t h r e e ⇀

1 OCTOBER 1998 |

      Pansy hardly recognized the Hogwarts Castle. There was a different element to it, some may have called it 'lighter'. Pansy considered it distasteful, a ploy playing to the pitiful whims of the politically correct. 

     After the Second War, Headmistress McGonagall had made quick work of the renovations. One could hardly tell that a battle had even taken place at the esteemed halls. The stone corridors had been repaired to perfection, the banners mended and rehung, the staircases rebuilt and enchanted once again.

     In the Great Hall, the four tables no longer stood segregated. Rather, the polished oak tables were placed end to end, forming a large square in the midst of the grand hall. Silly. It was a stupid gesture, made to promote unity after all of the horrid events that had taken place the following year.

     Pansy could hardly stand the sight. It made her stomach churn with sickening bile, gurgled in the back of her milky throat. It infuriated Pansy, seeing the Hall in such a state. It was wrong. Pansy despised McGonagall for tossing tradition to the side with little care, destroying the very foundation of from which the historic halls were moulded.

       With a stubborn tilt to her chin, Pansy avoided eye-contact from the others in the Hall as she strutted through the double doors of the Great Hall, the smell of English breakfast wafting over her slim frame. It had been long enough now that no one bothered to glance her way as she walked, and if anyone did, they merely ignored the Parkinson's presence. 

     The prideful girl was unsure if she disliked the lack of attention. Pansy had formed a sort of routine to her days:

      Breakfast, Herbology III, Advanced Potions II, Lunch, Advanced Charms, Free Period, Dinner, Study Time, Bed 

     Pansy never deviated from her schedule. There was no need. Afterall, Pansy was merely at Hogwarts for the grades. All of it was just another hurdle, another task to follow in her Father's footsteps. 

     "Good morning, Miss Parkinson," Headmistress McGonagall tightly said as Pansy passed the elder woman. 

     Pansy sniffled, haughty, and offered the Professor nothing more than a glance-over, taking in her regal blue robes, tightly pulled back hair, and her spectacles. Pansy, peering at the woman, caught her own reflection in McGonagall's glasses, seeing her own prideful frame reflected back. "Morning," she muttered back, dropping her gaze.

     "Will you be joining us this morning?" 

      "No," Pansy replied flippantly. She bit her tongue, stopping her mouth from giving her elder a more appropriate answer. Pansy didn't need to give this woman a reason for her actions. "No, I will not." 

      The Headmistress pushed her frames further up the thin bridge of her nose, looking down on the defiant girl in front of her, pouring over the way to address the rogue. "Miss Parkinson," she began delicately, "you have a free space on your schedule that has yet to be filled."

     Pansy lowered her head, knowing where the conversation was edging towards. Her dark, blunt bangs shrowded the girls piercing green eyes from observation. If Pansy was being particularly honest with herself, she had known something like this was coming. Only, this time, Pansy didn't have her parents to confer, to give her a path to walk.

     McGonagall continued, softer than before. "There are two different courses during that block that are available to you." McGonagall folded her hands together, weighing the words. "Care of Magical Creatures, . . . or Muggle Studies."

     "Muggle St—"

      "—Miss Parkinson," McGonagall's whip-sharp voice rung out, calling the attention of the morning's stragglers approaching the Great Hall for breakfast. The students stopped and stared, their nosey, watchful eyes yearning to know what the 'Death Eater's daughter' did now.

     "Move along," McGonagall chastized the onlookers. "Now, before your porridge grows cold."

     The kids scattered off, loudly whispering to each other. Pansy tried to ignore the words she heard. Scum of the earth. Swallowing her disgust, Pansy forced herself to behave, to be cordial.

     "When you wrote to me in July," the headmistress began quietly, stepping closer to the Parkinson. Pansy fought the urge to flinch, to cower under the newly authoritative tone of her Headmistress. Rather, the girl pushed her bangs back and stared, stone-hardened, into the eyes of Minerva McGonagall. "You told me that you needed a new start, a redo, if you will. You were desperate -"

     "— I was not—"

     "— I believe that every child deserves the chance to evolve. To transfigure themselves into a greater being, Miss Parkinson. Now," McGonagall cut Pansy off, looking down at the girl with a sharp, invasive stare, "if you desire to truly, and I mean truly, improve your transcripts, you will pick one or the other. Free periods are an opportunity to learn something new."

     Pansy did not reply.

      "So, shall I place you in Care of Magical Creatures?"

      Pansy inhaled slowly, letting the morning's air fill every crack in her lungs. So many retorts flashed and disappeared through her mind but she swallowed them all, a bitter pill. "Yes, thank you, Headmistress."

      "Miss Granger would also be an excellent ally for your placement in Advanced Charms. I recommend a tutor if you are still aiming for the position at the Ministry."

      Pansy locked her gaze on the stare of the Headmistress, wondering if the professor was testing her, assuming she was. Pridefully, Pansy grinned and merely scoffed, a guttural sound.

     McGonagall pressed her lips together, forming a tight, frustrated line. There was something, Pansy noticed, that sparkled in the eyes of the professor. She was unsure if it was pity or frustration, or a mixture of both. Pansy refused to allow the look to have any effect on her as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and continued on into the Great Hall. 

     Approaching what used to be the Slytherin table, Pansy snatched up a golden plate, piling it high with eggs and toast. She also grabbed a goblet of water after a slow deliberation between water and pumpkin juice. 

     Pansy's mother's voice echoed through her daughter's skull like a brand. 'Pumpkin juice is full of sugar and calories. You do not need any more of that.' 

     Not every child returned to Hogwarts after the war. The Hall was not as full of life as it once was. But, those that were present managed to fill the place with laughter and avid conversation. Pansy hated them. Picking up her breakfast, Pansy sent a nasty look over the Great Hall, examining all of the friends enjoying one another's companies and swapping stories or complaints about exams. 

      A pair of mud-brown eyes caught Pansy's attention. 

      'Are you all right?'

      Ginny Weasley, the one person who had somehow managed to get Pansy Parkinson to speak on the train. Even if it was to hiss back a retort about being 'fine' and push past the fire-haired girl.

     Deeping the furrow on her pale brow, Pansy unlocked her gaze with the Weasley's and bowed her head, hiding her eyes with her bangs. Ginny's attention to the Parkinson drew the attention of the mudblood beside her. The Granger girl frowned and whispered into Ginny's ear. 

      How could the Headmistress even suggest such a blood-traitor act, as asking a mudblood for help with magic? Pansy's stomach rolled. If she needed Granger's help, she truly did not deserve to be called a witch at all.

     There was an agitation in the air, and Pansy could feel it burning up, heat boiling against her skin. She would have nothing to do with it, the Parkinson decided, gathering up a fork with her goblet and plate. 

     Pansy had been eating every meal at her quarters in the Slytherin dungeons. It was too humiliating to sit alone. Her whole life had shifted on its axis. Pansy chuckled wryly to herself, feeling tears prick to corners of her eyes as she left the Great Hall. Perhaps, she thought as a student shot her a dirty glare, she deserved it.

WINTER BREAK 1991 |

     The Parkinsons all sat, regally, around their dining table in their respected places. Each element was there, silver plates, goblets, elegant food, and respectable conversation. 

     "Can you believe the audacity of those professors, those loons that run Hogwarts, Violette?" Mr Parkinson grumbled, stabbing his meal with a silver fork. "To force our girl, one of true stature, to be around mudbloods?"

     "It's positively disgusting," Mrs Parkinson replied, cutting into her portion. Her painted lips curled in distaste. "They cannot compare to real students."

     Her husband nodded with to his wife, inaudibly agreeing. 

     "Well, I think that—"

     "— I bet the professors have to manually improve the grades of those ingrates," Mr Parkinson snickered, finding himself rather amusing. 

     "I think—" Pansy started again, only to be ignored and cut off once more.

     Mrs Parkinson dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Yes, dear. How could they possibly even keep up with those that have had magic in their veins through generations? It's almost pitiable."

     Pansy, feeling rather like a painting on the wall, scoffed and pushed her plate away, feeling a tantrum rising if she was ignored any further. At school, she was never ignored. At school, the people actually listened to her.

     "I just," Pansy began again, feeling embarrassed as she had to raise her voice to be heard. "I don't quite understand, daddy."

     Mr Parkinson arched a dark brown and finally acknowledged his daughter. Pansy flushed a tad, not wanting to actually say what she felt deep, deep down. In the pits of her soul, Pansy knew she was wrong for what she was about to say. However, in the presence of the eleven-year-old's parents, Pansy had a feeling that her parents would understand and give her guidance. 

     "What is it you don't understand, my dear?" Mrs Parkinson quipped, her eyes nervously darting from her husband to her young girl.

     "I just, I don't understand— I mean, you see," Pansy earnestly spoke, keeping her eyes on the tenderloin on her plate, poking it with her expensive fork.

      Mrs Parkinson cut her off, voice sharp. "Dear, sit up straight and look us in the eye. It is improper to play with your food."

      Pansy tossed her fork onto her plate, defiantly, but look up at her parents. "The teachers say that they aren't bad. Muggleborn people are everywhere at Hogwarts," Pansy could see her face's face turning white as she spoke, but she kept on, "there's even a boy in Ravenclaw who's really interesting," Pansy's voice wavered as her father's fist clenched tightly, ". . . in a way—"

     "Pansy drop this talk!"

      Father's voice echoed through the quiet dining room, echoing off the silver and marble walls, gutting his daughter. Mr Parkinson glared at his first-year daughter, voice cold as ice as he leant towards her, pointing a firm finger in her face. "Mudbloods are the scum of the earth. The fact that they have been allowed into Hogwarts is not because of their "potential" but to keep them in line."

     Scared at the forceful words spat out by her father, Pansy pressed her small frame further into her chair.

     Mr Parkinson continued on, teaching his daughter the truth about the mudbloods. "Can you imagine mudbloods roaming the streets, those bloody idiots? Imagine the chaos? The monstrosity? It's bad enough that you have to breathe the same air, let alone be educated alongside them."

     "I understand, daddy." Pansy nodded with a tight, resigned smile; however, the thought of that one smart Gryffindor cropped back into her head. "But, . . . there's one girl who's rather smart, smarter than stupid Mildred. How can tha—"

     There was a slam as a thick, steak carving knife quivered, sticking straight up from the table where her father had stabbed it into the rich wood. "ENOUGH! STOP THIS TALK AT THE TABLE."

      Pansy's bones shook and she quickly shut her mouth, pushing away from the table slightly. Mrs Parkinson clamped a tight, worried hand around Pansy's wrist.

      Mr Parkinson stood from the table, tossing his napkin over his unfinished plate, tendrils of anger rolling from his authoritative frame. "I did not raise my daughter to fawn over those filthy people, or place them above your cousin in intelligence! You're a PARKINSON. That's all I want to talk about on this matter. Do not make me bring it up again."

      "Yes, daddy." Pansy bowed her head, hiding behind her black hair, feeling terrified.

That was the first and last time Pansy ever questioned the status of herself compared to that of stupid mudbloods. 

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