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“Before we conclude our Start-of-Term Feast, I have one last announcement. The last term was full of division and loss. This year must be different,” McGonagall’s voice sliced across the noisy Great Hall.
“Here we go,” Pansy sighed, rolling her eyes. She tried to turn out the obnoxiously amplified voice.
“How was your summer, Tori?” she asked instead.
The blonde had been even more quiet than usual through dinner, fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. Astoria shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. Mother and father have been reviewing marriage contracts. They’re arranging for several meetings over the coming months.”
Pansy pursed her lips in disapproval. “And how do you feel about that?”
Astoria looked up from her plate, where she’d been pushing her food around in circles. “It doesn’t matter much how I feel about it, does it?”
“I’m sorry, Tori.” Many plans for arranged marriages fell through in the war's aftermath. Pansy’s own family was disgraced. Her parents had fled the country towards the end, and Pansy’s suitor hadn’t been in contact since. She didn’t plan on reconnecting with her parents after school, and with nothing to gain through marriage, there was no benefit to an arrangement. It was a situation she’d never needed to consider. It was a foregone conclusion. But no longer. Unfortunately, Astoria wasn’t so lucky.
Pansy had never been good at comforting people in distress, so she turned her attention back to the speech, which was still dragging on. “The parchment has been charmed so that you cannot reveal identifying information about yourself to your partner. It is our sincere hope that providing you anonymity will allow you to open up to one another and heal the wounds of the past year.”
“Bollocks,” Draco complained from her other side.
“What’s wrong, Draco?” she teased. “I know how much you love your Mind Healer appointments. I’m sure this will be just lovely.”
Draco gave her a two finger salute.
“Maybe you can find a nice Hufflepuff who will—” she cut off as Draco whirled on her.
“Parkinson, I am in no mood to be trifled with.” His face was red with anger. A massive overreaction to her light teasing — so touchy.
She held up her hands in surrender and he stalked off as across the hall, students were dispersing, the speech ended. Things would not be easy this year for the Slytherins. She could already feel the tension among her housemates, feeding off one another in a circuit. It’s going to be a long year, she thought to herself as she caught several students from other houses glaring at her.
It wasn’t until she returned to her dorm and Millie exclaimed over the parchment on her bed that she realised perhaps she missed important information in the Headmistress’ address.
Oops.
Pansy’s own bed contained no such parchment, which suited her just fine.
Hello whoever you are,
This is a bit odd, isn’t it? Writing to someone and not knowing who it’s going to. I don’t want to bore you. I wonder what you’d like me to write.
Do you want to know about me? Should I ask about you? Do I want to ask about you? I’m not sure if I do.
It’s probably safer. To ask about you. So tell me, my newest friend, about a time when you were happy. It’s important to hang on to happy memories, don’t you think?
Coming on a bit strong, aren’t we? Friend? Circe’s tits…
I’m not really in the market these days. Around this place, I’d have thought you would have learned by now that it’s better to keep people at arm’s length.
You want to know about my happy memories? Are you a Hufflepuff? No one else would write something so asinine. Merlin. Let’s see… I do think last year really took the cake. Not knowing which friend would be taken next. Not knowing who was safe. Yes, a perfect happy memory, just the childhood we all wanted.
Wait, I know what will fix it! Let’s all hold hands and write bloody letters! It’s a new level of idiocy from the administration.
Fuck off.
I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to write you back. I thought, perhaps, you might need some time to yourself. But then, I thought, maybe what you needed is someone to tell you it’s okay to be angry.
I’m angry sometimes.
I’m angry all the time, actually.
People don’t really see it though. No one likes to look too closely, I think. Not when your anger is the quiet kind. The kind that eats away at your core, that makes you sick with sleepless nights knowing there’s no outlet. Knowing that you were helpless. That the people who were supposed to protect you failed you.
Abandoned you.
They cared more about their games than our lives. And you’re right, they act like nothing happened. Like we should all just move on. But I can’t move on, not when I can see her ghost.
We were roommates, you see, the girl and I. We weren’t close, but no one else sees her, not even the other ghosts.
It’s just me.
And her.
Sometimes I wonder if she’s actually there. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has called me crazy. Maybe they’re right this time.
She doesn’t have any happy memories anymore, so I try to share mine with her. It feels like the right thing to do. She can’t move on even if she wants to.
Well, that’s unexpected. Did enough students die in the war that talking about your dead ghost roommate isn’t giving away your identity? Merlin’s bollocks. If that doesn’t tell you everything.
I’m angry that our parents It’s absolutely fucked how somehow, between all the adult wizards in England, they relied on a group of children to put a stop to the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. I don’t know why anyone was surprised when I We were all just scared children. And now we’re still being punished.
More than angry, I’m relieved. Maybe it’s not the right word for it… My future was set for me, the path all laid out with no room to question it. It’s been blown to bits now, and I couldn’t be happier.
Merlin, I feel free. For the first time in my life, I can breathe. I don’t owe anyone anything anymore. The only problem is, I don’t know what to do now.
If I told anyone else how I really feel, they’d really think I was a cold-hearted bitch dancing on the graves of our fellows.
Maybe it’s wrong, but I don’t care. It doesn’t mean I’m not angry at what they did to my classmates — to you — but... I wouldn’t change what happened.
Call me selfish if you want. I can’t change what I am.
—
So you’re selfish. That doesn’t mean you are wrong. Feelings aren’t wrong or right, they just are. They’re a part of us.
Yes, terrible things happened, but none of it was your fault. None of us is at fault for what happened and if something good came of it for you, I’m glad. I suppose it gives me hope in a twisted, strange sort of way.
At least someone can move on.
I do wonder, have you thought any more about what you will do with your freedom? Did you have any dreams before? I used to have so many dreams, so many fanciful imaginings. When I was younger, it felt like nothing bad would ever happen, like I could be anything, do anything — until it was all ripped away.
Everything was bright once, but now the world is painted in shades of grey. Have you noticed the quiet? The trees don’t move like they used to. Even the The forest is too still. The air feels chill and biting.
This castle is as lifeless as a corpse.
My friends just expect me to carry on. They don’t notice the lack of colour or the absence of They don’t see that my eyes have dulled or that my hair has lost its shine.
Merlin. That’s the question, isn’t it? What will I do? I never had to think about it before and it’s all a bit overwhelming, to be honest. I’m good at Potions, but it’s not something I enjoy. Divination is interesting, but not something you can have a respectable career in.
Although, I’m not sure that I care about what’s “respectable” any more.
I think I would want to do something that’s useful. Not necessarily helpful (I’m not a snooty do-gooder), just something that makes a difference. I want to be more than just a pretty face. I’m quite smart. I was smart enough to hide that, too.
But now I don’t have to.
I understand how you feel, putting on a facade for the world.
My mother used to say that her clothing was her armour, her makeup war paint. It helped me survive, painting a portrait of the world for them to see, to hide the real me behind it.
If I could just pretend hard enough, I thought maybe I could forget about the pain, get used to it. I was wrong, though. It never really got easier. I’m not sure how much longer I could have done it before I burned it all down. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to
Look. You don’t have to pretend with me, alright? You can be selfish. Tell me all the things you can’t say to anyone else.
That’s what this is for, isn’t it? To find someone who you can be yourself with, who can see all of you, without the armour.
I’m sorry you’ve spent so much of your life hiding, and I can understand wanting to do something that leaves a mark. Something to prove that you exist, that you lived. Really lived, instead of just passing through. So many things we used to care about seem frivolous now, don’t they?
I was angry, I still am, but more than that, I’m tired. So tired. Lay down in a field in the snow and let it freeze me in place tired. I feel cold most days, numb. These letters help, like somehow you’ve breathed life into me, infused it into the paper.
I feel warmer somehow.
You say you don’t have it figured out, that you’re confused, but you’ll be alright, I can feel it.
I do hope you’ll keep writing to me. Would that be alright?
You may not need a friend, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I do.
I think you see things more clearly than most people. Your words are so raw, authentic. I feel like I know you somehow. Or maybe it’s the echo of myself in your words that I recognise.
It’s exhausting being angry all the time, isn’t it? But it’s better than feeling nothing.
Is it really such a bad thing to hold onto? It’s okay to not be alright. You don’t have to wear a mask with me. You can just be.
I have thought about it… More than anything, I’d like to see the world. To experience everything I’ve missed living like a
I’ll keep writing, if for no other reason than it’s oddly a relief to put these things into words.
Just don’t get too attached. I’m not the most reliable person and I’ll only let you down.
That’s alright, people don’t think I’m very reliable either. I get distracted easily. It used to be because I could see there were so many distractions. But now it’s because sometimes I just get lost in my own head and don’t realise how much time has passed.
One of my friends told me she is thinking about taking an apprenticeship to a wand maker in France and it made me think of you. Have you ever been to France? I haven’t, but I know many have, so the parchment will hopefully let you answer.
I didn’t travel much either as a child. My father was always so busy running with work.
Would you want to travel Europe or visit somewhere farther away?
I spent most of my free time growing up in the meadows around my house.
They’re gone now too.
That doesn’t make you unreliable. Your friends sound like pricks if that’s the assumption they draw. How could they not see that you aren’t okay?
I have been to France for a few chaperoned visits between family friends, but I haven’t really seen France. It has the most beautiful gardens you’ll ever see, though. I don’t know about any meadows. I’m sure there are some, of course, but I wouldn’t know where to find them.
Do you like gardens too?
I like flowers and plants of all types, really. Although I prefer when they’re left more in their natural state.
Gardens feel too synthetic to me, too sterile and cultivated. It makes me wonder what they’d do if left alone for a while. But I’d still like to see them, if you think they’re beautiful.
Maybe we could go together? We could walk through the gardens, if you’d like to see them again.
I think I’d like for you to show me. We could discover the rest together.
I don’t know why I gave your letter so much thought. It could just all be a fantasy. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I could just say yes and let the parchment burn on Yule. It’s low stakes.
I could just pretend. But for some reason, I don’t want to. I want this to be real.
Yes, I’d like to take you to the gardens. There’s so many things I think we could show one another.
It’s odd, isn’t it? I find myself looking forward to your next letters. I wonder about you, wonder if you’re alright. I wonder if the ghost girl is bothering you too much, or if your friends have finally noticed that you need them.
Merlin, I wish I could knock some sense into them. I have a feeling you wouldn’t want that, but maybe just a little hex to sort them out?
You made me smile, quite a feat these days. My letters to you are quite serious and I don’t know what I would do if this was all just a fantasy. I think a lot about you too, and wonder.
I was planning to leave anyway. I need to get out of here, get away from this place.
I’ve always wanted to go to South America. I’d love to see a Fire Slug in the wild and perhaps meet a Caipora. I’ve never travelled much and don’t really care where I go, especially if it’s with you. We could go to France first and after, to anywhere we fancy. You could discover who you want to be, somewhere new.
We never have to come back. I don’t have anyone for me here anymore, not really.
My friends are doing the best they can. I can’t really blame them, I suppose. I’ve always been a bit separate from them. I just didn’t realise how much until this year.
I feel more and more like an observer every day.
My roommate and I weren’t close before she died, but since I’m the only one who can see her, she’s more interested in talking to me. I don’t know what she’ll do when I graduate. She’s not really a bother though, especially now that I’ve grown used to her presence.
You are so much more kind than I will ever be. Do you ever put yourself first? You make excuses for everyone else and how they treat you, but you don’t ask for anything in return, do you?
When was the last time you did something just for you?
I had to look up what a Fire Slug is, to see if it was anything as hideous as a Flesh-Eating Slug. They’re actually quite cute, as long as you can ignore their potential to spontaneously burst into flame.
I think I’d like to see the Amazon.
I’m not really sure how to answer that, which might be answer enough on its own.
I feel guilty already about the idea of leaving my friends after school, especially since I’m not planning to tell them where I’m going. To be honest, it was only something I’d wished for before you came into my life. I don’t think I’d have the courage to go through with it on my own. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.
They might need me.
Yule is only a few days away. I have a snitch in my stomach thinking about it. I hope this has all been real.
Sometimes it doesn’t feel real.
It’s real. And I’m taking you to France, Brazil, New Zealand, India, Spain — anywhere you want.
I’ve never had a problem being selfish, and I think I’d like to teach you how.
I’ll see you soon.
The entire Slytherin common room was buzzing with chatter. A Fifth Year boy was loudly boasting about how juvenile this letter-writing was, and how he’d binned his parchment after the last required letter.
Pansy watched the large ornamental clock edging closer to midnight, and she tried to avoid fidgeting nervously. Most of her classmates were casting glances at the clock as well, awkwardly awaiting the reveal. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen. The parchment wasn’t in her room — would she have to wait for it to be returned to her?
Beside her, Blaise stared unblinkingly into the fire, a parchment rolled and clutched tightly in his fist. Millie was chatting with Theo in the corner, though both looked tense. Astoria was absent, but she’d hadn’t spent much time in the common room of late, so it wasn’t unusual. Draco’s absence was a surprise though, she’d expected him to be here. Maybe the prat was in a mood and had stayed in his room.
Her writing partner seemed genuine, but what if she had doubts and changed her mind at the last minute? What if the whole thing had been just a journaling exercise for her? An icy chill slid down Pansy’s back. The girl was so worried about what others thought of her, she wanted to be needed. What if she’d just been responding to Pansy the way she thought Pansy needed and hadn’t meant any of it? Maybe she had—
The spiralling thoughts were cut off by the quiet chiming of the clock. It was midnight.
Pansy held her breath.
In the silence that followed, a loud pop made her jump. A house elf appeared in front of her, quickly rifling through a stack of letters and muttering to himself. Unceremoniously, he pulled one from the stack and dropped it into her lap, Disapperating without a word. From the corner of her eye, she noticed another elf handing a similar letter to Theo.
She stared at the letter, disbelieving, and opened it.
It contained only one line of script, that shimmered on the page.
Luna Lovegood.
Luna… The pretty but odd Ravenclaw girl with the glasses?
Pansy felt frozen in place, not sure what to do next. Her laugh had an edge of mania to it.
The sound of glass shattering against the wall jolted her from her revelation. Someone cursed loudly and stormed off. The scent of burnt paper filled the air.
7 months later
“Through here,” Pansy whispered, waving Luna over to her. “Alohomora.”
The gate unlocked, squeaking only a little as she pushed it open. She took Luna’s hand and pulled her through the overgrown ivy covering the entrance.
She smiled mischievously, biting her lip as Luna protested, “Pansy, I don’t think this area is open to the public.”
“We’re witches, Luna. Nowhere is off limits. Besides,” she said, her voice sing-song, “I know you want to.”
So much had changed since they’d chosen to reveal their identities to one another.
The morning after Yule, Pansy had headed straight to the Ravenclaw common room. Startling a first year who was heading out for an early breakfast, Pansy had demanded that she be let in.
The first year, too scared to deny her, stammered nervously and stepped aside to let her pass. Before Pansy could lose her nerve, she shoved past, into the blue and bronze interior. Luckily, the common room was laid out in a familiar pattern, one hallway on the left, another on the right. She took the right, assuming it was the girls’ dorms, and marched to the last door. She had no idea if Luna was inside, but something about it just felt right.
The door swung open as she raised her fist to knock and she came face to face with Padma Patil. Their shocked, confused expressions were near perfect mirror images.
“Parkison? What are you—”
“I need to talk to Luna,” Pansy interrupted.
“Luna? What? But how did you—”
“Good morning, Pansy,” an ethereal voice said from behind her.
She turned to find Luna standing in the doorway one down, hair still damp from her shower. Of course she doesn’t use a drying charm.
“Are you ready for breakfast?” Luna asked, as if Pansy appearing in the Ravenclaw common room was a normal occurrence and this was the logical conclusion.
Pansy walked towards the other woman, ignoring Padma, who sighed and closed the door behind her. Pansy and Luna were left alone in the narrow corridor. A flutter of nerves started low in her abdomen, though she wasn’t sure why. She felt pulled towards Luna, something magnetic anchoring them together.
“Yes,” she replied simply.
Luna moved towards her slowly, as if giving her time to retreat. She stepped into Pansy’s space, wrapped her arms around Pansy’s waist and held tight.
Pansy sucked in a breath. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’s been held like this. The closest was probably the ill-fated relationship she and Draco had attempted in Fourth Year. Hugging wasn’t a proper greeting after all, even among friends. Something warm bloomed in Pansy, as Luna held her close and Pansy finally responded in kind. Luna’s head rested against her shoulder and she thought she heard the woman sigh contentedly before stepping back. She grabbed Pansy’s wrist and pulled her down the hall for a moment to ensure she followed.
The skin where Luna had touched her tingled for hours, and they’d been inseparable ever since. It would have caused more of a stir, but it had hardly been the strangest relationship that developed that year.
Now, she and Luna were in France. Pansy had made good on her promise to show Luna the gardens, and they were bound for Argentina next.
But while walking the cultivated paths, Luna had spotted a rare Exploding Snaberwitch and taken off after it. Pansy, who couldn’t see the creature, followed Luna, whose purple glasses — with black Raven feathers and bits of moonstone stuck all over — allowed her to see the creatures. They were one of many pairs of magical lenses that Luna owned. When the creature scampered over a tall wall and into an old section of the garden, Luna’s face fell in disappointment.
Not one to miss an opportunity to make Luna smile, Pansy had stalked the perimeter, until she found a way in.
This walled off area of the garden was dense with overgrowth, vines threatening to trip her up at every step. What had once been rows of lavender had turned into twiggy branches with tufts of purple flowers at the end. Weeds had overtaken the pebbled path and bees buzzed amidst the wildflowers.
Luna stopped behind her. “It’s… It’s beautiful,” Luna whispered, awed.
It was fine, Pansy supposed, though she preferred the manicured gardens they’d seen. She wasn’t at all surprised that her girlfriend preferred the wildness of this forgotten place, however.
“There!” Luna exclaimed suddenly, creeping towards a patch of dense shrubbery.
A wistful smile on her lips, Pansy watched Luna’s careful approach. She must be close to the invisible creature. She was on all fours now, heedless of the sharp rocky path and snagging brambles.
Luna reached forward slowly until a tiny explosion of gold and silver sparks outlined something vaguely rabbit-shaped just a few hand spans in front of her. “Morrigan’s muff!” Luna swore, and Pansy laughed. “I was so close that time!”
The creature having evaded her once and for all, Luna attempted to stand but her hair caught in brambles. Pansy stepped forward, and freed her. Her clothes were completely ruined and her tangled hair had collected more than a few twigs and weedy flowers.
“Come here.” Pansy tugged her close and tried to remove the worst of them.
Luna grabbed her wrist, stilling the movement, and leaned forward to press a kiss gently against her lips. Pansy’s stomach swooped. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the feel of this witch’s lips on hers.
Luna pulled back with mischief in her eyes. She released Pansy’s wrist, only to snake her arms around her waist instead.
“What?” Pansy asked, warmth in her voice. Her witch was up to something.
“Well, I was just thinking about how wonderful this place is, and how I wouldn’t be if the universe hadn’t brought me to you. I would never have been brave enough on my own.” She kissed her again, longer this time, and Pansy chased her lips when she pulled back. “Thank you.”
“Bravery has nothing to do with it, my heart. You’ve always been brave. I’ve simply succeeded in teaching you to be selfish,” Pansy said wryly.
“Perhaps.” Luna looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “In that case…” Her hand dipped lower, bracing Pansy’s hip and pulling her closer. This time, when their lips met, it was a long time before they separated from one another.