The Right by Parks and Fiction, Chapter 6 Longbottom's relatives
were interesting. Even from two stories up, she
could tell that they were as raucous as one would expect from
a crowd of Gryffindors despite their ages.
Draco, Theo, and Blaze seemed to share her trepidation as they
hovered on the edges of the patio, but the Gryffindor guests
and even Padma blended in with the Longbottoms.
Wieselt appeared to be suffering under the attentions of an
elderly Longbottom with an Earhorn who kept yelling at her
to speak directly into it. She watched Potter intervene
before Wieselt hit him with one of her famous bat bogey exes.
Neville stood in the centre of it all, wearing poorly fitted
dress robes and smiling and laughing in ways that she hadn't
seen before her own wedding, and she could not have felt more out
of place. What didn't belong was Neville's
hideous outfit. She'd been so busy with her
dress she'd forgotten to do something about his clothing.
Another project for another day. At least he'd come through on
the flowers. The garden surrounding the
greystone patio was rich and lush, a result of years of
careful cultivation. Bright blossoms bloomed
everywhere, filling the space with colour and life.
He'd crafted elaborate arrangements for the buffet and
smaller versions hanging off each of their chairs, as well as
a large, elegant flower arch where they would stand for the
ceremony. It was all done with a mix of
pink and green and white flowers with various greenery.
It was beautiful in a quaint, homey sort of way.
Seeing it now, and the bright, happy faces below her, she
wondered if her Ministry wedding might have been better.
There were at least two unhappy faces.
Cousin Ivan was there, though she had steadfastly refused to
have him give her away. She hadn't asked what happened
to Petro, didn't particularly care either way.
Between Neville and Augusta, and from the looks of it, Potter as
well, there was at least one eye on him at all times.
Lawrence, her father's solicitor, was there too.
She'd seen and known true evil, but to her he was the worst of
them all. A bland, emotionless man who
would do whatever his clients asked, no matter the
questionable morality, so long as gold was exchanged.
Greedy men with no scruples were the ones who allowed
megalomaniacs like the Dark Lord to obtain power and keep it.
I came to see if you need any help.
She turned from the window and smiled at Hermione.
Not that you would let me anywhere near your hair or make
up. She added with a rueful grin.
Grainger, I would love to get you near my make up.
She laughed once. You look beautiful, Pansy.
She'd kept her hair and make up simple, adding a light curl to
her black Bob and sweeping one side off her face with a
jewelled flower comb. From her family's faults, the
true brilliance of her look was her dress.
The satin sweetheart neckline gown was covered in a single
layer of sheer chic chiffon. It covered her exposed back as
well as the top of her chest and shoulders.
A half dozen layers added fullness and a light airy touch
to her skirt. She used the same sheer fabric
for her billowing sleeves that ended in cuffs right at her
wrists. The bodice was covered in floral
embroidery, light pink azalias mixed with soft green dahlias,
and a spring of white delphinium flowers here and there on a bed
of green Fern. The embroidery tailed down her
sleeves and on several offshoots into the chiffon of the skirt,
the longest just hitting her knees.
Augusta had interrupted her wandering in the garden earlier
that week, looking for inspiration for the embroidery,
and she'd somehow admitted what she was doing.
For a minute, it seemed like they were actually getting along
when Augusta suggested using the wedding flowers.
Neville mentioned he chose his favourites.
She said. So that'll be.
She trailed off. Oh, forgive me, dear, you must
find this sore patronising. Of course, you know what
Neville's favorite flowers are. Don't mind me.
She strode away with a smug smirk that immediately reminded
Pansy of her grandson. Fucking Longbottoms.
So then she had to owl Neville to ask him what his favorite
flowers were and what he was using for her bouquet.
Unfortunately, his list of names left something to be desired and
she had no idea what any of them looked like.
It led to further unnecessary back and forth until he sent her
a mini bouquet of what he was planning and a few extra sprigs
of delphinium, which he decided to not put in the bouquet.
But apparently she still needed to recognise because growing
white ones were rather rare and difficult and he was quite proud
of himself. The full version of the bouquet
was even more spectacular. Clusters of pink azaleas and
light green dahlias blossomed together in a bed of darker
green Fern spotted with white orchids.
A row of them cascaded over the side like a waterfall to trail
over her arm when she held it. It was absolutely stunning, the
perfect match to her dress and the perfect look for a garden
wedding. Everything about the day was
perfect, except for the tiny detail of the two of them not
actually liking one another. And the other thing, Hermione?
She swallowed. She cocked her head.
What is it? If there's something, something
I haven't told Neville, They didn't call her the brightest
witch of her age for nothing. Should you tell him now or after
the wedding, do you mean? She nodded.
I couldn't say, not knowing what it is.
She would never, could never tell her friend.
Luckily, Hermione didn't press. I don't think you can have a
solid relationship without honesty, she said.
Is it a reason for him not to marry you?
No, not if it was a real marriage with their sham.
She didn't know what would make him cry off, which was why she
hadn't said a word and why this close, she wouldn't then enjoy
the morning and tell him right away after the estate meeting,
she said. Better he hears from you as soon
as possible before anyone else. That was the problem.
Of course, he's never been mad at me, Hermione snorted.
But Hansy, you bullied him mercilessly for seven years, and
now he's marrying you? She said.
He's obviously forgiving. He hadn't forgiven her so much
as agreed to save her from years of abuse and eventual murder,
but that was splitting hairs. She gave her friend a small
smile. Must be a Gryffindor trait, she
beamed. Only the best of us.
She held out her arm. Ready.
Hermione walked her downstairs, then slipped away to her seat
next to Draco. A minute later, the ceremony
began and Pansy started down the aisle.
As beautiful as the gardens looked from the window, they
were breathtaking on the scene. It was as if she'd stepped into
a veritable forest of lightly fragrant flowers.
The flower arch Neville made drew everyone's eyes towards
where he stood waiting for her. It was right over the stone path
that led further into the gardens, looking like the
entrance to a fairy Glen. Neville looked about as she'd
imagined he did when Hermione put him in that infamous full
body bind first year. Standing as stiff as a board.
His jaw hung open just enough to be obvious.
It put just a hint of a strut in her step as she walked towards
him. Standing just behind Neville's
shoulder, Great Uncle Algae leaned forward to whisper
something to him. Neville's mouth snapped shut,
but he grinned as she finally reached him.
There was a rueful disbelief in it, one she hoped everyone else
would interpret as shock and awe, that she'd agreed to marry
him and not the moment he realized they were actually
going to get married for real and called the whole thing off.
Instead, his hand reached for hers and he squeezed it once.
The gesture was so sweet and steadying, it sent a pang
through her chest. Even though he wasn't Draco or
Theo, for the first time since she was 17, a part of her felt
like she might actually be safe. Great Uncle Algae was a tall,
willowy wizard, surprisingly spry for his age.
He beamed at Pansy with such a bright, happy expression she
forgot to glare at him on principle.
With a twinkle in his eye, he led them through the bonding
ceremony. They'd chosen the simplest one
possible, even though algae threw in a few extra adjectives
and more than one mention of everlasting love.
Before she knew it, the final band of gold lights sunk into
their entwined forearms and the ceremony was complete.
She was married to Neville Longbottom.
He beamed at her, blue eyes shining in the bright summer
sun. There was something soft and
hopeful in his expression as he studied her.
She missed whatever Uncle Algae said, caught in Neville's gaze.
The crowd laughed as he gave her a rueful grin and stepped flush
against her right, the kiss Slowly, as if she was something
precious, something to be treasured.
He cooked her face in either hand, tilting his head down.
His lips found hers. She would never forget the day
she stepped into Ollivander's as an 11 year old.
The way it felt when she held her wand for the first time.
The warmth that spread through her entire body, magic coming
alive. The Willow wood wand with a
phoenix core practically singing in her hands.
Kissing Neville Longbottom was all the hat and more.
Her body flushed with warmth, sparks of a different kind of
magic shocking every place they touched.
He pulled away just as she was starting to sink into it.
She blinked, the garden and everyone watching, the two of
them coming back in a rush. Neville smirked and leaned down
to whisper in her ear. If everything you said last
night didn't make you blush, then neither should a simple
kiss. He pressed another one to her
cheek and laughed at her glare. Come on.
He led her back to the house and into the Conservatory for what
are supposed to be a few minutes of privacy to enjoy their newly
wedded bliss as Augusta barked orders to set up for the buffet
luncheon she'd planned. You look beautiful.
She turned from watching the backyard to find Neville smiling
at her. He nodded to her dress.
Did you make it yourself? I was the only worthwhile
designer who could get me in in such sought notice.
He grinned. Stepping forward.
He trailed a finger down the embroidery on the sleeve of her
dress. Is this why you asked me what my
favorite flowers were? That, and your grandmother made
a point to shame me for my ignorance.
His grin widened. Do you know what they mean?
They're flowers. He nodded.
I didn't even know what they all were four days ago.
Pink as early as represents femininity and beauty.
Green dahlias are for fresh starts, and delphinium flowers
are a symbol of protection and to communicate cheer.
That seemed pointed. So you think I'm pretty and you
want a fresh start where you protect me and keep me happy?
She drawled. He smirked.
You have to admit it, Fitz. She battered her eyelashes.
Because you think I'm pretty? I told you I thought you looked
beautiful. From the open, easy look on his
face, he meant it. And I'm not a monster.
Of course I want to protect you from that.
He jerked his head towards the patio where Ivan and Lawrence
were lurking. But we have to live together for
the next 13 months, so I think starting fresh and doing what we
can to keep each other happy will make it all a lot easier.
Maybe we can even become friends.
There was the doe eyed, unsuspecting, earnest, Naive
Longbottom she remembered from school.
Instead of triumph at being right, she felt dread and a
tendril of something a better person might have called guilt.
She cleared her throat. Listen, Neville, about the
meeting with the solicitor. Don't worry about it, he said.
I think we've really done well so far.
I mean, all this helped. He nodded his head towards the
gardens. Right.
If she was going to take Hermione's advice, this was
probably her last chance. There has the two of you better
not be snogging back there. Theo marched into the
Conservatory, holding his hand over his eyes.
Your Gran sent me to fetch you. I can't witness that image more
than once today. Neville rolled his eyes and took
Pansy's hand to lead her back to the gardens.
That counted as trying to tell him, right?
Rather than drop her hand, Neville interlaced their fingers
together and held tight. The gooey eyed looks from
several of his great aunts was the only reason she decided to
allow it. When Enid came by and tried to
force the infamous meringue on her, she declined, informing her
that she'd rather hold on to Neville.
The Longbottoms found this absolutely delightful, which,
considering they'd all been deranged enough to sit around
eating said meringue while the child was dangerously hung from
a window, she should have expected so.
Really. No.
Honeymoon for you 2. One of the old great aunts
pouted. Year end exams are almost here
and then Pansy's hoping to open a shop in Diagon this summer.
He said we'll take one next summer instead.
Her gaze darted up to him from the practised ease with which he
spoke. He'd been planning this line out
already. Oh, where will you go?
She should have known from his shit eating grin that she wasn't
going to appreciate his next words.
Argentina. He said.
It's been Pansy's dream to go ever since forever.
So this way we can make sure to get as much time there as
possible. Draco shot her a look of
incredulity. To be fair, he'd known her his
entire life and had never once heard her mention the desire to
travel to Argentina. The number of times she dropped
hints about honeymooning in Greece was a bit mortifying, so
there was little way he'd forget that.
But it wasn't like the Longbottoms owned their own
private villa there, so surely a change in honeymoon was
understandable with a change in groom.
When Lawrence started clearing his throat an hour after the end
of the ceremony, Neville began extracting them from the crowd
of well wishers. A promise to the Slytherin crew
to see them on Friday, another to the Gryffindors for drinks
sometime soon, and far too many embraces from elderly witches
and Wizards she'd never met before that day.
Before they'd flewed away for the estate business, Theo hadn't
been able to help himself from calling out.
So is that what they're calling it these days?
Rather than being mortified at his behaviour, Neville's
relatives erupted into their own cheers and laughter.
Apparently, even a crowd of elderly Gryffindor's wasn't
beyond Theo's ability to charm. The sharp contrast between the
warm, cheerful home they'd just left and the cold flu parlour of
her family estate was like a slap in the face.
Neville's hand tightened on hers, directing her around one
of the new piles of broken glass.
Clearly, Ivan and Petro hadn't taken the news of her upcoming
nuptials particularly well. In her father's office, a room
she would have been happy to never set foot in again,
Lawrence began reading the terms of her marriage, mostly standard
legal jargon detailing the transfer of the estate and all
its holdings to Neville. Everything to be expected from a
pure blood union. Then came the rest of it.
Mr. Longbottom, I will require your family Crest ring and your
wand. With a long warning look at
Ivan, Neville handed over both. Lawrence weighed his wand, then
passed it back right away before running a series of diagnostics
on the ring. You are the sole male heir of
your. Family line, correct?
Well. Capable of procreation, he.
Clarified Merlin, she hoped so. That put rather horrid mental
images of Uncle Algae in mind. Neville cleared his throat.
Yes. The ring was passed down to you
from your father and his father before him.
Margaret Uncle had possession of the ring from the date of my
father's incapacitation until I became of age.
Neville said, a lie if ever she'd heard one.
Augusta probably never let that damn ring out of her sight.
Once in those 15 years, he began reciting Neville's lineage.
Luckily, stopping at the date the Sacred 28 was established,
she'd sat through enough pure blood lineages to hate whoever
was naming children in the Middle Ages.
The. Groom is acceptable to the
estate. Standards, Lawrence finally
announced. She could have wept.
Thank Merlin, Ivan growled in frustration.
There was nothing he could do, not now.
Miss Parkinson. That's Missus Longbottom,
actually, Neville said, his voice cool.
Sweet Salazar, Even if it was just for 13 months, there was no
way she was going to go by that. Your marriage has yet to be
recognised by the estate. Lawrence said, his voice bored.
He stood up from his chair and walked to hers.
Miss Parkinson, please submit yourself for evaluation.
She didn't move an inch. I would like to request it be
done in private. Your.
Guardian and Groom are required to witness of.
Course, they were dreading every step she rose.
What's going on? Neville said.
What examination? Lawrence began sketching runes
in the air around her. Confirming her status?
Nothing. More.
Neville looked ready to jump out of his chair and stop him.
It's fine. No point drawing this out and
making it worse. I've done it before.
Every year on her birthday ever since her period started.
Usually just her father and his solicitor present her 17th
birthday not included. I would like to present my
daughter, my Lord, such a. Pretty Little witch.
From the finest purebloodstock, my Lord.
Not so much as a pureblood. In our family tree.
A prized breeder, That's what she was to them.
Hot waves of humiliation rolled through her as her family's
ruins sank into her skin. Moments later, a golden ball
rose from between her hips. Lawrence broke the spell, and
the runes and light faded. Don't say it, don't say it.
Don't Virginity is intact. There was a thump as Neville
dropped back into his chair. She couldn't look at him,
couldn't look at anything other than where the hem of her
wedding gown skimmed the floor. She'd thought once being
rejected by him at the Three Broomsticks was the most
humiliating moment of her life. This was so much worse.
The marriage is valid and recognized by the.
Estate, Lawrence said. Congratulations, Mr. and Missus
Longbottom. Relief crested over her in a
wave so swift and sharp her knees nearly buckled.
Merlin, this is what her life had come to. all-encompassing
relief of being married to Neville fucking Longbottom.
Said husband was noticeably silent.
She didn't chance a glance to read his expression.
The right. Will need to be completed within
one year of the wedding or the marriage will be rendered.
Invalid, right? Neville asked, his voice
clipped. Fucking hell, another one.
Was this ever going to end? There was a rustling of papers.
The Parkinson family ritual is provided to you, but you of
course may use your family's preferred spells.
Maybe it was simpler than it sounded.
If other family spells could be used, it couldn't be that bad,
right? There was a glow of bright blue
protection ruins. The wards of the estate have
been shifted to you, Mr. Longbottom.
He said. A representative of Gringot's
will contact you about their procedures to transfer the
Parkinson vaults to your estate. It was hard to say who was more
furious in that moment, Neville or Ivan.
Since there is no surviving male heir of the Parkinson line, you
may now take possession of the Parkinson family ring until a
male heir from your union comes of age.
He slid the black box towards Neville, who made no move to
touch it. Lawrence began packing up his
belongings. I will be back in a year to
verify the right has been completed.
He said. Please note, if the marriage is
declared invalid for any reason, you will be required to pay back
anything you took from the estate plus 14% interest.
The room was as silent as a grave.
Do not hesitate to contact me in the meantime for any manner
related to the Parkinson Estate, Missed or Longbottom AS.
Soon, as the green from the flu faded, Ivan turned to Neville.
You will pay me the bride price I have set.
You get nothing, he snapped. After what you tried to do to
her, you're lucky I don't have you thrown in Azkaban.
Ivan gripped his wand. Neville didn't say much as
blink. Your belongings are packed for
you and waiting at the gate. He said.
Get off my property. You cannot tell me what to do.
You can leave of your own free will this minute, or by force
the next, he spat. Your choice.
It was mildly disturbing how someone in such hideous robes
could turn her on. This is not over.
Ivan slammed the door behind him.
She felt the moment he disapparated from the property.
Her gaze flicked up. Neville glared at her, furious
in a way she'd never seen him before.
So much for green dahlias. I know, she said with a little
pout. It's a disappointing amount of
gold to be sure. In my defence, we.
His rage only burned brighter. This isn't about the fucking
gold. And you know it's Pansy.
She flopped into her chair sideways, letting her legs
dangle over the armrest. The house.
She sighed. It is an eyesore.
It needs to be stripped to the bones and completely redone.
Probably easier to just sell it, but there's not much of A market
for homes of former death. He pounded his first on the
table. Pansy.
She arched her eyebrow. Yes, dear.
He looked furious enough to spit flames.
You lied to me. No, I didn't.
When I asked you for details, all you said was that we'd need
to be married for 13 months and pretend to be in love.
He spat. You didn't think to mention it
also involved me having to take your virginity?
He didn't have to sound so repulsed by the thought.
Let's be clear, she said virgin by only the most technical
definition. That's not the part I'm
concerned about. If that's not repugnant to you,
I can find someone else to do it.
It had been her initial plan, until he'd made that condition
about not cheating on him. I'll even find some muggle, so
it's impossible for anyone. He fisted the papers.
The right he was talking about wasn't just sex, it's fucking
blood magic. Her family's favorite.
Literally, by the sounds of it. He looked ready to lunge across
the table for her, and not in the fun way.
This is not a joke, Pansy. She sighed.
What do you want me to do? She asked.
Take Polygy's potions so you can get through it, He reared back.
That is somehow the most disturbing thing you've said
yet. He was the one so eager to get
out of fucking her. This type of magic has been
illegal for centuries, he said. It would magically bind you to
me in irrevocable ways, she said.
Kinky. His nostrils flared.
She sighed. I swear to never use it against
you or ask anything from you as soon as we divorce.
She said. And As for the legality, my
family's been doing it since the Middle Ages and no one's ever
gotten caught but or punished, and I'm not exactly going to
report it. The fact that Longbottom now
knew her family's darkest secrets was bad enough, and even
if it somehow gets out, I doubt anyone is going to send Neville
Longbottom, Order of Merlin First Class and Hero of the
Battle of Hogwarts to Azkaban for saving a witch from a blood
oath her father forced her into. When she was 17.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He said he'd be back to verify
the rice is completed, he said. What happens if it's not?
Her stomach churned. Ivan can declare you impotent
and take me back and sell her off to Petro or another man who
wouldn't hesitate to force her into the right or whatever else
he wanted from her, leaving her right back where she started.
Fucking Merlin, He muttered. What are you going to do?
She asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
He let out a long breath. I'll take you to my place in
Hogsmeade, he said. Then.
I need to think about this alone.