Title: Knitting Disasters (and Other Kinds)
Author/Artist: ???
Recipient: ever_obsessed, who likes domestic fluffiness but not with kids, and gave the prompts "yarn" and "bare feet." :)
Rating: PG-13
Length/Medium: 3,067 words
Pairing(s): Pansy/Ginny
Summary: Potter got a tie that Christmas, instead.
Warning(s): None.
Note: Thanks ever so much to my three betas, who shall remain unnamed for now but most definitely not unappreciated. I hope you like this, ever_obsessed!



Imagine: the entirety of England turns upside down and begins protesting train rides, claiming that they are absolutely, positively the worst form of travel possible. Pansy Parkinson would be at the head of those mobs. She'd be forming Committees for the Writing of Gentle but Firm Letters all over the place; she'd even get Granger in on it and persuade her to come up with a clever acronym for the whole operation. POUT: Pissed Off and Uppity (about) Trains.

It would be beautiful.

Sadly, none of this is actually happening.

Though she is definitely riding a train--if the sticky nausea which denotes motion sickness beginning to rise in her stomach is any implication--Pansy is unfortunately neither sporting a button flashing "Do you POUT on train rides?" nor is she on her way to an important meeting of the Committee for Figuring Out Some Way to Effectively Undermine English Public Transportation. No--what she is doing, instead, is watching Ginny Weasley fail at successfully knitting a scarf for Potter's Christmas present, and falling asleep.

Pansy wanted to go by some other mode of transportation, but 1) she is the worst flyer in the entire world, 2) the Lovegood-Thomases don't have the Floo network connected to their house, and 3) Ginny is wise to be cautious about Apparating within a hundred feet of any place Luna Lovegood resides. ("I love her, but who knows what weird animals she might have hanging around?")

"Ginny," says Pansy, annoyed with Ginny's ineptitude in keeping control over the yarn. "You suck at that."

Ginny makes a sound that resembles something like a cat with fire-breathing capabilities. "I know," she replies, directing all her anger at a drooping, tangled length of yarn knotted around her left middle finger. She pulls at it forcefully and sets the yarn and needles on the seat cushion next to her with a kind of peace that makes a strange juxtaposition with her obvious frustration.

"Why don't you do it with magic?"

Ginny hushes her at the word "magic," although there is nobody sitting nearby. "Because," she says in a low voice, "it's like cheating. It's like asking your dad what he wants for Christmas--"

"A tie! He always wants ties."

"It's like asking him what he wants and then Transfiguring that out of an old can. It's just not the same."

Pansy considered this, and then announced, "I feel like knitting the Muggle way--"

"Shh--"

"Is going to end in a lot of pain for you."

Ginny doesn't reply to this. Pansy slides down in her seat.

She hates when Ginny knits. It's always been frustrating for Pansy to watch people do things badly when she could just do them herself, with fewer struggles and in half the time, and Ginny's knitting woes are no different. Not only that, but Ginny has never grasped the concept of multi-tasking, and when she brings out her yarn and knitting needles, Pansy knows she's in for a few hours of boredom wherein the only words out of Ginny's mouth are variants of "mm, that's nice." The only time she deigns to speak is when she's messed up yet again.

Once, Ginny made a blanket for Pansy. That was nice. It is fuzzy and warm and it smells like Ginny's favorite perfume, because Pansy sprays it on the blanket all the time. But it is an exception--all other forms of Ginny Weasley's failure to knit must end. Perhaps this can be another project. GAY: Girlfriends Against Yarn.

Maybe Pansy is only jealous that she forgot to bring along something with which to distract herself from the train's endless side-to-side movement. She is very bored, more bored than she has ever been in her entire life, even though it's only been about forty-five minutes. She lets her head drop onto Ginny's shoulder.

"Shit," says Ginny, dropping a needle. "Pansy!"

"Sorry," says Pansy. She is lying.

She begins to hum, tunelessly and relentlessly.

Pansy has an especially high tolerance for annoyances (she grew up with Draco Malfoy, after all), and perhaps this is the reason she turns to irritating the hell out of whoever isn't giving her enough attention when she is bored.

"Pansy," complains Ginny after a few minutes.

"Hmmmm?"

"Stop."

Pansy doesn't stop. She just smiles.

Ginny pretends that it doesn't bother her for about ten more minutes until finally she hisses, "Pansy!"

"What?" says Pansy innocently.

"Stop humming!"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Fine, okay. But only if you stop hitting."

Ginny raises an eyebrow. Pansy returns the favor by doing the same. A staring contest commences. This is not an uncommon event.

Finally, sighing, Ginny begins to wrap her knitting needles with the (incredibly ugly) orange and green yarn she is using to make a scarf. She is always the first to give in. Pansy grins.

"This is not going to get you very far in life," Ginny admonishes.

"It will get me everywhere I need to go," Pansy replies. It's true, really. And everything she can't get by annoying people to death she can get with money. Not that she would ever say this to Ginny, who is almost exactly like her brother Ron when it comes to mentioning the tiniest thing relating to finances.

Pansy leans her head on Ginny's shoulder. "You are really quite infuriating, you know," says Ginny.

"And hot, yes, I know that." She taps Ginny's nose.

"I wouldn't say that," Ginny counters, although Pansy knows that Ginny would, in fact, say quite the opposite.

Sitting up straight and crossing her ankles, Pansy asks, "How far is it until we get there?"

Ginny set up a little dinner party with Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas. Pansy wouldn't mind so much except that she dreads their children: nine-year-old triplets and a six-year-old little girl. If she hasn't already gone insane from the utter boredom that is the definition of train rides, she will most definitely need to be committed after tonight.

"About ten more minutes. That's why I put away my knitting."

"Of course that's why, Gin. Of course."

About six minutes later, Pansy finds herself standing before the door of the Lovegood-Thomas residence, which is not a house like normal people would live in, but part tree house, part art studio, and part circus.

It is, secretly, one of Pansy's most favorite places in the world, but she would never let as much be known to a single soul.

Loony--even five years after leaving school, and having visited the Lovegood-Thomases multiple times with Ginny, Pansy will always be unable to stop thinking of Luna Lovegood as anything but "Loony"--opens the door. She has a nine-year-old boy attached to her leg.

"Ginny! Pansy!" Loony grins widely at them, her hair as long and blonde as ever, partly tangled in her left earring, which is a very large owl. "How are you?"

"Lovely! How are you?" replies Ginny, kissing her. Taking off their coats, Pansy and Ginny step around Luna and her leg growth to get inside.

"Dean's out getting dinner. I'd cook, but I don't think it would turn out very well," replies Loony. "It never does, not even when I use the charms Mrs. Weasley showed me. I can't figure out why..."

Another triplet bounds down the stairs. "Mum!" he shouts. "Mum, Liam won't--oh." He looks at Ginny and Pansy as if there are wild dragons in his living room--though Pansy wouldn't exactly be surprised if all of Loony's children knew exactly what to do should wild dragons be loosed on the property.

"Hi," says Pansy. His eyes get very big as he turns his exclusive focus to her.

"Why're they here?" says the kid. He seems practically incapable of veering his attention away from Pansy.

"We're going over a recipe for cream of triplet," says Pansy, annoyed. "Very tasty. We'll import it to Brazil. It's all the rage there."

The boy wrapped around Loony's leg bursts into hysteric tears. "I don't want to go to Brazil!" he cries. "The yodeling rygos will eat me!"

"Those are in Lithuania, you prat," says his brother, who is still staring at Pansy.

Pansy would like to go home.

"They're just over for a visit. Wouldn't you like to play with your brothers, Gale?" says Loony serenely. That must be the way to deal with such obnoxious children: peace, serenity, I am in a forest. There are birds. It is quiet. Pansy imagines this is what it is like inside Loony's head. Either that, or a constant parade of oddness.

"Yeah, come on, Gale, I didn't mean to scare your snorgle. Liam and I were just playing a game!"

"Do I have to?" The kid on Loony's leg looks up at his mother.

Loony gazes down at him, her expression affectionate. Pansy feels rather sick.

Gale sighs, and unlocks himself from Loony's leg. He marches to the stairs with the air of a very old, weary soldier. As the two boys climb the circular staircase to their tower bedroom, Pansy hears Gale lecture his brother: "Franny is a very delicate creature, Neil. You can't just throw tuna on her, okay? You have to tell her, 'Okay, Franny, I've got a bit of tuna, would you like some?' You've got to give her options, all right?"

"I know, I know. I would have, but Liam wanted to do an 'speriment…"

Pansy is so glad to be a lesbian. A bit less of the accidentally getting knocked up, you see.

The night passes with relatively little madness--as little as can be found when in the company Loony, Dean Thomas, and their obnoxious children, anyway. The triplets didn't shut up through the entire meal, and the little girl, Charlotte, kept reading. She looked like a miniature, blonde Granger, who was really the only of Ginny's friends--besides Potter--that Pansy could never find it in herself to like, even a tiny bit.

Thomas is perfectly in love with his wife, though Pansy isn't quite sure why. He smiles goofily whenever she says something ridiculous, looking at Ginny and Pansy with an isn't she genius expression.

Pansy touches Ginny a lot, just to prove something, who knows what. She does this even though she knows, has been yelled at prissily a thousand times for it, that Ginny hates most forms of purposeless touching. By the end of the night, when Pansy takes her hand as they head out the door, Ginny's face is a small, freckled manifestation of a thunderstorm.

She is silent when they Disapparate home (the flat is a lot less likely to be inhabited with things that bite when startled--mostly). Pansy stops just inside to take off her shoes and socks. Ginny brushes past her and it's not hard to feel the irritation coming from her. Pansy grabs her arm, which, she realizes a second later, is probably not the best choice.

"Let go of me," Ginny says in a low voice. Usually this voice precedes sex. Not so this time, Pansy senses.

"What is wrong with you?" says Pansy, feeling aggravated just because Ginny is.

"Nothing, all right! Just let go of me! I don't know why the fuck you have to touch me all the time!"

Pansy lets go. Ginny drops onto a chair purposefully.

She pulls out her yarn and needles and begins knitting with record speed. If Ginny were in an anger management class, she would have passed step four: finding a constructive outlet for your frustration. Except Ginny isn't that good at knitting, so her furious knitting is turning out to be less a constructive activity than a small representation of the word "demolishment."

"I'm sorry I'm not Harry Potter," Pansy says suddenly. She isn't quite sure where it comes from, although it's definitely been an idea that's been stewing since the beginning. Why not use it now? If Ginny is going to be angry, Pansy sure as hell will give her a good reason to be. "I'm sorry I'm not perfect like Potter, and that I can't save you like he always seems to be doing."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny seems calm, although the way she has turned bright red and the way her scarf resembles more and more a potholder made by the able paws of a fingerless kitten says differently. She curses as she somehow manages to knit her index finger into the scarf thing. "Harry doesn't save me--"

"I'm sorry you're still so in love with Potter that you can't even see what's in front of you! But if you want to go have twelve of Potter's babies with stupid names, go ahead, Ginny! I don't even care anymore!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Pansy," says Ginny, like the quiet before the storm. "But if you want me to, then, maybe, fine! I'll go fuck Harry. How do you like that?"

"I think it'd be wonderful!" yells Pansy.

"Fine! I'll go do that, then!" shouts Ginny. "And so what if I have twelve kids with him? They'd all be better than the ones I'd have with you!" She throws her knitting needles across the room.

Pansy turns around and stomps outside. Her feet are still bare, and she regrets her decision immediately but keeps walking, undeterred.

She meets Pirouette, their cat--well, Ginny's cat, really; Pansy hates cats--a block away. She meows pitifully and Pansy scowls. "Go home, Piro," she says menacingly. Probably anything she says right now is going to sound mean.

She and Ginny do this a lot, the fighting out of nowhere. It's become a joke amongst Pansy's friends. Blaise once made fliers. Parkinson vs. Weasley. Catfighting: the world's greatest spectator sport.

See, the thing is, Ginny is secretly a first class bitch. Well, so is Pansy, but not as secretly. Pansy is very open with her cattiness. Ginny, on the other hand, will keep something at the back of her head for months and months and then, when Pansy least expects it, will drop it like a Howler.

Like the time when Pansy was going down on Ginny and she reached up to grab who knows what, now, it was all in the heat of the moment, but she accidentally smacked Ginny in the face instead and Ginny got all angry and went on this long rant about how Potter had always been doing stupid things exactly like that and how she probably would have never broken up with him if he had been better at sex (which, now that Pansy thinks of it, he probably is now--what a horrible thought).

They'd gone back to fantastic, face smacking-free sex about four hours later but the memory of it still frustrates Pansy.

She wishes Potter wasn't such an integral part of their relationship. And maybe he isn't, or not for Ginny anyway (though Pansy can think of more than one Christmastime incident starring a drunken Ginny hanging all over the Boy-Who-Sucks-Ass-As-Far-As-Pansy-Is-Concerned) but Pansy can't help but feel inferior, all the time. Ginny Weasley has had the savior of the Wizarding World as they all knew it in her bed. Several times. Pansy doesn't bring much to the table, really, when you consider that.

Ginny's sworn up and down and all around that there isn't anything between them anymore, and he's dating Padma Patil now, anyway, but all the same, Pansy hates him. She will hate him forever until she can be completely sure that Ginny is hers and hers alone. She knows that people can't be owned, not really; and if Ginny wants to leave her for some reason other than the perfect life she might have with Harry Potter, fine; but Pansy fought for Ginny and you can be sure that she'll keep fighting until the end.

Pansy walks up and down the quiet neighborhood for at least an hour until it begins to drizzle and her feet are complaining so much it's almost audible. Finally, she reluctantly makes her way back home.

Curled up in an armchair in the living room, Ginny has fallen asleep although the wireless is playing Celestina Warbeck so loudly Pansy can't even hear the yowling of the catfight just outside the window. The scarf is still on the floor, but it is unrecognizable as anything but a massive mess of yarn.

That Ginny Weasley. She just has to go and make Pansy fall in love with her all over again, all the time, doesn't she?

Pansy crosses over to turn off the wireless. This, incredibly, is what wakes Ginny.

"Pansy?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"Just making sure it wasn't some burglar who despised Celestina Warbeck so much he couldn't bear to rob a house when she was playing."

Pansy smiles, without letting Ginny see. At least they're speaking. "I'm going to bed."

Ginny's armchair is on the way to the bedroom. Ginny reaches out to touch Pansy's arm, and Pansy stills.

"I don't want to sleep with Harry," she says quietly. "I love him, but we're just friends, okay? You're worth more to me than that."

"I know," Pansy assures her, though she doesn't know, not for sure.

"I do see what's in front of me."

"Do you?"

"You're not that hard to miss, Pansy."

"…Are we making up, or are you trying to pick another fight?" Pansy raises an eyebrow.

"I mean you have this--this, I don't even know. This thing. That just makes you… so you. Harry doesn't."

"If he did, he'd be a direct copy of me, then."

"Shut up. Look, I don't want you to leave."

"I'll be here a while," says Pansy. "Whether you want me to or not. Someone has to feed Pirouette."

"You hate cats, Pansy," Ginny reminds her.

Pansy pulls her up by the hand. "And children. Let's never have children."

"Fine by me. Shall we go have a lot of sex that will not produce little snotty people?"

Ginny trips as they begin walking towards the bedroom. Pansy catches her.

"I just saved you from death," she says. "You could have been impaled on a knitting needle, and then where would you be?"

Ginny pulls Pansy closer and kisses her, smiling. It might turn into something more except that she interrupts it. "You're my hero," Ginny tells her.

"Damn straight," replies Pansy.



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