Work Text:
Ducks,
it all started with ducks,
with Pansy sitting at the pond,
paintbrush in hand,
trying so hard to blend in,
to figure out just how to paint
the scene before her.
She knew how to do it
the magical way,
how to make the colors appear
on the canvas,
how to make the images move,
how to capture the exact scene,
but no,
she was challenging herself,
something she'd started doing
after the war,
something she was trying to understand,
trying to relate to,
she knew a lot of the things she'd believed,
been told,
were wrong,
and she was here to correct that,
to learn another way of doing things,
one of the ducks quacked loudly,
a flurry of feathers,
of sound,
she turned, paint smearing
across the canvas,
colors where they shouldn't be,
and yet...
it was a duck,
clear as day,
a duck on her page,
staring at her,
beady black eyes,
a fully painted,
nearly perfect duck,
A magically created image
of a duck, standing there,
head moving,
and Pansy knew she hadn't done it,
hadn't painted it.
All she had was muggle paint,
a muggle paintbrush,
a muggle canvas,
and yet...
“Ducky!”
The cry was so unexpected,
Pansy jumped,
nearly falling from her chair.
A child,
dressed in jeans,
a white shirt with a unicorn on it,
hair in pigtails,
smiling at her,
missing a tooth.
“Daddy! I made a ducky!”
she's screaming,
pointing at Pansy's canvas,
Pansy's dark violet eyes widening,
a magical child,
a magical child,
a burst of accidental,
maybe not so accidental?
Magic?
She watches the man walk over,
the child's father,
a tall man with blond hair,
neatly combed,
impressive muscles hidden
beneath the sleeves of a slightly tight shirt.
“I'm sorry, Miss. Um,”
he's at a loss for words,
how does one explain to a muggle
that the duck on the canvas is moving?
Pansy wonders if she should let him flounder,
see what kind of explanation he comes up with,
but she's different now,
she's not the girl who tortured others,
who lived to cause others pain.
“Yes, it is a ducky, but I think,
maybe we should put the ducky to sleep?”
she suggests, nodding to the canvas.
“How?” the child asks, looking at her daddy,
a man Pansy wouldn't mind calling 'Daddy'
in a completely different context.
“Um, wait, you're not surprised by this?”
“No,” Pansy answers, wondering why this man
doesn't draw his wand,
is he trying to keep the statute?
Or...
she realizes it with a sudden jolt.
Her fingers draw her own wand,
hiding it with her brush,
the duck stops moving,
curling upon itself,
sleeping in the picture.
“You're not magic, are you?” she asks,
her voice low,
her eyes scanning the open park,
just in case,
but no one's looking at them,
no one's paying attention to them.
“No, I'm, I think the word is 'muggle'?”
“It is.”
“I'm Daisy! This is my daddy. I don't have a mummy.”
Pansy tries not to smile at this information,
the fact the man before her wasn't with the child's mother,
as horrible as it was,
could he be single?
“I'm sorry about her, I'm Dudley, and yes, she's Daisy.
Her mother died when she was a baby. As for the magic,
My aunt was a witch, Mum not so much.”
Pansy nodded. It wasn't uncommon.
“Pansy,” she said, extending her hand,
letting Dudley shake it,
marveling slightly at how gentle his grip was,
knowing full well he was much
much,
stronger than he was showing her.
“And you're a witch?”
“I am, I was trying my hand at painting,
looks like Daisy might have more skills with that,” she laughed,
packing up the supplies,
slipping them into her bag.
“You could be my new mummy!”
“Daisy!”
Pansy felt her face flush,
felt the heat of the thought of being someone's
mummy,
of taking care a child,
she'd never given the idea much thought before,
too busy trying to find herself,
figure out who she was now,
but the idea of spending time with Daisy,
and more importantly, Dudley,
made her heart beat a bit faster.
“Sorry, but she's like me! And you're not,
and-”
“I wouldn't mind helping you and Daisy
get used to the whole thing,
I mean, if you're interested.”
Pansy hoped he'd say yes,
hoped he'd agree,
she could see him thinking,
could see Daisy practically begging,
before Dudley finally nodded,
“You're right, I could use some help.”
“You can come for dinner!” Daisy exclaimed,
causing both adults to laugh.
“Sure, why not, we're having chicken, if you're
interested in joining us.”
“I'd love to,” Pansy answered,
hoping in her heart that she was agreeing to
more than dinner,
at least at some point in the not
so distant
future.