environment. Refer to chapter 33, The Unforgivable Use of Unforgivables."
A few students hoping to delay their boredom, fished through their bags slowly. The professor flicked her wand across the room, and the remaining texts jumped out of their owner's bags and onto the desks, already at the appropriate page. "As a reward for all your hard work last week, we will read this chapter as a class. Miss Granger if you would begin with the first paragraph."
Granger's snooty know-it-all voice sounded like she'd been asked to drink hemlock. "In the beginning we have two parties with differing viewpoints. When the opposing party abandons negotiation in favor of combat, it can become easy to view that party as an enemy. Remember: there are no enemies. There are only those who have not been convinced of the truth that you stand for."
"Excellent. Here Mr. Slinkhard relates today's topic with his teachings in The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack." The class grumbled in acknowledgement. "Next paragraph, Miss Parkinson."
"Certainly." Pansy spoke clearly to let everyone know what happened earlier hadn't fazed her. She read: "Unforgivable curses are precisely that, that is unforgivable, because they rob the opponent of lucidity, agency or sentience with which to continue debating. In argument, if any party resorts to the use of Unforgivables - in addition to the severe criminal penalties - said person has already admitted defeat."
"Good. Mr. Malfoy, is there a question?" Pansy turned around to see Draco's hand up.
"I'm confused. Is Mr. Slinkhard saying we should use one of the Seven Peaceable Phrases to Pacify an Attacker from the last chapter?"
"That is a suitable response, yes. Excellent question, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin." She scribbled a note into her planner.
Merlin preserve her. Her brain was turning to molasses in this class. Malfoy's hand rose again. "Would this apply in the case of the Parkinson murders?" The entire class jolted awake.
Umbridge scowled. "Mr. Malfoy, what an insensitive thing to ask."
"I'm terribly sorry, Pans." Draco bowed his head in her direction. "It's just…the tragedy…has affected us all. Having the theoretical principles explained through a proper example…might help." Crabbe, Goyle and some other Slytherins agreed. Pansy had forgotten what a good little actor Malfoy could be. He must be dusting off his skills since the hippogriff incident in third year.
"A discussion may prove instructive." Umbridge said. "Mind you, such a severe attack is almost unheard of. Furthermore, the ministry is actively investigating the case so anything we say here is just conjecture." Seeing that she had the entire class' attention for once, Professor Umbridge continued. "If we suppose that the incident was indeed a murder, then it becomes quite evident that the victims failed to apply the first principle of non-violent responses to aggression: keep an open line of communication."
Draco beamed. "I see. By cowering in fear, they communicated that they: felt threatened and powerless, thereby emboldening their assailant's propensity to violence." She had to give him some credit; Draco recited the passage word for word.
"Precisely." Umbridge said. "The proper response calls for standing one's ground while firmly pressing for verbal discourse. Five more points to Slytherin." Verbal discourse, like that could ever work. Pansy bit her tongue to avoid saying anything.
"Just think Pansy," Draco said. "Had your parents simply known these fundamental techniques, they would still be with us today." Bastard. Pansy took a deep breath. Words. That's all Draco could manage in a classroom. An exploding cereal bowl was one thing, but she wouldn't let his taunts get to her.
Granger raised her hand. "Excuse me professor, but I really feel this discussion is inconsiderate. May we please move on?"
"The entire class is perfectly engaged in the material, Miss Granger."
Her hand came up again. "In that case, might you please explain how the first principle of non-violent responses applies when an adversary knows they have the upper hand and is utterly unreasonable? What could a common witch or wizard do against the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Grindelwald, or Lord Ekrizdis, the founder of Azkaban?"
"Or Voldemort who is clearly responsible in this case." Potter burst in.
"Stay out of this." Pansy ordered them. Potter and Granger just couldn't mind their business. Draco had just about run out of steam, but they had to go and stir the cauldron again.
"Mr. Potter, must I remind you that this classroom is not the place for voicing your inappropriate and unfounded theories?" Umbridge croaked angrily.
"Well you did say 'anything we say here is just conjecture', so I'm just telling you mine." Weasley chuckled.
"Detention. See me after class, Mr. Potter." Umbridge went to the head of the class. "Miss Parkinson doesn't need anyone twisting a terrible tragedy for political or personal gain. Isn't that right?"
Pansy's blood boiled in her veins. Her parents didn't die because they failed to follow some stupid self-defense routine. They were exterminated by someone who saw them as less than vermin. She wanted to shout that it had been Voldemort, and that Umbridge was a filthy, lying toad for saying otherwise.
What would it earn her, though? A detention and encouragement for Draco to keep tormenting her. She didn't need to give him another victory. Pansy nodded then hung her head low. Even in death she was disappointing mum and dad; letting Malfoy attack them yet again. The disgusted look Potter gave her only made it worse.
"Here's another tip for the Slinkhard book: don't be a genocidal nutter, or friends with one. It can get you killed." Seamus Finnigan added.
"Students will raise their hands in my classroom." Umbridge huffed.
Lavender Brown raised hers. "Seamus has a point, though. The Parkinsons weren't exactly a family of little lambs. According to Rita Skeeter they had ties to Sirius Black." Brown emphasized the last point, happy to turn the rumor mill even in class.
"And what would a stupid bint like you know? I'm astonished you got off your back long enough to read the paper." Pansy said. She'd be dead and buried herself before she'd let the likes of Brown and Finnigan badmouth her family.
"Not as much as you, I reckon. Anything you'd like to share with the class?"
"I think we can add the Hogwarts motto to Slinkhard's tips. Never tickle a sleeping dragon." Pansy stood up and stared down Lavender. "Especially one inclined to send you head first down a toilet to be Moaning Myrtle's new best friend."
"Miss Parkinson, sit back down." Umbridge squeaked, but Pansy remained standing. "Hemm-hemm, I suppose this subject is too difficult for us to discuss after all." Granger wore her I-told-you-so face.
"You'd better watch yourself too Finnigan," Pansy added.
"I do not tolerate threats in my classroom." Umbridge's girly voice turned severe. "I understand this tragic accident…"
"THERE WAS NO TRAGIC ACCIDENT YOU COW. First Diggory, now my parents. The Dark Lord killed them, or had someone else do it." Everyone stared at her like they would at a raving vagrant begging for change. "And my parents were good people. I'll threaten and hex ANYONE who has a go at them. I swear I…" She snarled as her mouth went mute.
"Silence." Umbridge put her want away. "Tsk-Tsk. In spite of Minerva's assurances, I'm afraid you aren't at all dealing well with this tragedy. Nevertheless, I cannot indulge disrespectful and shocking misbehavior. You have earned yourself a second detention."
Umbridge left the lip-binding hex on Pansy for the rest of class. Pansy fumed. Malfoy knew better than to press his luck again, so the rest of class went by uneventfully. Umbridge had them return to writing lines for 'maximum retention.'
The day just wouldn't end. Draco didn't try anything during lunch, but she ate extra slowly just in case. Twice paper balls meteored into her stew from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Draco and the others were content to sit back and watch the other houses' petty torments. More than once, a small explosion made her jump in her seat. Apparently, the Weasley twins were turning a large profit on their explosives. It almost made her think they'd been behind it all along, if she didn't know Draco. Umbridge was driven hoarse confiscating products and handing out detentions while the other professors watched.
She kept a mental list of the students Umbridge caught, and after lunch called on her entire repertoire of spells for some payback. In a singularly brilliant moment, she cast a bat-bogey hex on Macmillan and Finnigan, and then used Oppugno. They ran down the hall chased by their own bogies, but still looked like they'd been shat on by a pack of ogres when she finished.
The day was almost through now. Right. Just a four-hour double potions session to go.
"Morgana Miserablis. Otherwise known as luckless liquid." Snape scribbled ingredients on the chalkboard. "I must stress, although I confess myself extremely tempted to withhold the information: unless treated immediately, a single drop will result in seven years of bad luck. Any more and a painful, expedient and unpredictable death is certain."
Great. Like Pansy needed any more stress in potions. She was already partnered with Crabbe for the year as a favor to Draco. That first day, Crabbe messed up an honest to goodness calming draught. He chucked a half-kilogram of pureed worms instead of a pinch of raven entrails into their cauldron. From then on, Pansy insisted on doing all the work while he pretended to read the text.
Today would not go so smoothly. Draco probably asked him to sabotage their work. Grades weren't a big sacrifice for Crabbe anyway. Not that she was the next Damocles Belby, master potioneer, but today she'd have to deal with intentional stupidity not just his usual ignorance.
"Alright. Vincent here's the ingredient list." He took the parchment and headed for the cupboard toward the back. Pansy reviewed the potion. It seemed tedious, but not overly complex. Mandrake root sap acted as the base, but they'd need to add ground manticore claw every 777 seconds, and swirl eight times anti-clockwise. The timing might be difficult to keep.
Crabbe came back with an armful of ingredients he dumped at their workstation. "Careful, you're making a mess." She arranged the ingredients in the order they would be used, and started preparing them. Pansy gouged the mandrake with a knife and perched it on a wide-mouth flask to collect the root sap. She took a brass scale from a cabinet and began measuring out the manticore claw in proper servings when she noticed Crabbe had picked up the mandrake root and started wrestling it with his bare hands.
"What are you doing, you twit?" She hissed.
"Making the sap come out faster." Orange sticky resin coated the workstation where Crabbe manhandled the plant.
"You're wasting it all." She yanked the root from him and put it back on the collection flask. "I hope we'll still have enough. Why don't you just pretend to read or something?"
"Is there a problem here?" She hadn't noticed professor Snape gliding around the room.
"No professor."
"She won't let me do anything." Crabbe whined.
"Apologies Mr. Crabbe. I assumed that you prefer to spend class twiddling your thumbs as you've done all year." Pansy smiled until the professor turned to her. "Miss Parkinson, partner work is to be divided equally."
"Yes, sir." As Snape continued his patrol, Pansy thought about the simpler tasks Crabbe could do. "Alright. We need a bronze cauldron today. Get one from the back, and fill it with 5 litres of purified water. Set it over the fireplace when you get back."
She read over the potion again. There wasn't much he wouldn't screw up. She'd just have to think of something menial. He came back swinging a lead-colored cauldron and sloshing a trail of water behind him. "Vincent, that's a pewter cauldron. I said, bronze. The same color as a knut," she clarified. "And mop up that water."
Minutes later she had the cauldron in a pre-boil stage, and poured the root sap. Things might not go so bad after all. They were behind everyone else because Crabbe couldn't even fetch water properly, but if he could stay busy cleaning up and leave the delicate stuff to her, then things would work fine.
Forty minutes later, she frowned at the bubbling potion. The potion looked dull orange when it should be a fiery red orange according to Magical Drafts and Potions. She thumbed through the instructions. Morgana Miserablis required the sap from one medium mandrake root. For an 'exact science' their potions text was infuriatingly vague sometimes. Still, if the color was wrong, it probably had to do with the resin that Crabbe spread over the table. "Looks like we need more root."
Vincent followed her to the cupboards for a fresh mandrake root. She hunched, trying to hide from Snape behind some students at the back. Professor Snape didn't want to hear anything about wasted potions ingredients. He kept an exact count of his inventory, but as long as he didn't see, he wouldn't know who took what.
Again she prepared the mandrake root. They couldn't start again, but maybe she could use half of the sap to make up for what Crabbe squandered. The cauldron next to her burped, and Pansy's heart sank like the handful of gurdyroot Vincent dumped into the potion. "Are you mad?" She screeched. Snape's head snapped in her direction, and she put a hand over her mouth.
"You said we needed more roots, so I threw some in." Crabbe smirked.
"More mandrake root - don't touch anything." Pansy charged toward the ingredients store. She let her guard down at the critical moment, but she could still save the potion. Gurdyroot had a canceling agent. What was it? Snape mentioned it a few weeks ago. Dragonfly powder? Beetle dung? Bottles and jars clinked and toppled as her hands nervously picked through the cabinets. Boar tusk? Naga venom? Griffin feathers? Grindylow hairs? Gr-green lacewings? That was it.
Pansy cradled the whole jar and bound for her cauldron like a rugby player toward a goal line. Crabbe only threw in a handful, so half the jar should do it. She poured without measuring, and swirled the copper ladle eight times clockwise. The lacewing jar stumped against her table, and Pansy released the breath she held. She might just have saved her Exceeds from turning into an Acceptable.
After she calmed down, Pansy had Crabbe untangle the unicorn hairs they needed. It was completely unnecessary, but kept him busy. She concentrated on a small hourglass that indicated the right time to add fresh manticore claw to the potion and stir it. On the other side of the room Snape roared at Finnigan and Longbottom. Somehow they'd burned a hole through their 2-inch thick cauldron, and its contents had barfed out all over the Gryffindor side of the room. Pansy chuckled. It was beyond her how anyone expected a partnership to work between the boy blunder and Finnigan, who managed to blow up a feather for Merlin's sake.
Half an hour later, she stirred the unicorn hairs into the potion. Everyone else was almost done. As usual, Granger's workstation practically gleamed, and her cauldron simmered ready for evaluation. A full half hour before everyone else. It was inhuman. Ten minutes longer and she could add the flobberworm guts, and finish. Snape would come by. Like usual, he wouldn't say a thing, even though she deserved a medal for completing such a difficult potion while fighting Crabbe's aggressive stupidity.
If mudbloods had one advantage, it was that they could keep their parents in the dark about Hogwarts. Muggle parents probably didn't fuss about their grades as much as pureblood families did. If she was a muggleborn like Granger, she would've happily let Vincent commit academic suicide, and ruin her grade too. She didn't have any practical use for potions anyway. Her parents had galleons to spare - even the ministry had its hands on it now.
She sighed. No use thinking about that now. "Alright Vincent. We're finished. You can start cleaning up." She added the flobberworms and stirred. The oil of unicorn hair contained the essence of bad luck, and the mandrake root acted as some kind of binding agent, but Pansy had no idea why flobberworms were necessary. Probably just to make the potion taste gross, and look a slimy grey color.
Just as she stirred for a seventh time, the cauldron started bubbling, boiling really. Pansy scanned the room. The others' potions reflected a smooth, graphite color. Trying not to panic, she snatched a thick mitten, and removed the cauldron from the fire. The bubbles simmered violently now. Worse, they huddled and merged together. Just a minute later, the cauldron gave birth to a single huge bulb that kept swelling. The size of a beach ball now.
Crabbe smiled wickedly. It kept growing. Pansy could only stare at her grey and distorted reflection in the swelling bubble. She'd been so careful. What could Crabbe have done? She could burst the potion with the ladle, but it would explode all over her. Should she get Snape? He was in the far corner of the room scowling at Potter's work. He would fail them automatically upon seeing this catastrophe. There had to be a way to salvage this. It was a miniature hot air balloon now.
"Professor! Parkinson's potion is out of control!" Snape looked ready to crucify the yelling student before he saw Pansy terror-struck in front of the potion.
"Parkinson!" Snape's barking shook Pansy enough so she ducked under her table just before the cauldron erupted. Snape cast a shield charm over those near him.
Tables, chairs and even the ceiling dripped with grey sludge. A few students were hit too. Snape dropped his shield charm and charged over. He scooped a spoonful of the potion from their cauldron. His poised hand brought the silver spoon up to his eyes. He tipped the spoon in the air to check the potion's viscosity. The other students panicked. Snape warned them about direct contact, but didn't mention a specific antidote. Pages fluttered and tore as students chased for an answer. The ones who escaped the blast fussed over the stuff dripping from the ceiling. They scrambled under chairs and tables.
"At ease." Snape commanded. "Parkinson has mercifully brewed a completely inert Miserablis. Not that she needs any more bad luck. Fifty points from Slytherin for the reckless endangerment of your entire class." Pansy hung her head in shame. That was absolutely merciful from her head of house.
He explored the potion remaining in her cauldron. The wrinkles in his forehead deepened. He muttered something about Flamel's Third Law that Pansy didn't understand. A second after, Snape ladled out a square pie from the bottom of her cauldron. "Parkinson. Crabbe." He hissed. "Identify this ingredient."
Pansy couldn't believe her eyes. She must be dreaming. The basilisk glare Snape had told her otherwise though. Crabbe gaped like a gobsmacked baboon. Pansy scrunched her eyes and shoulders like she was about to fly right into a hurricane, but couldn't stop. She answered. "It's a…pumpkin pasty, sir."
"Correct." The entire class was too terrified to laugh. Not that Pansy noticed. "You two must think yourselves terribly clever to try getting away with eating in class, in the presence of deadly substances."
"No sir." They answered.
"Cleaning supplies are in the store room. Do not leave until the room is spotless. You both have a month's detention."
When they returned with brushes, buckets and cleaning solution, Granger was talking to Snape. "Sir, most of our potions were contaminated. We can hardly present our best work under the circumstance." Snape placed a mark on his clipboard and kept walking. The bushy haired girl made a face at her that Pansy reflected back at the Gryffindor witch. Pansy had a month's detention, probably a T for the day's potion, and had to scrub the entire classroom like a house elf. So what if the other students' grades suffered a little too.
Her hands were raw and wrinkled by the time they left the classroom three hours later. They'd missed dinner. Pansy saw Crabbe fish out a fresh pumpkin pasty from his bag on the way to the Slytherin commons.