The Right by Parks and Fiction, Chapter 31 Pansy had just sat
down to her breakfast of tea and toast when the flu lit up.
Hermione stepped through, wearing the dratted Muggle
sweats Pansy had unsuccessfully tried to incinerate on more than
one occasion. Her hair was piled up in a messy
bun on top of her head and her eyes were bloodshot.
Neville practically jumped out of his seat.
Hermione, what's wrong? Is everything OK?
Hermione didn't look at him. I need to talk to Pansy, is
everything OK? Neville asked again.
Hermione nodded. It's about tears welding her
eyes as she wiped at her cheeks with an annoyed look, as if she
was mad at herself for crying. From the looks of it, she'd been
doing a lot of it yesterday. Neville said softly.
Hermione nodded again. Emotions churned through Pansy's
gut. She didn't know what Draco had
told Hermione, or what she'd assumed, but the truth wasn't
close to what Neville had implied at the photo shoot.
Having to admit the full truth to her friend, she just hoped
Hermione was still her friend at the end of the day.
Neville turned to Pansy with a questioning look, as if to
communicate that he would stay with her.
She asked, but this was something she needed to face on
her own. It's fine, she said.
I'll see you tonight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek
before he swept out of the door. Pansy stood up, brushing non
existent crumbs off her trousers before she folded her hands and
faced her friend. Pansy, I.
She cut Hermione off. I didn't do it for you.
Before this got any further, before Hermione convinced
herself of whatever story she'd concocted in her mind, Pansy
needed her to know that that she still wasn't the hero Hermione
so desperately believed she was. Tears rolled down Hermione's
cheeks, but she made no move to stop them or brush them away.
That's, that's OK. I didn't even do it for Draco.
She said. Not in that way.
He had something I needed and I would have done anything to get
it. Saving you was only to use you
against it. Her voice broke off.
Merlin, she was a fucking monster.
Hermione took a step forward. It's OK.
Mortis slid down her cheeks. You know that, right?
She hung her head. She didn't know anything
anymore. It's OK that you wanted to save
yourself, Pansy. Hermione said.
Don't you think I wanted that too?
I'm muggle born. My reason to fight with Harry
wasn't only because it was the right thing to do, it was
because winning the war was my only chance.
Hermione hated. Hated that that had been
Hermione's only choice. Whatever you needed from Draco,
whatever chance you needed, you deserved that too, Pansy.
In the face of Hermione's open acceptance, her forgiveness, her
grace, the tide of Pansy's emotions finally caught up to
her, and she broke down into sobs.
Hermione closed the remaining distance between them, sobs
shaking her own shoulders as she wrapped her arms around Pansy.
Somehow, they ended up together on the couch, still holding on
to one another as Pansy tried to choke down her tears.
I would have had to be horrible to you.
Pansy said. Yeah.
Hermione asked with watery laughter.
What would you have done? It hurt worse now with how well
she knew and loved her friend, but her 18 year old self would
have had plenty of ideas. Dress you up in a pillowcase
like a house self, she said. Make you call me mistress?
Give you meals from a dog bowl? A laugh of disbelief bubbled up.
Oh my God, Pansy, call you slurs, she said quietly.
I hurt you. Hermione's arms tightened around
her, and she rested her head on Pansy's shoulder.
To save me. Do the ends justify the means?
Sometimes? Yeah, they do.
Pansy's head rested on top of Hermione's.
I'm sorry for risking your life to save me, but I would have
done horrible things to you to save myself.
To save both of us. Hermione pulled her head away
enough to look at her. And to save Jinny, too.
She swallowed. I don't want to talk about that.
Hermione nodded. OK.
She rested her head back on Fancy's shoulder, letting the
matter drop in. An uncharacteristic show of
respecting someone's boundaries over her own personal curiosity
was what was going to happen to her worse than what was going to
happen to me? Pansy inhaled slowly.
Haunted like an animal brutally savaged and murdered?
Or a lifetime of living under the thumb of a man you hated but
had no choice but to obey his every command and bear his
children. Yours would have been over a lot
quicker. Hermione shuddered and her arms
tightened. I was right, she said.
I was wrong, but I was still right.
She snorted into the bushy mane of hair Hermione had failed to
tame that morning. About what?
I was wrong about you not meaning it, she said.
But I was right about you being a good person.
Something inside her chest cracked.
She squeezed her eyes shut so she didn't collapse into tears
again. Thank you, she whispered.
For several minutes they just sat there, holding one another.
It was a balm to Pansy's soul she hadn't known she needed.
Hearing Hermione say she forgave her, that wanting to save
herself was OK, healed A wound she hadn't known she carried.
Pansy, whatever you needed from Draco.
Hermione said quietly. Did you get it from Neville?
A crack split through her chest, so swift she wondered if
Hermione could hear it. Yes.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the next question.
She had no idea how she was supposed to answer her friend
when she asked her if her marriage was fake.
Because it was. It always had been, and yet
Hermione squeezed her hand. Neville cares about you.
Her words landed like a blow so much worse than having to admit
her entire marriage was a farce. Of course he does, she said.
That's what Neville does. He cares.
It should have been enough. She had to accept that it would
be enough. And you're important to him?
Hermione pressed. Please don't, she said.
I can't take it. Hermione's arms tightened.
You should talk to him. As if it was that easy to cut
herself open and expose her heart.
Vulnerability only got her exactly one place, and she
refused to allow him to hurt her.
Not only did she know she would never be able to recover from
his rejection if she actually found a way to open up, watching
him feel guilt or pity after breaking her heart was not
something she could endure. It was easier to believe the
lie. Hermione, please, she said.
Don't. Her friend sighed.
OK. She drew in a deep breath.
What time do you have to be at the shop?
I'm not going in today. Knowing the chances of the photo
shoot turning into a complete clusterfuck had made her decide
it would be in her best interest to take a day off.
It hadn't gone the way she'd feared, but after the emotional
turmoil of the day, she was grateful for the rest.
I don't have anywhere to be until lunchtime for your visit
to Frank and Alice. Merlin, she hated how big
Neville's mouth was. I style her hair.
She said. That's it.
Neville seems to think it's a lot more than that.
Don't you need to be at the Ministry now?
She asked instead of answering. Granted, official working hours
hadn't started yet, but Hermione was always at least an hour
early. Hermione sat up with a proud
smirk. I called in sick.
Pansy gasped. What?
She shrugged. There wasn't anything important
today, she said. I'm not going to get anything
worthwhile accomplished with all this running through my mind.
I'm very proud of you, she beamed.
Do you want to make fairy cakes together?
She frowned. What?
What the hell with fairy cakes? She didn't even know where the
closest fairy colony was, and she wasn't exactly in the right
frame of mind to go frolicking. My mum and I used to bake
together any time I had a rough day, She said.
I can show you they're not too hard.
Ah, a muggle treat then, not an actual trip to visit fairies.
It was always hard to guess which way things would go with
Hermione. She hadn't tried baking anything
yet, but she felt reasonably confident in the kitchen.
It would take her mind off the emotional exhaustion of the
morning, and part of her wanted Hermione to know what she'd
learnt. Pansy drew in a deep breath.
Actually, I've been trying to teach myself how to cook.
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. Really.
She nodded. Yeah.
She cleared her throat. I was never taught how to do
anything to take care of myself, just how to find a man who could
do it for me. More specifically, find a man
who could pay to have her taken care of.
Pansy shook her head. But I came across a recipe for
chicken tikka masala, and it made me think of you and the
first time we had it together, and how hard it must have been
for you to come into this new world and thrive.
And if you could do that, I could learn how to cook.
And it sounds so stupid now that I'm saying it.
It's not stupid. Tears welled up in Hermione's
eyes again. I'm so proud of you, Pansy.
It's just a meal. That's not true and you know it.
Pansy swiped at her cheeks. Please stop making me cry, I
hate it. Hermione let out a watery laugh.
I don't think I've seen you cry before.
Parkinson's. Don't cry, she said.
Hermione scoffed. And everybody cries.
She said. Suppressing your emotions is
wildly unhealthy. Not everyone could be as brave
as Gryffindor's. So is smudged eyeliner.
She laughed again and stood up. OK, she said.
No more crying, just fairy cakes and fun for the rest of the
morning. OK?
She nodded. I'm going to fix my make up.
I'll make sure we have everything we need.
When Pansy emerged from the bathroom minutes later, fully
composed with perfectly winged eyeliner once more, Hermione had
half of the ingredients from the shelves spread across the
counter. And we have everything we need
except for the pan. Hermione broke off as her face
brightened. Kneeling down, she pulled out a
round pan. With the tap of her wand, she
turned it into a rectangular pan with spaces for 12 small round
cups. She beamed.
I love magic. But the simple, easy, carefree
look on her friend's face, the joy in using magic that Pansy
once believed her too inferior to use.
Tears welled in Pansy's eyes. Yet again, Hermione's face fell.
What did I say? I'm sorry.
If she had been anyone else, if she hadn't gone through what she
had, if she hadn't seen the hypocrisy in the pure blood
supremacy bullshit, would she still believe Hermione had the
right to her magic? That I ever.
Hermione walked over and squeezed her hands.
You changed. But if I wasn't, if I hadn't, I
was raised to think that. And if I was anyone else?
Shame burned through her. Draco, Theo, Daphne, and Astoria
were all raised the way you were.
Hermione said. They rejected it too, without
whatever you went through. Forget that.
They all had their own reasons for wanting to reject it.
I know you don't want to tell me what this is all actually about,
but I know that it could have gone two ways, with you
rejecting blood supremacy or you leaning into it.
Hermione continued. And you rejecting it and would
have tried to save me and others.
That's not something that comes out of nowhere, that comes from
who you are. We probably would have failed
and all died in the process. Hermione snorted.
Between you, me, and Draco, possibly Theo 2, there would
have been a statue of you in the Ministry by the 1st anniversary
of the Battle of Hogwarts. A laugh bubbled up.
That sounds awful. Although she did like the idea
of staring down at everyone who walked by for perpetuity or for
as long as Ministry fountains lasted.
It really is. Hermione said.
Fucking books. Who brings books to a battle?
You. She said before Hermione could
go off on her familiar tirade about the statue of the Golden
Trio in the middle of the Ministry.
They were in your bag, Yes, but they stayed in my bag, she said.
I wasn't glitching them to my chest while duelling, honestly.
Smirking, she redirected Hermione's attention to the
baking project. While she found that cooking
allowed for a surprising amount of flexibility, baking required
the careful precision of brewing potions.
Still, when she was smiling at the Rose of the tiny little
cakes a few hours later, covered in a light dusting of icing
sugar, Pansy couldn't help but be proud of their work.
Hermione conjured platters, setting a small amount aside for
Pansy and Neville, making up a second plate for Pansy to take
with her to Mungo's, and a third platter for herself.
Even with Draco's sweet tooth, it was a lot.
Bringing champagne tonight too? Pansy asked.
Hermione grinned and nodded. Draco's had a bottle set aside
for Tori, and her face paled and she slapped her hand over her
mouth. Pansy burst out laughing.
How many times have you almost spilled?
She rubbed her head. This is the first, she said.
Damn it, don't say anything. I.
Who do you think made Tory's wedding gown or Dennis's robes?
She'd even made outfits for both of Dennis's parents.
Hermione sagged. Oh thank God, Rick, she said.
When did they tell you I figured it out?
The night Potter tried to arrest Dennis.
Realisation dawned across her face.
That's what he meant yesterday, she said.
You kept suspicion off them, that all the embezzlement
scheme. But she wasn't about to admit
that to Hermione Granger. I just said what was needed in
order to get back to bed as quickly as possible.
Hermione smiled softly. Yeah, she said.
Sounds like you. I do love my beauty sleep, she
said. Tell them all good luck tonight.
Pansy left the Mungoes not long after, bringing enough fairy
cakes for all of the on duty healers, Frank and Alice.
It was the most animated she'd ever seen Frank and she couldn't
help her smile. I'll ask Hermione to write down
her recipe and bring them again. She told him, giving his hand a
gentle squeeze after he finished his and looked expectantly
around for more. Pansy froze as Alice got up from
her bed, her cake still half eaten.
She sat next to Frank and handed the rest of her pudding over to
him. Frank took it and finished it
off. Alice sat by him for a few more
heartbeats before she walked over to her stool where Pansy
washed her hair. Pansy turned to Margaret.
The healer gave her a small sad smile.
Since the beginning, she said, anytime she has pudding, she
always saves her for Frank. Tears pricked her eyes and she
inhaled deeply, fighting them back.
She'd already cried enough today, but the quiet, gentle
devotion that Alice and Frank showed each other after all
these years threatened to break her chest.
Aching with a deep, familiar longing, she walked over and
pressed a soft kiss to Alice's temple before beginning the
familiar routine. Good afternoon, Missus
Longbottom. Minerva Mcgonigal's eyes danced.
Apparently she was over Pansy marrying her best friend's
grandson and was now humoured by it.
Professor Mcgonigal, she said. Thank you for meeting with me
today. It's my pleasure, she said.
Who are Alice and Frank? She blinked.
Are you still seeing them? Weakly, she cleared her throat.
Yes, over lunch today, actually, She brought fairy cakes again,
deciding to make it her Friday tradition ever since the week
before. Perhaps they weren't quite as
light and dairy as the one she'd made with Hermione, but Frank
didn't seem to mind. It made her happy that there was
something special she could do for him, not just Alice.
Mcgonigal smiled, her expression expectant.
Right there. Well.
She said Alice seems to enjoy the courtyard much more now that
it's spring. Mcgonigal's eyes softened.
She loved to garden, you know. She didn't.
Neville comes by it naturally. Then her smile spread.
Alice had top marks in her biology, she said.
Frank. Well, it's good it wasn't a
requirement for aura training. Neville actually ranted about
that a few weeks ago. Her auras are only educated on
Class A non tradable goods if they're from magical creatures,
not magical plants. He had been rather worked up
about it actually. No, he can take it up with the
newest teacher in the trainee programme.
She cocked her head. I didn't think that was public
knowledge. So far, nothing from the photo
shoot a week ago had leaked, but she wasn't sure how long that
would last. Harry came to me for, in my
opinion. As if someone who started an
illegal student organization to help train his classmates in
defence wouldn't be the perfect candidate for his new position.
I'm sure he appreciates your counsel.
Mcgonigal blinked, as if she hadn't expected that.
Great, now she was just going to think Pansy was buttering her up
because she wanted something. Pansy cleared her throat.
But I do have some matters of business I would like to
discuss. Mcgonigal inclined her head.
While the Muggle Born Initiative begun by Hermione and Minister
Shacklebolt has been highly successful, myself and others
are concerned that it strips Muggle parents of a magical
child of their autonomy. Mcgonigal sat back in her chair.
They are exposed to a brand new world for the first time and are
at the complete mercy of the opinions and advice of their
assigned representative, who may or may not share the same values
as the family they are assisting.
The Griffiths, for example, should never have been paired
with Alicia Spinette. The families who are interested
in second hand robes may not know that Madam Malkin sells
them, she said. Others who are looking for
premium and luxury products would not know to come to my
shop, or that my lines are influenced by both Muggle and
magical fashion. Madame Malkins was a fine option
for most, but she would always be a staunch traditionalist.
Hogwarts Mistress folded her hands.
What are you suggesting as an alternative?
The creation of a list of designated shops approved by the
Hogwarts Board of Governors. She said shop owners would have
a chance to apply each year for the inclusion, provided they
meet the requirements. The list could be sent out each
year with Hogwarts letters. Mcgonigal's expression was
impossible to read. It would benefit magical
families as much as Muggle parents of magical students, she
said. I sold one set of robes last
year because only one family asked.
There was much more business for my type of work.
I cannot make you the sole approved uniform provider.
No, but I want to become that, she said.
The goal is that the list will be more than one shop from each
category. Madam Malkins is an eager
supporter of this project. Right now we are the only two
clothing stores willing to do Hogwarts uniforms who are
interested in this list and we cater to entirely different
clientele. Madam Malkin had several clients
she was more than eager to unload onto Pansy.
Her offerings are ready made new and second hand uniforms
tailored to fit. Mine would be custom made
uniforms and luxury goods. She said.
My closest competition in regards to what ioffer for
school uniforms is trial fit. And Tattings, who declined
interest in this program as the right sort, already know how to
find them. Mcgonigal's lip curled.
She shared her disgust. People who don't want to support
such a business but still receive the same quality to
which they are accustomed will find a better fit at my shop
than Madam Malkin's. How many shopkeepers have you
spoken with? She handed over a stack of
parchment. Everyone that sells items that
could be found on the Hogwarts lists, however small.
She said. Some parents might prefer to go
to as few shops as possible, Others won't mind going to as
many as they can to get the best deals.
It will drive up competition and allow for smaller shops to take
away some of the burden the larger shops feel each August.
She flipped through the paperwork.
This is incredibly detailed. You don't have to sound so
surprised. Professor Mcgonagall glanced
over the top of her glasses with a wry look.
Surely she didn't think Pansy showed the same dedication to
everything else in her life. Then she did her Transfiguration
homework, did she? The most important part is that
each of the businesses who expressed interests said they're
willing to meet with the Ministry representatives from
the Muggle Born Initiative. Pansy said they can draw up
certain expectations and standards that businesses must
meet to remain on the list. Has Hermione seen this?
She inhaled slowly as the Headmistress examined her work.
Hermione Granger does not need to be the face of every single
project to improve how we treat muggleborns in our culture.
She said that would be counterproductive to her time
and skills and obstruct others who have ideas or inclination to
support muggleborns. Mcgonagall set the paperwork
down. I agree, she said.
You should show her, and I believe she would be very proud.
Did that mean she liked it? May I ask where you came up with
this idea? Teresa Griffiths.
Actually, the subject had come up during one of their monthly
lunches. I'm glad to hear it.
Mcgonigal took out a quill and a spare piece.
Apt, I agree this idea has a lot of merit.
I would like you to present it at the next Board of Governors
meeting, but I want to go over a few points first.
Pansy beamed. Absolutely.
Now remember, the roots grow best in silt.
Neville stood at the front of the greenhouse, lecturing with
his hands deep in the pot of dirt.
Anything gritty is going to be mostly sand.
Clear is sticky when wet. You're looking for the smooth
consistency of flour. He went on about proper soil
conditions and root placement while Pansy leaned against the
door frame watching him. 2 girls noticed her whispering then
giggling together. Emma, Meg, save it for after
class please, unless you want to come up here and help me
demonstrate. Neville called.
Pansy pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as the two
girls blushed and ducked their heads.
There were only a few minutes left in class, but Neville used
each of them up, fitting in as much information as he could
without being overwhelming. Pansy even learned a thing or
two. All right, that's it for today.
He said. Remember, your essays are due on
Monday. He finally noticed her when she
stepped into the greenhouse to get out of the way of the
students heading back into the castle.
Pansy, I mean Missus Longbottom. She looked away from Neville to
the 2 girls who'd been whispering earlier.
The stammering 1 turned bright red.
Pansy's just fine, dear. We just wanted to say that we
love your designs, the other one said.
Will you ever be opening a shop in Hogsmeade?
The first one asked. There's no options now and I
hate having to wait for breaks to do any shopping because we
have to go all the way to London.
There was in fact a corner shop that would be selling soon.
A Hogsmeade location would mean hiring another assistant and
focus on ready made apparel, although the girls made a good
point about travelling to London each time they wanted clothes.
Surely there were plenty of adult witches who wanted nice
things but didn't enjoy the bustle of diagonally.
I can't make any promises that I have something in the works.
It would be halfway through the next school year or more before
she was able to open, even if everything went through easily,
but the fact that she was doing well enough that it could be a
prospect was thrilling. The girls squealed.
Not sure you should be this excited about someone who
already distracted you once in class today.
Neville called. Pansy's gaze darted over him.
Darling, you were lecturing about dirt.
She said. I'm not sure that would hold
anyone's attention but to yours. The 2 girls burst into giggles.
Neville shot them a look. I'll see you both next week, bye
Professor Longbottom. One of the girls said, turning
red. It's so nice to meet you, Pansy.
The two girls hurried back to the castle, huddled close and
giggling together. The blushing and giggling took
her back a moment. Neville was the hot professor.
Considering how nearly every girl in school continued to fawn
over Lockhart even after they slowly began to realise he was a
pompous, self absorbed dandy with the intelligence of a bag
of rocks, that was before his memory child backfired.
It was easy to see how Neville could capture the heart of half
of the student body. Young, conventionally
attractive, especially with the appropriate fitting clothing,
and competent at his job made for a rare combination in
Hogwarts professors. It made her suddenly curious.
There's still a popularity of the Herbology club.
Oblivious to her musings, Neville gave her an easy smile.
How was Minerva? Good, She said she seemed to
like the idea. He beamed.
I knew she would. She wants me to present it to
the Board of Governors meeting at the end of the month and have
the first list to go out this July.
Pansy, that's amazing, he said. I'm so proud of you.
Thanks. She strode over to look at what
you've been working on. So lecturing about dirt today.
Soil conditions are vital to the life of a plant.
He hefted one of the heavy pots he'd been demonstrating on and
carried it back to his place. She let her gaze linger over the
muscles in his arms and shoulders as he moved the pots.
He caught her staring and arched an eyebrow with a small smirk.
You have dirt on the back of your robes.
She said. He reached back to brush them
off, which only spread the dirt around.
That's helped, She drawled. Good, he said.
Normally I have a hard time getting it all.
It took everything in her not to laugh.
How was he still so delightfully naive?
Last class of the day, right? Yeah.
He hefted another pot and walked over to its spot.
Got a fair amount of work in the greenhouse it though, so I'll be
late tonight. When she'd been at Hogwarts,
there had only been 7. Expanding the Herbology
professor's office into an eighth greenhouse just for his
experiments had been a Neville inspired change to the grounds.
She gave him a coy smile. Hopefully not too late.
He moved one of the plants to the side and then back exactly
where it was before. Hope not.
His voice had an odd, forced likeness to it.
He finally finished moving the plant around and came back to
the table. The two girls that were talking
to you. Meg is a pureblood and Emma is a
muggleborn. He said.
Been best friends since they were sorted.
I always thought my social circle growing up were the ones
obsessed with blood status, but you and your Lut seem way more
concerned with reporting to me exactly what everyone's lineage
is. He flicked her nose.
She rubbed it. If you've got dirt on my nose,
long bottom, I swear. He smirked.
You're fine, he said. And I just thought you'd
appreciate knowing how much your designs appeal to so many
different people. It had been her goal from the
beginning. They seemed sweet.
He studied her with an unreadable expression.
Log speed, huh? The corner lot is coming up for
sale, she said. I was going to talk to you about
it first. He frowned.
It's your business, your money. Well, that was a different story
than September. Granted, the right was complete
now. He grabbed another pot.
Would that mean sticking around in Hogsmeade, I mean?
He asked with his back to her. You know, permanently.
I wouldn't close the shop in Diagon.
She said. It will be slightly different
concept, more of a focus on ready made apparel.
I wouldn't set aside more than one week there for custom
designs, but the rest of the time I'll be in London.
Makes sense. He fiddled with the last pot of
it before he turned around. But thanks for stopping by.
The corner of his mouth rose. Even if you were a distraction,
I can't help you. More popular than you,
Longbottom. His expression turned into a
false smirk. Some things never change, no
matter how much she might want them to.
Shaking off her maudlin thoughts, she walked towards him
with her best attempt at a demure but coy look.
Professor Longbottom, I'm so sorry I missed the last
assignment. His eyes narrowed and she could
see the laughter in his expression.
And I was wondering if I could do anything to earn some extra
credit. I've just got a shipment of
manure I need hand picked into individual pots to teach
fertilization techniques tomorrow.
He said without missing a beat. You can help with that.
It took everything not to roll her eyes at him.
Instead, she rested her hands on his chest and looked up at him.
I was hoping to do something of a more personal nature.
He didn't look the least bit swayed.
If anything, he was only more amused.
That would be a personal favour, since I'm the one who will have
to do it. Otherwise you can't think of
anything you'd rather have me do for you.
His face finally broke into a smirk.
Not if we're in the greenhouse and you're calling me Professor
Longbottom. She pouted.
You're no fan. He kissed her cheek.
I'll teach teenagers that doesn't work for me.
Pulling away, she checked her robes for any dirt streaks.
Sorry about being late tonight. He'd been late every night since
the DA photo shoot. I'm sure things have been busy
getting ready for finals. Uh, yeah, convincing I might be
late too. She said.
Dennis and Tory want to show me the updates to the Manor now
that it's done. Apparently it had been done for
a month and 1/2, but their embezzlement scheme had worked
so well they kept at it until their marriage.
Pansy still had no idea how it had actually worked, only that
it had been wildly successful, and they retrieved almost all of
Tory's trust the day after the marriage announcement.
In the paper, a beaming photo of Dennis and Tory with his parents
and Draco and Katie Bell as the two magical witnesses required
for the bonding. Tory received an owl from her
father. He cut her off, revoking any
ties to her and her tainted business and disowning her
entirely. Neville shook his head.
I still can't believe you kept that to yourself for that long,
he said. I thought you hated Dennis.
He did try to break into my shop.
He gave her a patronising smile. Right, good luck in Greenhouse
8. Thanks, he said.
I need it. She glanced at him.
Since when did he need look for anything other than Herbology?
He gave her a small smile. Have fun with the crevies.
Rather than ask about the weird awkwardness between them, she
waved and headed out. It was impossible to say if
things had been like that since the Right or the photo shoot.
Despite their discussion after the meeting with Ivan and
Lawrence, he had hardly touched her since that day.
Granted, she'd been outrageously busy getting everything ready,
but there was no explanation for the past week.
Her musings carried her all the way to the Hogwarts gates, where
she operated directly into the Manor.
Dennis and Tory were waiting for her on the front steps, sitting
next to each other and holding hands and looking at every other
way, sickeningly in love. Tory jumped up and ran and
hugged her. She'd always felt frail, like a
bird with hollow bones. There was a brand new strength
to her, a solidness Pansy had never felt before.
She squeezed her back, feeling strangely emotional at the
obvious change. Thank you.
Tori whispered. Yeah, Pansy, we owe you so much.
Dennis said, pulling her in for a quick hug as Tori let go.
Well let's see if it's actually worth it for me.
Tory squealed. Oh I hope you love it.
She said. It's honestly been so much fun.
She smirked at her all the late nights.
Dennis turned red as Tory left being able to completely remake
this place. She said.
Most of the places we've done insist on keeping certain
elements and it's so constricting.
The outside of the Manor had been whitewashed, brightening
the previously dreary exterior. Stepping inside, the foyer
seemed to glow with a natural light.
We tried to open everything up, Tory said, nodding towards the
enlarged windows and then to the glass Dome above them.
New floors too. Pansy said, admiring the pale
hardwood. Dennis insisted they be
individually sanded, Tory said. She glanced up by hand.
He smirked. No, we didn't go full muggle.
He said. But instead of laying the boards
and tossing down a single sanding spell, the crew goes
over each individual board with our wants.
Really makes a difference and only adds a day or 2.
Not an issue when you're drawing out a project, as long as you
can come see the drawing room. Tory said, grabbing her hand and
pulling her to the room off to the right.
It was like being in a completely different house.
Everything was light and bright and fresh.
Still. The bones were there.
Sometimes her only warning was a sense of deja vu before she
remembered her father belittling her, or one of his friend's
lingering glances, or Petro's grabbing hands.
Room after room of memories, each one tainted in one way or
another. To Dennis and Tory, it was just
a house, a dingy, dark mausoleum they turned into a beautiful
home. It was stunning, and she was
glad she'd been able to help them.
But as she toured her former home, all she could think about
was that Theo had the right idea.
With every pressing day, she understood his desire to burn
his family manner to the ground, seeing the pride on Dennis and
Tory's faces. She could never do it now, but
Merlin, she wished she could. There was no question she'd have
to sell. She'd get far more from it than
before Dennis and Tory's work, but something about that still
felt wrong to her. Another problem for another day.
Instead, she feigned enthusiasm for each room, awed over the
flew parlour rather than remember the night she'd come
home from the Three Broomsticks, rejected by her last chance.
Smiled about how obviously in love Dennis and Tori were while
they were trying to ignore the countless other time she'd been
rejected by Longbottom ever since that night.
Back on the steps, Dennis ran back to the Manor to double
check they locked the patio doors.
The garden was truly remarkable, her favorite part of the
transformation. Beautiful baths, curated flower
beds, a beautiful terrace for entertaining.
Neville would love it. Is it the changes or the house?
Tori asked softly. Her face was lined with concern,
observant to a fault. She should have tried harder to
pretend Longbottom made it so easy.
She was getting soft. The changes are beautiful, Tory.
But she looked back at the outside of the Manor.
It's nothing you did or didn't do, she said.
It's just the bones didn't change.
She nodded. Well, at least you'll get a good
price for it. Tory said, her tone wistful.
That someone else who doesn't have the history you do, turn it
into a home another manner. Family to move in with their
pompous privilege, use the money to buy a new place for you and
Neville, Tory said. A place with space for a true
garden. He'd love that.
A real Conservatory, his own greenhouse, wide gardens, extra
rooms, a nursery. She cleared her throat.
I'm thinking about expanding the business, she said, maybe
opening a second shop in Hogsmeade.
I love that. Dennis pulled the doors shut
behind him and jogged down the steps to hold his wife's hand.
They both looked up at the Manor, bittersweet expressions
on their faces. You're going to miss this place,
Dennis said. Pansy smirked at him.
Exactly how many rooms did you work late in?
They both flushed. It was a fun project, that's all
Dennis said. Pansy said laughing.
Really though Pansy, we appreciate everything you did
for us. Tori said.
She pulled her in for another tight hug.
Will we start seeing you at the DA meet ups again soon?
Sure, she doubted it, but she wasn't in the mood for pushback.
I've just had a lot to catch up on after the photo shoot.
Good. Tori beamed.
Need some familiar faces to bounce out all the Gryffindor
goodies? Dennis kissed the top of her
head. You 2 fit in a lot better than
you let yourselves or anyone else believe.
Tori certainly did, but if anyone deserved open love and
acceptance, it was her. All the more reason for the next
year to pass quickly. The sooner Pansy and Neville
could separate and move on with their lives, the better.
The crack of apparition outside surprised her.
Neville always walked home from Hogwarts.
He swept in through the door. Here.
He walked over and she caught a light sweet floral scent mixed
with his familiar smell of the greenhouses as he kissed her on
the cheek. Before she could determine what
it was, he walked to the kitchen to wash up.
Sorry it's so lit. In the two weeks since the photo
shoot, he'd been late more often than not.
Busy day? She asked.
Well, you know, keeping plants alive.
His sudden, taciturn behaviour about his projects was at odds
with everything she'd come to expect from him.
He never missed an opportunity to prattle on about his work.
She'd learned more about Herbology in the past 11 months
than her seven years at Hogwarts combined.
He settled onto the couch, leaving an entire cushion
between them. What about you?
How's work been? Fine.
How's the Hogsmeade expansion going?
Better than expected. The owners seemed ready for
retirement and were prioritising a quick deal, which worked in
her favour. I haven't signed anything yet.
Why not? He asked.
Now. I think you should go for it.
You already appeal to the younger generations anyway.
Start building that while they're at Hogwarts.
That's the idea. She didn't want to spend the
evening in stilted small talk. Sliding over, she straddled him,
his pupils blue wide. Bansy.
Smiling, she cradled his face and bent down to kiss him.
He returned it with fervour, hands gliding up to grip her
hips. At some point between the right
and the DA photo shoot, something had changed.
Neville had become more guarded and avoidant.
Sex had always been part of breaking their barriers down
after a good orgasm and working out whatever tension he had on
her body in the most deliciously depraved ways.
He was soft, compliant, open, and if whatever he was holding
back was the same thing she was, then maybe, maybe she felt him
stiffen, and not in the fun way she pulled back and look at him.
Something about his expression was pained, torn.
Any of the heat that had built in Neville's kiss, the way he
gripped her like he wanted to hold her and never let her go,
shriveled into an icy realisation.
You don't want this, didn't want her.
It's not that, he said. I do, believe me.
It's just, it's been 2 weeks since your period, right?
Something twisted in her gut at the realisation that he'd been
paying that close attention. We don't have to have sex.
She forced a coy smile, deliberately ignoring the fact
that a large part of her had been wondering what could happen
if she was just able to convince him to have sex.
Merlin, if she'd actually gone through with the thought if he'd
ever found out that she'd even considered trying to trap him.
She was a horrible person. What the fuck had she been
thinking? I know, he said.
I just think that we need to make sure we're on the same page
because if I slip up. He dragged a hand through his
hair. She slid off his lap and sat
next to him. Would it be so bad staying
together, starting a family? It just, It would kill me, he
said. If we had a child and I couldn't
see them every day. If we.
Rejection cut through her, swift and fierce.
When had he changed his mind about wanting to stay with her
as she got pregnant? Unbidden, the image of him
smiling with Hannah Abbott at the photo shoot came back to
her, as did every single change in the past two weeks since
then. Operating home, always being
late. The faint smell of perfume.
The fact that he hadn't touched her in over a month.
Bansi, She gave him a flippant smile.
No, that's a good point, she said.
Hate to risk something so permanent when this is just
temporary. His throat bobbed.
Right, he said finally. She stood up and straightened
her skirt. No worries, I'm tired anyway.
Pansy Really, Longbottom, she said.
It's fine. His eyes darted over her face,
uncertainty back in his expression.
You sure? Promise.
He stood and kissed her on the forehead.
She flashed him a bright smile. I have an early morning, so I
should head to bed. Could I still join you tonight?
He said just to her sleep. What the fuck was she supposed
to say to that? Sure, she said, it's your bed
after all. Nothing in the cottage aside
from her clothes belonged to her.
He locked up and shut everything off while she got ready in bed.
He snuggled right up next to her, wrapping his arms around
her and pulling her close. He was breathing deeply in less
than 10 minutes. Once he was the dead weight of
deep sleep, she pulled herself out of his embrace and slipped
from the bedroom. The living room was dark, the
only light came from the soft glow of the moon shining through
the wall of windows where Neville kept his plants.
She lowered herself slowly to the couch, shivering as her body
processed. It was devoid of the quilt in
Neville's arms. Finally alone, she dropped her
head into her hands. Parkinson's didn't cry, but
Longbottoms did. And for now, just for tonight,
she let herself pretend.