Chapter Text
The first time Pansy Parkinson used her magic, she was four. Her mother had taken a doll away from her, saying she was too old now to be playing with childish things, and should start behaving like a lady. Pansy didn’t know what a lady was, but it sounded boring, she just wanted her doll back. She wanted it so hard that the doll came flying into her arms. Her mother was ecstatic, looking at her with undisguised pride. Her father also looked approvingly at her later, when he was told. Pansy couldn’t stop smiling. She wanted to make her parents proud of her.
Growing as a pureblood daughter was not fun, Pansy thought. She was always having classes about how to sit, how to eat, how to talk, there were always rules for everything, and it was so easy to break them by mistake. Then there were the parties and balls, where she was always following her mother and staying still and quiet, only talking when talked to. It was really boring, and it made her feel like she didn’t matter. Still, she liked it. It was one of the few times she got to be with her parents.
When she was a bit older, she was able - and expected - to mingle with other children her age in functions. There she met Draco, Millicent, Daphne, and the rest. At first, she was excited to meet them, but soon enough she was disappointed. They were all… too much like herself. They would repeat what their parents said, always polite but empty. She couldn’t even complain about Vince and Greg’s lack of manners, as it would not be proper for a lady. It felt like just another class of etiquette.
Pansy felt lonely. She barely saw her parents, her ‘friends’ only knew her perfect pureblood mask and not the real her - just like she didn’t know them, not really - and house elves made for poor company. She once made the mistake of asking her mother for a sister or little brother. That was the first time her mother slapped her. Pansy went to bed that night nursing a hurt cheek and a bruised heart. She wished that her mother loved her. Maybe if she wished it hard enough, her magic would make it true.
When Pansy was eleven years old, her Hogwarts letter came. It made her very happy. She was going to go to a new place, with new people, learning how to use her magic, her birthright! It was that time that her parents talked with her about what to expect once in school. Hogwarts, according to them, was full of undesirables. Mudbloods, halfbloods, blood-traitors, they made up more than half the population. Of course, Pansy had learnt of mudbloods and muggles growing up. They sounded like mean and disgusting creatures, and she didn’t want to encounter any. Her parents were of the same opinion, and instructed her to keep to her housemates in Slytherin, where she could be sure that only the proper people were sorted.
Hogwarts was everything and nothing like she imagined it to be. There were lots of new people, who she couldn’t meet because they weren’t the right sort. There were new places to explore and find, but running around in adventures was for Gryffindors. There was magic to be learnt, but clearly they weren’t being taught correctly if the mudbloods were getting high marks. In Slytherin, Pansy had the same people she’d grown up with. It was much like being back home, but she missed her parents. Homesickness was for weaklings, so Pansy buried it deep.
That wasn’t the only crack her mask hid, though. In her second year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened. “I hope Granger’s the next one. I hope it kills her”. Draco speaking these words surprised her. The fact that most of the house agreed, and were happy to imagine the gruesome scenario scared her. Yes, Granger was an annoying little know-it-all that didn’t know her place as a mudblood and tried to show up her betters by cheating and being a teacher’s pet. She disliked her, she really did. But she didn’t want her dead. That was just… Pansy took all the talk of dead mudbloods, all the stories her father and his friends told of the war, that she had thought were jokes and exaggerations, and hid them behind the mask. She was a proper pureblood lady, and a Daughter of House Parkinson, so she laughed along. She would make her parents proud.
At some point, the whole Pureblood Supremacy thing stopped making any sense. You just couldn’t share a classroom with Vince and Greg and the Granger chit and still think that blood makes you better at magic. The Triwizard tournament had chosen a blood traitor, a half-breed, and Harry Potter of all people as the best in their schools. Only Krum came from a proper family, and he was the worst of the lot. Even worse, she was sure that most of Potter’s success came from Granger. And then there was Dumbledore. A half-blood. So no, she couldn’t believe the mudbloods were inferior. Which was fine with her, they were still threats to the proper way of life. It made more sense this way, how could they be such a threat if they were little more than vermin? Pansy hid any doubts behind her mask and carried on.
In her fifth year, Pansy had a mission. Her parents had informed that they considered Draco to be the perfect candidate for her future husband. Pansy had to agree, he was the richest and most influential of purebloods her age, his bloodline unmarred by mudbloods or squibs. She would make her parents proud by ensnaring Draco and securing the future of the House of Parkinson. Of course, fate had never been kind to her. She didn’t know enough - anything really - about Draco to know what he was interested in. She pretty much threw herself at him to no avail. Advice from her mother only consisted of ‘using her feminine wiles’. She had no interest in Draco whatsoever, she never understood what people meant when they talked about attraction, it must have been just another thing everyone pretended to like though none really did. She pushed her disgust behind her mask and did what she had to. Fucking him only got his interest for a short time, he soon grew used to it and took it for granted.
Sometimes, when she tried to push her disgust, her anger, her sadness, behind her mask, she would find that there just wasn’t room enough there, and it would come out overflowing. Her vision would go black at the edges, her heart would start beating like crazy and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. As always, Pansy dealt with it. She made sure to have these breakdowns in her private time, her mask immaculate once she was in public.
Sixth year was particularly difficult. The Dark Lord was back again, in the open, and things in Hogwarts shifted. She could no longer rationalize certain things as jokes or bravado. The talk of murder and torture was real now, the Death Eaters atrocities in the open for all to see. People who could do that to another human being could barely be human themselves. Monsters, rabid beasts. It didn’t matter if the mudbloods were a threat or if they stole magic, nothing could justify this kind of violence. Sometimes, she would come to breakfast in the Great Hall, and find one mudblood or another breaking down over the morning paper, having just learnt that their families were killed. Her housemates would laugh and joke, usually something along the lines of ‘I hope so and so are next’. Pansy would smile and push down the urge to vomit.
These were the people she had grown up with, the people she shared a dorm with, and the only people she would ever be allowed to mingle with. Pansy had never felt so alone while surrounded by people. At times, when she had her breakdowns, she would wonder if they really were in the right. If all the facts they used to justify this violence were facts at all. Pureblood Superiority was complete bollocks, after all, so why not the rest? As soon as these questions popped up, Pansy would break down even further, trying and failing to shove them down. Her mask was overflowing, chipping bit by bit, and she didn’t know what to do.
It was easier to forget everything else when she had something in her mind, so Pansy focused and redoubled her efforts in courting Draco. But he was not of the same mind. The Dark Lord had given him a task, and he was obsessed with it, leaving little time to other affairs. When she did spend time with him, he kept complaining about Potter, especially when he got with the Weasley girl. Pansy didn’t know who Draco wanted more badly, Potter’s girlfriend or Potter himself. Certainly not her. On one hand, she was incredibly relieved to not have him slobbering on top of her. On the other, it meant that her efforts were failing, and she couldn’t do anything about it.
She was losing control, and she knew it. It was especially glaring in her interactions with Granger. She’d always teased the girl, gone along with her friends and bullied her. The hurt look in her eyes always made her feel bad, but she told herself that she was only reminding her of her place. Not this year. Granger gave back as good as she got, and Pansy was completely livid. She couldn’t stop herself from insulting and riling up the other witch every time they saw each other. It took her some time to admit it, but she was jealous of her. If anything, Granger should be jealous of her! It was what her parents had always promised her, that if she was a pretty prissy proper pureblood princess, she’d get everything she always wanted, and everyone would love her.
But it was not true. Granger should be jealous of her pure blood, of her poise and elegance, of her magical ability, of her plentiful money. In reality, Pansy was jealous of her. Jealous that she was able to beat everyone in class despite having no advantages, that she had actual friends instead of false allies. That she didn’t have to court a Death Eater who was probably a monster, who she was fucking even though neither of them wanted anything with each other. That she wasn’t failing her parents. She could actually have love in her life, have people like her for her. Hell, she had been completely gorgeous in the Triwizard Ball, drawing the attention of everyone, getting a Champion as date, while Pansy was forgotten in a corner. She was sure she would find someone equally amazing and they’d be happy, while Pansy would only become more and more miserable with age. For the first time, she really did hate Granger, for having everything she ever wanted, and not having to feel guilty for wanting it. Her mask was barely hanging on by a thread. Pansy was afraid of what this might mean for her, but she was too tired to worry.
It all came to a close in her seventh year. It had been easier, in some aspects. She didn’t have to deal with Granger. Potter wasn’t here either, so Draco was far easier to handle. On the other hand, it was pretty obvious now that he had no interest in her, she saw the looks he gave the younger Greengrass. She was scared of what this meant for her future. If she didn’t snag Draco, her prospects would be worse. She’d probably be married off to some older man, probably a Death Eater. Draco was a Death Eater too, but he was not needlessly cruel, she knew enough about him to be sure of that. But there were people like the Carrows who now taught in the school. What would she do if she was married to someone like them? Pansy thought it would be better to be dead. Surprisingly, the thought of dying didn’t feel terrifying. A bit scary, yes, but it would also be a relief. There was always that exit strategy, an out if she couldn’t hide anymore. This strange calmness carried her through her seventh year, right until the Battle of Hogwarts.
It had been an honest mistake. A really big one, but honest. The Dark Lord had attacked Hogwarts with his armies, and had demanded they deliver Potter to him. Of course she had suggested they obey. How could she not? She was not a brave Gryffindor or a loyal Hufflepuff. She was scared. Terrified off her mind. This was not some three-knuts dark wizard, this was Lord Voldemort. The Gryffindors didn’t know the true depths of depravity he and his men sank to, they didn’t know what they were risking. She however, had heard the talk of Slytherin House, and knew what awaited those that defied him. She didn’t have the luxury of being an idiot like her housemates, either. She was not calm in the assumption that they were purebloods and the Dark Lord would not harm them. He and his followers were crazy, they would turn on them just for fun. They wouldn’t hesitate in blowing up the whole castle with them in it, if it gave them an advantage. The Dark Lord was unbeatable, a force of nature, and no opposition was going to be able to stop him. The only way to survive was to follow. She feared a fate worse than death, and in that moment her carefully crafted mask cracked right down the middle.
And so, she suggested giving up Potter. It only served to make people hate her even more. The look in Granger’s eyes stayed with her for a long time. Looking at her like she had never really seen her before, true disgust, like she was worth less than shit scrapped from her boots. It hurt. It shouldn’t have hurt that much, but it felt like searing pain. Knowing that someone had seen through her perfect pureblood mask, and seen what really lay behind. That someone had seen Pansy Parkinson as what she truly was. A pathetic, terrified, worthless kid, who wasn’t good for anything but trembling and scurrying around, trying to hold on to a life she didn’t deserve. She didn’t remember anything else of that day.
Unexpectedly, the Dark Lord lost, somehow, and Pansy’s world was flipped upside-down. Where once it was expected of her to openly despise mudbloods, and any sympathy had to be carefully hidden, now it was expected for everyone to be muggle-friendly, and any trace of pureblood supremacy was looked at with extreme prejudice. Ordinarily, this would have been fine, even cause for celebration. She didn’t have to live among violent animals anymore. The prosecution had been lenient, and most purebloods not directly affiliated with the Death Eaters were let go without any penalty. Pansy and her parents escaped any punishment, except being barred from leaving the country due to being family to a Death Eather - thanks, Uncle Patroclus. Even Draco had avoided Azkaban. They had managed to remove the true problems of her environment while leaving the rest unscathed, it was a miracle.
Or it would be, for the other purebloods, but not for Pansy. While she didn’t have Death Eater ties, the world had not forgotten her as the girl who would sell Potter. She was a pariah, a leper, not to be approached by anyone. Even the rest of the purebloods avoided the Parkinsons, lest they were also deemed undesirables. Her parents kept their distance as well, setting her up in a smaller property. Her owls weren’t returned. All Pansy had ever wanted was to make her parents proud. Not only had she failed her only task of snatching Draco, but she had stained the family name. She had failed in the worst possible way.
On a cold day of winter, walking through Diagon Alley, Pansy realized that there was nothing of worth in her life. She didn’t have a husband, or friends. She didn’t have parents, not really. Not even a pet, as mother always considered animals to be filthy. Thinking back, her most significant relationship had been with Mokey, the house-elf who used to take care of her when she was very small. She didn’t have much hope of that changing in the future either. When she was little she had always imagined herself a Pureblood Wife like her mother. But nobody would marry her now, or at least, nobody with whom living would be tolerable. She didn’t even have a name, she herself had destroyed any worth in the Parkinson name through her stupid actions.
The faces of the people turned towards her as she walked the street. Everybody recognized her. She had dreamt of this when she was little, but the reality was much worse. Disgust, fear, anger, was all those looks conveyed, not envy or admiration. A mother even grabbed her child closer, as if she was going to hurt it. Pansy Parkinson, terror of children. The ridiculousness of the situation hit her, and she laughed. She couldn’t stop laughing, which soon turned into half-sobbing. She felt so alone. She’d always been alone, since she was little, a thing forgotten, something that’s just there, taking up space, everyone wishing that someone would just take it away but no one bothering to do it. Stuck in the middle. It was there that Pansy realized that she didn’t even have an identity. She didn’t know who she was. She had never had a chance or even a reason to try and find out, to be herself. She’d always molded herself to fit her carefully constructed mask. And now that the mask was gone, what was behind? Who was Pansy, really? She found there was no answer, and she was too afraid to find one.
Once the last few remnants of her mask were off, Pansy found it impossible to rebuild it. The hateful looks she used to ignore now stabbed her like hot knives, the awful marriage prospects that her parents sent her way made her sick to her stomach, the realization that she’d never be able to live up to the expectations, that she’d never fit in the mold again, weighed on her like a mountain. Pansy was terrified, feeling like she was losing her mind, and her mind was the only thing she had left to lose.
The break was sudden, unplanned, spontaneous. One morning, as she woke up, Pansy went to get up and do her morning routine, and found she couldn’t. She couldn’t physically get out of bed. She couldn’t find the motivation, she couldn’t find any reason to greet a new day. She laid in her bed for a long time, doing nothing, just breathing, her gaze stuck on the ceiling. Nobody bothered her. Nobody came to check in on her, or request her presence in any way. She wondered, would things change much at all if she was dead? Was she really alive if no one cared? After a long while - she didn’t know if hours or days - she got up. Pansy packed a few clothes, some money, a couple mementos, and her wand. She disapparated without looking back.