Opening Night - Part One
Pansy
Saturday – Six days until opening
"I have plans for that night."
Pansy made a frustrated sound and threw her notepad against the opposing wall, huffing.
Insufferable bitch, she thought to herself, she knows how important this is to me. So, we had a stupid argument, over a fucking painting. So what?
Grimacing, she stormed outside of the space which – if everything went as planned – was due to become Serpentine, lighting a cigarette as she exited her future shop. She'd done enough for the night, and attempting to set up decorations and displays in this kind of mood was unlikely to be productive.
No, a strong drink and a decent night's sleep would be more useful.
Sunday – Five days until opening
Pansy scowled over a cup of coffee, grimacing across the kitchen table at the flat that Blaise and her shared. The fitful rest she'd obtained had failed to improve her mood to any noticeable extent, and the way that Blaise and Michel – who had thoroughly failed to turn out to be one of Blaise's typical one-night partners – were flitting around the kitchen only increased her frustration.
"Never seen you this chipper before, love," Blaise spoke to her, which she acknowledged with a brief grunt before returning her lips to her coffee. "Things going that well at the shop?"
"Mrgh," Pansy grunted again. "It's going to be a fucking disaster, isn't it?"
"Don't be ridiculous. A disaster," Blaise drawled, "is what most witches are walking around wearing. They desperately need a shop like yours."
"Yes," Michel – unasked – interjected, "Ze English witches they are…" he flipped his hand dismissively, "ordinary".
"Thanks, boys," She muttered, thinking "lovebirds" with an internal snort. "It doesn't make me even more worried that it's going to be too forward for the market, not at all."
"Hush," Michel interjected before – again, unasked – laying his hand over the back of Pansy's. She looked to Blaise, glaring, but he only shrugged infuriatingly and smirked. "I am not inexperienced in these things," Michel continued in his thick French accent, "I am obliged to assist."
Fantastic, Pansy thought, more "help".
Tuesday – Three days until opening
Pansy tapped her foot, peering over the same displays that she'd spent the better part of the day organizing once again, certain that something was still missing.
As much as she was loath to admit, Michel and Blaise had actually been surprisingly helpful, Michel's pretentious French sensibilities coming in handy to help her narrow down the key statement pieces to display, and Blaise's ruthless eye for efficiency aiding her in setting up rows of more-ordinary robes and traditional witch apparel.
It was almost enough to leave her feeling optimistic, but Pansy wouldn't be Pansy if she failed to account for each and every way that the evening could yet turn into disaster.
The guest list? Small enough to appear exclusive, yet wide enough to bring attention. Not that she'd turn away people who didn't have invitations, barring a select number of particularly… contentious figures.
The décor? Gothic enough to be modern, spooky enough to carry a vague hint of not-quite-Dark magic.
The shop itself? Deep enough in Knockturn Alley to be cheap as sin, far enough away from the actual slums to not scare customers away.
The basics seemed to be covered, and the details were ones that she had certainly spent enough time fussing over and micro-managing that they had to be sufficiently taken care of at this point. So what remained?
She'd removed the most risqué (if not actually obscene) pieces of apparel from the public display, there were changing rooms set up both on the shop floor and in the back room behind the counter (for particularly important customers, should any actually show up), and the music selection and catering alike were in the – admittedly – capable hands of Michel.
Ah, she realized, noting a particular twinge of anxiety at the thought of "important customers", Daphne.
She hadn't spoken to the Ice Queen since Daphne had turned down her invite on Saturday evening, and was beginning to consider the possibility that she might be somewhat, partially to blame for this sudden silence. It wasn't as if they'd exactly been close friends in the past, but Pansy realized that she'd been assuming that Daphne would be in attendance at the opening: you'd think that after going down on someone, they could do that much for you.
Pansy begrudgingly decided that she'd extend an olive branch soon, even if she hadn't really been wrong about anything, it was still… foolish to sacrifice one of the more promising friends-with-benefits arrangements she'd stumbled across over a petty disagreement about art.
As far as the night itself? Pansy opened her enchanted notebook, penning a note to the other promising friend-with-benefits she'd recently acquired:
Harry, she wrote, You're free Friday night? Late?
The reply came more quickly than she expected: Yeah, what's up?
Opening night. She wrote, while thinking "obviously", I'll require your company after it's done. Around midnight.
Oh, right, Harry answered, what did you have in mind?
If it goes well, Pansy continued, a lot of drinks, and shagging all night to celebrate. If it doesn't, enough to drown my sorrows and shagging to take my mind off it.
Smirking, she closed the notebook. Lining up plans for an afterparty had improved her mood.
Friday – opening night
Pansy paced from one end of her shop to the other. It was just five minutes until the shop was due to open, and there was a distinct absence of any line-ups forming outside. Rationally, she knew that this was expecting too much, and that this night was meant to serve as the first promotional campaign for Serpentine more than something that would turn a huge profit on its own, but she couldn't shake the feeling that nobody was going to show up.
"Pans," Blaise interrupted her growing sulk, "here." He passed her a glass of prosecco, lifting his in a toast that was quickly joined by Michel. "To Serpentine – on the first of many nights to come."
Pansy muttered something that might have been a "thank you", before draining her glass as if it were a shot. Deciding that it would be better to get it over with, she swished her wand in a quick pattern, activating the runes which would glow "Serpentine" in lime green on the outside of the building, a suitable imitation of the neon lighting that she wished she could use. Another flick unlocked the doors, and Pansy exhaled in a deep sigh: her shop was officially open for business.
It was a few minutes longer until the first customer appeared: a witch who Pansy didn't know by name (A Yaxley relative by the look of her, if she had to guess), who Pansy nonetheless greeted with a measured dose of detached welcoming.
Her worries slowly began to decrease as one customer turned to three, then six, though none of the witches who walked through her open doors were figures of any public note, and several stayed just long enough to have a free glass of wine before leaving. Still, she had customers in her shop – Pansy had finally managed to make something of her own that hadn't immediately and messily failed.
Shortly after, she found herself in conversation with a far-flung Carrow cousin – distant enough that they hadn't been caught up in the Death Eaters, though not as fortunate as the twins had been to escape the post-war scorn entirely. She took note of a witch who she didn't recognize enter the shop, before becoming recaptured in the Carrow woman's idle compliments of "how nice it was to see a young Pureblood bouncing back".
Across the shop, Pansy noticed the unknown witch stop in front of one of her most vibrant display pieces: a leather trench coat, slashed through with panels of shockingly green lace, styled with enormous silver buttons and epaulet adornments. If nothing else, she was intrigued, and this gave her a reasonable excuse to escape the Carrow's mindless banter.
"Has something caught your eye, Lady…?" Pansy inquired.
"Ah, I do declare," the witch announced, her voice loud, boisterous, and badly American-accented, "this here is one of the finest coats I ever did see."
Pansy screwed her nose in a scowl, before forcing herself to drop the expression. The woman's accent was atrocious, obviously an affectation - which would be obvious to anyone who had ever heard someone from the American South speak. Granted, among Pureblood or traditionalist Witches, that number was probably limited to herself.
"Yes, it's one of my personal favourites," Pansy continued, stepping closer to the garment, giving her an excuse to take the woman's features in. Though she definitely didn't recognize the witch, there was something vaguely familiar in her smirking features.
"Wotcher, Parkinson," the strange witch whispered, as pieces fell into place immediately. Auror Tonks, Pansy thought, of fucking course. She supposed that she should have anticipated a visit from the law, given Knockturn Alley's less-than-stellar reputation in the not-so-distant past.
"Auror Tonks," Pansy returned the whisper, making a show of opening the trench coat, as if she were showing how the lace panels wrapped and wound their way through the inside of the jacket, turning a garment that was nearly oppressively military into one much lighter and more feminine. "What a pleasure to see you."
The ridiculously-named Nymphadora Tonks had been – briefly – one of Pansy's parole officers following the end of the war, a state which thankfully hadn't been maintained for long. Pansy supposed that she didn't even dislike the person that much, but her presence was a distinctly uncomfortable reminder of how she and people like her were viewed in the new Wizarding world.
"Darlin'," Tonks returned to her poorly-faked accent, "I am simply enamoured by this here jacket. You know, I was jes' in the neighbourhood, and I felt like I should be a-stoppin' by, but now I cannot even recall what brought me here, once I saw this!"
Pansy didn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Of course, madame," she drawled, "why don't you come to the counter with me, and we can draw you up an order form?"
"I'd be delighted," the disguised Auror replied.
At the counter, Pansy slammed the tome she used to take measurements and orders down with perhaps a bit more force than was truly necessary, the cool smile on her face one she forced herself to maintain.
"You don't need to be here," Pansy spoke cheerfully, "everything is by the books, the money is all my own, and the merchandise is barely even magical."
"Yeah, I know," Tonks replied, actually throwing Pansy off-track, "believe it or not, I'm actually here for personal reasons." At Pansy's quirked eyebrow, she continued: "I might be in disguise, but that's more a favour to you than anything, I don't figure you'd want it known that you've got an Auror snooping around your shop. I'm not fucking with you; I love that coat."
"You…" Pansy stuttered, "Really?" It was if a tension she hadn't even realized she was holding was released. "I can take your measurements right now and I can give a discount or actually I can give you the coat for free" she started rambling, before Tonks quickly waved her hands around in a distinctly unsubtle "shut up" gesture.
"Won't do me a lick of good to get measured in a disguise, Parkinson," Tonks smirked – though not cruelly – as Pansy took a breath. "I'm also not a big fan of green. What I would absolutely love, though, is that same coat, pink lace instead of green, and dragonskin instead of leather."
Pansy's heart dropped at this request: "Ah," she explained, sadly. "I'm not authorized to import dragonskin. I applied, got rejected. Can't have former 'Potentially Dark Magic Users' getting their hands on enchantable material, eh?"
Tonks nodded sagely, before leaning over the counter conspiratorially.
"Turns out, I'm on pretty good terms with the licensing board. I'll be in touch, we'll handle the details out of the public eye, but I promise you I'm serious: I want that coat."
Pansy nodded, eagerly, barely believing this turn of events herself. Though Pansy herself might not have been the biggest fan of Auror Nymphadora Tonks, the fact was that she was the nearest thing to a rock star among the Aurors (on a technicality, as Harry wasn't really an Auror himself), and if she was seen wearing Serpentine in public? It would be amazing for her shop's prospects.
"Speaking of which, looks like you've got some guests you should see to," the disguised Auror said, nodding quickly and turning around (nearly tripping over her cloak in the doing) to walk away from the counter.
Oh, Pansy realized what Tonks meant.
At the doorway, just entering Serpentine, were three of the most influential women in modern Pureblood society: the recent headliner of the wedding of the year, Ginny Malfoy; the ever-popular Astoria Greengrass; and the rarely-seen and arguably reclusive Narcissa Black (once Malfoy).
Behind them stood a smiling and stunning Daphne Greengrass.
Oh.
Merlin.