#witchbiitches

They’ve   made   themself   right   at   home   since   arriving   at   Blackwood   Manor   that   morning;      legs   stretched   out   on   what   was   no   doubt   a   previously   very   well   -   made  bed   before   Marcus   unceremoniously   flopped   upon   it.      Fingers   are   linked   together,      resting   lightly   against   abdomen   and   when   Pansy   speaks,      shoulders   give   a   giddy,   little   shimmy.      One   that   suggests   they   don’t   regret   being   caught   watching   her   add   the   finishing   touches   to   today’s   outfit,      both   preparing   for   a   day   of   cake   -   tasting   ENFORCED   by   their   parents.      It   all   made   turning   up   a   little   early         (      for   once      )         worth   it.            ＂         Can’t   a   world-renowned   Quidditch   player   admire   their   future   wife?         ＂            He’s   pushing   his   luck   now,      testing   boundaries   as   usual   while   leaning   back   against   plump   pillows   propped   up   behind.               ＂         It’s   definitely   a   view   I   could   get   used   to.         ＂

looking down at the bustle of bright red tulle surrounding her legs as hands smooth down her bodice, minette looks to pansy with a raised brow and pursed lips. "i'm dressed up as a pop culture character on a day known for dressing up, so yes." there had been a small part of her that had hoped pansy would be more forgiving due to both of their costumes being from the same franchise - maybe they could even bond a little - but no. that idea fell as flat as a deflated bludger. "look, pansy . . . you look great, okay?" lifting a drink to her lips, she rolls her eyes, "that is how you start a conversation, you know? it might serve you well in the future."

"pardon?" looking up from her latte, the faux-blonde covers the paperwork she was reading with spread out fingers - it wasn't as if they were secretive, but perhaps it was out of instinct now. it wasn't as if she hadn't done favours for a few other departments in the ministry, but she had barely been back in the building since being discharged from st mungos and already being tasked. "um . . . i'm sorry. i am unfortunately swamped in my own work thanks to a knock on the head," an attempt at a jest.

＂    sure,  whatever  you  want.  sounds  good.    ＂      their  response  is  instant,  but  it’s  also  senseless  when  compared  to  pansy’s  previous  declaration;    acting  as  a  clear  sign  marcus  hasn’t      (    are  they  ever?    )      been  listening.  their  body  slouches  in  seat,  all  legs  wide    &    real  comfortable  while  fingers  skim  through  the  latest  witch  weekly  addition  that’s  holding  his  attention.  it’s  only  after  a  whole  moment  passes  in  deafening  silence  that  their  mind  eventually  processes  what’s  been  said,  eyes  slowly  glancing  up  with  a  look  that  seems  almost  bemused.      ⸻      lost  even.  not  because  they  don’t  understand  what  they’re  being  told,  but  rather,  they  don’t  understand  why.  how  simple  it  is  to  move  on  from  an  attack  that  they  ensured  didn’t  cost  them  a  thing,  the  charity  game  and  any  casualties  left  behind  in  their  scarper  long  gone  from  the  forefront  of  their  mind.      ＂    …    i’m  sensing  sarcasm.    ＂      didn’t  take  a  genius  to  hear  the  tone,  which  was  probably  for  the  best  because  despite  all  of  flint’s  impressive  academics,  when  it  came  to  communication?  they  remain  clueless,  the  wrong  words  always  lingering  on  tip  of  tongue.      ＂    is  this  because  i  didn’t  order  you  a  coffee?    ＂

the aggravated voice causes eyes to squeeze shut for a moment, in hopes of opening them and being home in bed, but to no avail. minette looks to the woman, features faltering as the keeper swallows. they knew who the woman was, of course they did, she was her ex's fiancée. pansy. shrugging as features pale, minette feels sick. "not that it's any of your business, but minette merrythought."

movements  on  evenings  like  tonight  have  become  a  well  -  rehearsed  routine,  every  step  precise    &    tactical  as  a  gentle  palm  settles  against  the  small  of  pansy’s  back  to  attract  her  attention.  there’s  cameras  in  every  corner.  maybe  they  aren’t  all  pointed  at  them,  but  marcus  is  self  -  aware  enough  to  know  SOME  are,  desperate  for  a  snap  of  the  happy  couple.      ⸺      or  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  at  trouble  in  paradise.  either  way,  they’re  on  their  best  behavior  for  once,  attempts  to  appear  every  bit  the  doting  fiance  continuing  by  passing  her  a  fresh  glass  of  champagne.    "    if  i  have  to  endure  one  more  more  conversation  about  the  next  ministerial  election,  i  may  end  up  taking  a  dive  out  the  nearest  window.    "    their  voice  is  low  enough  for  conversation  to  be  kept  between  them,  even  going  so  far  as  to  lean  in,  playing  the  role  of  whispering  sweet  nothings  when  really  all  they’re  doing  is  complaining  further.    "    at  least  it’ll  delay  you  the  bother  of  buying  an  expensive  white  dress,  though  i  can’t  promise  your  next  betrothed  will  be  as  handsome  as  me.    "  

＂         I’m   not   looking   at   you   like   that.         Whatever   that   actually   is.         ＂                     Denial   might   be   believable,      if   it   wasn’t   for   coy   smile   tugging   at   lip   corners.         Millicent   has   never   been   one   to   hide   their   true   intentions   and   they   doubt,      even   if   they   were,      they’d   be   able   to   with   Pansy   after   all   these   years.         The   pair   knew   each   other   far   too   well.         Sharing   a   common   room   and   a   home   long   enough   will   do   that.         Eyes   roll   in   mild   defeat   not   even   half   a   beat   later   and   shoulders   drop,      along   with   previous   act.                     ＂         It’s   just         .   .   .         I   noticed   you   and   Madam   Zabini   looking   very   cosy   earlier.         ＂                     The   curiosity   seeps   through,      itching   to   ask   who,   what,   where,   everything.         Manicured   nail   circles   the   rim   of   her   mimosa   glass   before   picking   it   up,      taking   a   sip.                     ＂         Spill.      Did   you   talk   about   anything   interesting?         ＂

And   if   it’s   true   what   her   dear,   departed   maman   used   to   say         :         gossip   is   the   devil’s   telephone,         then   let   this   date   go   down   in   history   as   the   day   Etta   opted   not   to   hang   up.         Interest   piques   almost   immediately,      poise   sitting   up   a   little   straighter   as   an   opportunity   to   dig   a   little   deeper   presents   itself.                     ＂         Oh?         ＂                     Such   a   loaded   question   in   one   very   small   word.         Subtle   wave   of   her   hand   has   teapot   levitating   to   pour   another   cup   and   it   shimmies   closer   once   full,      acting   as   a   silent   invitation   for   Pansy   to   join.                     ＂      I   confess   I’ve   yet   to   form   a   solid   opinion   on   the   girl   my   son   has   chosen   to         .   .   .         bring   into   the   family.         Their   situation   was   all   so   soudaine.               ―               But   perhaps   not   for   you.         I   imagine   you   see   much   more   than   I   do.         ＂                     Each   word   is   chosen   carefully         :            meticulous         &         dripping   in   charm   in   an   attempt   to   COAX   out   an   elaboration   on   previous   statement.                     ＂         Do   you   approve?         I   know   your   opinion   matters   terribly   to   Blaise   and   in   turn,      I   hold   it   in   rather   high   regard   myself.         ＂