Chapter Text
Pansy sauntered from her room when she felt like stomping. Harry was whispering to Draco with that sappy smile on his face that she usually found enduring, but today just added salt to the wound. The door slammed behind her much louder than she had intended, startling them, and when Harry looked up at her a frown of uncertainty replaced the lovey expression that had been there moments ago.
He pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead before announcing, “I’ll just meet you there then.”
Draco gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
After another kiss, this time on the mouth, Harry departed. Once gone, Draco turned his full attention to Pansy. They held eye contact daring each other to be the first to break it.
With a sigh, Draco looked away first. “Do we have to do this?”
“You are the one doing this.”
“I thought you’d be happy for me, instead you are acting like I’m abandoning you for some guy I’ve only just met. Harry and I have been together for over a year now and we want to live together. I don’t think that is unreasonable.”
Pansy sat the bottle of wine she was going to be bringing as a gift down on the counter with a resonating cling. It was a white wine with hints of honey and jasmine. She smoothed the label for something to do.
“Do you remember what you told me the first night we moved in here?” she asked.
“Yes, but—”
“We made a promise to each other. Maybe it was just a few silly words to you, but it meant something to me.” She finally looked up. She was going for a glare, but by Draco’s guilty expression she thought she only managed, hurt.
“I meant it, but Pansy we aren’t those scared teens trying to make a fresh start anymore. I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t know you were ready. You don’t need me living here with you, you’re just scared of change.”
Pansy stubbornly continued, “I don’t see why he can’t move in here? He’s here all the time anyway.”
Chewing his lip, she could see Draco contemplating his answer. She knew he had already thought about all this, but she needed to hear him say it.
“This will always be our place, Pansy. It can never be Harry and mine’s, that’s why.”
“It won’t be our place anymore if you aren’t here. It will be me living here alone and you off with Harry forgetting all about me.”
Draco threw his hands up. “Do you honestly think I’m going to forget about you? You’re my best friend. I doubt there will be a day that goes by without me seeing you or at least speaking to you.”
“I’m not asking you and Harry to live here forever. Just until I’m more comfortable with the idea of living alone or have found my own partner to live with.”
The backward tilt of Draco’s head was enough to express how unreasonable he thought she was being, which only angered her more. She wasn’t being unreasonable and if she was so what? She had the right to be. He had promised. She had been there for him when his father had received the kiss. She had been there when he couldn’t even step outside without getting cursed. She had been there through his existential crisis, bad dates, and heart aches. Her! Not Harry Potter. And in return…
She could feel her anger beginning to fizzle.
In return, he had been the one to pull her away when her father had burned down her childhood home, rather seeing it turned to ash then let the ministry get their hands on it. Then fighting to the death when the Aurors came to extinguish the flames.
She had been heartbroken and strangely proud of a man that had always been distant but gentle with her.
It had been Draco's idea to move in together, then he, who spent his last knut making it feel like a home for them. She would never forget the day he had surprised her with the wine closet. It had been a hard week tacked onto a hard year. She had all but slunk home feeling dejected and lost in a world that no longer wanted her around. She had never been popular like Draco had been, but she had had a place where she fit.
Draco had been buzzing with a new found energy that she envied, until she realized why. She would never admit it to anyone, but she had cried when she saw the bottle of wine her granny had given her. He had gone back to the manor and dug through the rubble until he had found something he could bring her and that had been the wine cellar. Many of the bottles had been shattered by the heat except a dozen or so bottles. It didn’t matter, the one bottle she cared about had made it and that small miracle had lifted her spirits enough to pull her through a tough time.
Turning away from Draco, she wiped a stray tear away. Now was not the time.
When she turned back Draco quietly conceded, “Maybe we could hold off a little longer.”
But her victory only made her feel guilty. Draco deserved to be happy and Harry made him stupidly happy and Harry… Well Harry was wonderful and she got on great with him.
“One month,” she said. “And I promise I will be the first to bring a housewarming gift to your new place. I know it’s horribly selfish of me, but I’ve never been good with change. I need a little time to prepare myself for it.”
“I wouldn’t mind a month to give myself the time either.” Draco put his arm out for her to take. “Shall we go?”
Picking up the wine she looped her arm through his and Draco apparated them to the party. She had never expected to be going to a celebration for Luna Lovegood, but she had gone to Hermione Granger’s birthday party last month, so.
This was a larger and slightly more formal gathering, with a broader collection of people than a small group of friends and a cake. Pansy found herself anxious. It had been awhile since she had been forced to socialize to this extent, but she soon found despite the grandeur of the event the crowd was a more approachable one than the snooty ones she remembered as a child and it didn’t take her long to feel comfortable branching off on her own.
Neville Longbottom was also alone, standing in the corner with a plate of crisps and hunched shoulders that didn’t fit the more confident air he had adopted since after graduation. It was the perfect time to make her approach.
Plucking a flavored potato from his plate she bit into it with a loud snap. “I never knew these were a thing until Harry started coming around. I swear he lives off them.”
Her father’s crowd would’ve never had anything so mundane as a crisp at one of their parties.
Neville lowered his plate so she could have more if she wanted.
“Thankyou,” she said, picking up a second. “I wanted to let you know your secret’s safe with me.”
“What?”
She leaned in closer and added, “I know about your nighttime activity.”
Neville’s brow was beginning to furrow.
“Harry told me all about it,” she continued.
“Harry?” he asked, followed by a moment of dawning. “You mean the book series.”
“Of course, but now I’m curious about what you thought I was talking about.” Plopping another crisp in her mouth she leaned forward and with a waggle of her brows she said, “If you tell me yours I’ll tell you mine.”
Neville’s face flushed momentarily and she had time to think, Oh this is going to be good , when they were rudely and loudly interrupted.
“Neville isn’t interested in propositions from the likes of you.” The woman standing in front of her, was tall with long golden hair, a hand on her hip, and an expression, like she was sucking a lemon, that didn’t do her any favors. “At school you didn’t have a nice thing to say, but now that he’s a war hero you’re interested.”
The woman pulled her arm through Neville’s staking her claim, while Neville looked embarrassed by the entire thing.
Harry was already stepping forward to come to Pansy’s rescue.
“Shut it, Potter,” she told him. His mouth was already half open, but he snapped it shut. “I don’t need rescuing so run along.”
Draco came up beside him and rubbed his shoulder as if easing his wounded, heroic pride. She didn’t care. She was a big girl and this wasn’t the first uppity bitch that thought they could lord over the fact that they were on the right side of things.
Pansy straightened up all five foot three of herself and was thankful she chose three inch heels tonight. “You’re letting your insecurities show. I assure you I’ve no interest in Neville Longbottom. No offense,” she said to him.
He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
“You’re a lovely man and I’m sorry I was such a mingebag back then, but you really aren’t my type. So if you’ll excuse me I’ll go make conversation with someone that is allowed to speak to me.” With that she walked away without looking back.
Later she would ask Draco to describe the woman’s ego wounded expression. He was usually quite creative and cruel when he needed to be and tonight he would need to be. Pansy was having a terrible week. Until then she consoled herself with something stronger than the usual wine she drank. Where Draco preferred Scotch on ice, she enjoyed her whiskey neat with no chill to take away the slow burn that heated her up from the inside out. She was on her second glass when Draco approached her.
“This party’s a drag,” he said.
“I appreciate the attempt, but I’m not going to let one sourpuss ruin my night.” She took another drink and waited for Draco to say something more about the incident.
He didn’t disappoint.
“After you turned her attempt at making you look bad back on her, I’m sure she will be the one leaving early, along with her trophy boyfriend.” Draco rolled his eyes. Then leaning in closer and in conspiring tones added, “Longbottom doesn’t even like her and only agreed to come with her tonight because he didn’t have the heart to turn her down after she had already been turned down by Ron Weasley of all people.”
Pansy could see her hair cascading down the back of her satin dress in golden waves, stopping just short of a pert, perfect arse. “Another Gryffindor hero taking one for the team. I’m sure it’s been an epic strife… one for the history books.”
“She’s easy on the eyes, but she’s obnoxious. Even Luna doesn’t have a good thing to say about her and she still goes back to Hogwarts to visit her blast-ended skrewt, because, and I quote, ‘They grew quite close and he’s really come to expect the mix of pumpkin seeds, dried beetle bugs, and honey she gives him.’”
“It’s hard to believe that little weirdo is in the process of inventing a new way of wizard travel.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed at her remark. “She hasn’t forgotten we live in a world of magic and unearthed secrets.”
“I meant it affectionately,” Pansy said. “If it doesn’t make me feel like I’m being squeezed through an eyehole and make my hair frizz out, I’ll propose marriage to her and offer to carry her babies.”
“How would that even work?”
Pansy gave him a large grin, all teeth and red lipstick. “Magic and unearthed secrets.”
“I’m cutting you off,” Draco said, half-heartedly reaching for her glass.
She handed the empty glass over willingly.
Just then Harry found them, bringing them both fresh drinks.
“I know I’ve said this before, but it stands to be repeated. He’s a keeper.” Pansy took her drink with a smirk directed at Draco.
He only rolled his eyes, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek as thanks when he took his own.
“Pansy is on her way to being drunk. You’re in for a special treat tonight, Harry.”
Harry’s face lit up like this was a special treat.
Pansy downed her glass in one easy motion before handing the empty back to Harry. “Unlike Draco I don’t turn into a sappy girl.”
Harry snorted, giving Draco a fond look. He lapped sappy Draco up like chocolate syrup straight from the bottle.
“No. You turn into your father,” Draco said and she couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to be an insult or not.
“It could be worse… I could turn into yours.”
Harry looked tense for a moment, until Draco threw his head back and laughed.
“Relax darling,” she drawled, patting Harry on the shoulder. “My father was at his best at least four drinks in.”
Which was exactly where she was when Longbottom approached her. She hadn’t realized he was still here.
He had a drink in one hand and a plate of crisps in the other—a peace offering.
Accepting both she took a crisp from the plate. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset if you're talking to me?”
“She’s just a friend.”
Pansy arched her brow. “Does she know that?”
“Yes, and to her defense, I do get people that before wouldn’t have looked twice at me trying to slip me their Floo address.” As if regretting saying that he hurried to add, “Not that I think that’s what you were at.”
“I practically live with Harry and Ron since the two are joined at the hip. I’m not exactly the type to be swooning at war heroes.”
“I know that,” he quickly agreed.
“Snake slaying isn’t exactly the sort of thing to pique my interest, as brave as I’m sure it was in real life.”
“The stories make it sound more grand than it really was.” His face was turning a pretty pink color that Pansy was enjoying. She had always gotten a sick sort of pleasure at making the boys in her class blush. The sickness had only grown since those boys had become men.
“They always do,” Pansy said with a wistful sigh. Didn’t she know that was the truth. “Speaking of stories.”
His attention had steadfastly fallen to the plate in his hand, at the mention of his secret identity it snapped back up to her. Once she had his full attention she smiled.
“Now those are something you should be renowned for.” She pressed her hands around her drink. “You have to tell me, is Brook’s brother mortal now?”
Neville seemed completely caught off guard for a second, but then catching his balance a sly smile spread across his face. “You will just have to wait until the next release to find out.”
“He is! I knew it.” Drink forgotten, Pansy excitedly reached out and gripped his arm. “That’s why he left isn’t it? I can’t wait, it's going to be beautiful. I mean Brook is mysterious and sexy, hardened by the wars in a way that was inevitable, but Jesse… so loved and protected, but hating every minute of it. He’s a wild card and I just know there’s a heartbreaker under that soft exterior.”
Neville’s response was to blink a couple times and Pansy let his arm go, feeling some of her enthusiasm fizz. Perhaps she was drunk and should just go home before she embarrassed herself.
“I can’t believe you got all that from one paragraph.”
She had re-read the paragraph several dozen times. “I’m very intuitive.”
All the shyness seemed to disappear as if Neville had realized the truth of the matter, Pansy was a fangirl. “I’m glad you are enjoying the series. I’ll send you a pre-release when it comes out if you’d like.”
“Don’t toy with me, Longbottom.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, lifting his hands as if in defense. “An apology for earlier.”
“I will accept on one condition.” Pansy paused for dramatic effect. “You tell me what you thought I was referring to. Your moment of panic didn’t go unnoticed.”
Neville went through a list of reactions. First his face turned red, then he sputtered, before giving up on words and letting out an embarrassed laugh. Finally, he pulled himself up straight and said, “You can stay mad.”
Leaving Pansy standing there alone and more intrigued than ever.
Besides romance novels she also enjoyed a good mystery.
It wasn’t much longer, Harry and Draco returned. Draco was practically hanging off Harry, placing little touches here and there that he thought no one noticed, but everyone did. Harry’s face was flushed, either from Draco or his own over indulgence in the cups.
“Did Longbottom apologize for his charity case?” Draco drawled, earning a smile from Pansy.
“That was really shite of her, Pansy,” Harry said, as if he needed to apologize for the woman too.
“Over it. I couldn't care less,” she said. “Harry, do you still have that invisibility cloak?”
Harry went from a soft kitten to a tense tiger in a matter of seconds. The change was so startling that Draco almost fell over. “I do.”
“Great, I need to borrow it for an evening to spy on Longbottom. He is definitely up to something nefarious.”
Draco chuckled. “Neville Longbottom?”
“It’s the only family heirloom I have,” Harry said. “You can’t borrow it and especially not to spy on my friends. Do I need to warn Neville that you have turned stalker on him?”
Pansy scrunched up her nose at the insinuation. “I am not a stalker, Mr. Kettle Potter. Just a concerned citizen and you would let Draco borrow it if he asked and don’t pretend you wouldn’t.”
Harry neither agreed, nor denied. He merely said, rather sternly, “Still no.”
With a sigh she dropped it. “It would be better if you did it anyhow. Out of the two of us you are the trained sneak. I would probably just get caught.”
“I’m not spying on my friends for you,” Harry said, his voice pitching into exasperation, while he looked to Draco for help.
Draco was no help at all, probably already picturing Harry sneaking around under his cloak on a mission for the good of Hogwarts and wizarding society as a whole, his ears turned pink and Pansy rolled her eyes.
“You two are useless.” She actually stamped her foot. “Just go home and have sex already. I will figure it out all on my own and I will do it the old fashioned way—the Slytherin way.”
She turned and stalked away. From behind she heard Harry whisper, “Should we be worried?”
She didn’t hear Draco’s response, unlike Harry, he knew how to not be heard when he didn’t want to be.
Blondie was standing with a couple of other women, but she wasn’t being included in the conversation and after two poorly placed attempts at injecting herself into it, they made their excuses and moved away, leaving Neville’s non-acknowledged girlfriend all by her lonesome. And she was lonesome. Her eyes followed anyone that walked past and she watched another pair greedily as they conversed, unable to get up the nerve to attempt joining them. She was quite pathetic.
Her eyes flashed excitement as Pansy approached, then alarm once she realized it was Pansy.
“Relax. I”m not here to start trouble. Honestly, there are no hard feelings on my end and you seem like the only woman here that knows a Bachton from a Tilly.”
Blondie seemed less stiff, but there was still a weariness to her expression that said she had been burned before.
“I totally understand why you reacted the way you did,” Pansy said, “It must be so frustrating going out places with that man. I bet witches shamefully throw themselves at him all the time… and right in front of you. Of course, he is too nice to say anything, leaving it up to you.”
“He tries to let them down easy, but they don’t always take the hint.”
“You mean they choose not to,” Pansy said.
“Exactly!” Blondie really was rather attractive, but her voice was slightly off pitch. Catching herself, she managed to force it to sound normal once more and more casually, said, “I’m sorry that I went off on you that way, but I thought… well you know what I thought.”
“Water under the bridge,” Pansy said, then lowering her voice as if top secret added, “Us Peddler Witches have to stick together.”
Peddler was a cosmetology newsletter, but it was also a club that you had to buy membership into that released beauty tips, potions, and spells. The dues were pricey, but they didn’t print trash like Witch Weekly. If they did an interview, they got the dirt. If they posted a picture of the hot Quidditch Star, he was wearing nothing but his pants, or less, tastefully done, of course. Her dad had bought her a lifetime membership for her sixteenth birthday along with a shopping trip in Paris. She still looked forward to her monthly newsletters and samples, even if she no longer went to the workshops and events.
“You too?”
Pansy snorted. “I wish my breasts looked this good naturally.”
Blondie let out a friendly, if on the screechy side, laugh. “Same here.”
Pansy smiled, letting her teeth show. “I didn’t catch your name, darling.”
“Oh, it's Phillipa Ollivander,” she said, with her own smile. “And before you ask, I don’t know anything about wands. My family owns a pumpkin farm. We are the biggest supplier of pumpkin juice on the continent.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Pansy said. “Why is it that one's family is supposed to represent the individual? Who cares about our family, tell me about yourself, Phillipa.”
“I’m a book editor, that’s how I became acquainted with Neville,” she said, then realizing what she had just said, tried to correct herself. “He’s been working on getting an herbology book published.”
It would’ve been a believable save if she hadn’t stuttered over it. This was going to be so easy.
“I know about his pen name. Harry told me,” Pansy told her, then with a mix of fake and legitimate interest said, “It must be so interesting getting to work with such a prestigious book series and getting to be a part of shaping it. I’m jealous.”
All of Phillipa’s caution melted away. “Oh it is! I love getting to work on his books, but before you get jealous, I don’t really play much of a part in shaping them. I’m a line editor, so by the time the book makes it to me it's finished and all that's left is a little polishing.”
“I’m still jealous.” And Pansy wasn’t just trying to make her feel better. “Last week the most mental stimulation I received from my job was trying to figure out how to ship a live bear to Canada.”
Pansy could tell Phillipa was about to ask, but Pansy waved off her questions. “Don’t ask, it’s really not that interesting of a story.”
“Oh.” Phillipa gave her a sympathetic look, a genuine, sympathetic look. Pansy couldn’t really say the last time she had received one from a stranger. “Your talents must be completely wasted there.”
They were, but beggars can’t be choosers.
She gave a one shouldered shrug. “It might not be thrilling, but it's a nice family environment. I suppose every job has its ups and downs.”
“Oh do they,” Phillipa said. “I have to edit everything by hand. They don’t even allow speak to write quills so by the end of the day my hand gets so cramped and achy. Sometimes it gives me trouble sleeping, but I still enjoy my job. One day I hope to become a senior editor or…”
She trailed off looking sheepish. Her own glass that she had been sipping on had long been emptied in her distraction and Pansy could tell she was a light weight from the flush creeping up her pale neck.
“Or?” Pansy asked.
“When I tell people they normally think it's silly, but I do my own writing too and I hope one day to get published.”
“Why don’t we grab another drink from the bar and you can tell me about what kinds of things you enjoy writing about?”
Phillipa perked up even as she said, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”
“I’ll cut you off if I get bored,” Pansy promised her, already leading the way to the bar.
At the bar, Neville stood leaned against the counter chatting up the bartender. Even without being able to hear what he was saying, she could tell he was flirting and came to a stop.
From beside her Phillipa said, “He’s allowed to talk to whoever he pleases.”
Pansy couldn’t quite tell if that was being thrown up from their earlier scuffle.
“We did come to the party together, but we aren’t an item or anything.”
Pansy thought she picked up a note of sadness.
“I wouldn't worry anyhow,” Pansy assured her. “I know for a fact that you have more of a chance going home with her than Longbottom.”
Then in a conspiring tone, she added, “Do you want to take bets on how long it takes for him to realize?”
Phillipa laughed into her hand. “Oh, this is going to be fun. You are so much fun.”
“Stay here and I’ll get us our drinks.”
With full drinks in their hands, Pansy’s watered down heavily this time, they found a corner to watch Neville’s humorous attempt from.
“Earlier Neville mentioned a second hobby, but never got a chance to tell me. I just know it's something embarrassing, you have to tell me if you know.”
“I’m not sure, unless he was talking about gardening. I wasn’t lying about the herbology book.”
“I’m sure that was it then,” Pansy said, but she doubted that Neville would’ve stuttered over plants. From her experience people that gardened loved talking about it—in length and great detail.
“Two galleons it takes him another thirty minutes to get up the nerve,” Pansy said.
Phillipa snorted. “Neville doesn’t do anything that fast.”
They both burst into laughter and soon forgot all about Neville Longbottom.
Pansy returned home to a quiet, dark flat, Draco and Harry having gone to his place after the party. Still riding a warm high from the whiskey, she wandered into her room and from her closet dug into a specific box she rarely got into. The box was lined with the blackest velvet she had ever seen. She wished she could take credit for its charm work, but she had bought it, spending too much of her limited salary on it.
Worth every knut.
The box fit her mood perfectly—soft, but dark. Opening the lid, all the items were nestled in the soft velvet, spelled to reshape around whatever was placed inside. It was probably meant for more delicate items than an aged bottle of whiskey, a pair of rocks glasses, and cigars.
She took out a single glass, leaving its match in the box and added two fingers worth of the whiskey. Then, placing one of the cigars in her mouth, carried her whiskey to her desk.
She tipped the lamp light to look into her drawer of materials. She was feeling inspired and surprisingly generous. She didn’t often want to share her work, especially with someone as the likes of Phillipa, but despite herself she felt a little sorry for her, possibly some kinship, which she refused to look at too deeply.
She came across a pebble sized piece of glass, champagne pink with rain washed streaks running through it, that she thought would do nicely.
After a sip of whiskey and the unlit cigar still in her mouth, she elongated and flattened the glass until it was wisp thin.
Draco thought she transfigured the wine glasses she had made, but there was more to it than a simple transfiguration. Transfigured glass was oftentimes flawed, and with a timer attached counting down to the day it would crack.
She didn’t change the material, merely manipulated it.
With another spell she trimmed the glass, until it looked like a card from a deck, then rolled it up tightly, leaving the center just large enough to slot a delicate quill through.
She rolled it across the desk, testing for unevenness. There was a small hump on one side making it have a slight wobble. With the care of a surgeon she shaved it off then cast a spell to smooth the glass, including the sharp edge.
This time it rolled across her desk smoothly.
She contemplated the glass, putting her cigar down after taking a sniff of the strong aroma, and placing it to the side.
Perhaps she could run some rose gold off the top that would mix in with the base of the barbs on the feather. Etch her name using the same golden color.
Keep it simple. The charms would be the hard part.
She swirled the whiskey in her glass. This version was the closest she'd come yet to making an exact replica of her father's Italian Crystal Set.
The weight still didn't feel right. Maybe the bottom needed to be thicker yet?
Her father had been drinking from one as he watched their home burn.
It had been left broken, same as her father. She couldn't bring her father back, but she could put the broken pieces of glass back together. She could twist and stretch and form it back into something with fond memories attached to it of her father.
He had always been more loving when he was drinking.
As a little girl he would pull her into his lap and while all her friends’ parents sent them away she got to stay. Sometimes he would even brag to the other adults about her most recent accomplishments.
Her mother died when she was too young to remember, instead she was raised by a line of changing nannies. Moments like that had made her feel like she was wanted.
She put the glass down and pulled open the second drawer, this drawer contained vials and glass containers holding different metals. The third drawer, the deepest, held her fabrics and bulky materials.
The rose gold flecks were tiny, looking almost like grains of sand, she tapped a pinch worth onto her palm.
Next came the hardest part, engraving her name into the glass. It was surprisingly hard to use a wand to write neatly, nearly impossible. She had begun using a muggle tool for the job, it was battery powered and a simple concept.
Phillipa.
After the muggle machine did its part, Pansy used her wand to get the gold the right consistency and for the sticking charm. The gold went on neatly into the engraving, making her name look written in pale gold.
She took another sip of her whiskey, then feeling like she was being watched turned her head to the corner of her room.
“Oh it’s only you,” she said to Brook with a smile.
Her current project stood taller than her, his glass face looking back, with a devilish grin. The body was still smooth glass, shaped into a silhouette, but no detail. Once she was done she would shrink him down and add him to her collection of the other characters from the Vampire Wars Series.
Brook was going to be her masterpiece.
After another sip of whiskey she got back to work on the charms that would reduce Phillipa’s hand discomfort.