Ms. Parkinson,
I was surprised to receive your letter of interest for the open position of Potions Master and Slytherin Head of House. Personally, I believe you are a fine candidate. Professors Snape and Slughorn spoke well of your talent in the course and you did demonstrate… leadership and initiative in your time as a student at Hogwarts. I will also be blunt; we must fill this position immediately and have received limited applications. Given your personal history, I would like to offer you the position on a one-year probationary basis.
You will find that many members of current staff and faculty are former students who attended during your time at Hogwarts. Many of them are also veterans of the second wizarding war, and it is of crucial importance to me that my faculty are all friendliness and camaraderie. I look forward to the diversity of experience you bring to the staff. Please send your acceptance before 31 July and plan to take the Hogwarts Express on 1 September if you cannot arrive sooner; ideally, faculty arrives by 25 August. Your dog is welcome to stay in your quarters, so long as he does not cause unnecessary disruption to the students.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Pansy ran an extra two miles, fueled on anger at the response. Then she floo called Daphne.
"Pansy! What's wrong? You look-"
"I look like I exercise, Daphne Greengrass, not all of us are an effortless size 6."
"Stop putting things in your sister's hair!" Daphne yelled somewhere to the left of the fireplace.
Pansy muttered mostly to herself, "let Milo do what he wants, he's precious."
"He is not precious when he wakes up at three every morning to ask for help with the bathroom, which Blaise conveniently sleeps through."
"Gross." Pansy took a moment to be grateful she had not given birth to Draco's child - let that inevitable spoiled monster be Granger's problem. "Can we talk about me?"
"Please. Tell me you have some kind of adult problem that has nothing to do with a lesser prefrontal cortex."
"Right. So…I'm going to be Potions master and head of house." Pansy said it as quickly as she could, not wanting to either appear too happy or too eager.
Daphne paused, clearly processing the information. She scrutinized Pansy's harassed appearance. "Well…I think that's amazing, Pans. You'll be great at that." She kept her voice carefully even- a hard-learned lesson from being best friends with someone with a very short temper. "It's a good thing, right?"
Pansy bit her lip. "I think so. Mostly. Only, McGonnagal has me on probation. Given my history."
Daphne nodded. "Ah. I see." Pansy waited. "Didn't the ministry do this with Draco, at first?"
Pansy had forgotten. The first year had been hard- Draco had been brought down a few pegs. Had to earn the trust of his colleagues and coworkers. Some more than others. But he had done it. And it had made him a better man, she had thought, someone who was willing to compromise and admit fault. Was she ready for a year like that?
Daphne, who had always done well in divination, to Pansy's great frustration, smiled encouragingly. "I think it could be good, Pans. Hard, maybe. But good."
Suddenly exhausted both physically and emotionally, Pansy let herself lay down fully on the expensive hardwood flooring. She spread out, letting her sore muscles stretch and admitting defeat against the world.
"You still there?" Daphne's voice crackled through the floo.
"Yes" Pansy groaned. "They're going to hate me, Daph."
She didn't have to look up to see Daphne's reassuring maternal nod. "They didn't like you before, you never let it bother you."
Pansy didn't say that she felt weaker now, that the divorce had taken some of her icy ability to stay hard and invulnerable and tough no matter what. That her heart had taken a beating, and she wasn't loved, wasn't assured a future the way she had been. She had humiliated herself during the war, and now she had been left for Hermione Granger, Hero. That was two strikes, and she didn't know if she could handle another.
"Ok. I'm going to use my mom voice on you now. Sit up." Pansy grinned. She did like it when Daphne got tough. It was so rare. "You're going to be head of Slytherin house. That's badass. You're badass."
"You say this to your children, Greengrass?"
Daphne ignored her. "You have to show everyone in that school that our house is still great. That, despite a brief flirtation with fascism, Slytherin house has been around as long as Hogwarts has, and you belong there as much as anyone else. Show them who we are, Parkinson. Show them who you are."
Pansy's voice was small, and given another second, she might have stopped herself from quietly asking. "Who I am?"
"Yes. You're nurturing, and powerful, and determined, and smart, and good at everything you try. You're getting a second chance. Show them. And Pansy?"
Pansy let Daphne's words wrap her up like armor. "Yes?"
"Fuck them if they can't take a joke."
Pansy laughed, despite herself. It was something she had said to Daphne to reassure her, even in dark times. "Thanks, Daph."
"Anytime. I have to go now, Milo is crawling towards the MILO, DON'T TOUCH THAT!" She ran out of the frame, leaving Pansy to lay back down on the hard, cold, reassuring floor until she had the energy to get up, cook a few egg whites, and write back to her new boss.
…
Pansy knew the best way to make herself feel better. She sent a simple acceptance letter to McGonnagal and immediately departed for the upper end of Diagon Alley. She would need outfits. Her signature mauves and purples, which complimented her olive skin and brown hair, would need to be bolstered with some Slytherin green and silver. More importantly, the coy semi-formal skirts that she had thought kept her husband interested wouldn't do- she would need to put together a whole capsule wardrobe that was conservative without being matronly. Silky blouses, she brainstormed, high-waisted wool skirts to keep against the cold in the dungeons, 50's style wrap dresses and formal robes for events, everything impeccably tailored. She would need working clothes, too. She thought of her hours spent working in the Malfoy brewing room, her fitted cargo trousers- plenty of pockets for working quickly- and tank tops to fight against the heat of the boiling potions. Nothing flowy that could get caught or accidentally dipped. Thick, high-quality t-shirts and tough raw muggle denims that could keep a drop of the wrong potion from burning through to her skin.
After a long day of shopping and a stop by her tailor's to drop nearly everything off and give specific instructions to add pockets to any skirt or dress, Pansy mentally shifted to her next errand. In a few weeks, Flourish and Blotts would be overcrowded with families preparing for the new school year. Before that, she had a lot of work to do. She bought every book on Potions she could find, raising the eyebrows of the young clerk. Then, she apparated into Malfoy Manor.
Draco had encouraged her to take whatever would help, and had let her know that he likely wouldn't be home all day or night, anyway. Gross. He was probably spending nearly every night at Granger's modest, book and cat-hair-covered flat, God forbid she enter the evil Manor- despite the enormously expensive renovations to the public rooms that Draco had insisted on. Casting a thorough Hominem Revelio as she entered every room (and twice before she entered the library), Pansy collected books that wouldn't even be in the restricted section, priceless ingredients, and the cauldrons she had favored.
She growled as she remembered she didn't have a house elf to help transport the significant haul, and by the time she was finished apparating back and forth, she was exhausted. Pansy fell into bed, Stewart jumping up and curling himself into his preferred corner of the comforter. It had been the first day that felt productive in a long time.
…
Pansy spent the next weeks in a nearly manic creative fog. She hadn't felt like this since planning her wedding. Every morning, after her run, shower, and egg whites, she donned work clothes and took off her rings- her father's signet ring, the ring she had commissioned to be made with the diamonds from her engagement ring, and the little snake ring on her pinky that matched one Daphne wore. She took Stewart into the makeshift brewing room she had made from her flat's second bedroom. With the windows open and rugs to protect the floor, magically heightened ceilings and tall, long work tables, the room felt like an artist's studio.
Textbooks littered one table, with rough lesson plans and semester goals sketched onto legal pads- one for each year. She had changed her mind three times on what skills third years should focus on the most. Were they old enough at that age to understand alchemical properties, or was it the prime year to explore the importance of detailed ingredient preparation and sourcing? McGonnagal had sent Slughorn's plans, and Snape's (such as they were, practically written in paranoid code). Most helpfully, though she hated to admit it, was a copy of the old sixth-year textbook that Draco sent. It was tattered and annotated heavily, with water stains. The note included simply said "Never, ever, tell Harry Potter that I gave you this." It was painfully obvious that Granger had been the one to send it, and Pansy initially put it away, refusing her help, but eventually she had given in out of curiosity.
The textbook was littered with corrections, changed, and recipes for potions she had never heard of. She brewed each one, noting the concepts applied and the tricky steps.
Then she started with Slughorn's plans, noting where her students would be, and what they would know, the gaps between the OWLs and NEWTs and what mattered that they knew. She decided the first day would be a sort of pre-test, to find out what they knew. She would partner them appropriately, dividing classes into degrees of capability. The Hermione Grangers of the world shouldn't be held back, nor should the Crabbes and Goyles be left behind without understanding the important concepts to keep them from blowing up their homes.
Over the next weeks, Pansy continued working, brewing, writing, and planning. She thought perhaps the mysterious "half-blood prince's" potions would be extra credit opportunities for her advanced students, as would brewing potions necessary for the staff and hospital wing. She made rubrics and tests, wrote essay prompts and ingredient preparation timetables. Unprompted, though to no surprise, Draco sent his study guide for OWLs and NEWTs. She wrote back, "You're a fucking swot for writing and keeping these. I can only hope I don't have students like you."
On the 23rd of August, Pansy headed to her brewing room after her run, and checked her plan for the day. Which is when she realized she needed to leave in two days and had not yet packed.
She had never been so late picking up an order from her tailor, who suspiciously asked if she was quite alright. She packed an entire suitcase of books that she couldn't even lift without a featherweight charm. Daphne came over to help, far better at identifying what she needed to take to feel at home somewhere else. Once she began to fret about her total inability to bring everything she needed, Draco sent Hermione over to teach her the (illegal) bottomless purse charm, forcing Pansy to raise a suspicious but approving, brow at the supposed rule-follower.
On the 24th, Pansy visited the magical salon she had been an exclusive client of her entire life. Looking in the mirrors at the long, naturally straight hair that she navigated into big, loose curls every day, she asked, very simply, for a change. Pansy left with her perfect (and charmed to last) almond-shaped manicure in the softest possible mauve nude, and a not-quite-severe long bob. The curls she had known Draco loved finally discarded. He had plenty of curls to run his fingers through now, more than he could ever need. Her straight, almost black hair fell in clean curtains that framed her heart-shaped face. It would take some getting used to, she thought, but that was the thing about change.
On the 25th of August, Pansy apparated to Hogsmeade station and returned to the second home she thought she had left behind for good.
…
The enormous, infamously classless groundskeeper was still alive, despite his well-known love for lethal pets and being the largest target on the field at the Battle of Hogwarts, the half-giant had survived.
Pansy wondered if he remembered her, because he greeted her with a friendly, "Ya must be the new potions professor, then! Less luggage than that Slughorn fellow, between you and me." Pansy forced herself to hold her breath against his odd smell (like multiple animals, and something syrupy sweet) and smile at him as he loaded her things onto a thestral carriage.
Stewart barked from the end of his leash, sniffing the man's legs determinedly. "Smells Fang, I suppose. Cute little thing." Pansy grimaced, remembering the enormous hound and hoping he didn't get his teeth on her little poodle. She picked up Stewart and set him carefully in the cart before getting in herself, pulling him onto her lap. As Hagrid joined her in the driver's side of the bench, the cart nearly tipped over and she gripped onto Stewart so tightly he squealed.
Once they were safely on their way, Pansy stretched out a ringed hand to him, all politeness. "Professor Parkinson. Thank you for helping me to the castle." The title felt too big in her mouth.
He laughed, a deep chuckle that shook the cart. "I know who ye are Ms. Parkinson. You'll learn quick enough- you never forget a student."
Pansy froze, thinking of the Battle of Hogwarts and the half-giant's soft spot for Potter. Should she apologize for the moment she regretted more than any other? Did she stand by it?
But the groundskeeper was still speaking.
"I remember, ye got along with the unicorns, didn't ye?"
Hagrid looked at her with something like nostalgia, or pity, though she could barely see his high enough to reach his eyes from her height. Meaning, probably, to pat her comfortingly, his enormous hand fell on her shoulder like a pound of bricks. "It's alright, Professor. 'Ermione told me you were comin;. Told me to look after ye. 'Arry turned out just fine, didn't he? And ye were a kid, weren't ye, tryin' to protect yer friends." He shook his head, "None of yous should have gone through all that ye did." The hand on her shoulder felt warm, and the weight had grown calming.
She cleared her throat, every instinct refusing to show emotion in response to the ridiculous sentimentality making the cart feel claustrophobic. "Thank you. That's…very kind."
The half-giant laughed, shaking the poorly balanced bench they sat on so that she had to hold on. "You'll have it hard enough, I figure, from some folks here. Don't need it from little ol' me."
They had arrived at the gates, and he picked up her luggage like it was a small purse, walking her to the doors. "And ye come down and see the unicorns anytime ye like."
Pansy grinned broadly before catching herself and schooling her expression, nodding a dignified thanks. Stewart barked again, wagging his tail as Hagrid drove the thestrals away.
She braced herself before approaching the doors, standing up rim-rod straight, the physical memory of her mother's wand slapping against her back.
Charming her luggage to float ahead of her, she entered. To her surprise, the greeter on the other side of the door was the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin house ghost she had avoided throughout school.
He bowed to her, ever the creepy gothic gentleman. "Welcome, Ms. Parkinson. Allow me to show you to your chambers."
She nodded her assent, hoping he would not feel the need to make emotional overtures to her after the exhausting interaction with the groundskeeper.
Comfortingly, the Baron was a proper Slytherin. He spoke proudly and haughtily as she followed him through the eerily familiar halls toward the dungeon. "You'll find me useful," he smugly announced, "as Head of House. The children forget I can go anywhere in this castle." Creepy. "But for your purposes, it will prove helpful. You'll find your own style, of course, though there are certainly preferred methods, in my humble opinion. Slughorn, that old queer-" Pansy's eyes widened briefly before she decided to process that information much, much later and after a drink. "He asked me to look out for unexpected talent. Report gossip from the students, that such nonsense. Snape, however, wanted to hear about the troublemakers. Students never seem to put together how he knew everything that went on. I'll tell you- Slytherins were smarter in my day." He shook his head sadly.
Just before reaching the snake charmer portrait that marked the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, they turned down a corridor Pansy didn't recognize. It seemed to be a gradual slope upwards, to a sort of half-level, ending at a solid wooden door with a small door knocker- a snake, of course, say what you will but Slytherins were brand-consistent. At their approach, the door knocker slithered and hissed, a deep feminine voice emerging. "Yesssss, baron?"
"I would like to introduce the new Head of Slytherin House, Professor Pansy Parkinson."
"Ah…" It was eerie, the sounds coming out of the ancient metal that had no moving mouth. Her words seemed to surround them. "Hello, then. You'll find me quite ussssseful" Merlin, were they all this full of themselves, then? "You can sssselect who comes in, who can sssee your door and when" The metal snake hissed her s's and dragged out her vowels, her voice breathy and seductive. "I can make changesss too, though there are limits. Do let me know if I can assisssst you."
"I'll just prefer to be let in, then, for now. Thank you." Pansy was growing restless, eager to unpack and settle her things.
"Assss you wish" the snake hissed, and the door opened, the Baron bowing his farewell.
The living room and ensuite kitchen were small, but not offensively so, and she was grateful to find it was not decorated in solely silver and green. The walls were a soft, rich beige, and a fine velvet rose sofa sat opposite a small marble coffee table and dark gold chaise lounge. Bookshelves and empty gilded frames that were trembling to be filled with a portrait were spaced along the walls. A very small brick fireplace blended into the wall. Stretched along the floor was what she suspected to be a Turkish rug, thick and soft and patterned with all the colors in the room.
Dropping her luggage with a light wave of her wand, Pansy walked, entranced, to the large bay window that the space was centered around. The odd half-level put her up against the lake, the water sloshing in gentle waves against the very bottom of the tall glass, nearly the same color as the dusty blue velvet curtains that framed it.
Pansy could see the entire lake, stretching to the lush, green banks, the Forbidden Forest just beyond. To the right, she could see the enormous greenhouse, clearly rebuilt after the battle. It appeared to be a full conservatory now with a room full of more tropical plants, and one that had blinds for plants that preferred the dark. It was stylish and filled so that she could hardly see inside.
Without hesitation, she waved her wand, bringing the gold chaise directly under the window and stretching it wider to reach the edges of the glass. She wanted to spend as much time as possible looking out this window, reading beside it. Feeling similarly, she imagined, Stewart immediately jumped up onto the chaise, making himself comfortable.
The ensuite kitchen was petite, with a silver tea kettle on a small stove top, marble counters, and exquisite china settings visible behind glass cabinets. The bathroom was…small. That may be a problem. But the porcelain tub was a relief, and the mirror was large and beautiful, framed in filigreed gold engraved with delicate snakes winding around naked women and ivy. The seafoam green walls didn't hurt her complexion, either, she thought with a shrug as she smoothed her hair in the glass.
The small hallway led to the bedroom. Pansy sighed with relief. It was huge, with double french on either side of the room, the closest one leading to a closet she prayed was of significant size. A large four-poster, with worn wood carvings of snakes among vines and fruit, sat in the middle, the bedding a soft, pale gold and white. Three large windows on the lakeside didn't reach the floor, hiding where the water rushed up against the side, but showing a similar view as the living room windows, only at a different angle. Here she could see Ravenclaw tower, the far side of the castle, beyond the lake.
Finally reaching the second set of french doors, Pansy gasped with a little surprise. They opened up to a tiny porch and a fenced-in garden, with a table that held basic gardening materials, including a new set of dragonhide gloves. The little garden was quaint, surrounded by a low metal fence and filled with herbs and plants essential to not only potions, but basic use as well. Lavender, mint, chamomile and arnica, she recognized among others in raised beds and scattered pots. Looking down, she saw that Stewart had joined her, and was sniffing among the plants.
"Oh!" She remembered she had made a promise to Stewart. She rushed to the exit, the dog trotting along at her heels. She opened the door, the door knocker hissing in greeting. "Can you make a dog door?" She asked, hopeful. "To the garden, perhaps?" The cobra slithered and nodded.
Pansy and Stewart ran back to the garden doors, seeing a small door the perfect size for him at the bottom of one of the doors. Coaxing him through it a few times, Pansy watched him play in the garden, sitting on the edge of the porch to take it all in before the arduous task of unpacking would have to begin.
Pansy held the gifted gloves loosely, holding them to her cheek to feel the soft suede palms, smelling the quality of the leather. A note fluttered into her hands from out of the left glove.
From one Head of House to the next- take care of our home. - H. Slughorn.