Part VI of Tales of the 7 Potters
The Shedding of Skin — Harry Potter & Pansy Parkinson
There is an old saying that goes:
"A snake that cannot shed its skin is doomed to die."
Did Pansy manage to shed hers?
Can she and Harry find a happily ever after?
A cold rain was pelting the enchanted window. It blurred the outside world into a moving, gray, unwelcoming view of London. Other than the one in the Minister's office, there were only four windows in the whole of the Ministry—and Harry had one of them. This stood in stark recognition of his stature as an auror.
The scene matched Harry's mood perfectly. He was slouched over a pile of meaningless reports wasting his life—but what life does he have since Ginny left him? His hand was idly tapping his quill against them. His other hand pushed his trademark glasses up his nose as he tried to stay awake.
There had not been much action befitting his talent in weeks—only a few low-level thieves and smugglers, and some runaway Class XXX and IV creatures. Any trained auror could handle these disturbances. He needed something more substantial.
"Merlin's beard, I need a bloody hobby," he muttered with a frustrated sigh as he ran his hand through his perpetually messy hair."
Just as he was ready to go to the Atrium food area for some tea and biscuits—he would have preferred a firewhisky and burger—his door opened with a sharp creak. In walked a dripping, dark mossy green umbrella and a pair of pins on silver stilettoes so sharp they could pierce dragon scale.
He instinctively sensed trouble. The kind of trouble that smelled like roses but had thorns sharp enough to bleed you dry.
"Sorry, I'm not taking walk-ins without—" he grumbled, barely looking up.
"—Well, that's not the warm welcome I expected, Potter." she interrupted him with a voice that hit him like an icy jinx.
Harry's eyes snapped up as she closed her umbrella. It took a second, then he realized it was Pansy Parkinson. However, her form was elegant now. She was no longer the pale, hard-faced girl with black hair and a pug nose that was always shoved up Draco Malfoy's rear. Someone had done some work on her. Someone who knew his way around a scalpel—a real artisan. A true Michelangelo. If Draco Malfoy knew what she was going to look like now, he would have thought twice before tossing her aside for Astoria Greengrass.
Still, Harry's stomach turned. She might look different but looks can be deceiving. That is right from Auror Training 101. He was not going to be fooled by a new coat of paint. She had always been trouble. Why should he assume that she was any different, now?
"What do you want?" he asked dismissively as he shoved his papers aside. "Isn't there someone else for you to bother? Did you already get kicked out of the other Auror offices?
"Nice to see you, too, Potter," she said with the saccharine charm of a poison apple. "Save the sweet talk. Everyone knows you're the best. I need your help."
"Not interested," snapped Harry with the warmth of an executioner.
"You don't even know why I've come to you," she said, giving him a sharp look as she pulled off her wet robe and hung it on his hat rack. "Do you think it is easy for me to come here? Don't you think I know how you feel about me?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm not interested. Grab your stuff and scram."
Pansy let out a huff through her impeccably drawn, ruby lips. Her dark eyes locked with his as she stepped up directly in front of him and leaned in on his desk. "Listen, Potter," she said. "I know things are slow. I know you're bored. I hear things. Why don't you at least hear me out?"
"Fine," growled Harry as he clenched his jaw and gave her a stare that could melt through dragon hide. "Tell me what you want, if that's what it's going to take to get rid of you."
Pansy stepped back and pulled the chair up from over in the corner. She sat down. Harry almost forgot who she was, who he was, as she crossed her legs. Something stirred in him that should not. It suddenly felt unpleasant when he remembered this was Pansy.
I am here about an artifact. It was stolen from my family long ago—" she began only to be abruptly cut short by Harry.
"You belong in the Artifacts Department. I'm an auror, not a private investigator."
"Hear me out," insisted Pansy, her dress sliding up as her leg pumped. "This is not an ordinary artifact. It has powers—dark powers. If it falls into the wrong hands—hands that are looking for it as I speak, the results could be disastrous."
"And just what is this artifact, you call it? asked Harry, taking her bait like a hungry carp.
"It's called the Fang Pendant."
"Never heard of it."
"It's made from a fang from the Tingjian Jade Dragon. I'll bet you heard of it. A necromancer can trade it with the demons of the dark ether to raise a dead being—to raise Voldemort. AND!" exclaimed Pansy. "There's a kick. When the person comes back, they come back as a vampire. Maybe you've heard of Vlad Tepes—Count Dracula, and Count Orlok—Nosferatu."
Harry's level of interest suddenly shot up like his blood pressure. "Sure. I've heard of them. They're locked away forever. All of the other fangs were destroyed decades ago The Ministry found where Sir Elric Parpidum hid them after he traveled to China and killed the dragon. No one else is coming back by way of them. It's in all of the records. What kind of day-old fish are you trying to sell?"
"You need to check your records a little closer, Potter," said Pansy, her stare sharper than Snargaluff thorns. "A Chinese dragon has twenty-eight fangs. Two of them were used to raise Vlad and Orlok. The Ministry records say they destroyed twenty-five fangs. C'mon, Potter. You can count. Do the math. Where's the other fang? Do you want an immortal, vampire Voldemort?"
"It was probably used or maybe the dragon lost one on his own," replied a still skeptical Harry.
"No," asserted Pansy. My ancestor, Immitis Parkinson, helped find the fangs. He stole one, in case the family needed it. It was turned into the Fang Pendant."
"Fine," said Harry, starting to tire of it like a pair of holey socks. "But it was stolen decades ago by a thief who apparently had no idea what he had. He probably sold it to someone who thought it was cool. Now, it is wasting away in a drawer of some old wizard."
"I'd like to think that, too," said Pansy. "But I've heard rumblings. A pendant sounding just like it has been seen in some shops in Knockturn Alley. Someone must have found it."
"And I suppose you want me to go down there and look around for you."
"I want to go down there with you and look around. I need your muscle and wand. If we find it, the other people who are looking for it are the kind that will kill you before they say thank you."
Harry looked at Pansy with a face serious enough to scare a dementor. Then he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and a short glass. He set the glass down on his desk and opened the bottle. "I think I'm going to need a slash if I am going to do this," said Harry as he filled the glass halfway.
Pansy watched as he downed the potent brew in a single gulp like it was nothing more than pumpkin juice. Then, he slammed the glass back on his desk.
"There," said Harry, "I'm ready."
"I think you should pour another," said Pansy.
"I said I'm ready," replied Harry in a curt voice as he recapped the bottle.
"Not for you," said Pansy. "For me."
Harry gave her a sharp look, then poured her a glass and slid it across the desk. She picked it up and drank it in three quick swallows. Her face twisted like she was drinking curdled milk. Then she pushed the glass back to Harry. "There," she said. "Now, we're ready."
"Okay," said Harry as he stood up. "Just one thing. You better be straight with me one hundred percent of the time. If I think you're being anything except honest, I'm outta there like crap through a goose."
"I promise," she said with a smile like it was hiding a knife. "One hundred percent honest."
Part II - The Search Begins
An hour later, They walked into The Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom, the owner, looked at them and said, "Good to see you, Harry. Been a while. Who's the fancy skirt?"
"A client," replied Harry as Tom poured him a glass of firewhisky. "Got work to do."
"Okay," said Tom. "Have a drink to get you ready."
"Thanks," said Harry as he took it and poured it down his throat. "Better give—uh—the skirt one, too."
"Make it a double," chirped Pansy with a wink as she tossed a couple of sickles on the bar.
Tom poured the drink and Pansy snatched it. She put it away faster than a cat lapping chain lightning. This was not the same Pansy that winced at the drink in my office—but maybe it was just because Tom waters his whisky.
We made our way to the back of the Cauldron and into the Alley. It was full of people and screaming brats running wild. I pushed through them and down the stairway into Knockturn Alley. The atmosphere turned from light to dark faster than a rat in a sewer pipe.
Harry took this job because he was bored but he hated this place. Being in Knockturn Alley was like swimming with grindylows—it was always just a matter of time before something ugly happened. Nothing good ever came out of this place.
We moved deeper into the alley to places where the side alleys twisted into shadow and vendors were hawking cursed trinkets and dark potions out of the blackness.
"I don't like this place," Harry muttered. "And you—you seem too comfortable."
Pansy turned and rolled her eyes at me. "I told you this wasn't going to be a tea party. Don't tell me the great Harry Potter is getting cold feet."
"Can it, Parkinson. This place and I go way back. I've got a lot of history here—and none of it is good. You want my help. So, start showing me something that will make me want to stay."
"Fine," she said as she turned and opened the door to a shop. It looked like a good place to get stabbed or cursed.
Harry recognized the owner and the owner recognized him as soon as they stepped inside. He knew not to mess with Harry. The only reason he was not rotting in Azkaban was because he rolled over like a trick dog on his associates. One moment of hesitation or dishonesty and he still could be joining them.
They did not get anything useful from the owner. The same was true of the next few places. All they got were rumors. Their first real lead came from a miserable, old goblin named Vargak. He was less than enthusiastic about giving it up.
"I don't deal in lost and stolen things," hissed the goblin as he ran his clawed hand through his scraggy excuse for a beard. "You know that, Auror. Take your witch and leave."
Harry looked at him like an incoming curse. The end of his wand started to slip out of his sleeve. Just as he was about to pull it out, Pansy stepped in with a sweet smile—the kind that was hiding fangs.
"Give us some names. Give us some information," she said, her words like a cold, winter wind. "Do it and I won't ask Potter to start rearranging your shop with explosive charms."
Vargak caved. He told us about a character named Mordaunt who was trying to unload a horde of jewelry and other loot. He said he could usually be found up top flogging his wares near Gringotts.
They left the shop with the warning that they would be back if he had lied. As they made their way toward the exit of Knockturn Alley, Harry grasped his wand and whispered, "We're being followed."
"I know," replied Pansy with a serious look. "I smelled him when we passed the apothecary."
Suddenly, several masked wizards sprung from the dark crevices with wands out. "Stupify," shouted Harry, hammering the first one unconscious back into a pile of toppling boxes.
Pansy moved quickly. She produced a shimmering shield to protect Harry from a curse aimed at his back. "Impedimenta," she hollered as a turquoise light shot out of her wand freezing a second attacker like an ice sculpture in the park.
Harry gave her an impressed glance. However, this was not the time to chat. Curses were flying hot and heavy. They lit up the alley and sky like London's Bonfire Night fireworks.
They fought side by side, spells flying out of their wands like machine gun fire in a muggle war. Splintered signs were sailing through the air. Windows were shattering. Broken glass was flying like airborne razor blades. People were squealing like scared pigs as they ran for cover.
The battle finally ended when Harry blurted out, "Sectumsempra." A white light from his wand severed the arm just below the elbow of a wizard who had just missed them with a killing curse. The wizard fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He was screaming as his remaining two associates disapparated. Four less fortunate ones were lying disabled on the filthy cobblestones.
"Obliviate," said Harry, aiming his wand at the fallen foes and giving it some odd twists. "There. When they wake up, they'll think they were in a pub brawl."
"Auror trick?" said Pansy.
"Yeah. Something like that," he replied. "You handled yourself pretty well. Not bad."
"Surprised?" asked Pansy with a sly smile as she brushed her hair out of her face.
"You've changed. The Pansy I knew back in school could never have handled herself that way."
"People do that, Potter," she replied.
"Where'd you learn your moves?" inquired Harry. "The Princess of Slytherin shouldn't need to know that stuff."
"Please," said Pansy in a disapproving grumble. "I was never a princess of anything. I was Draco's toy—and I was too dumb to know it. He just kept me dancing on a string until he got tired of me and turned me over for that conniving little bitch Astoria. I was going to get back at them. I got Professor Flitwick to school me on dueling. Then, he married her and I said screw it."
"Well, you learned some valuable skills. They probably saved our lives."
By the time they had escaped the slime and rot of Knockturn Alley, Mordaunt had fled the scene with the rest of the cowardly riff-raff. Tom said he had seen him leave. Harry and Pansy had a stiff shot of firewhisky and headed out into the muggle world.
The days passed into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. Harry and Pansy tracked the breadcrumbs and rumors out of London and into the countryside. Little by little, Harry was starting to enjoy Pansy's company. She was sharp-minded with quick wits. Her dry sense of humor rivaled his. His hatred for her had disappeared. He would never admit to liking her but he was ready to accept her as okay.
The encounters with the dark forces continued. They knew Harry and Pansy knew something—had some information they needed about the identity of the person holding the pendant. Still, their attacks were relentless.
One evening after a skirmish with a handful of dark wizards, they were sheltering in a small, abandoned cottage in the Midlands. Mordaunt was staying one jump ahead of them. They knew he was close. They could smell his stench like a polecat that was just out of sight.
Harry was trained to live in the wild as an auror. He was roasting them a cony he had caught. Their campfire crackled and shot sparks as drops of fat fell into it. Pansy was fixing a salad made from wild plants, mushrooms, berries, and a handful of hazelnuts. She said her family liked camping and she had learned how to gather wild foods.
She had changed over their days in the field from the painted fashion plate with the bountiful bristols that invaded his office into a country girl wearing trainers, jeans, and sweatshirts. It was catching his attention. Harry recalled his days on the run with Hermione. He thought Pansy was the better of the two when it came to survival skills.
"You know," said Harry as Pansy lifted the tea kettle they had found in the cottage away from the fire. "You're really not who I thought you were all of those years at school."
"Neither are you," she replied as she poured the steaming water into a pair of cups from the cottage. They were blessed that there was also a tin with some tea in it. They had not had a cup of tea in over a week. "When I came into your office, I was expecting the same self-righteous hero from school that I hated—and you did not disappoint."
"And…"
"You've changed. You're not half-bad—uh—Harry. Is—is it alright for me to call you that?"
"Sure—Pansy."
Their eyes met as they reflected the light from the fire. Harry felt something shifting between them. It was warm and unexpected. He found himself wondering what she was feeling. It has taken three months, but they were finally on a first-name basis.
They continued their search. Tracking Mordaunt was like chasing smoke in the wind. They got close a couple of times—missing him by minutes. Harry sent messages to the Ministry on occasion. He figured they were glad he was out of there. They were probably circling his office like a pack of hungry hyenas, each trying to outsmart the others and steal the prize.
The ambushes and fights raged on. Harry and Pansy defended and protected each other without hesitation. They were certain their adversaries did not know who they were after and what he knew. Otherwise, the attacks would be deadlier.
One afternoon outside a small village where they had visited an inn in search of information, they fell under a particularly vicious attack in the middle of a rain storm. These wizards were not holding back. It was then that his true feelings for her hit him like a right cross from a heavyweight contender. Pansy shielded him from a deadly curse at the risk of her own life. Fear surged through him—not for his own life but for hers.
When the battle was over and their opponents were disabled and obliviated, Harry did not hesitate. He grabbed Pansy and pulled them together mashing his lips against hers, tasting the rain, the residual fear, and her.
"You idiot," she whispered into his mouth, although he could tell she was smiling. "It took you long enough."
"We need to get out of this weather," said Harry.
They finally took shelter in an old barn. The animals rustled and made noises most of the night in response to their carrying on in the loft. It was a miracle the farmer did not come out to investigate the disturbance—expecting to find a fox or coyote prowling around.
In the morning, they left with the sun, a canteen of milk, and a few eggs from the henhouse. After breakfast in a nearby copse, they made their way to the next village. The innkeeper said a traveler matching their description had taken a room last night to get out of the storm. He said the man gave off a bad vibe. He was not surprised to find out he was a wanted fugitive.
The innkeeper said all of his other guests and family were downstairs. Harry told him to keep them there and to not come upstairs under any circumstances.
Part III - The Confrontation
Harry and Pansy made their way up the stairs and to the door of room five. They looked at each other and pulled out their wands.
"Bombarda," said Harry, causing the door to nearly fly off its hinges as it flew open.
"Mordaunt, who was dressing, grabbed his wand and shouted "Stupify".
Pansy put up a shield spell. Mordaunt's spell bounced off it and crashed into the wall like a bludger on a bad day.
"Expelliarmus," said Harry with a crisp wave of his wand. A red flash hit Mordaunt's wand. It flipped through the air and clattered harmlessly onto the floor.
"Mr. Mordaunt," said Pansy as they both pointed their wand at him like William Tell aiming at an apple. "We've been wanting to meet you."
"What do you want? I haven't done nuthin'."
"You have something we want."
"Is it valuable? I'll sell it to you cheap," he said in his regular, conniving manner.
"We not here to dicker," snarled Harry. "I know who you are. I know your record with the Ministry. You've done enough things and crossed enough lines to make Mundungus Fletcher look like a bloody choir boy. NOW! We're going to ask some questions and you're going to be a good boy and fill in the blanks."
They bound Mordaunt to a chair but he was not interested in talking—at least willingly. So, Harry had to use some of his auror training to loosen him up. A little Legilimens here, a minor jinx there, and Mordaunt was singing like a cursed canary. The pendant was hidden with the rest of his horde back in Knockturn Alley.
Harry pointed his wand at Mordaunt and said "Imperio." Mordaunt stiffened. Pansy gasped and gave Harry a shocked look.
"What's the matter, Pansy? Are you questioning my methods? I guess even you have limits after all."
"No. Just I—uh—never mind. How are we going to get him back there?"
Harry followed Pansy and Mordaunt down the stairs. He pulled some muggle money out of his pocket and gave it to the innkeeper. "This is for your troubles," he said. Then, as they were exiting the inn, he cast a confundus charm on everyone so no one would ever know they had been there.
Once they were safely outside the village, they moved into a small grove of trees. Harry said. "Wait here. "I'll be right back." He pulled out his wand and said 'Petrificus Totalus'. A purple light hit Mordaunt and he was frozen stiff as a fireplug. A second later, Harry disappeared in the blur of apparation.
An hour passed. Mordaunt was starting to move. Suddenly, there was a whirling snap. Harry reappeared in front of them with two brooms.
"I trust you can fly," said Harry.
"I'm okay—not like you—but I can manage."
"We can travel undetected this way. It's our best option."
Harry made certain the Imperius Curse was still controlling Mordaunt as he tied him to the tail of his broom. A moment later, they were in the air on their way to Number 12 Grimmauld.
By the time they reached London, night was falling. They landed safely and took Mordaunt inside. Harry instructed Kreacher to watch Mordaunt and not let him touch or do anything. Then, Harry and Pansy went upstairs for the night.
In the morning, Harry, Pansy, and Mordaunt used the Floo Network to get to Diagon Alley. Once there, Mordaunt dutifully led them down into Knockturn Alley. Before long, they found themselves entering a cellar below The White Wyvern.
"Watch yourself," whispered Harry as they descended into the dark, fetid-smelling hole. "Mordaunt is under control but there might be other dangers lurking in this place."
They walked by wandlight until Mordaunt stopped. "Here," he said.
A beat-up chest was sitting on the floor against the wall.
"What's in it?" asked Harry.
"My stuff. All of the stuff I found."
"Open it up and no funny business," said Harry.
Mordaunt opened the chest. A wand was sitting on a pile of jewelry and other valuable items.
Harry pushed Mordaunt aside. The curse was holding him prisoner. He never even tried to reach for the wand.
"Accio pendant, said Harry with a flick of his wand. Nothing happened.
"It's enchanted," said Pansy. "Magic won't affect it."
"Is there a pendant in there that looks like a dragon fang?" Harry asked, looking directly at Mordaunt.
"Yes," came the reply.
"Find it," demanded Harry as he took away the wand.
Mordaunt dug down into his stash. After a minute, he produced a gold chain with a tooth-shaped pendant on it.
"That's it," gasped Pansy. "That's the Fang Pendant."
"Gimme that," snapped Harry as he snatched the pendant from Modaunt's hand.
Their search was at an end. Now, they had to figure out what to do with it and how to handle Mordaunt.
"Let me have the pendant," said Pansy in an expectant voice. "It belongs to my family."
"I think it needs to go to the Ministry," said Harry.
Harry and Pansy were in a stare-off while Mordaunt stood by as docile as a heel hound. Finally, Pansy said, "You're probably right. It needs to be destroyed."
"Glad you see it that way, Pansy. We have something special going on between us. I would not want this thing messing it up."
"Yeah," said Pansy. "More special than you know. We can take all of this and him to the Ministry in the morning."
Part IV — The Big Payoff
Two days later, the Ministry destroyed the pendant by striking it with the Sword of Sir Elric Parpidum. Mordaunt was reinstructed in the errors of his ways and released to work selling hardware at a shop in Diagon Alley. Harry and Pansy were off to enjoy a weekend in a wizarding resort at Brighton Beach.
"This is a beautiful place," cooed Pansy. "We used to come here every summer."
"Ha!" laughed Harry. "My Uncle brought us here once. He said never again. He stepped on a jellyfish and got stung. He blamed me for distracting him. My stupid cousin kicked a sea urchin and had to go to the doctor to remove the spine. He said I threw it at him. I was locked in my cupboard for a week."
"No wonder you loved it at Hogwarts and tried to never go home during the holidays. We all just thought you were weird."
"What did you mean the other day when you said we had something going on between us that is more special than I know? That's been bothering me?"
"Oh," she responded, trying to hide a smile. "I've been waiting for the right time to tell you. I'm pregnant."
"PREGNANT! BLOODY FREAKING HELL! What are we going to do? We aren't even married," exclaimed Harry, losing his normally controlled demeanor.
"There's a way to fix that, you know."
"Blimey. You want to get married?"
"I wouldn't say no if you asked me real nice."
"Pansy Parkinson. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
"Yes, Harry," she said as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed their lips together. "I thought you'd never ask."
They were married in a quiet ceremony by a Ministry official–no fanfare, no press, just them. Seven months later, they were blessed by a baby boy they named Merlin. He had Pansy's hair and Harry's looks. By the time their daughter was born, Morgana, Merlin was already wearing glasses. Their third and final child, Balthazar, was born a week before Merlin's fifth birthday.
They were living in a secluded manor in the Scottish Highlands far from prying eyes and past mistakes. The sky stretched endless over them and the air was crisp and fresh as they watched the children play.
Pansy leaned over and rested against Harry, her hand on his. "Do you suppose this is what they called happily ever after in those children's books," asked Harry.
"Something like that," breathed Pansy.
And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he was exactly where he belonged. Because life is funny that way. Sometimes the things you think you hate the most turn out to be the things you need the most.
And Harry found his in Pansy Parkinson, just as she found hers in Harry Potter.
In the end, their love story was not the kind you read about in the paper. But it was theirs. And that was enough.
The End