Father, Why is Mother Crying?
Two weeks.
Two weeks had passed, and Hypatia hadn’t come back.
Despite the overwhelming silence coming from her end, Pansy had tried her best, and talked to the mirror every single night. She had come to believe that Hypatia’s mirror had been broken, but that didn’t deter her from coming back to hers and talk at their scheduled time without fail. Pansy would tell Hypatia about her day, and about her friends, about the weather, and about her fears, about her grades, and about how much she missed her.
Of course, Pansy could’ve simply waited to find out who had invited McLaggen to the Slughorn party, but she didn’t want to wait an entire month, especially with the possibility of Hypatia changing her mind on her cavalier.
Pansy had been summoned by Snape to go down to the defence against the dark arts room once again that evening. She had purposefully, and sometimes accidentally missed all of their previous meetings. Pansy gathered her things, ready to go, but she decided to first list down all members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She looked down at her parchment, there was not a singular respectable person in that entire team. She added down the reserve players, and crossed out all the girls.
Dean Thomas, Richie Cott, Jimmy Pix, Ron Weasley, Cormac McLaggen and Harry Potter.
She crossed out Mclaggen. Of course, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley already made a pair. She wrote down her first possibilities on the corner of the page. Hermione Granger, or Luna Lovegood. Pansy started cold sweating, her hand trembling as she crossed out Lovegood. Hypatia had clearly stated she had celebrated her house’s victory after the previous match, and Luna was not a Gryffindor but a Ravenclaw.
Pansy did not let herself get discouraged and continued her suppositions. Dead Thomas did have a girlfriend, Ginny Weasley who was also a player in the team. Perhaps he was Hypatia’s heartless rude crush. But he wasn’t particularly close to any other players in the team, so this option didn’t work. The two beaters, Richie and Jimmy. The problem was that they weren’t friends with a girl, but a multitude. They were Seventh years, which matched with Hypatia’s enormous amount of knowledge, but they were known for their relationships with no tomorrow, and their girlfriends that never seemed to last more than two weeks. They certainly hadn’t waited until the last match to kiss a girl publicly.
The most realistic answer remained Hermione Granger.
Hermione Granger was her Hypatia.
No. Hermione Granger could be her Hypatia.
She had never seen in the girl a single ounce of intelligence. To Pansy, she had never been more than a mudblood ready to do anything to prove the world that she too, was worthy of being a witch despite her muggle family. Pansy took a deep breath. She couldn’t even check with her as she had been gone for two weeks now. Pansy missed her terribly.
Snape could wait. Everything in her life was crumbling apart and she didn’t think she could handle being told off now, or worse, seeing Draco.
Pansy watched as her mother buried her face in her hands in a weak attempt to hide her tears. The atmosphere was grave, the sound of cutlery hitting plates being the music breaking the silence.
“Father, why is Mother Crying?’ Pansy fought the urge to run and hug her mother. She knew better than to get up during dinner.
“She saw today someone that she misses. She is, by the way, going to cease this ridiculous act immediately and have dinner with us like a respectable witch would.”
“I’m sorry, dear Family. I believe I am not good company this evening. Please excuse me.”
Pansy watched as her mother got up and left her alone with her father. The little girl that she was had known something was wrong when her parents had come back from their errands and her mother hadn’t greeted her with her usual smile. She stared at her plate quietly, afraid to be told off by her father as well.
“Pansy, I want to explain to you why your mother is crying, because I believe I can teach you something from this situation.” Pansy looked up at him. His face was closed, and his lips were pursed.
“You see, your Mother used to have a best friend. Her name was Andromeda Black. They had become close on the first day of Hogwarts. Today, your mother saw her again as we exited the bank. They hadn’t talked in years because Andromeda made a choice that distanced her from us.”
Pansy was confused. She knew of Draco’s mother, Narcissa Black, and of her scary sister, Bellatrix Black, but she had never heard anything about an Andromeda Black. Her Father continued with the same tone.
“You must know something first. Your magic comes from your blood. Your Mother is a witch, I am a wizard. All of your grandparents are wizards, and so are their grandparents. This magic is born with us, and we pass it onto our children. You know that muggles do not possess any magic in them. What do you think happens when a wizard and muggle have a child together?
Pansy thought about a man kissing a woman on the mouth. She grimaced, adults truly had disgusting ways of showing affection to each other. One day she had seen her parents' friend's kiss on the mouth, and she had needed to hide her face.
“Yucks that's disgusting why are they doing that!”
Her father continued his explanation, amused by his daughter’s reaction. “The magic blood mixes with the muggle blood. The magic blood becomes dirty, impure.”
“Oh! That’s what you were talking about!” Pansy exclaimed, having finally understood. Pansy already knew all about that subject. She had heard her friends say the word mudblood not a week ago as a way to insult each other. But her father wasn’t finished.
“Your blood is pure, Pansy. That is the gift your mother and I have given you. Do not ever let your blood become spoiled. Do not ever allow anyone to take your magic away from you, and away from our family bloodline.”
“Can I make my blood dirty by touching a muggle?” Pansy asked, worried.
“No. That would be alarming. How could we possibly torment muggles if that was the case? You can dirty your blood by founding a family with someone whose blood isn’t as pure as yours. All of us have the gift of giving life. Your mother and I have given you life, and one day you too will give life. You’ll find a husband worthy of you and of your blood.”
Pansy almost interrupted her Father. She knew for a fact that that process would require her to kiss a boy, something she vehemently refused. The idea of having kids was therefore a possibility she had crossed out years ago now. But her father was too sombre at the moment for her to reveal her chastity dreams at the ripe age of ten.
“Your mother’s friend did not make that choice. She decided to marry a wizard whose blood wasn’t pure. That is why she can no longer be friends with your mother. That is why your mother is crying.”
Pansy remembered the only conversation she had had with her father about marriage, and about her blood. She knew that the most important thing she had left to do was to pass on her blood. She knew that that was all she was worth in her family’s eyes. Tears came to her face. Not only would she never love a wizard, but she had fallen in love with a muggle born witch. How could she have let that happen? All her Slytherin friends had no problem abiding by these two simple rules: Love a pure blood of the opposite gender. What kind of failure did that make her? She hated herself. She hated the way she loved. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything but love Hypatia. Hermione.
What a twisted trick of fate it was that she knew she’d never be as brave as Andromeda had been. She couldn’t be. Darkness was swallowing her whole, until her mission came back to her mind. She couldn’t do anything to help herself, but she could finally do something to help Draco.
Pansy entered the shop and couldn’t help but stop and look around for a good minute. There was nothing worth any real money, but every single object in there was stranger than the next one.
How can this possibly be your solution?
An old wizard walked towards her. She had made sure to come early, mere minutes after opening time so that the streets as well as the shop would be as empty as possible. Pansy squeezed her wand in her cloak.
“Welcome to Dervish and Banges, Miss, what can I do f-
“Expelliarmus.” Pansy said, calmly. The old vendor’s wand flew into the air, landing a couple of shelves behind him. His expression changed. It was now tainted with fear.
“Let’s go into your workshop, I have a couple of questions to ask you.” Her voice was cold, emotionless. Her minutes were counted. Another wizard could enter the shop at any moment.
The workshop was almost as big as the shop. Various magical jumped from one shelf to another, and a family of mechanical birds whistled a serenade together while sitting on a metal tree that couldn’t have been taller than a book. Dust covered most surfaces, and candlewax covered the floor. Pansy closed the door behind her, not bothering to pick up the old man’s wand that was still laying somewhere in the shop.
“I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them. Let’s be calm. Would you be able to fix an ancient spell that has been altered, and was created over four centuries ago?”
“Yes, I believe so. I mean it all depends on its geographical provenance. I am of no use when it comes to voodoo, but I’d have no trouble if we were talking about Europe or Northern Asia.”
“I’m going to describe to you a magical object and you will tell me how to fix it without forgetting even the most minute details, understood?”
“Miss, no need to kidnap me for that. Just bring me your object and I’ll fix it for ya!”
“Shut up! Listen to me and answer my questions! The task I’ve given you isn’t too difficult, why must you divert from it!” Pansy screamed. She hated doing this, but had found that old wizards never took her threats seriously unless she became the most detestable version of herself.
“Okay okay! Describe to me your object, I’m listening.” The old man begged.
“It’s a vanishing closet. It was conceived between the years 1580 and 1620, in Spain.’
“And what broke it? Was it a spell or was it simply mishandled physically?”
“It was mishandled.”
“That makes things easier for you. Either the person that created it used the mille feuilles technique to build it, or the infinite circle technique. Since we’re talking Spain, my bet would be on mille feuilles, they really love complexity down there in Southern Europe.”
The old man went on for almost half an hour, explaining to Pansy how to understand every aspect of the spell that inhabited the cabinet. When he was done, Pansy had no doubt that she’d be able to fix it. She had been apparently lucky. Had it been a spell that had broken the closet, Pansy would’ve needed to rebuild it entirely, not just fix it. She tried her best to remember every detail that was being said in order to repeat it back to Draco. She barely had the level to follow what was benign said to her but didn’t let herself get discouraged.
Once they were done, she told the man to go back into the main shop with her. She picked up his wand and took a look outside. Some students had started arriving to Hogsmeade, she needed to act fast.
“Lay on the floor. Now.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Pansy rolled her eyes, and did not dignify his question with an answer. She gestured to the floor, impatient. The old man obliged, tears streaming down his face. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate.
“One last question. Do you have any articles that are out of stock?”
“What?” The wizard asked, surprised. “Uh, uh. I- I’ve run out of mandragora moisturising cream!”
Pansy nodded and pointed at him with her wand.
“Obliviate.” She dropped his wand, which bounced on the wooden floor before landing not too far from his owner.
Pansy hurried back to school. She had played the kind girl scout card, and helped the old man back up after his short faint, a worried look carefully crafted on her face. He had been really grateful for her help, and had felt extremely guilty for not being able to honour her request, promising her that a fresh batch of mandragora moisturising cream would be available in his shop by the beginning of next week.