A/N: I found a little break during thanksgiving weekend to write this, so here we are. I think I can manage bi-weekly updates, but I'm not making any promises. Anyway, if you've made it this far I hope you're enjoying my little fic. Thanks for being patient, and for reading. Drop me a review if you get a chance.
- x
The feather shone and shimmered in her hand, absorbing the light of the sinking sun outside. Pansy twirled it between her fingers. It felt like a sliver of strength in her hands, re-energizing her after the worst week of her life. She'd cleaned cauldrons every night with Crabbe, leaving not time for assignments. Books for her unwritten two-foot long essays in transfiguration and charms, a three-inch thick packet of calculations for arithmancy, and an empty dream diary all layered on her night table.
Like the professors, Draco hadn't let up all week either. Nicking her homework assignments, sneaking honking quills and other Zonko's junk into her bag, and baiting her in class; he just wouldn't stop. She couldn't even study in the commons any more with all the barking and jeering Draco's pamphlets caused. Luckily Umbridge's twenty-fourth educational decree distracted the Gryffs, Claws and Puffs. They were too busy whining about their disbanded gobstones clubs and quidditch teams.
The firebird feather tickled her nose. It felt warm, and smelled like cinnamon and cloves. Eyeing her watch, Pansy pressed the feather between the pages of an old journal, and placed it at the bottom of her trunk. Only detention with Umbridge left and she could put this hellish week behind her.
As she walked the Slytherin common room, Graham Montague circled around her playing Draco's taming flute like a dancing satyr. He escorted her out, encouraged by clapping from her housemates. She arrived outside Umbridge's office five minutes before eight. Potter leaned against the wall across from the professor's door. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, and chest puffed out; Potter looked ready to brawl with a centaur, fend off a legion of dementors or do some other life-threatening deed Dumbledore would jump at the chance to praise him for. It was just a detention for crying out loud. Pansy sat on the floor several feet away, but he spotted her, and walked over.
"Parkinson. You did the right thing, standing up to Umbridge, you know."
"Oh I agree, Potter. Telling everyone about Lord Voldemort has worked out great for me. Not a single person has stared at me like I'm a nutter or accused me of being mental since then." Pansy scoffed and looked down the hall. Hopefully Umbridge would just show up so they could get this over with.
Harry looked offended. "Just Voldemort. You don't still respect him enough to call him 'Lord Voldemort', do you?"
"What do you think?"
They heard footsteps down the hall. "Fair warning. Umbridge likes to hand out cruel punishments. Just don't let her know she's gotten to you." Please. Umbridge was a member of the ministry. She didn't even want them using magic in defense class lest they get hurt. She couldn't be that bad.
"Evening Parkinson. Evening Potter." Umbridge came within earshot. They both straightened up in front of the professor as she led them into the room. Umbridge had two desks facing walls opposite each other. She had a slight springiness to her step that made Pansy think Umbridge had been waiting all day for this. "Please take a seat. You will both be doing lines for me." Writing lines? Potter said she was cruel not cruelly boring. "There will be no need to talk. Keep your eyes on your parchment or the wall facing your desk."
"What do you want us to write, professor?" Pansy asked.
"'I must not tell lies.' Repeat until it sinks in." Umbridge chirped.
Right then. Pansy picked the nearest desk and walked to it. "I haven't got any ink." She called when she sat down.
"We won't be needing any." Potter answered.
"Rightly so. Please continue. Eyes forward." Umbridge said.
Pansy picked up a slender black quill next to the parchment Umbridge provided. She wrote the first line: 'I must not tell lies.' The red ink had barely set on the paper when a sharp pain jolted through her left hand.
"Owww!" The line 'I must not tell lies' etched into her hand as if by a tiny red-hot needle. Her skin peeled around the edges of the letters like the rind of an orange. She threw the quill down on the desk.
"Something the matter dear?" Umbridge stood beside her desk. Pansy swiveled around to face her. She saw Potter over Umbridge's shoulder mouthing something: stay strong.
"No…No, I'm fine." Pansy breathed.
"Eyes forward, then." Umbridge commanded. "How pleasing to see naughty children take so well to their punishment. With this attitude, I'm confident you will both leave tonight as better persons than you arrived."
Pansy's pen hovered over the parchment. They were writing in their own blood. Bloody Potter, if he was going say something, he could have mentioned blood-leeching quills. Ouch. The pain itched, burned and stung at the same time as she wrote a second line.
That same invisible needle retraced the words on her hand. Her stomach fluttered as cold air flowed over the cuts before they stitched themselves together again, leaving a rosy burn in their place.
This had to be illegal. If Potter knew, he should have told Dumbledore. Umbridge would've been sacked by morning. Ouch, she winced silently. She hadn't even written anything down that time, but her hand was still scratched through. Maybe the pen was supposed to mark her hand periodically whether she wrote or not. Her eyes edged to the side, and she saw Umbridge shaking her head. Pansy bit her lower lip to avoid crying. She'd already yelped once; Umbridge wouldn't get any more out of her.
Ow, OWWW. Maybe it served her right for cracking down on Gryffindors with Weasley products the last few weeks. She even planted some nosebleed nougat on Longbottom just for laughs. Pansy shook her head to banish the thought. This was just what Umbridge wanted her to think. A harmless prank was one thing. Umbridge was torturing her.
Each time it happened her hand took longer to heal. How was she supposed to write anything? She only had four lines down, but that damned quill cut up her hand at least twenty times already. Frustrated, she laid her punished hand flat on the table and studied it. The cramped, slanted writing looked back at her before burrowing under her skin; it was nothing like her own crisp, practical script. It couldn't be Umbridge's hand either. It wasn't flowery enough. She'd definitely seen it before, though.
Pansy closed her eyes trying to remember. She could hear Potter getting along fine. He scribbled away, almost like his quill wasn't hurting him, while her hand kept getting gouged with every line he wrote.
Wait. The thought echoed in her mind: every line he wrote. Potter, of course. The same goofy lettering featured all over Colin Creevy's Harry Potter scrapbook that she Incendio-ed. Pansy distinctly remembered some signed muggle photos, and discarded assignments Creevy must've fetched from rubbish bins; all in the slanted writing now covering her hand.
Pansy's ears tensed. She heard Potter scratch out another line in his parchment. On cue, an invisible nib traced the line into her hand. That bleeding sod was writing with her blood, so that meant… Pansy gripped the black quill and wrote seven lines in quick succession. She listened again. Potter slowed down. Umbridge giggled at her desk, but pretended it had something to do with the essay in front of her. She was waiting for them to figure it out. Umbridge wanted them to try hurting each other as much as possible. Pansy shouldn't play along, but Potter wrote more than twenty lines already to her four, so she wrote another ten lines. She was just evening things out.
The pain came back with a vengeance. 'I must not tell lies' was scribbled into her hand again and again, retraced before it could disappear. For a minute it almost looked like it had been branded into her. Pansy held her breath to avoid crying, but had to drop her pen to clutch her aching left hand.
Potter could get her back for every time that she got him. He too must have realized what was happening. It wouldn't help either of them to walk out of there with a bloody lump for a hand. She waited. Her parchment had a healthy amount of lines on it. Judging from how much her hand burned, he had more than that.
"I don't see any writing," Umbridge called from her desk in singsong voice. They'd have to at least make a show of writing lines. Pansy traced each letter slowly like she was learning her letters for the first time.
Ouch. Her hand seared as Potter wrote two more. That git. She'd tried going slow so she'd end up writing less in the end, but if he wasn't going to let up, then neither would she. Pansy wrote three lines this time one after the other. Potter came back with five. She clutched her hand, and heard Umbridge croak happily.
She wrote seven more lines to match Potter's, and stretched out her left hand next to the parchment, hoping for some relief. Instead, she felt a constant stinging. The invisible nib traced each letter millimeter by millimeter, prolonging her agony. When it was finally done, Pansy noticed a different message crisscrossing the trenches in her hand. She scrunched her eyes to read it: 'going slow hurts more.' Point taken. Pansy blinked. They should've been communicating from the start. She considered writing on the edge of her parchment or on the desk before rolling up her sleeve and using her arm: 'Fine. Let's switch off every minute. Look busy.'
They had a plan. Pansy peeked toward Umbridge, who merrily graded papers. She'd write a line, then weave the pen a hair's breadth above her parchment to look busy. A few minutes later, Potter would write a line. They continued like this for the rest of detention, for which Pansy was thankful. Her hand had grown numb from being cut up so much.
After what seemed like the entire night, Umbridge rose from her desk. "That will do. Your parchments please." When she came around, Pansy handed her a bloody sheaf. Her head felt light, and she blinked a few times in a vain attempt to find equilibrium. Instead, Pansy stared down at her desk, so Umbridge wouldn't notice. The ink on Umbridge's black quill had already scabbed over. "Hem, Hem." Umbridge chirped. "I also require your Inquisitorial Squad badge, Miss Parkinson."
"Excuse me?" She clutched the green inquisitor badge next to her Slytherin prefect one.
"I have the highest standards for my junior inquisitors. We cannot permit members who defy the high inquisitor and hence the ministry itself, or conspire with other students to spread discord and lies." Umbridge looked at Potter. He glared right back. "If tonight's lesson has sunk in, and you're ready to admit to the lies Potter probably persuaded you to tell, then I may reconsider."
"Here." Pansy jammed the pin into Umbridge's clammy ringed fingers. Umbridge must be confunded if she thought Pansy liked delivering reports over mint tea in that cringingly pink office. It was a chance to get on the ministry's good books and lord over the other prefects, nothing more. Now, she didn't have an ounce of loyalty or interest left for the people who dragged the Parkinson name through the mud. Umbridge's smile shrunk a fraction, but she pocketed the badge in her pink cardigan.
Pansy grabbed her things, and followed Potter out. She massaged her sore hand until they parted at a shifting staircase.
"Potter, why didn't you tell anyone?" Pansy asked as he walked up the steps.
"About the quill?" She nodded. "Didn't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction. Wouldn't do any good either way." Stupid Gryffindor bravado.
"St-stop," Lavender stammered. Silly girl; she should have drawn her wand instead of freezing up against the bathroom wall. Petrificus Artus. Pansy locked her limbs together.
"Let's test how well Wilbert Slinkhard's tips work in real life." Pansy dragged her to the nearest toilet. She smiled wickedly at the cowering girl. "I think this is the part where you try to use peaceable persuasion so you don't get duffed up."
"Oww…owwww." She yanked Lavender up by her hair, and dunked her in the loo. Lavender sloshed water all over. Pansy shoved her head up and down, using Lavender's face as a plunger. After a minute, she let Lavender come all the way up. Toilet dunking was unimaginative sure, and the nasty, cold toilet water always got all over her hands, but she couldn't let a threat go unfulfilled.
Lavender coughed, depositing a spray of water back into the toilet. "Tsk, Tsk. You're not keeping an open line of dialogue." Pansy took a handful of Lavender's moist hair and plunged her in again. She didn't struggle as much this time, so Pansy bent to her ear and whispered. "Now, repeat after me: 'I must not tell lies'. Say it." The loo gurgled and bubbled as Lavender said the words underwater. "Five more times. A thick-headed cow like you never learns on the first try." The water gurgled frantically as Lavender fought for breath. She barely finished the last refrain. Pansy yanked her hair until Lavender was standing.
She crashed against the wall, coughing, and choking out water. Pansy jabbed Lavender's abdomen with her wand. The force of a bludger hit her stomach, and Lavender ejected the water she was choking on, then sank to her knees. "I-I'm…sorry," Lavender shivered. The water pelted down her robes. Her eyes were puffy and red, but any shed tears got lost in her waterlogged face.
"Now, I'll make this simple enough for even you to understand: if you ever say anything about my family again – anything, good or bad – I will end you. If any of those Gryffindor gits you call friends say anything, I will assume you're behind it."
"That's not fair…it's not my fault if they…" Pansy jabbed her wand at Lavender's arm this time. An electric jolt raced through it, making her squirm.
"Please," Pansy laughed. "You're queen of the Hogwarts rumor mill. They'll listen to you." She spotted Lavender's pink bag and started picking through it. Lavender whimpered in protest, but thought better of it when Pansy pointed her wand again. Pansy dug out a thin purple journal with a simple lock on it. "Alohomora." She scanned the pages, and smiled satisfied. "I'm taking this to ensure you don't forget our little chat today."
"T-that's private."
"And it will remain so. If you do as I say." She waved her wand in a circle. Steam wafted off Lavender's robes as they dried. Her shoulder length hair clumped, poked and pointed in all directions. Lavender pushed her bangs out of her eyes, but they sprung right back. Pansy smirked, and pointed her wand again. "Pilosus Nasum." Stiff copper wire hairs grew out of Lavender's nose. "You look fine," Pansy insisted, blocking the only mirror. Eager to get out of there, Lavender didn't object. "After you, then." She waved Brown out the door.
After Lavender scurried out, Pansy washed her hands, and even her wand for good measure. A puddle of water had collected under the toilet she dipped Lavender in. Gross. Pansy looked herself in the mirror. She smiled broadly. After the rubbish treatment she'd been getting from the school and even her own house, it felt great to hand out some retribution. Brown couldn't actually stop all the Gryffindors from spreading their lies, but at least she'd squirm any time one of her friends called the Parkinsons death eater scum. She patted the diary in her bag as she stepped out.
"Pansy Parkinson." McGonagall pursed her lips in a paper-thin line. She crossed her arms and stared down at her. Pansy got the same feeling that Mad Eye used to give her with his swiveling eye; like McGonagall was staring right through her.
"Yes, professor?" She tried sounding innocent, but something told her that McGonagall knew exactly what Pansy had been up to moments ago.
"Miss Brown left the lavatory in tears."
"Really?" No, McGonagall's just messing with you. Get it together.
"Yes. Would you know anything about that?"
"No, ma'am."
Wrong answer. Minerva walked up and grabbed her arm. "My office, young lady." Professor McGonagall dragged her by the sleeve of her robes down a flight of stairs and through a corridor. They ran into some students heading down for lunch who sniggered as McGonagall pulled her along. The glares she threw back only made her look more like a petulant child. The professor pulled her office door open and led them in without slowing pace. The doorframe rattled behind them. "Please sit."
Pansy settled in a stiff straight-backed chair with a seat too narrow to slouch in. Minerva stared from across her desk like a hawk. Her pointed nose waved up and down, as she tried to sense the girl's guilt instead of asking her anything.
"Professor?" Pansy asked cautiously.
"So you don't know why Miss Brown's nose sprouted dwarf hairs or why she was in such a sorry state?"
Pansy caught herself before saying 'no' again. McGonagall reminded her of Snape the way she looked. She swallowed a lump before answering. "I do know."
"And?"
"I hexed and attacked her in the bathroom." If she cooperated, McGonagall wouldn't pry so much or find out about the messier details either. Pansy shifted in her chair, waiting for another detention. One more heaped on the month's worth she got from Snape didn't seem like a big deal.
"We have zero tolerance for bullying at this school, Parkinson." Pansy swallowed. "As a member of the staff I am inclined to cancel your Hogsmeade privileges until end of fall term, and remove your status as a prefect if there is a further offense."
Pansy bowed her head, trying to look suitably afflicted. Hogsmeade privileges weren't a big deal. These days, nobody other than Daph, Tracey and Blaise wanted to hang out with her anyway. Tracey could always sneak back some butterbeer or Honeydukes for her.
"As your legal guardian, however, I will overlook this matter on two conditions." Minerva waited for her to look up. "First, you must tell me why you did this."
She blinked and stared at McGonagall's desk like a leprechaun had started tap dancing on it. McGonagall was going easy on her? Finally something was turning out in her favor. "Brown said my mum and dad were friends with Sirius Black in dark arts class the other day. After I told her to shut it, she insulted me too. I had to stop her because everyone listens to her. So I hit her and threatened to do worse if she doesn't leave me alone."
McGonagall removed her green square spectacles and rubbed her eyes. "Yes, I heard - at great length - about your behavior in defense class from Umbridge. You should at least have had the sense not to get a detention." Pansy's mouth jerked open to rebut, but McGonagall continued. "We'll come to that in a minute. How is your hand doing?"
Pansy tensed and drew the sleeve of her robe over her left hand. "Fine." She didn't expect her to know about Umbridge's quills. Obviously McGonagall didn't care all that much if Umbridge was still allowed to use that medieval punishment.
"Some Murtlap Essence might help." McGonagall suggested. "Now, I understand Miss Brown can be…difficult, but I cannot condone mistreatment of any student."
"So I'm supposed to just let her and everyone else spread rumors, and celebrate that my mum and dad were killed?"
"No." Minerva took her time composing the glasses back on her nose. "But you are a Slytherin. I expect more cunning and tact from you. Honestly, the way you've behaved…it's as senseless as anything I've seen Potter or Weasley do." Not a trace of mirth lighted McGonagall's face. She was dead serious. The head of Gryffindor just gave her permission to fight back so long as she wasn't caught. McGonagall was more like Snape than she let on.
"And the second condition?"
"I'd like you to take lunch privately with me every Saturday starting today."
The smile on Pansy's face dropped like a rock. She'd known from the start that McGonagall was meddlesome. "Why?"
"I believe regular meetings would benefit both of us." When Pansy looked puzzled, she added. "I don't want to interfere in your life, Miss Parkinson." Yeah, right. "But you are my ward for the next two years. I think it's appropriate that we get to know each other, don't you?"
"I suppose…" How else was someone supposed to answer that anyway?
McGonagall gestured to a coffee table between her desk and the door. "Shall we then?" Pansy followed her lead and sat opposite the professor in a squishy red armchair that leaned to one side. Roast beef sandwiches lay on a platter in the center surrounded by steaming scalloped potatoes, sprouts, and a pot of tea.
Each of them focused on food at first. Pansy ate a half step faster than normal without trying to seem impolite. McGonagall thought about how the meeting had gone so far. Fortunately, Parkinson agreed to meet with minimal fuss. The girl might even trust her after a while, though she'd certainly think of Minerva as a nosey parker at first.
They were both almost through lunch and enjoying some vanilla biscuits with tea before McGonagall said anything. "I suppose you must be quite occupied with O.W.L.s this year."
"Not particularly. The professors seem more worried than me, handing out all those extra assignments. Sure, Umbridge's breathing down their backs, but it's rubbish that we should have to suffer…" Pansy crushed a biscuit in her hand. Stupid, stupid. She was talking to Professor McGonagall not to Tracey or Daph.
McGonagall smile as if Pansy had just belched in front of her. "I'd like you to pretend that I'm not a professor during our meetings. I just want to know how you're doing, and I appreciate your honesty."
Sure. The transfiguration professor who hardly said a word to her in the last four years wanted to know how she was doing. Not to mention the way she reacted didn't at all match what she said. For someone talking about honesty, she seemed insincere. Pansy merely nodded.
"You are aware that your O.W.L.s will determine your employment opportunities in the future?"
"Yes."
"And have you devoted much thought to a career after Hogwarts?"
"Not entirely…no." Now McGonagall looked at her like some cow dung she'd stepped in. McGonagall didn't say anything, so Pansy filled the silence and defended herself. "There isn't much thinking to do…I'll be inheriting my father's company…I'll just do that." It's what her parents would have wanted. Well, they would've preferred a male heir to continue the law practice and family line, but this was the next best thing.
"Yes, but can't you choose as you please? What do you like to do Pansy?"
"I don't know." Who was McGonagall to judge her anyway? "I like to sit around with my friends and go shopping. Do you think I can make a career out of that?"
"Do you have a favorite subject?"
"Divination." Pansy lied, knowing McGonagall's attitude about that subject.
"Professor Grubbly-Plank told me you really took to unicorns last year. What about something in magizoology?"
"You've been investigating me?"
"Well no…" McGonagall's hawkish eyes widened a fraction. "It's just I didn't know much about you until…"
"What am I, some pet project of yours?"
McGonagall's thin lips shook; ready to rebuke the teenager before reconsidering. "I just want what's best for you, Pansy. Like it or not these last few years will determine who you will become for the rest of your life. Both your employment and your character."
Pansy scowled at the use of her first name. They weren't friends. They weren't even acquaintances. "Oh, so you're worried that I'm going to become some kind of delinquent. Maybe a death eater like you think my parents were?"
"I didn't say…"
"Please. As if anyone at this school DOESN'T think that about my family. I can just imagine you in a few years: Poor little Pansy Parkinson why she'd have graduated from Hogwarts straight to Azkaban if it weren't for dear Ol' PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL."
"Not a delinquent, are you?" McGonagall raised her wand predatorily. Pansy froze. "What is Lavender Brown's private journal doing in your possession then, Miss Parkinson?" She wordlessly Accio'ed the purple sealed diary from Pansy's rucksack.
The indignity of being searched without warning stopped her for a moment. "Alright. I took it. That doesn't mean I'm going to be a thief when I grow up. In case you don't remember, I'm rich."
"Don't take that tone with me Parkinson. You don't have to think of me as a professor, but I'm not a student you can push around either."
Pansy grabbed her bag and walked to the door. "You know what else you're not? My mum. So don't pretend like you are." The door wouldn't open. She couldn't even turn the knob.
"We're not finished yet."
"You wanted lunch, and we've had it. Now I want to go."
The diary disappeared from McGonagall's hand and apparated back in Pansy's bag. "I want you to return that to Miss Brown, and apologize."
"Fine." The door finally yanked open, and Pansy stormed out. Minerva stared at the slammed door. She shouldn't have lost her temper, but in all her years at Hogwarts she'd never suffered a student to yell at her. She wasn't going to start now.
Pansy should've sacrificed her Hogsmeade privileges instead. McGonagall was just a ruddy transfiguration professor at seventy, without so much as a cat to take care of. She had no right to criticize her choices. If McGonagall was bored with her life, it didn't mean she had to entertain herself by making Pansy grovel in front of Lavender Brown.
Her stomping feet echoed down the hall. The portraits ahead craned their heads in her direction expecting a mountain troll to lumber down the hall. Their intrigued whispers almost distracted Pansy from the hushed voices and hurried feet scattering ahead of her, but she caught an unmistakable tuft of orange hair disappearing behind a door.
Weasley charging into a classroom on a Saturday afternoon; they were up to something. Pansy stomped past them, and built up a good distance before doubling back. Umbridge may have kicked her out of the inquisitorial squad, but how would it look if an unassuming prefect foiled Potter's plans when Umbridge and the junior inquisitors could not? Pansy pulled out an extendable ear she confiscated from a Hufflepuff and put it near the door.
"We should ask her." Potter.
"Harry, I'm your best mate, but are you mental? No way we can trust someone like that."
"Just think what it would mean having someone from their house helping us."
"Helping? That's optimistic." Pansy could just imagine Granger's scoff. "I've said it once, I'll say it again: she's thicker than a concussed troll, Harry. What's she supposed to do, spy on Draco for you? Please, she's no help to the DA." This was definitely about their little illicit club. She could burst in right now and get them on conspiracy, but it was three to one, their favor. Potter was pretty good with a wand too.
"'mione's right," Weasley sounded far too eager to agree with Granger. "She's no good. Remember in third year? She flat out refused to face a boggart in Lupin's class." They were talking about her!
"Well, yeah, but Voldemort –." Weasley eeped. " – Voldemort killed her parents. She's not exactly going to run to them with open arms, right? You saw her in Umbridge's class this week."
"Look, Harry," Granger sighed like she was arguing that fire is hot. Apparently, Granger talked to even her friends with the superiority of an insufferable know-it-all. "I know you're happy to vouch for anyone who believes you about You-Know-Who, but when has Parkinson ever been more than a vile snob that hands out insults so Malfoy will at least look at her? It's pathetic. She's pathetic. Just bringing her to a meeting will scare off everyone else from ever showing up again. She's hexed more than half of them."
Funny how Granger never had it in her to say those things to Pansy's face. If she ever did, Pansy would only be too happy to take the muggleborn's wand and shove it up her arse. Then, wring her neck like the spindly chicken she was.
"You're right." Potter agreed. "Alright, forget I mentioned it." She could hear them walking to the door, and scrambled into the next classroom.
"You think she at least knows some cool dark arts? You know, being a nutty blood purist and all?" Weasley asked as they passed by her.
Pansy snarled viciously after they'd gone, and continued out to the grounds. Granger was one to talk. She ran away screaming from that same boggart in the half-breed's class. Her greatest fear was failing exams. That was pathetic. Or what about the year before? Millicent thumped Granger in the dueling club before she could even draw her wand. Pansy left the entrance hall. The icy wind whipped at her face, but with her blood boiling, she felt nothing. Potter fainted if someone even said the word 'dementor.' Spiders did the same to Weasley. Screw them.
She was about to sit down at a tree beside the forbidden forest, but she didn't even want to look at Hogwarts right then. Pansy marched into the forest instead. "Incisus" a flurry of cutting hexes sliced some tree trunks. McGonagall thought she had no future. Draco and Umbridge thought she was a pet to be thrown away at their convenience. The golden trio thought she was pathetic. "Incisus." She attacked a row trees, putting their faces on them. They thought she was pathetic; just like Mum and Dad did.
She'd show them. What Umbridge only suspected, Pansy already knew; the Gryffindors were meeting to learn dark arts. She just had to catch them doing it, then send a message to the minister directly.