f o u r ⇀

2 OCTOBER 1998 |

There will always be holes to slither out from, Pansy. Be mindful, be observant. We Parkinsons are as resilient as we are strong. Don't ever allow yourself to doubt it.

 - 

     The bitter autumn air nipped and prickled the porcelain skin of the venomous Parkinson as she slithered and slinked to the back of the gaggle of Gryffindors and Slytherins that shared the mixed Advanced Care of Magical Creatures course.

     It was hard to focus when they were studying something so dull. Pansy couldn't find it in her heart to pretend to care about the drab topics pouring from the bearded speaker, though the dim-witted students surrounding her seemed to find the topic truly interesting.

     Pansy was occupied with her usual state of mind: brooding. Her world had muddled into a mix of grey hues, each insignificant moment streaking into the next. A succession of boredom that Pansy hoped would end with her finding a successful career in... well, of that she couldn't be certain.

      Across the field, a streak of colour stained the dapple horizon as brightly marred Quidditch players trumped their way through the overgrown grass of Hogwarts' grounds. Pansy eyed their trail as the team trickled towards the fields for practise before the big match this week. She'd cared little for sports after Draco had forfeited the Slytherin team. He'd quit after being overwhelmed with... other duties.

      Pansy could spot her from a mile away, the Weasley, she thought to herself as the Gryffindor Lioness prowled behind her pack, hoisting a Beater's club over one shoulder and a Quaffle in her hand. The god-awful Godric Gryffindor colours made her orange locks jut out like a sprained thumb.

      Pansy frowned at the sight, thinking to herself as the gold and burgundy team crossed her horizon. She'd never liked flying. Pansy rathered.. earth-bound games. Things like Wizard's Chess, or-or logical games were much more interesting for the Parkinson than athletics. Violette Parkinson never allowed her daughter to play such trivial, messy sports. Ladies shouldn't concern themselves with the physical, but rather the art of perception. Not that Pansy minded in the slightest.

         "Er, Ms Parkinson?"

     Pansy found that she had been staring out, transfixed on the bloody mane of the Gryffindor Lioness for an overly long time. The half-breed was speaking directly to her now, his baritone voice grating against Pansy's nerves.

     As she looked back to the Professor, Pansy recalled that there were a lot of things that her parents hadn't approved of. Hagrid repeated the question without prompt.

     "Can you tell me wha' snack gnomes enjoy?"

     Without a thought, surprising even herself, she responded: "Garden variety vegetables. However, they prefer courgettes the most."

     There was a thick pause. Then, like the gust of a summer wind pushing against a boat's patchwork sails, Hagrid belt out. " Very good, very good, Ms Parkinson."

     The familiar, but altogether refreshingly new sense of pride swelled in Pansy's chest. For a brief pixie's second, she was back. A fourth-year Slytherin twitching for a taste of more.

SUMMER 1994 |

     The papyrus paper scratched at the cream pad of Pansy's thumb as she, once again, unfolded the list of textbooks for next year. She was most excited for the extra-curricular course, highlighted in bold print with the words 'DO NOT OPEN UNTIL THE FIRST DAY OF CLASS'.

     The streets were alive with the rush of students and parents alike, all filtering in and out of shops as they purchased their goods. Pansy smirked at the children gawking at expensive bobbles, wishing that they could afford something that she could have at the batting of her lashes.

     Mr Parkinson didn't accompany his counter-parts on their trip to purchase the supplies. He never did. In fact, the only reason that Mrs Parkinson and her daughter were venturing through the streets instead of their miserable nitwit of a House Elf, Golly, was that Pansy's robes were a tad short from her spring growth-spurt.

     Violette Parkinson pointed towards a pewter cauldron, nestled among copper and silver ones, and smiled, nudging her daughter on the arm. "Are you in need of a new cauldron, my flower?" Mrs Parkinson fluffed her generic brown hair and examined the pewter cauldron closer, running a thin, polished finger over the side, examining the seasoning.

     "Ma'am, please don't touc--," an elder shopkeep piped up from his stance at the service counter. However, upon further examination of the woman in his shop, the man cleared his throat, realizing who was at his door. "Forgive me, I thought..."

      "Thought what," Pansy's mum replied, her finger still touching the smooth surface of the cauldron. Pansy recognized the tone straight away, thankful that she hadn't caused the venomous tone coming from her mother.

     It was a sugary sweet dagger, one that sliced deep. It was a voice that coddled you but blatantly mocked. The shopkeeper flushed in embarrassment, bowing his aged head. "Please, forgive me, Miss."

     Pansy sneered at the man, falling in line with her mother.

     Mrs Parkinson smiled at the man coyly and waved him off, her tone shifting once more to a chipper pitch. "Everyone has bad days," she forgave him. "My daughter," she changed the subject, roping an arm around Pansy's back and pushing her forward, "is headed to her fourth year at Hogwarts. Rather gifted in Potions. She's going to be the best potion master in history."

     The man knew better than to interrupt.

     "I will be needing this pewter cauldron, and whatever else she wants," Mrs Parkinson finally glanced at her daughter, who was sporting an annoyed pout. "Isn't that right, my flower?"

     Pansy didn't need a new cauldron. Golly had spent the entire afternoon the day before polishing and repolishing the Parkinson's cauldron every time Pansy looked it over to find a 'spot'. The house-elf and the girl both knew there was nothing wrong, but Golly continued to clean and polish it until her little fingers gave out. Until Pansy had had her fun.

     The pair of Parkinson's left the shop without any parcels. Golly would pick them up for them, there was no need to carry around such heavy things.

     "Mother," Pansy frowned, casting one last glance at the cauldron shop and deliberating what her mother had said to the shopkeep. "I don't want to be a Potion Master."

     Mrs Parkinson laughed, a sharp curve to her thin lips. "What are you talking about?" The disbelief in her tone was thick, laid on with sarcasm and a hint of malice sprinkled atop.

    "What you said back there," Pansy replied, "I've been thinking about it. Last year, we had to pick out our future courses and... I want to study, well," she mustered out a slow, quiet, "something else..."

     Realizing that her daughter was not joking, Violette finally looked at Pansy, truly looked at her. With her jet-black hair cropped at her pointed jaw and her mint-green gaze, Pansy was... pretty. Pretty enough, anyway. Violette was no fool, she knew her daughter would never get by on her looks alone. The familial name helped, but Pansy would need to help herself.

     "What do you mean," Violette asked, keeping her tone neutral as to not draw the attention of the others walking past the pair standing on the road. Pansy darted her eyes down to her shoes, which was a trait that frustrated her mother. "Stand straight and speak up."

     "I-I," Pansy blinked back her jumbled mess of thoughts. "I like animals."

     Violette barked out a curt chuckle. "As do I dear, but snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails don't make a career."

     "Mum," Pansy groaned, ignoring the poem, "I've been thinking... I want to be a caretaker."

2 OCTOBER 1998 |

     The class ended, but Pansy remained in her spot. She stared into the stretching Forbidden Forest, thinking about what could be staring back. The students around her slowly wandered back to the Castle until it was only her, standing alone. She was phrasing a question in her mind, but couldn't quite make herself say it.

     "Er, Miss Parkinson, is there, er," Pansy could tell that Hagrid was physically uncomfortable around her. 

      Glowering, Pansy folded her hands over her chest. 'What a bumbling buffoon'. Though her scowl slipped slightly as Hagrid stumbled over his words, Pansy knew where the dislike he had for her stemmed from, the beast of a man. "Is there anythin' I can help you wit'?"

     She peered once more at the Forbidden Forest behind him, stretching on in the distance behind his stone and stick cottage, her mint eyes scanning the thick foliage and black abyss with a flicker of delighted curiosity. Finally, she found the resolve to speak. "Draco once told me that he found a unicorn in this forest, is that true?"

       "Well, er, I kno' not'in' about Draco Malfoy findin' the unicorn," Hagrid told her. The giant man strode closer to the young woman, rubbing his enormous hands together and avoiding her piercing eyes, "but, yea', in 'is first-year we were trackin' unicorn blood."

     "Blood?" Pansy's chin turned from the forest, locking her gaze with the watery, dark eyes of the monstrosity that was crafted from man and giant. "Why would a unicorn be bleeding?"

      "You 'ave a likin' for unicorns?"

     Pansy faltered, scoffing at him. "Children like unicorns, I'm merely curious."

     "I like unicorns, I ain't no child."

     "You don't count," Pansy shot back, turning her nose to the air. Surely he had the mentality of a child, the fact that Dumbledore had put him in as a professor was pitiful. The fact that Headmaster McGonagall had kept him on was astounding. 

     A cold wind picked up around her and she drew her black and silver-lined cardigan around herself. She resolved to leave. Hagrid looked to his giant, dirt-covered hands, frowning at her harsh words.

     "Er, Miss Parkinson," Hagrid spoke up as she turned her back.

      Pansy stopped but didn't face him. Instead, the girl watched the grey skies with a sigh, wondering if he was about to tell her an assignment or a textbook chapter. "There 're unicorns, in the forest. Since you're so int'rested, I'll see wha' I can do abou' gettin' one for class, ...sometime."

     The suggestion caused something to stir up in her that she hadn't felt in a while, something for the second time that day. Pansy's heart pounded, her mind a flurry of thoughts. 

     Pansy walked away, not saying a word, but almost grateful.

That night, Pansy fell asleep with her head buried in her Care of Magical Creatures book. 

     "No daughter of mine will be a caretaker!" 

     The lavish dining room was filled with boiling hot righteousness, at Pansy's expense like always, the girl thought to herself with a scowl. Pansy gave her mother a dirty look, feeling betrayed that she'd told her father.

      "But, Father, it's so fun --"

     "Fun?" Mr Parkinson's voice cracked, a whip of anger as he ran a hand through his slick, black hair. He was pacing in front of the marbled grey and white alabaster fireplace. The flames danced against his moving shadow, making the carved snakes on the mantle dance. "A career is respectable. Have you seen those... those wild-haired Dragon-tamers? That-That half-breed Dumbledore has tromping around the Castle Grounds?"

     Pansy baulked at the harshness of her Father's tone, though her tongue remained pressed tightly against her jaw. 

      "Is that how you want to be thought of, a beast-lover? A spinster, Pansy?"

     Pansy could remember this moment, she could feel the heat of the flame and the shame of her silence as her father continued to berate her. All the while, her mother watched from the table, not saying a word though her placid smile indicated her agreement.

     For a moment, Pansy felt she could break the chain. Just for a minute.

              "Shut up!" Pansy yelled in reply.

                "What did you just say?!" 

                 "Shut up!" Pansy screamed, "shut up!" 

     "No, you shut up, absolute twat," a sleepy shout pulled Pansy away from her dreams. It was dark inside the dorm room where she'd fallen asleep, the Care of Magical Creatures book discarded on the floor where it had fallen from her unconscious arms. Pansy's eyes were wet with tears. 

     She'd remembered her third-year summer break in that dream. It was a memory that she'd buried along with countless others. Pansy used to be more passionate then, she thought as she sat up, pushing the overgrown bangs from her eyes and frowning at the half-awake roommate that had woken her up from her memory-turned-fantasy.

     Pansy's heart turned bitter at the memory as she rubbed wet stains from her cheeks. It was foolish of her to have wanted to pursue a caretaker position. Her father has been less than amused, and her mother was absent from the discipline, like always.

     Pansy'd never yelled back at her father, however. She'd never been brave enough to face him head-on. Rather, she always bent to his will. Surely, Father and Mother knew best. They always claimed they did everything for her. And yet, Pansy was slowly feeling discomfort in their words. Her lonely presence at the platform was enough to make her wonder... wonder what her parents truly did everything for.

     Were they ever really there for her?

     Annoyed and hot under her mountain of bedcovers, Pansy stripped herself from the comforts of sleep and glared at the mouse-plain girl of which she shared the room. "Shut up, cow," Pansy growled.

     Gathering her shoes and shouldering on some proper clothing, Pansy decided it was time to walk out into the night for a bit of fresh autumn air. She wasn't worried about being caught and punished.

     There was no longer a Ms Norris patrolling the halls to snitch on a disturbed student wandering out past curfew, and even the dismal ghosts didn't desire to go out of their hallowed ways to disturb the foul girl.

     The air slightly warmed as she rose from the dungeons, the cold cobblestone echoed her slow steps back to her, a song of solitude. 

     Pansy strolled the open-air corridors alone, none but the silver moon to follow her, the chill of the night's bitter air against her cheeks, waking her up a bit and cooling down the emotional turmoil she'd felt in her dream. She carried the book with her, for no particular reason.

     Eventually, Pansy found herself strolling the bumpy shores of the Black Lake. The water lapped at the jagged rocks and lush green shores. There were only a few more short weeks before the vegetation would disappear and the cold would settle in, killing everything in its path.

     Under a rather large willow tree, Pansy found that she was not alone after all.

     A Weasley was outside, her bright coloured hair still radiantly shining in the moon's glow. Pansy stayed back for a moment, just watching the girl as she collected mushrooms from under the trees. "Whitecaps," the Weasley spoke up, not looking away from her work, "they have a special property in the full moon that allows them to--"

     "--be stronger when infused with enchanting potions, I know," Pansy cut her off. She was surprised that the girl had noticed her, despite her best efforts to remain hidden.

     "Neville taught me that," Ginny nodded with a sharp grin, eyes sizing up Pansy's crumpled frame, examining the tired eyes and the ruffled hair, "are you taking advanced potions?"

     "I've already taken it," Pansy snapped, musing her hair down, not liking the way that Ginny was eyeing her. Secretly, Pansy was also annoyed by how the girl was treating her. It confused Pansy, the manner of nonchalance that the girl used."Should you even be out here?"

     Ginny brushed her question off, "Should you?"

     Before Pansy could retort, Ginny tossed her mane of bright hair behind her shoulder and peered up at the full moon, her pale face fully illuminated, hands full of fat, white-topped fungus. "I'm not worried about being caught. I'm friends with the Head Girl."

     "Hmph, figures." Pansy rubbed at the wet spots under her eyes once more, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Pansy turned to walk away, drawing her jumper closer around her, feeling that this conversation had gone on too long.

     Ginny dumped the handful of mushrooms into a bag she had tied to her belt. "You hungry?"

      "No," Pansy said, dead-panned. She turned back to the Weasley with a frown, trying to figure out what her game was, what she wanted, why she was being so... strange.

     "Didn't see you at dinner," Ginny continued, "figured you might be." The Weasley dug around in her pockets for a split second, Pansy eyeing her all the while, then reached out a hand with a wrapped parcel of wax paper and string. "I was saving this for after I finished, but you can have it, if you'd like."

     "Not interested," Pansy sneered. "My mother taught me to never take food from --"

     "-- blood traitors?"

      "Perhaps."

      "Ha," Ginny coughed out a short belt, though her face didn't particularly seem very amused. The brown-eyes that shone in the moonlit night looked aged, tired. "You ever hear of a bat-bogey hex?"

     "Are you threatening me, Weasley?"

     Ginny outstretched her hand, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a slice of lemon tart before the Parkinson. "My mum taught me that bridges can't be crossed without a shared meal."

     Pansy turned up her nose and folded her arms over her chest, the Care of Magical Creatures book cradled closely to her body. "I'm not interested in crossing any bridges."

     Ginny shrugged and grinned, playfully taking a bite from the lemon tart. "Would it kill you to have a friend?"

     Pansy's mind flashed through all the faces of those she had known, those that were no longer with her. Blaise, Draco, Goyle... Crabbe. All in an instant, a wound was being gouged and she felt a pain she had been damming up behind a false facade. Then, with a composed breath, Pansy was able to push it away as she merely walked away from the strange girl.

     Under her breath, Pansy whispered into the wind, "It could." Her voice carried away on a gust, as if she'd never even spoken.

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