. Who: Pansy Parkinson and Scorpius Malfoy What: Pansy pays a visit to Hogwarts and gets the fright of her damned life. Where: Hogwarts When: Monday evening Rating: Unrated as yet Status: Incomplete
Pansy Parkinson folded her arms across her chest and surveyed the Quidditch pitch with some distaste. She'd never much liked the sport, though she'd often come down to watch it played, of course. She'd have done just about anything for Draco Malfoy, back then - including putting herself through hours of a sport she found incredibly boring, not to mention somewhat reckless and frankly a bit stupid.
She wouldn't be here, now, were it not for her mother. She'd received a letter, the other day, indicating that her father was considering making a small donation (small, by Parkinson standards - meaning enormous by say, Weasley standards) to the school to fund a few 'renovations' to the sporting facilities, and would she please go up to her old alma mater and make the proposal herself. Being a good little daughter (she'd though to herself, bitterly and a trifle sarcastically, as she'd prepared herself to floo to Hogsmeade), she'd gone...though now that she was here, gazing at the pitch and chewing over old memories...she wasn't entirely sure she was going to follow through with her promise. Why should she go and make the pitch to the school, anyway? If her father wanted to mess about donating money to an institution that really didn't need it, simply to reassert his social position, he could damn well do it on his own time. She wasn't their pawn, anymore.
Oh, but you are. a little voice in her head reminded her, sing-song and sickly sweet. You'll always be their pawn. Everyone's pawn. Little puppet Pansy, dancing on everyone's stage whilst the crowd laughs.
She hissed out a breath of warm air that hung in the darkening atmosphere, a white plume, for a moment, before dissipating.
She remembered coming down here as a student, her gray skirt catching in the wind, trying not to act embarrassed about it...though fortunately most people had the good sense not to laugh at her. They knew what she was capable of, even then. If not physical (or rather, magical, violence) then at least a lash of acid words that could floor most people within seconds. Yes, she'd been good at that. Her lips tightened, now, in to a small smirk.
She remembered how jealous they all were...all the other girls in her year...how much they seemed to envy her, for her sharp tongue, and for the fact that Draco was actually, amazingly, interested in her. She looked over, past the pitch, to the little shed that stood a few feet from it, and she could almost see the two of them, locked together, sharing a moment. She closed her eyes, and breathed in. When she opened them again, the vision was gone. He was gone, too, after all. Not interested in her anymore, or so it seemed.
"Fuck." she muttered, pulling her coat tighter around her, glaring at the green grass and the hoops on the pitch and the rapidly darkening sky.