The Right by Parks and Fiction, Chapter 16 Pansy sat on the
bench across from #15 Grimold Place, staring across the street
and down a bit at the empty space between 11 and 13.
It had been an absolute cluster fuck of a week.
She'd woken up on Saturday morning to find Neville sitting
at the kitchen table with bloodshot eyes, still in the
outfit he'd worn the night before.
Ignoring him, she marched over to start her tea.
I'm sorry, Neville said, his voice gravelly.
I'm so fucking sorry, I. Turning, she leaned against the
counter and stared at him. He didn't look up from the
table. Forgot, he whispered.
I knew what day it was, but I forgot what it meant until
Hermione told me why Ron and George weren't coming.
Her jaw tightened. If he didn't bloody remember
either, how could he possibly expect her?
I forgot about Fred, he whispered.
He pressed his first against his mouth and inhaled shakily
through his nose. Something in her chest started
to thaw just a tiny bit. Forgetting about a birthday, 1/2
birthday at that, wasn't the same as forgetting his friend.
I was angry at myself and felt so guilty, and I took it out on
you. His throat bobbed as he finally
lifted his head to face her. And I was wrong, and I'm so
sorry, Pansy. She held his gaze, trying to
decide if she was ready to forgive him or not.
I just. He squeezed his eyes shut and
inhaled deeply before looking back at her.
Why did you go after Jinny like that?
She was obviously upset and you just started mocking her.
A low, humorless laugh bubbled up.
Well done, Longbottom, she said an excellent apology.
She started towards the door, but he got up and stepped in her
path. I know I was wrong, and I'm
sorry, and I'm going to do better, I promise, but you have
to know where the line is when it comes to what's OK to tease
about and what isn't. She walked around him.
I have clients, please don't walk away.
She rounded on him with another humorless laugh.
Oh, that's rich coming from you. His shoulders dropped and he
hung his head. I'm sorry, he said.
I'll give you a space until you're ready to talk.
She hoped he got comfortable, because she was going to never
be ready to listen to a lecture on how she needed to be nice to
Ginny Weasley. Draco at least had learnt his
lesson about suggesting she apologise to any of the
Gryffindors in an effort to smooth things over, but his
fiancee hadn't. I know your sense of humour and
teasing isn't exactly in line with theirs.
Hermione said during her weekly fitting.
But they don't know that. Almost like I had no idea that
day meant anything to them. But of course they were allowed
their ignorance and she was not allowed hers.
And that's our Neville for not preparing you for how the
Weaseleys in particular were feeling that night.
She said. But you still owe Jinny an
apology for teasing her for crying, especially now that you
know what else was going on. If any of them knew the real
reasons why she hated Jinny so much, she wondered if they would
be telling her to grovel to Pansy instead.
It didn't matter though, they'd made it more than clear they
didn't care to learn any of her reasons for her behaviour.
She hated being the bigger person, but neither was she
willing to sink as low as the sanctimonious hypocrites.
So, exactly one week after the disaster at the pub, she marched
across the street and pounded on the door of #12 Grimaud Place.
Potter himself answered a minute later, his friendly smile
immediately fading. He leaned against the door, hand
resting against the pocket where he doubtless kept his wand.
Pansy. She swallowed.
Is Jinny home? Yep, and Grainger had the nerve
to suggest she act mature. May I speak with her?
I'll ask. He shut the door in her face and
disappeared back into the house. Classy, Potter.
She was just about to give up and leave when he returned.
She's making dinner, but said you can come back.
He turned and walked down the hallway.
She took that as an invitation to follow him through the house.
It was an improvement over standing on the stoop, anyway.
The house was interesting. A formal dining room was off to
the left as she entered, but it looked like it hadn't been used
in a few decades. Various chunks of the walls down
the hallway had been taken out and roughly patched over, as if
instead of taking down the paintings, they'd removed the
whole wall behind them. The staircase upstairs had a row
of patched squares leading up the wall.
Merlin, Astoria needed to get her hands on this place.
Potter could put some of that sleek, easy fortune to good use
to make this place liveable. The stone steps at the end of
the entry hall LED down to a kitchen that was in surprisingly
decent shape compared to what else you'd seen of the house.
It was clean and bright, obviously the place the Potters
actually ate, as opposed to the dreary formal dining room
upstairs. Perhaps the more commonly used
parts of the house looked better as well.
Certainly still could do with the story as touch.
Or, frankly, anyone who knew a thing about interior design.
But if no one visited except for the flu, she might have been the
first visitor in years to see the bleak front hall.
She stood at the stove, long hair wrapped up in a bun, as she
supervised the various knives, prepping vegetables and pans on
the stove. I'll be upstairs.
Jin Potter called before he disappeared down the hall.
Jinny didn't acknowledge him or Pansy just remained at the
stove, cooking dinner for the husband who loved her in the
house they shared together. It was so fucking hard not to
hate her, the way she went about her life, blissfully unaware of
the collateral damage she left in her wake just by being who
she was. Pansy cleared her throat.
Jinny glanced over her shoulder and then back to the food she
was prepping. I know you're there.
Gritting her teeth, she stepped further into the kitchen.
I came to apologize for what I said to you on Friday night.
Jinny finally turned 1, still in hand.
Well, go on then. She'd rather eat raw
flabberworms, but she swallowed and forced out what she'd
practised. I apologize for what I said to
you on Friday, she said. I did not know the significance
of the date for you or your family.
Her eyebrows flicked up, unimpressed.
I'm so sorry for what happened to your brother.
That, at least, she meant. No one deserved to be buried
that young. Her gaze narrowed.
Would you have turned him over to Voldemort as well?
So that's what this was really about.
Her lips spread into a humorless smile, ignoring the obvious that
none of the teachers or over 3/4 of the school was going to allow
Potter to be handed over. You have no idea what it is like
for those of us trapped on the wrong side.
She snorted. You made your choice.
She'd never made a single fucking choice that counted in
her entire life. Something snapped inside her.
She stormed forward, completely uncaring of the fact that Jenny
still held her wand pointed loosely at her.
You think you like the view from the moral fucking high ground,
but she never really made a choice either, Weasley.
She spat. You fought alongside your family
and every adult you've grown up respecting for the ideals you'd
been raised to believe in. Her eyes flashed.
Pure blood ideology is fucked up bullshit, and around the time
that had arranged half blood moved into my boyfriend's house
and started torturing and killing and feeding people to
his giant snake, I realized that she snapped.
What exactly do you think I could have done about it?
She scoffed. Asked for help.
How nice it must be to be so fucking naive.
Oh. She asked.
So if I or Draco or any other child of a Death Eater had come
to any of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, if I'd
offered to join Dumbledore's Army 7th year, we would have
been welcomed with open arms? Something that looked like doubt
or guilt flashed across her face.
Even Dumbledore's word that Snape was on your side.
How many of the Order actually trusted him?
How many still doubt Potter's testimony about him?
She watched the sanctimonious superiority slide from her face
entirely. For once, Ginny wasn't brimming
with the unflinching confidence with which she'd strutted down
the halls of Hogwarts ever since her fourth year of school.
It felt so fucking good to be the one to do that to her, to
remind her that the world was a lot more grey than she believed,
that Pansy wasn't as evil as she might want to think.
She and Draco had played their parts when they'd had to.
Maybe Draco had decided he needed to simper and apologise
and try to earn their forgiveness and trust.
But she'd done what she'd had to and made no apologies for it.
Something chimed, breaking whatever spell had locked their
gaze together. Jinny turned, flicking her wand
with practice Tees. The utensils and food followed,
her instructions flowing from one step to the next.
It was all so domestic, sweet, even.
Do you do this every night? What once might have come across
as snide simply sounded curious. Jinny glanced at her out of the
corner of her eye. Cook, No stand there and berate
people who come to apologise. Yes, I do dinners.
Harry makes breakfast. She watched her wand fly,
directing the ingredients into the pots and pans on the stove.
Something not unlike envy slithered through her stomach.
Ginny glanced at her again. I assume Neville eats at school
each night. Of course she had no bloody idea
how to cook during the week when it's in session.
She pointed her wand at the bookshelf and a book floated
towards her. Easy recipes for the remedial
home cook. Jinny smirked as she glanced up.
You can have that for the weekends.
Maybe Neville does the cooking on the weekends.
I have no doubt he does all the cooking.
She said. Still nice to plan a surprise
for your spouse from time to time.
She thought of the dejected way she'd left Neville the week
before. She'd hardly seen him since.
When do you want it back? You can keep it, she said.
It was a wedding gift from George and Angelina.
So the witch was trying to poison her.
She set the book on the counter. I'll pass.
Her smirk spread. It's a real book, she said.
The joke was, I'm actually a good cook.
Modest too. I didn't think you'd know the
definition of that word. This felt like something.
Possibly forgiveness, Acceptance at least.
Maybe she could try to return in kind.
If you want to come by the store sometime, I'd be happy to do a
few outfits for you. She shot her a look.
Is that a passive aggressive insult about my clothing?
Since when had her insults been passive aggressive?
A genuine offer? Jinny eyed her for a few
heartbeats before she shrugged. I'll think about it.
This was probably about to blow her goodwill, but she couldn't
let it go. Astoria Greengrass has started a
restoration and interior design business.
Her eyes narrowed. She held up her hands.
I promised Daphne I'd pass along the information to anyone who
inherited an older home, she said.
No judgement at all if this is your style.
She rolled her eyes. I'll let you finish, she said.
Thank you for the book. Give my love to Neville.
There was no sign of Potter. As she walked herself out, she
wondered if he'd used his cloak or an extendable ear or another
item from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to eavesdrop on that
conversation. She didn't believe for one
moment that he hadn't listened. In some form or another, she
operated back to Neville's cottage, dark and empty.
She didn't need to like the Potters, but if they could at
least go back to tolerating one another, they had eight months
of this left, not to mention the right whenever Neville finally
agreed to it. She sat on the couch and began
flipping through the pages of the cookbook.
All those years of training and she'd never learned anything
practical or useful for survival.
Malfoy wives didn't need to know how to feed themselves, they
just needed to know how to command house elves.
What rubbish. Her hands froze at a recipe she
would never have expected. And a British Wizarding cookbook
Chicken tikka masala. Her lips lifted at the brief
description. A popular muggle dish with
Indian influences but invented entirely in Britain.
Often a favorite of muggle born witches and Wizards, this dish
is simple to prepare but has an exotic presentation served with
rice and store bought naan for easy accompaniments.
She rolled her eyes at the exotic presentation, but the
inclusion of the recipe brought a small smile to her face.
She traced her fingers over the picture, remembering the first
time she'd got in muggle take away with Hermione.
From the outside looking in, Hermione had always seemed to
blend the wizarding world and her muggle roots with such ease.
In truth, she knew it was a lot more complicated than her friend
made it appear. She thought of Penelope reading
through her spellbooks the moment she bought them in an
effort to catch up with her peers.
They had been thrown into a brand new world, 1 completely
contrary to the one they'd been raised in, and yet both faced it
head on, not just adapting, but thriving.
Pansy shut the cookbook, determination coursing through
her as she rose to find a piece of parchment to make a grocery
list. If they could do it, so could
she. Grainger was on to something
about how Self writes because this, this was torture.
Tuesday night she destroyed the food completely.
It looked like Weasley's potion ingredients when he'd been
ordered to help Draco. Third year after the Hippogriff
incident. Even the rice congealed into
some semi solid soggy mess. There was literally nothing left
to cook, so she gave up and vanished it all.
Wednesday wasn't much better until everything burned, even
the rice. She barely got the scent of
smoke removed before Neville came home.
Thursday was somehow both over and under cooked and sweet.
Salazar keep her away from salt because it was absolutely
inedible. Friday, Neville came home early.
His eyes widened in alarm at the smell and he rushed over to the
stove. What's this?
Dinner? Hopefully the rice seemed
correct at least. Her response only seemed to
increase his alarm. Well then, now she was giving
him no choice but to eat it. She scooped a large helping of
both rice and tikka masala onto a plate and held it out to him
with a smile. He accepted the plate, looking
more terrified than any Gryffindor before him in
history. Sit down, she said.
There's naan and wine too. Men had walked to the gallows
with more excitement than Neville as he sat down at his
kitchen table. Pansy pulled the naan out of the
oven, completely unburnt, she was proud to note, and sent it
in a basket over to the table. She poured the wine herself and
brought him a glass. Well, she said, how is it a
Slytherin would have walked out, demanded she eat a bite first.
But despite his obvious trepidation, her Gryffindor
husband picked up his fork and knife and cut the chicken
straight down the middle. They both glanced at the centre,
but there wasn't a hint of pink. At least she'd done that much
right tonight. With that reassurance, he could
a bite appropriately sized for a toddler.
After a brief moment, perhaps for prayer, he put it in his
mouth and started to chew. She was practically holding her
breath as she watched him. His eyes shot up and he looked
up at her. This is good, Thank Merlin, you
sound surprised. He cut himself a reasonably
adult sized bite. I didn't know you knew how to
cook. She settled down across from him
with her own plate. It's a recently acquired skill.
If taking four tries over that many days counted as acquiring a
skill, what inspired it? Granger telling me she'd no
longer be my friend if I use the rest of my inheritance to
purchase a house elf. She took a bite and smiled.
It didn't taste exactly like the take away she'd gotten with
Hermione, but it was more than passably edible.
It was good, and she'd done that all by herself.
Pleased with herself. Neville's narrow eyed glare from
across the table caught her off guard for a minute.
Right, the house elf comment. Or maybe he was pissed about the
reference to her spending her inheritance.
Who knew with him anymore? She sighed.
Ginny Weasley, Potter, she corrected, gave me a cookbook
she doesn't use. That seemed to shock him even
more than the fact she'd actually made a decent meal.
Which, to be honest, she wouldn't have placed a single
Knut on the likelihood of either of those events occurring as
much as a week ago either. You saw Jinny?
His expression was guarded. Why?
Why did he think Quidditch lessons?
The fork and knife he'd been holding fell with a clatter.
He rubbed his temples. I went to apologise.
She said, staring at her plate as her appetite faded.
Oh. He said, voice soft.
Thank you. She wanted to snap that it
hadn't been for him, but she knew that was a lie.
He stared down at his plate, the same dejected look on his face
that he'd had the day she walked out, forgetting it was his half
birthday. Doesn't mean you forgot about
Fred. She said softly.
His eyes darted up, searching her face.
It feels that way. That's just the grief.
The corner of his mouth rose in a sad half smile.
I always forgot their half birthday.
He said October and after the battle was the first time I
remembered, actually. He looked down at his plate.
Some days I think about him and I laugh at all the stupid shite
he used to pull, and other days I think about him and it feels
like finding out he died all over again.
And both ways I feel guilty. Fanzi reached across the table
and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.
It's like that with everything we lost.
Lavender, Lupin, Tonks Golin shouldn't have even been
fighting, but he exhaled a low, shuddering breath.
It's just, it's hard sometimes, he said.
Everything we lost. I'm sorry for taking it out on
you. It wasn't fair of me.
Pride or peace. She took a slow, deep breath.
I am trying, she said. With your friends.
I am trying. Maybe she'd have been more of a
bitch to Ginny than she was to anyone else, but she'd gone to
her house to apologise directly. He opened his mouth to say
something, but she wasn't done. But I need you to meet me
halfway. He nodded.
Ah, no, he said, I'm sorry. I will do better, I promise,
Pansy. He squeezed her hand again.
She nodded once. Thank you.
They both went back to their meal.
After several minutes of silence, Neville cleared his
throat. Harry, Ron, and Ginny have come
to the Gryffindor Slytherin Quidditch match with me the past
two years. He said.
Would you like to come this year?
I could invite Draco too, and try to convince Mione to come
too. Inviting Draco was probably the
only way to get Hermione to attend the match.
How she'd survived 8 months of dating one of the most famous
Quidditch players in the world never ceased to shock her.
She smirked. Are you sure you want 2
Slytherins there? He grinned in return.
Honestly, I think seeing the looks on your faces when you
lose will make it more fun for me.
She laughed. Another thought that had been
rolling around came to her. Can Muggles ever visit Hogwarts?
He frowned. The place is surrounded by
muggle repellent wards. The Griffiths, she said.
Teresa was writing to me the other day about how Muggle
boarding schools typically have parent weekends, and she was
disappointed to hear that Hogwarts didn't.
His world is wineglass. They'd need Mcgonigal's
permission, he said. Probably Slugon's too, since he
is Penelope's Head of House. That would only increase
Penelope's chances of ending up in the Slug Club.
I'm sure Hermione would love helping show them around too.
His lips lifted in 1/2 smirk. Good way to get Horace to agree
to anything. My thoughts exactly.
I'll ask Minerva about it on Monday.
She beamed. Thank you.
He eyed her. What is it about them?
She ran her finger up and down the stem of her wine glass.
I don't know, she said. They remind me a lot of most of
the adults I knew growing up without being blood
supremacists, right? Obviously.
But it's obvious how much they truly love and care for their
daughter. Being completely and totally out
of their element with the magical world was only proof how
far they would go. Despite how posh and refined
they were, she didn't think that there was anything they wouldn't
do for Penelope. For a moment, it looked like
Neville was about to reach across the table for her hand,
but he seemed to think better of it.
She flashed him a smirk. Plus, they're very wealthy, and
I can tell Penelope's going to go far, so I figure the more I
invest in them now, the more it'll pay off for me later.
He smiled as if he didn't quite believe her.
Good thinking, Slytherins always are.