The Right by Parks and Fiction Chapter 3.
She shouldn't be here. She thought it every year, had
skipped the 1st 4 anniversaries for that reason.
Then Granger, Draco happened, and for the second year in a
row, she found herself at Hogwarts on May the 2nd.
She knew exactly what people thought when they saw her.
The witch who would have turned Potter over to the Dark Lord.
Of course, none of those people had ever been at a dinner party
where the entertainment was watching the Dark Lord feed a
Muggle woman to his snake. She hated that snake.
Hated the man who finally killed that snake too.
Not quite as much, perhaps, but she'd sworn not to think about
him. He was there, of course.
She'd caught a glimpse of a horrible jumper that clashed
terribly with his robes near the dais erected for the memorial.
She'd waited with dread for him to give a speech or say some
words like he usually did, but this year he was noticeably
absent. Even the Golden Trio spoke
little, the focus instead on the families of those who lost their
lives. Once the official portion was
over, she stood staring at the glossy black memorial that had
replaced one of the damaged walls of the castle.
Every name carved into the wall was a life lost, fighting
against the Dark Lord. Her eyes landed on the familiar
ones first. Lavender Brown.
Colin Creevy. Remus Lupin.
Fred Weasley. A long list of Gryffindors
peppered with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.
There was only one Slytherin on the wall.
Warren. Harry Potter himself had
insisted be included. Severus Snape.
I keep waiting for it to get easier.
Stomach clenching, she turned. Despite the same messy shock of
black hair and glasses, Harry Potter was different from the
boy she'd known. Still uncomfortable with the
fame, if Granger was to be believed, but he finally carried
it. Well.
Six years. His voice was almost wistful.
Everyone who was a first year during the battle graduates this
year. Next year, there won't be a soul
here that was present at the battle, aside from the
professors. She really didn't want to talk
about Hogwarts. Professors.
She cleared her throat. Not all of us here were present
for that battle. Not the important bits, anyway,
but he's there. Potter's there.
Someone grab him. It should fill her with guilt,
especially today. Especially knowing Potter's
victory. But she would do it again in a
heartbeat if he knew the truth. Perhaps even Potter would agree
with what she'd said and done. He gave her a soft smile.
You were a child. The fucking nerve of him to
stand there and patronize her for her age like she'd been some
cowardly first year. She remembered where she was and
who she was with just in time. Clearing her throat, she
straightened. So were you two months younger
than her if they were picking hers?
He looked back at the wall. There was never a choice for me.
The Chosen 1, Chosen by fate, by prophecy, by whatever it was not
of his own free will, forced into a destiny he had no part in
selecting. And perhaps because of his
parents, because of his Gryffindor spirit, it would have
been what he'd chosen anyway. But at least then it would have
been his choice. In that moment, she felt her
rage at his condescension fizzle out.
For the first time, she felt something like kinship with the
chosen scarhead who lived and died and lived again.
You, Draco, Theo, you saw things the rest of us didn't, he said.
I think too many forget that. She clutched her hands together
to keep them from trembling. Theo and I escaped to the worst
of it. Draco had the Dark Lord living
in his home, watched one of his professors be swallowed whole by
Nagini on his dining room table. She suppressed A shudder,
remembering the clammy feel of Nagini Slytherin by her ankle.
I would like to present my daughter, my Lord.
She shook off the memory. Theo was never marked.
I was just a teenage witch, nothing more than her breeding
potential. Not that much had changed.
Potter glanced across the courtyard where Hermione was
holding hands with Draco as she talked with Professor Mcgonigal.
It looked like Hermione was forcing him to stay by her side
instead of disappearing like she knew he wanted.
Potter gave them a rueful grin. That's probably the most
unexpected piece of all of this. If Pure Blood Witch is snorted,
she would have just then. But it's also what gives me the
most hope, he said. Reminds me that we really did
defeat him, in more ways than one.
If it wasn't destroying her life, perhaps she would have
enjoyed the poetic justice in the son and nephew of some of
the Dark Lord's closest supporters.
Falling in love and marrying the muggle bone which you had helped
defeat him. She swallowed, her throat thick.
Thank you, Potter, she said. For for what you did.
It didn't cover it. What their world owed him.
He turned back to her, and she shifted under the weight of his
gaze. A grin tugged at his lips.
It's kind of fun. He said.
Having a full day where you have to be nice to me.
Probably why I don't talk much at these things.
He laughed. Heads whipped around towards
them, snapping to see who would dare laugh on such an occasion,
but seeing it was the Boy who lived and died and lived again,
it was allowed. His gaze trailed across the
courtyard and landed on a clump of ginger haired people.
I should check on Jin Fred Weasley.
She nodded once. Potter clapped her on the
shoulder. Glad you're here, Parkinson.
She offered him a brief smile before he slipped away.
Potter's blessing or not, she couldn't stay in the courtyard
under the weight of the stairs any longer.
The grounds had hardly changed from what she'd remembered.
It was a sacrilege on that day of all days, but she could
almost forget what happened here, go back to the happier
memories when she felt that she was the Queen of Slytherin and
had the adoration of the man who would one day be her king.
VE, did you snick off? Her blood chilled at the
Bulgarian accent. Before she could reach for her
wand, rough hands grabbed her, shoving her back against the
Stonewall. Petro smiled down at her, his
yellow, crooked teeth directly in her line of sight.
You'll have been avoiding me. His breath still reeked at the
pickled fish he and Ivan ate for breakfast every morning.
He gripped her so tightly she knew she'd have bruises in the
morning crowding her, so there was no chance to attempt to knee
him and drop him to give her time to escape.
Since his arrival a week ago, there had been Leah's lewd
looks, hands grabbing her arse if she wasn't quick or strategic
enough in how she fled the room, but nothing like this.
It was clear his patience was at an end.
He couldn't force himself on her, not yet, but it was clear
he wasn't leaving without something.
She tried to fight off his grasp enough to get her hand on her
wand. Don't touch me.
Her struggling only seemed to excite him more.
You will be mine to touch before long.
He leered. What is a little taste now?
His hand slipped up her arm, across her chest to roughly palm
her breast. He ground into her with a deep
moan. Stop.
Her fingers slipped over the Willow wood of her wand.
Let me go. There was a loud bang and he
flew backwards, ripping off the top of her dress as he did.
She grabbed for it at the same time.
She finally reached her wand, aiming it at Petro while
glancing to see her saviour, Neville fucking Longbottom.
He didn't spare a glance at her. He just advanced on Petro, wand
at the ready. Pansy, get an aura.
Petro laughed. They will not arrest me.
He said you saw nothing but a lover's quarrel between me and
my betrothed. Longbottom froze.
His head whipped to her, but she couldn't meet his eyes.
Longbottom turned back to Petro. Get the fuck out of my sight
before I make you. Petro made a show of adjusting
himself. The will talk of this at home.
He looked Longbottom over before dismissing him.
You know what will happen if he touches you.
He strode off without another look back.
Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't even use her one to
repair her dress. Longbottom did it with a gentle
swipe. It was a shitty repair job,
visible seam and everything, but she was going to burn the dress
the moment she got home anyway. Home where Ivan and Petra would
be waiting for her. She dug in her bag for a
cigarette. So much for finally quitting.
Not that it mattered anymore. She hadn't even brought it to
her lips before it flew out of her hands to Longbottoms waiting
one. No smoking on Hogwarts grounds,
Yes, Professor Longbottom, She mocked.
His glare only intensified. Merlin, why did he have to be
here? Be the one to watch that happen?
Who the fuck was that fake pretend laugh?
She'd done it before, she could do it again.
Nothing that concerns you, Longbottom.
Who the fuck was that friend of my guardians?
She snapped. You were 23.
He snapped. Why the fuck do you have a
guardian? She pulled out another
cigarette, desperate for something to calm her tone.
Does Professor Mcgonigal know you swear this much?
The cigarette flew out of her hands with another swipe of his
wand. Tell me what the fuck is going
on, Pansy. She smirked up at him.
I don't remember you being this bossy in school.
She said. Tell me, when did Neville
Longbottom grow such a big pair? He spun on his heel.
Amaya can deal with this. A dramatic type of panic seized
her. No, she lunged, just managing to
grab the edge of his hideous jumper.
Longbottom's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion.
He turned to face her fully. What's going on, Pansy?
Hands shaking, she reached for another cigarette.
It too flew out of her hands with a swish of his wand.
Oh for fuck's sake, I've long got him.
Give me a damn cigarette. Who was that?
Fuck it, the man my guardian chose for me to marry.
She spat. Minor Bulgarian nobility, I'm
told. Pure blooded, obviously.
His glare turn to one of horror, disgust now at her.
Are you serious? He demanded.
You picked a day of old days to rub in the fact that your pure
bloody beliefs run so deep that you'd marry someone like that.
Of course, of course he'd think that about her.
Six years and she would never escape who she'd been at 17.
A laugh bordering on hysteria burst from her mouth.
My best friend is a muggleborn. Somehow, in the face of
everything, losing Granger hurt the most.
The rest of it, terrible as it was, was entirely unexpected.
But never being there to fix Granger's wardrobe, meddle in
her and Draco's relationship, or hear the SWAT give yet another
lecture ever again? Of course I don't give a fuck
about blood status anymore. How could she, after what she'd
seen, what she'd lived? Maybe if she'd been a Selwyn or
a Rosier or a Green Grass, maybe then she would have been able to
believe the lies, believe what they had.
What they were was something worth protecting, cherishing.
But no one knew better the cost of preserving blood status than
a Parkinson girl. If she could burn it all to the
ground, she would. Eyes burning, she sagged against
the castle wall, looking up at the sky so if he saw any
moisture there, he would think it was just from the brightness
of the sun. Hermione Granger is your best
friend. Did she really deserve the
disbelief in his tone? Yes, she spat to the sky.
And yes, I'm aware I'm not her best friend.
I probably don't even rank in the top five.
I'm sure even you are above me. But she swallowed.
Did it matter in the end? If Petra was going to drag her
off to Bulgaria, she'd never see them again.
Any of them. Then tell me why you'd marry
him. Because I'm a Parkinson?
You just said blood status didn't matter to you.
He'd seen enough, might as well hear the rest of it.
Once we turn 17, Parkinson women have seven years to find a
husband, she said, still staring at the sky.
Otherwise, our closest pure blood male relative gets to
choose for us. And since the rest of them were
dead or in Azkaban, that honour went to her third cousin,
however many times removed from Bulgaria.
Of course there's criteria a potential husband needs to meet.
I can only go against my guardian if I find a man who
meets a very specific set of characteristics.
Despite the number of times she mocked him for being thick, Long
got him cut to the chase quick. He glanced down at his right
hand, then back at her. Sacred 28.
Not that alone, she said. To prevent the risk of
intermarrying with blood traitors, he has to either be in
possession of his family's sacred 28 Crest ring or have the
blessing of the man in his family who does.
He crossed his arms. Longbottoms are blood traitors,
yes, but you have the ring. She looked back up at the clouds
rolling by, blissfully idyllic in a way that felt wrong today
for so many reasons. I assume that clause was added
after the Weasleys and the Pruitts objected the
establishment of the Sacred 28 and rejected their rings.
So if you don't find someone from the Sacred 28 with a ring
by your birthday three weeks from now, you have to marry the
man that's just attacked you. He's in the market for 1/5 wife,
she said to the clouds. The first four never lived past
30. He gaped at her, enraged.
That's not legal, he said. You're of age.
No one can make you. I made a blood oath on my 17th
birthday. She stared at the bright sky,
watching the clouds drift by so she didn't have to remember that
day. The feel of Nagini Slytherin
around her legs as she stood before the Dark Lord, presented
by her father. What kind of blood auth?
She gripped her wand in her hand.
Binding my magic to my compliance.
There were her choices. Marriage to Petro and death by
the age of 30. All life as a squib.
The thought of losing her magic, the bright spark in her core,
intrinsic to every part of her being, was so abhorrent she knew
her only choice was marriage to Petro, and she'd spend the next
six years trying to figure out a way to survive, to break free,
until the day he killed her. So it was my ring.
She assumed that question was rhetorical.
Longbottom started pacing. Who's left?
He muttered. It goes Abbott.
She was already exhausted. Half bloods now, their ring
splintered when they gave up their status.
He paused for a moment. Next is Avery, she said.
Azkaban. Not that he'd be any better than
Petro Bullstrawed half bloods. He ran a hand through his hair.
Carol. He cringed.
Then Crouch all dead. Like hell she was going to stand
there and go through all 28. Not when she'd already been
doing it for herself for weeks on end.
Let me save you some time. There are only 9 families left
of the Sacred 28 that are not either extinct, about to become
so, or have their last remaining members locked up in Abzkaban.
OK, 9 is three of those. The Abbots, Bull strode, and
Shacker bolts are all now half bloods.
She said. The Weaseleys never accepted
their ring. Draco and Theo destroyed theirs
in a fit of gryphoned or inspired passion.
The day Draco disinherited and he and Hermione got engaged.
He stared at her. Did they gnaw?
Apparently, he thought as little of them as he did her.
If he had to ask, I was backing up the courage to tell them, she
said. I happened too late, obviously.
That's why you don't want Hermione to know five points to
Gryffindor, she mocked. He ignored her.
So that leaves Foley. Sullivan and Eustace are both
single, yes, but even if the Foleys still have their ring,
it's likely Grim who has it. And considering my father not
only led the raid that killed his parents, but personally cast
the Killing Curse on Grim's mother, it's safe to say he
won't be blessing any union between our two families.
She could see his brain whirring, trying to decide who
was left. Ernie Macmillan.
He brightened. I know, I've seen him with a
ring. Everyone had seen Ernie
Macmillan with his ring. He's gay.
Merlin, he was obtuse if that came as a surprise to him.
And more importantly, A Hufflepuff.
He shot her an incredulous look. You'd rather marry a gay man
over a Hufflepuff? Sounded like a fine arrangement
to her Hufflepuff loyalty. She said with no small measure
of disgust. They'll never forgive me for who
I used to be loyal to, so even if we could convince my family
solicitor he wasn't actually gay, there's no way he'd ever
agree to this Leaving only his voice trailed off.
Neville fucking Longbottom. She wasn't reliving that
humiliation again, even now when he went through the entire
Sacred 28 to find someone else besides him to marry her.
Adjusting her dress as best she could, she pushed herself off
the wall, finally trusting her legs to hold her again.
Not to worry, Longbottom, she said.
I'm nothing if not a survivor. Thank Merlin she'd worn her 3
inch heels today. The dowdy things were
practically sensible, but the 6th anniversary of the Battle of
Hogwarts wasn't a time or place for Pansy Parkinson to stand
out. Why didn't you tell me that two
weeks ago? She froze, then spun, rounding
on him. Would you have liked that,
Longbottom? She sneered.
Pansy Parkinson on her knees, begging for your help.
The slight flaring of his nostrils was his only reaction.
She might be desperate, but she still had her pride.
He studied her. You weren't the first, you know.
She tapped her wand against her thigh, impatience getting to her
now. After Hermione and Draco got
together, he went from being shunned by wizard in society to
first name basis with the Minister of Magic.
He said all sorts of pure blood families associated with Death
Eaters started sending their daughters after any and all
single pure blood members of the Order or Dumbledore's Army
that's had the Selwyn girls written all over it.
Anna, how many did you take up on those offers?
He smirked. Being used for social status
isn't really my thing. He dug a hand through his hair,
looking almost for lawn for a moment.
I always thought Hannah and I would end up eventually working
things out. I just wonderful just what she
wanted to hear another man wax poetic about his girlfriend.
Well, congratulations on being right about me too.
She said. Something to laugh out at your
next Dumbledore's Army reunion party.
Merlin, she needed to get away from him now.
She hadn't made it 6 steps before his voice stopped her.
What would it take? Pride clashed with hope churning
in her stomach. Longbottom walked to face her.
To free you from the blood oath. I already told you, aside from
having to marry me before your birthday.
She wouldn't let him get her hopes up, not now.
You've made yourself very clear that you want nothing to do with
me or this pure blood bullshit. He frowned.
When I thought you wanted to use me to climb back to the top of
wizarding society before I knew how much you needed help.
The day she needed a Longbottom for a place in society was a
pathetic day indeed. She sneered.
Save your pity for someone else at Longbottom.
His eyebrows shot up. Oh, is there another woman to be
sold off in marriage to some minor Bulgarian noble who enjoys
forcing himself on women and gets rid of his wives once he
turned 30? Well, when he put it that way,
details Pansy, she knew better than to give him a single one,
not when she was so close. How long would we have to stay
married? Or would you go back to your
guardian again? She swallowed.
That she could answer. It was the entire line of
reasoning she'd been planning on taking with Draco. 13 months,
she said. And if I don't fall pregnant
during that time, you can invoke the succession clause, since you
obviously won't be. What's that?
The rejection stung more than she wanted to admit.
I'm not exactly eager to fuck you either, Longbottom.
He ignored her. What's the succession clause?
Declares me barren and unfit for another pureblood match.
She said. Disinherits me from your family
and mine. With one diagnostic spell from a
healer's wand. He blinked.
And you'd be OK with that? With freedom, With no longer
being a Parkinson girl. She cleared her throat to clear
the emotion choking her. Yes, suspicion was still holding
him back. That's easy.
If that was it, it would be. Still, she had to give him
something. My guardian can sue for breach
of contract and take me back at any point during the first year
if he suspects any falsity on our parts.
So we'd have to live together, pretend to be in love around our
friends, that sort of thing. She swallowed.
Yes, Draco and Hermione fell in love.
The two of them Couldn't be more unbelievable than that, could
they? He sighed, pinching the bridge
of his nose. The agony of this moment, her
life in Neville fucking Longbottom's hands.
I have conditions, he said finally.
Her heart leapt to her throat. She forced herself to remain
calm. A negotiation was a negotiation.
How much? He blinked.
What gold, she said. We have far less than what we
pretended to have during the war, and the ministry has taken
at least half of what remained. But I'm sure we can negotiate a
price. I don't want your gold, Pansy.
She arched an eyebrow. Everyone wanted gold.
What else did he want from her? She reached for another
cigarette to distract her trembling hands.
It flew from her hand first. No more smoking.
She smirked up at him. How many ways are you going to
try to save me, Longbottom? I can't stand the smell, and
smoke would kill one of my plants.
He said 2nd, we will live at my place in Hogsmeade.
I need to be in London, then flew or apparate.
He said we live in Hogsmeade. At the end of the day, she
supposed it wasn't the end of the world.
Anything else, Yes, he said. No one else.
There was a new undercurrent to the conversation, as if they
drifted beyond basic negotiations to something more.
He towered over her, a new intensity to his gaze.
Nor boyfriends, nor liaisons, and nor secret meet ups, he
said. Fake marriage or not, you will
be faithful to me. Understood. 100 bratty responses
ran through her head. Instead, she did the least Pansy
things she'd done in her entire life and bit her tongue and
nodded. Good.
Something deep within her nearly purred at the praise.
She shoved it back down deep where it came from.
Not here, not now. Certainly not with Neville
fucking Longbottom, no matter how disturbingly handsome he'd
gotten over the past six years. She grappled for the upper hand.
I get to fix your wardrobe. He frowned.
Absolutely not. She rolled her eyes.
I'm trying to start a fashion line.
My husband can't walk around like.
She waved her hand in his general direction.
There. This was safe territory.
Reminding Longbottom what a mess he was, he cocked his head.
You're trying to start a fashion line.
Was that genuine interest in his gaze, or disbelief that she
would work at something in her life?
Yes, just because she could. She pushed modern designs for
the modern witch, she said, inspired in part by Muggle
fashion. It had started as a joke,
Hermione bringing her Muggle fashion magazines, but the
foreign designs spoke to her little ways to change wizarding
fashion that had remained stagnant for far too long.
He blinked. That's impressive, I know, but
your clothing choices are not. She said.
Every one of those eyesore jumpers needs to be burned.
His face hardened. They were my father's.
She swallowed, her gaze dropping.
He sighed. You can buy me new robes for
special events, but just don't destroy or alter anything I
already own, OK? She glanced up.
He looked somewhat annoyed, like he hadn't wanted to agree to
what he'd just offered, but he did it anyway.
How much of this was he already starting to regret?
One last thing. Longbottom said with a slight
smirk. She braced herself.
You're not going back to that manner.
If she was a lesser witch, she would have sobbed in relief.
Yet I can't move in with you until we're married.
That's fine, he said. It's time you met my Gran.