The Right by Parks and Fiction, Chapter 14 All right, Alice, All
done. Pansy slid the headband off her
head and fluffed her neatly dried hair.
After four weeks, every bald spot had completely filled in.
Even with the magical properties of the serum.
The new growth was only an inch and a half long at most, but she
hoped by Christmas she'd be able to trim her hair to one complete
length. She came three times a week
during her lunch hour on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,
closing for an entire hour. 3 * a week wasn't the soundest
business model. August was one of the busiest
shopping months, second only to December, but she found she
actually enjoyed spending time with Alice.
She didn't have to pretend to be nice or force herself to smile
to please customers. After the success of the
headband she'd made, no one questioned or argued with her.
No one made snide comments about her family history or compared
their blood status with hers and pointed out that she was now
waiting on them. Those moments were few and far
between, but they left a bad taste in her mouth.
Customer service was never going to be her strength, but it took
time to build a reputation strong enough that she could get
away with being herself. Which was to say, going back to
being a bitch. The time at Saint Mungo's seemed
to benefit Alice too. It was subtle, but she seemed
calmer and more relaxed after their time together.
Proof that good hair was sometimes more than just hair.
What had initially taken her almost the full hour to do, she
could now easily get done in half the time.
She might even have a chance to stop at a cafe for a real meal
now that she's gotten so efficient.
Margaret had noticed as well. You know, we have wheeled chairs
you can use to take her to the courtyard.
She said. Make full use of your time with
her. What was she supposed to say?
No, that's OK. I'm not actually here to spend
time with her. I just want her to look nice
because I'm vapid and vain as everybody thinks me to be.
Won't she? She gets anxious if she's not
near Frank. Right?
She thought she remembered Neville or Augusta saying
something like that. Not for short bursts.
Margaret was already scrambling to her feet.
Plus, she trusts you. I think you're her favorite.
A sinking feeling entered her gut.
She had no right being this woman's favorite.
But before she could think of an excuse, Margaret brought her
over a chair and gave her instructions.
And that was how she found herself in the blessed empty
courtyard with her nearly catatonic mother-in-law.
With nothing else to do, she pushed Alice over to one of the
benches and parked her there while she sat.
There had been a bit of a mid-september chill in the air
that morning, but it had brightened up to be a beautiful
warm fall day. It would be too cold to sit
outside without warming charms. Before long, Alice turned her
face to the sun and closed her eyes.
Down to our last few nice days. She winced.
How asinine could she be? Years of training on how to
properly converse and all she could bring up was the weather.
In reality, the training was how to properly hide insults and
barbs and build yourself and your family up while tearing the
other woman down under the veneer of civility.
It was no wonder Daphne Greengrass was her only friend
at Hogwarts. No one else was able to keep up.
Although this wasn't exactly a conversation, the rest of her
classmates that didn't undergo proper pure blood training would
probably be done founded that the opportunity to prattle onto
someone about whatever she wanted to while they were forced
to listen and couldn't respond wasn't her favorite pastime.
Thinking of her old classmates brought a grin to her face.
I made a new friend this fall. Well, and customers too, but
we've been regularly corresponding.
Odd, as Richard and Teresa had found it at first, they'd
returned to Diagon to purchase an owl so that they could
correspond with her directly through Alicia Spinette,
something all four of them found vastly preferable.
Teresa and Pansy exchanged letters at least once a week.
Their daughter just started at Hogwarts this year, she said,
the first Muggle born in history to be sorted into Slytherin.
The news still brought a smile to her face.
Neville swears he saw the Sorting Hat smirk the moment it
touched her head. She said.
Apparently it barely took any time to decide.
The Welcoming Feast was always a late night, but she'd waited up
until Neville got home to hear the news.
She'd never been so excited about another person's
placement. She was going to write to Teresa
immediately, but Neville had stopped her before she could
take three steps and caught her lips in a searing kiss.
Spinning them, he pressed her against the wall of the living
room. He pinned her hands over her
head against the wall and locked them there with a sticking
charm. Then he slid his hands up her
dress, vanishing her knickers, and pressed the cold metal of
his ring directly to her clit. She shivered at the memory of
his lips against her ear. You have no idea how long I've
been imagining giving you a real reason to stare at my ring,
Princess. Then it made her come on it
twice until her knees gave out and carried her to bed.
She'd certainly never been able to think about that blasted ring
the same way again. He could make the fucking thing
vibrate for Salazar's sake. Alice shifted and heat flooded
Pansy's cheeks. Marilyn, I'm so sorry.
Sitting next to her mother-in-law was the last place
to be fantasizing about Neville. If he wasn't so damned
distracting and skilled at knowing exactly what to do with
her body, it'd be easier to keep him out of her thoughts.
Augusta and Neville are a lot better at this than I am.
There. The mention of Augusta was
enough to kill even the best fantasy she could make up about
Neville. At least she always knew exactly
what to say when they were with Frank and Alice.
There wasn't much Augusta wasn't good at doing, although the
witch struck her as the type of person who would either dismiss
or not acknowledge anything in which she didn't excel.
And Merlin save anyone who made the mistake of pointing it out
to her. Were you scared of her too?
Alice blinked. Right, sorry.
She said Gryffindor. I forgot.
Grainger would probably take the moment to point out that bravery
didn't mean never being scared, but running head first into the
absolutely idiotic stunt even when you were terrified.
She was editorializing, obviously.
I'm sure you were scared that day.
She said, her voice low and soft.
For Frank, For Neville. Alice's gaze drifted across the
courtyard, lingering on certain things, but her face showed no
reaction. I'm sorry you never got to see
him grow into the man he is. Not in the same sense anyway.
You'd love him. Another stupid thing to say.
Of course you would. You're his mother.
All mothers loved their children, the good ones anyway.
She thought of the pictures of the smiling witch in the photos,
clapping with Neville, cheering as he took his first steps,
kissing his chubby little cheeks, always laughing, always
smiling. Not in the fake posed way for
photos, but with true joy. Alice Longbottom had been one of
the best. He keeps them, she said.
The gum wrappers. Again, no flicker of recognition
in a box in his closet, she said.
Probably everyone you've ever given him.
I just I just thought you should know.
There was a lot she should know about her son.
It should have been first hand, not idiotically recounted to her
from her son's fake wife in the empty courtyard at Saint
Mungo's. Doing Alice's hair was one
thing, actually trying to share details about Neville's life was
another. Merlin, she bullied him almost
non-stop for the first six years she'd known him. 7th year had
been about survival for both of them.
Friendship with Granger aside, she hadn't exactly gone out of
her way to interact with any of the Dumbledore's Army crowd post
war. Even now, married and living
together, she wasn't even sure if they actually even liked each
other. Had fun together, sure.
Easily the best lay she'd ever had.
Not something she'd share with his mother, altered mental state
or no. But As for knowing him, he held
things close to his chest. It was no wonder she constantly
wanted to jump his bones. Strong, silent type with defined
shoulders and basically her dream man.
Not that Neville Longbottom was her dream man.
His job was manual labour and his clothing choices were
atrocious. But there was enough of her
ideal man that made him interesting at least.
She wondered if Alice ever questioned Frank's clothing
choices. The pictures of her showed a
fashionable, elegant, which it was hard to believe that she
hadn't had something to say about all of Frank's hideous
jumpers. Alice began fidgeting.
She tapped the wheels of the chair.
OK, Alice. She rose.
Let's get you back to Frank. Hideous jumpers meant very
little in the end, it seemed. A witch in a delightful emerald
green ensemble was waiting on her stup as she returned.
She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and Pansy
smirked. Ma'am, I'm so sorry we don't
have any donations for the poor house today.
Her sharp blue eyes narrowed to a glare.
I could happily direct you to the nearest food kitchen.
Daphne smirked. I forgot what a bitch you can be
when you're jealous. She gestured to her outfit.
Upset you didn't think of it first?
She immediately recognised it as the full line from a new Italian
designer. She'd seen the mock ups for it
and it looked hideous. The man had insisted it looked
brilliant once a witch was wearing it.
She hated that he'd been right. Of course, Daphne had made a few
strategic changes to it, making it something worth wearing.
Pansy smiled. Oh, if you like the dowdy
traditional look, it's perfect. Her mind was already spinning
about how to rework some of the ideas and add some muggle
influences to bring it to her spring line.
A fresh bright green reminiscent of first daffodil shoots.
Drop the tapered waist, take out some of the fullness of the
skirt, high a neckline, but use the fun muggle off the shoulder
look. It would scandalise the old set.
She loved it. Going to let me in?
Daphne asked. You're lucky I don't have an
appointment for another hour. A wave of her one disarmed the
wards and allowed her and Daphne to step into the shop.
Daphne's cool gaze swept over the place.
It's lovely, Pans, thank you. It's the air of possibility, I
think. She said You have enough options
for suggestion, but not enough to prevent those looking for
custom work to be overwhelmed. Daphne's approval wasn't given
lightly. It's inspired by high end muggle
fashion stores. She blinked.
You've been to 1 with Grainger. The two had spoken French, so
Pansy hadn't revealed just how out of place she was.
Still, it had been a fun change, and since Grainger got to
practice her French, she hadn't been an aggravating swat the
entire time. Complaining about fashion,
right? Daphne glanced back around the
space. Well, Muggles certainly did this
better than us. Her expression was soft,
wistful, someone who was still battling the conditioning of
their youth against the logic of their new world.
At least she was trying. Certainly much more than many of
their old housemates could say. Even the ones not in Azkaban.
Did you buy or lease? Daphne asked.
Buy. Not many were willing to lease
To the child of a former Death Eater.
She wasn't about to risk her carefully built business to
someone who would throw her out the next time anyone got their
knickers in A twist about her attempts to move on from her
father. Are their living quarters above
absolutely dreadful? She asked.
I've heard they can be a disaster.
The 2nd floor is my studio. She said.
I haven't had need of the third floor apartment since I moved
into Neville's place in Hogsmeade.
Daphne glanced at her. Congratulations, by the way.
Thank you. She eyed her.
I was surprised when I saw the announcement in the Profit.
A fishing expedition. But she refused to take the
bait. Many were.
Daphne stepped to admire the shelves that were part display,
part art. Do you have an assistant?
Anyone who works with you? Not at the moment.
She nodded, as if expecting that you lost at least three
customers during your lunch break.
Merlin, she was sick of the posturing.
What do you want, Daphne? She turned to face her, all
pretence gone. It was then that Pansy noticed
the tightness around her eyes, the extra layer of make up
covering dark circles, the nervous energy her friend was
trying so hard to hide. She straightened.
Are you in trouble? She waved her hand.
Nothing like that. She sighed.
Well, Tory is, or she will be. There were no lengths Daphne
would go for her little sister. Guilt, perhaps?
The old Green Grass family blood curse skipped Daphne and latched
onto Astoria. Daphne had broken down after
Astoria had one of her fits at school and confessed the entire
thing to Pansy, to her knowledge no one else outside the Green
Grass family knew of. It wouldn't do to ruin Astoria's
chances for a proper pure blood match.
She'd already had enough set against her after the Draco
fiasco. Draco had hoped he would be
blamed for calling off their betrothal to date a muggle born,
but as expected, the blame fell upon the woman, not the man.
After all, if Tory really was the perfect pure bird Princess
she was supposed to be, the heir to the Malfoy family would never
have strayed. How much trouble?
Pansy asked. We need time.
She said. And a place to stay.
The Green Grass family had been careful about their wealth for
generations. Their estate was in top shape,
managing to avoid any damage during or after the war.
Said wealth was what made it possible for them to maintain
their neutral stance from the first war.
During the second. Six months before the Battle of
Hogwarts, Daphne's father had taken the mark and pledged his
family wealth to support the Dark Lord.
Father controls more than we thought, she said.
Even now, he'd gotten a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, as she knew
all too well, incarceration or even death wasn't enough to
release the grip pure blood Wizards held over their
families, especially the Sacred 28.
Dorie's started her own business.
Daphne said with a small smile. Restoration, largely with a fair
amount of interior design done a few small estates with the help
of some magical construction crews.
Sounds brilliant. Astoria had always had an eye
for that sort of thing. Not to mention a devious
destructive streak that her mother had never fully managed
to groom out of her. Daphne nodded before her face
dimmed again. Of course, only until she
settles down into a respectable pure blood match.
She spat the last bit out with no small amount of disdain.
Interesting. Father's allowing it for now,
provided she continues to meet his conditions.
But as our mother reports everything to him, living in her
home has become difficult. That her mother even now
couldn't see reason didn't surprise her.
Not after learning that Narcissa Malfoy allowed her only son to
walk away without another word. The owner of the crew Tory works
with the most has a few friends at the ministry, she said
casually. He found her a solicitor who
developed a plan to invest as much of our family fortune into
the business as possible. Well, that sounded downright
corrupt, possibly illegal. Yet there weren't many ministry
types who weren't eager to destroy the legacies of any
former Death Eaters. Tory's construction worker must
be well connected. What you're doing here, Pansy,
is brilliant, Daphne said. I adore every bit of it, from
the concept to the execution. However, customer service is not
your strength. That's the second time you've
called me a bitch today, she smirked.
If you hire me as your assistant and let us live upstairs, Tory
will restore your manner, she said.
For free. Things that sounded too good to
be true always were. Why, the manner Daphne fidgeted
with one of the displays. That's rather a large part of
the plan, to launder money from your trusts into Tory's
business. Her friend's face tightened.
I figured you of all people would be understanding.
She said. You've gone to great lengths to
get your family fortune in your hands.
She cocked her head. What was she talking about?
Daphne rolled her eyes. You don't honestly expect me to
believe that you actually married Longbottom, do you?
Ah, I know you're not used to asking for help, but it
typically does not involve repeatedly calling the person
you need a favour from a bitch and then insulting her marriage.
She blinked. You, you and Longbottom.
She repeated. That's real.
She gave her a hard smile. Your father didn't make
receiving your fortune conditional on marrying a pure
blood. She scoffed, as if that was the
least of what he'd done. Of course he did.
Daphne stared at her. Access to my family's money was
a happy coincidence, she said. Not the reason for our marriage.
There were some things no amount of money could ever buy, and her
magic was one of them. Sorry, Bans Eye.
She gaped at her like she'd just announced her intention to give
up fashion and move to Romania to work in the Dragon Sanctuary.
Neville Longbottom. To be fair, Pansy wouldn't have
believed it herself a few months ago either, but it was rather
comical this side of things, wasn't it?
The fifth year we watched him pour an entire cup of Maple
syrup down the front of his shirt at breakfast.
She almost burst out laughing at the memory.
Merlin, they'd mocked him endlessly for that.
Although the thought of him doing it now, when she would be
there to lick up every last drop, if she kept up that line
of thinking, she would need to cast a cooling charm on herself.
Not that she'd so much as touched Neville, let alone been
allowed to lick any part of his body, with or without Maple
syrup. Every time they'd been together
she'd been bound or pinned or restrained in some way.
Which was admittedly crazy hot, but she would like to return the
favour. Not the bondage, but absolutely
the licking. Oh, for the love of Merlin,
please stop. She blinked, coming back to the
shop and her friend whose face was starting to match her green
outfit. I do not want to watch you
fantasize about Neville a Longbottom licking anything off
your. She broke off with a half
shudder, half gag. She gave her friend a slow grin.
What makes you think Neville's the one doing the licking?
Daphne shuddered again. Pansy had to bite her cheek to
keep from laughing as Daphne struggled to compose herself.
When she finally lifted her head, she had never looked more
serious. You can't repeat a word of this,
but we found a cure. She froze, all humour gone.
For Tory, she said, as if there was anything else they could be
talking about. We found a cure.
Daf, that's amazing. It's rather simple, actually,
her friend said in wonder. And expensive, even for us.
It's going to take time to get all the right pieces into place.
But we can do it if they had Pansy's help.
Will Neville or I be impacted if the scheme is caught?
A look of desperate relief flashed across her friend's
face. She pulled out a roll of
parchment. No, she said.
I promise we made sure be the solicitor made sure you were
untouchable. This is what you'll be agreeing
to. Tory and I are taking all the
risks on ourselves. She unrolled the parchment and
was practically smacked in the face with legal jargon.
Take it to your solicitor and have them examine it.
Daphne said. No way in hell was her family
solicitor coming near this. If she had her look, she'd only
need to see him twice again in her entire life.
Once at the first year wedding anniversary to confirm the right
was completed, and then a month after when Neville invoked the
succession clause. If you could get back to me in a
week, I will. She said at a minimum, Dory can
come out anytime and take a look upstairs.
I'm sure it needs work. I'll pay her the gold directly.
Daphne beamed. She'll be here first thing
tomorrow. As her friend swept out of the
shop, Pansy scrolled a quick note to the closest thing to a
solicitor she could trust. Pansy, I don't feel comfortable
with this. Hermione examined the role
Daphne had given her. She sat across from her at the
chic French restaurant that had been the site for her and
Draco's first official date once his internship was done.
He hated it when Hermione came without him, so naturally, Pansy
dragged her there whenever she could.
You work in the Department for Magical Creature Laws.
Pansy said. Hermione rolled her eyes.
The Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures, same thing. She frowned, then muttered as an
afterthought. I still hate that name, by the
way. Change it.
Hermione looked up, blinking. What?
Change the department name. She scoffed.
You have no idea how difficult it is to change anything at the
Ministry. She said it took a full year to
get both the werewolf and House health legislation passed.
This isn't legislation change, she said.
What do you need? Approval from the department and
the Minister for Magic, with whom you're on a first name
basis? She looked like someone had just
stunned her. Was this seriously the first
time she'd ever thought of that? Honestly, brightest Which of her
age? Complaining about a simple
matter to her? Just just don't pick something
with an acronym that means vomit.
Hermione shot her an annoyed look.
Pansy smirked and tapped the document in front of her.
Speaking of legislation change, do you or do you not read,
write, and memorize laws all day long?
It's an entirely different area. She said.
Katie Bell is a solicitor now. I'm sure she'd know.
She said This stays between us. Hermione huffed and scoured the
document for what had to be the fifth time since they'd sat
down. You're just making me feel like
there's something illegal going on here.
She said. This is far too good to be true.
Her thoughts exactly. It's structured like a standard
contract, but the payments? She sat up.
The way this works, you won't actually pay for anything.
Hermione said. Even materials.
Her voice was stunned. I could understand if Astoria is
trying to build her business to do some labour for free for the
chance to get a big project, but why would she pay for materials
as well if she needed to steal money that was rightfully hers
from her blood purest father? What is the risk to me?
Pansy asked. That you don't like the curtains
she picks? Hermione sighed.
You give her full creative control.
That's the sole condition. That, and this weird bit about
the payments. You'll create an escrow account
standard, but all funds you put in will be returned to your
personal account by the end of the month.
That had to be the crux of the plan.
They needed a third party to create an escrow account to move
funds in and out without any suspicion.
Hermione rubbed her head. This is bizarre, Pansy.
Bizarre. Perhaps she shouldn't have put
the brains of the Golden Trio in charge of evaluating a legal
document that was involved in a laundering scheme.
But no risk to me other than creative control.
Not that I can tell. Hermione said with a sigh.
I really wish you'd let me ask Katie Bell to have a look.
She took up the role of parchment from her and slipped
it into her bag. I trust you.
You have a solicitor. She said.
I met him at your wedding and I hope that's the last time I ever
have to see him until he verified her marriage and then
dissolved it a month later. Then she'd be done with him
forever. I hope we're not too late.
She looked up from her bag and immediately frowned at the
smirking face of Draco Malfoy. She glared across the table as
he leaned down to kiss Hermione's cheek.
She at least looked bashful. Oh, you know how he gets when he
pouts. Draco sat down and shook out his
napkin with a sharp snap before draping it over his knee,
looking sickeningly smug. Don't act like you didn't plan
this just to annoy me. Pansy straightened.
I happen to like this restaurant.
He smiled. As do I.
Hermione gave her a hopeful smile.
I thought it would be perfect for a double date.
She frowned. Double.
Hey, Pansy. She glanced over to see Neville
pulling out the chair between her and Hermione.
At least he managed to change into one of the robes she'd
picked out for him. But really, that belt with those
shoes, What was he thinking? A waiter came over and poured
Draco a glass of the red wine Hermione had selected.
That should have been her first clue that something was up.
And the fact that the table was still set for four.
She sighed. So much for their girls evening.
And here I thought you were finally starting to develop a
taste for decent wine. Hermione rolled her eyes.
It all tastes the same, and the extra galleons are just for the
added cost of pretentiousness. Neville nodded as if he agreed
with her. Pansy shook her head.
Draco, you really should have taken her on an educational tour
of your family's vineyards before you got disowned.
He examined the menu. Blaise has an itinerary for each
of his as soon as Hermione agrees to take some vacation
days. Italian wine.
Really Draco? Not that it would make an actual
difference to Hermione, but it was the principle of the matter.
He sighed. Beggars can't be choosers.
You 2 are just being snobs. It doesn't matter anyway.
I can't take a month off work. Hermione hissed, scandalised.
You have 5 months of vacation built up.
Draco drawled. She is the only one who works at
that office. Pansy turned to Neville.
You should have heard about the shitty intern they assigned her
two years ago. Neville smirked at Draco.
It came up a few times. Draco turned to Hermione and
arched A brow. She studied the menu intently,
her cheeks turning pink suddenly.
Stopped talking about him completely.
What was it, February? Neville asked around.
Valentine's dear. Hermione turned an even brighter
shade of red. Draco smirked.
In February, huh? She tried to hide behind her
menu. I did at one point decide that
complaining about my intern was not the most effective use of my
time. Pansy smirked.
And at what point did you decide that shagging him was the menu
fell? Bansi Parkinson.
She started to hiss. Longbottom.
She and Neville said at the same time.
He glanced at her, a spark of surprise in his eyes.
Draco was studying her as well, while Hermione's too clever for
her own good gaze darted between her and Neville.
She flipped up her menu, reading the same list of options for the
28th time since she'd sat down. You two were actually at the
wedding. You don't have an excuse like
everybody else. Sorry, Pansy.
Hermione said, but her voice was just shy of suspicious to be an
actual apology. She sat her menu down and looked
up. Dafti.
Green grass stopped by the shop today.
Hermione's gaze flicked to Draco ever so swiftly at the mention
of a green grass in his presence.
He must have felt it, because his lips twitched.
Honestly, it wasn't as if Draco and Astoria's betrothal had ever
been finalised. Not that Draco had been bothered
to explain the complexities of pure blood betrothals to Granger
when he is desperately trying to get her to notice him as more
than just the inconvenient intern.
She's going to start as my assistant.
She said she and Astoria are moving to the third floor
apartment in my shop. That's a fun coincidence,
Neville said. She glanced at him.
That they're renting the apartment right above your shop,
he said. Or is it what gave her the idea
to ask to be your assistant? What was he saying?
I own the apartment too, not just the shop.
He blinked. What?
He turned to face her. You own the building?
Why was this coming as such a surprise to him?
Yes. Since when?
Since I bought it in August. Draco and Hermione's gazes were
darting between them like they were watching Quaffle passes.
Neville didn't seem to notice or care that they were having a
horribly inappropriate conversation for dinner,
especially with others present. With what money?
How dare he. She straightened.
My inheritance. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
You never mentioned that to me. She forced a smile that was pure
warning. I didn't realise I needed to.
She turned to their friends. Astoria is starting a business.
Restoration and interior design. Hermione didn't so much as
twitch at Astoria's name, too busy eyeing her and Neville.
Good for her. Draco sipped his wine.
I couldn't agree more, she said. I believe it's very important to
support and encourage female entrepreneurs.
Hermione shot her a warning look, ignoring her friend's
censure and Neville's scathing look.
She smiled as the waiter approached and placed her order.
Neville was quiet throughout dinner.
Draco made a few efforts to include him in their
conversations. Hermione's concern grew more and
more obvious with each short response he gave.
Pansy didn't care. In fact, she made every effort
to draw out the meal in attempt to further piss him off.
Who was he to demand she spend her money a certain way?
Since when did she need his permission to spend it?
He was the one who said he didn't want any of her gold.
If he thought he was going to turn around and demand some now,
he'd have another thing coming his way.
When they operated back into his living room, Neville didn't drop
her arm. Instead, his grip tightened as
he spun her to face him. How much of the inheritance did
you spend? She wrenched her hand out of his
grasp. How is that any of your
business? His eyes flashed with rage.
Because I'm the one who's going to have to pay it all back with
interest. She froze, anger giving away to
icy fear. There's no fucking way I can
afford that, Pansy. The only reason you would need
to pay it back is if you're not intending to see this through.
She said, her voice low and measured.
Finally dropping her arm, he spun away, digging his hand
through his hair. You promised.
She spat, hating how her voice wavered.
Because I was certain we could find another way.
And there it was, fucking Gryffindor's chivalry at its
finest. Further proof she couldn't trust
anyone but herself. The fact that she had, the fact
that she had let herself hope all these months.
So what is this then? She said.
A way to prolong the inevitable, to get back at me for how I
acted at school. He rounded on her.
Cut it out and everything between us.
She sneered. What's that been?
Just something to look back on anytime you need a wank.
He seethed. I've never done anything to you
you haven't asked for. She took a half step back at the
rage in his voice. His face softened and he sighed.
Trying to help you? He said.
I only ever tried to help you. Some help.
Well, if you can't perform the right, then Evan is going to
pass me off to whoever else he pleases.
His lip curled in disgust. Nausea churned her stomach.
So where's the help, Longbottom? She demanded.
You expect me to be grateful to you for the fact that I'll only
have to be raped for five years straight before I'm murdered
instead of 6? Thank you so much.
Everything I could have hoped for and more.
He rubbed his face. I know you hate being there, but
you've been coming with me to scent Mungo's for months.
He said. I figured you'd be able to
understand why this is so hard for me.
Hated being there. Is that what he thought?
She spent more time with his mother than he did each week.
What does this have to do with your parents?
He glad at her. Are you serious?
He asked, voice low. I actually have to spell it out
for you. If someone would let me read the
fucking right for myself, maybe you wouldn't need to.
She yelled back. He reared back.
I told you I'd never seen it. She said.
I'd learned about it the exact same time as you did,
Longbottom, and even though it's my body, my life, my magic on
the line, you're the one making all the decisions about
something I'm never allowed to see.
He flinched as if she'd slapped him.
But Pansy, I'm I. He turned without another word
and disappeared into his bedroom.
Dropping her head in her hands, she rubbed her temple.
Longbottom was back before she had a chance to walk over and
make the cup of tea she was craving.
Her father's will, the marriage contract, and the instructions
for the right were in his hands. Here, he said.
I'm, I'm sorry, I wasn't, I didn't mean to keep it from you.
She accepted the stack of parchment, eyeing him.
I'll make you some tea. He disappeared into the kitchen.
She settled onto the couch, starting with the least
offensive of the lot, her father's will.
Her tea was down to the dregs by the time she got to the right.
Longbottom sat in the chair adjacent to her, watching her as
she read. Her stomach twisted as she read
it. The right gave the man, because
of course it had to be a man, control over the woman he
performed it on. It didn't just bind them
completely. It gave him power over every
part of her. Her body, her magic, her mind.
It could be invoked at any time, with any thought from her
husband. If he wanted anything from her
physically, he didn't have to ask.
If he didn't want, he could simply make her do it.
He could limit her magic however he chose, even control her
thoughts, her very sanity. You understand now why I can't
do it? Longbottom asked, voice soft.
A thread of white hair tilted towards the sun in the scent
Mungo's courtyard filled her mind.
This right would give Neville the power to turn her into his
mother. Her hands shook as she gripped
the parchment. That's how he did it.
A woman's voice, both strange and familiar, screaming in
agony, echoed through her memory.
Not my daughter. I won't let you do this to her
too. Did.
Did what? You aren't the only one with an
institutionalized mother, Longbottom.
He froze. What?
His voice was a low whisper. She stared at the words on the
page. She'd always assumed he'd paid
off the staff to keep her there, that that place had slowly
driven her insane. But if he'd actually.
Your father used this? He asked.
He didn't just perform the rite, he actually invoked it.
Words swam in front of her eyes. She tossed it down on the table,
unable to look at it anymore. She wrung her hands, trying to
hide just how much they were shaking.
There's a preparation ritual she said.
Put on Parkinson brides once they pass the examination, or
girls born into the family as infants.
His face twisted in disgust. She repeated the story she'd
heard from her aunt. My mother believed it was only
for women marrying into the Parkinson family, she said.
When she found out, it would be put on me.
She objected, tried to run away with her, but there was nowhere
her father couldn't track her, not with this spell.
And your father took her mind. No, she said, not completely.
He could turn it on and off at will.
Neville looked as green as she felt.
We'd visit sometimes, she said. She was always lucid, for at
least part of the time, long enough for her father to attempt
to convince her to come back to him.
Then she'd refuse and her father would stare into her eyes and
the woman before her was no longer her mother.
It was almost worse that way. I thought she died.
She did before 4th year, she said.
I think my father thought he could break her, but by then
there were too many rumours about where she'd gone.
It's bad form, impregnate a woman who had been insane for
the better part of 12 years. So if he wanted the son he was
so desperate to have carry on the Parkinson line, he needed
her gone. Which apparently the right
allowed him control over as well.
Heart attack was the official cause of her mother's death.
She'd always assumed it was a lie, a cover up paid with family
gold, but perhaps that was the peace.
That was true. Her father had literally ordered
her mother's heart to stop beating, and it had.
You see why I can't do it? She glanced over at Longbottom,
something clenching in her chest.
Just because you perform the right doesn't mean you have to
act on it. He rose from his chair.
Pansy, how can you even consider letting someone have that kind
of control over you? Giving away your mind, your
body? She scoffed.
Letting. She shook her head.
Someone has always had control over me my entire life,
Longbottom. I was never allowed.
She swallowed anything. Not the things that mattered
anyway. At least I know you'll never use
it against me. If there's anyone I could trust
to do this to me, it would be you.
Neville leant next to her and took her hand in his.
There was something in his gaze, a depth of emotion she didn't
know how to read or process, so instead she dismissed it.
Don't try to say something sweet and make it a moment,
Longbottom. He studied her for a few
heartbeats before the corner of his mouth quirked.
I was just going to remind you the number of times I lost
Trevor at school before you put that kind of trust in me.
He said. Don't know if that speaks in my
favour or against it in this matter, though.
That coaxed A watery half trickle from her.
Something in his gaze softened. Her chest squeezed again.
You promised. He had.
He promised even after he'd read the right, only because he
thought he'd find another way. But she thought of Alice again,
the bright, brilliant woman in his photos contrasted with the
stoic, silent woman who couldn't handle a drop of water on her
face. Could she really hold Neville to
his word? Even if he never used it against
her, simply having that power more than went against his
morals. It was a complete betrayal of
his parents. How could she ask Neville, ask
Alice's son to do this to her? But if he didn't perform the
right, she'd be back under Ivan's control, married off to
someone who would prefer that sort of control over his wife.
It was no longer a choice of becoming a squib or marriage to
someone she hated. It was becoming a squib or a
shell of herself, nothing more than a body for someone to
command. Her stomach rolled.
It was less of a choice now than ever, but when she looked up at
Neville, the words died in her throat.
I did promise. He said.
And I meant it, but I'll still keep looking until the last
possible day. It felt as if something was
lodged in the back of her throat, so all she could do was
not.