SCIENCE & FAITH

biggest transformation goes out to the skinny cat found on the streets turned spoiled rotten princess 

Setting: Canon, post-war AU; not epilogue compliant

Word Count: 1,712

Written For: @small-steps-and-better-days [fic giveaway #6]

Notes: Pansy Parkinson character study [minor Cormac McLaggen x Pansy Parkinson + implied future Harry Potter x Pansy Parkinson + background Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger]

Pansy’s life doesn’t exactly end after the war, no.

But it doesn’t really begin, either.

People hate her, of course.

They call her a coward like they think it might hurt her feelings, and they send her thousands of letters—words extra scathing, slurs extra derogatory—like they think she’s actually capable of succumbing to an emotion as selfless as shame.

She gives the Prophet their exclusive after half a year has gone by, Rita Skeeter and her acid-green quill perched on the butter-knife edge of a violet jacquard sofa in the sitting room, not unlike a cobra poised and waiting to strike—and it’s nostalgia and it’s reminiscence and it’s a sour, semisweet moment of perfect, perfect clarity; because why should Pansy have to apologize to anyone, to everyone, for very simply not wanting to die?

Harry Potter and his pride of loyal lions hadn’t fought that war for her.

They hadn’t saved her from the rampage, from the carnage, and they hadn’t helped her when all she knew how to do was scream, scream, scream. They hadn’t arrested those Death Eaters or counted their corpses or held their unicorn-pure wands up in triumph, in victory, for a girl with shaking hands and a Slytherin-green tie. They hadn’t won for her. They never would.

And Pansy—

She’d owed them nothing, then.

She owes them nothing, now.

Be my Valentine - Harry x Pansy - Anti-Valentine

Pansy HATED Valentine’s Day. And like most of the things in her life after the War, she had her parents to thank for that. Year in, year out, she saw her mother and her female friends lavished with expensive jewellery, roses and chocolate coated candy on that special day and ignored or (in her mother’s case) manhandled by their husbands for the rest of the year. 

She swore never to celebrate it with a man. Despite the popular belief, she wanted more out of life - not just shiny baubles and knick-knacks. (If he doesn’t show me his love all year round…well…let’s just say I’m tired of playing pretend.) She wanted something real.

Until Potter, that is.

The first year : it was to soon to do anything anyway. They started going out a few days into the new year. No need for grand gestures if it wasn’t going to last. Potter cancelled the dinner reservation he’d made and she spent the day in bed not answering floo calls, owls or persistant knocking on her bedroom door. (It’s just another day…just another abysmally normal day…)

The second year she ran to Italy. Fifteen minutes before their double date with the Malfoys. (Blaise needs my help, Harry! Somebody has to take care of Beatrice while he makes the funeral arrangements. I guess spousal death is genetic in that family.) He swallowed the retort that Zabini had three nanny elves and an entire horde of staff at his beck and call, apparated to Draco’s study and helped himself to a generous amount of Malfoy’s finest firewhiskey.

The third year Pansy ran out of excuses. She sat at her vanity that afternoon, willing herself not to vomit or apparate to Australia, when she heard Harry come in. In his left hand there was a bottle of champagne and in his right a bag full of frosted anti-valentine cookies. Seeing her terrified expression, he held them closer for her to inspect them and smiled.

“Valentine’s is such an overrated day. It isn’t even a real holiday.”

She burst out laughing through the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

They spent the whole day and night in Muggle London eating street food, drinking champagne, running around, holding hands, exchanging inappropriately long kisses and talking. Pansy did most of it, explaining the mysterious connection between chocolate and insults and jewellery and blows to the head and Harry listened.

The City was beginning to wake when the taxi left them in front of Pansy’s townhouse. Harry started walking away, but changed his mind. After getting her attention, he hesitantly produced a red rose behind his back.

“Happy Ordinary Day, Pansy.”