Am I to blame?
Am I to blame for my sick, frantic brain?
Antsy - UPSAHL
Pansy Parkinson wants to do good, to be good; would that not be the right thing to do? The problem is that her explosive tendencies and high emotions kept getting in the way. Since the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, she has tried not to be the same frightened, self-serving little girl she was. The girl who let her emotions guide her actions towards tantrums or the wrong decisions. She works in the Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, often coinciding with Muggle Liasion. She is called into the field for magical accidents, from some nitwit using magic in the wrong area to helping young magical children and their parents, whether Muggleborn or not. She has delivered Hogwarts letters to Muggleborns on their 11th birthday, sometimes counseling parents well before their children are of Hogwarts-age due to frequent accidents. She has worked on trying to get the Ministry to inform parents of Muggleborns that their children are magical well before Hogwarts but has yet to be met with any agreement on the matter. Partly due to her past and partly to do with her tendency to argue and see feelings over reason.
She pushed her chair back from her cherry oak desk, standing up with a groan. Another day where, sure, she’s helpful but with no real, effective change. She keeps things going. Supposedly, a few Muggleborns’ parents have said ‘great things’ about her. They can’t be too great, she thought, if she was never called back to the home of those she’s helped. Many in her department return to the families they’ve aided on a recurrence because of the rapport built. Pansy has only seen the same family twice, and the second time was because she was the only one on call. It was accidental magic in which the kid had started a fire during a crying fit because he was hungry when his mother was making dinner late in the evening. The firemen were quite perplexed as the fire kept reigniting as they put it out, even when continually flushing the same area with water. That was a lot of Obliviation.
Regardless, she will have to leave her plans for change for another day, another month; maybe years, she thought, with a tiny frown towards the floor as she walked toward the atrium to meet Tracey. The two were never too close in Hogwarts due to politics and the fact that Tracey could be decent while Pansy was a right bitch. Still, they became the first two in their generation to be disgraced from the Sacred 28. Tracey had called Pansy over for tea and biscuits when the news broke that Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin princess, had been disinherited. The tea had become Firewhiskey as the night went on, and Tracey taught Pansy how to order Muggle takeout. That night Pansy decided to grow out her hair to try and break some visual association with who she was before. Her dark hair, now, ended past her breasts, her bangs at her eyes and able to be swept aside. The only feature she did not alter was her red lipstick, the shade still bringing her a sense of confidence and pleasure.
Pansy looked around for Tracey’s shoulder-length hair when she reached their meeting spot across from apparition point 13. Her eyes scanned the large marble room and caught short brunette hair about to apparate. It couldn’t be Tracey; the woman’s hair seems to have turned slightly frizzy and poofy at the ends, probably due to workday stress, as the top is pulled back rather attractively when Tracey’s hair hung limp at the end of a long day. Pansy’s hazel eyes met chocolate brown ones as the woman turned to apparate. Her heart plummeted into her stomach as she realized who the figure was. Hermione Granger. How in the hell—her thoughts were interrupted as Tracey ran up and grabbed her arm, excited to try a new Thai place down the street from the Ministry.
—
“You’re kidding!” Tracey exclaimed, two noodles and a piece of chicken falling out of her mouth into her lap in the process. Pansy grimaced, handing her a napkin.
“Yeah, Trace, because I would make up such a lie about the bloody Golden Girl. That completely fits what I have been trying to accomplish these past three years.” Pansy flipped her hair behind her shoulders in a jerky movement to avoid it falling into her plate when she leaned down to take a bite.
“Her hair was really to her shoulders? She was quiet?” Tracey raised her eyebrows inquisitively.
Pansy was getting tired of repeating herself. “Yeah, she seemed…meek. It was not the Granger we knew during school, even when the girl was more reserved during Eighth Year. She seemed resigned, and I got that from one look. I knew the public, or anyone, had not heard from her in a while but I didn't expect her to turn up like this.” Pansy finished her own Pad Thai, wiped her hands, and dabbed at her mouth with the cloth.
Tracey’s eyes caught a little mischievous glint. “You should find out where she works in the Ministry. Check out the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She was always on about elf rights. Remember that S.P.E.W. pin you found and probably wanked to?”
“Shut your mouth!!” Pansy’s voice rose, catching the attention of the following table, then lowered her voice. “I told you that in confidence, Davis. It was a little infatuation, probably subconscious, to rebel against my parents. It’s not like I have kept tabs on her.” She might have kept an eye on the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly for mentions, but it is not like the entire world is not curious about what happened to break up the Golden Trio.
“Whatever Pans. Regardless, something had to have happened. Weasel was suddenly shacking up with every junior trainee in the department, and Granger fell off the face of the earth.”
Pansy shook her head, fingers tapping on the table nervously. One night, after her parents disinherited her, she confessed to Tracey in a drunken stupor that she fancied women. It was hard not to know at nineteen when your best friend went on about the size of her last shag’s cock, while you were considering the size of a war heroine’s breasts in the Daily Prophet. Still, even after all these years, her sexuality kept her self-conscious. It wasn’t why she told the Sacred 28 to fuck off or what made her drop the Pureblood ways of life. There were so many things it wasn’t that only her closest friends knew, and she had not acted on it besides a few drunken kisses in the back of a club. Her feet shook under the table. Pansy was itching to get home, away from this conversation that could have her spiraling in second. There are too many feelings attached to the fuckery that was the past, the gossip, the complexity of regret and guilt, and how hard she is trying and what she wants and…
“I have to go.” The darker-haired girl stood up suddenly, “You know, things to do. I have to get a head start on a report, and that dickhead keeps stealing my papers and–” Pansy pushed the chair back and gathered her things. “Dinner’s on me next time.”
“Pansy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag up–” Tracey started, trying to wave the waiter over for the check and pulling out her Muggle money. Pansy shook her head again, biting her lip, appearing quite vulnerable and hating it. She felt her embarrassment and shame start to turn into frustration, which usually quickly becomes anger.
“Stop! Just stop.” Pansy demanded. If she stood here any longer, Tracey might leave the money on the table and follow her out. Pansy took a couple of steps away before Tracey grabbed her arm and attempted to apologize again. Pansy twisted out of the grip harshly. “I said to fucking STOP. Let me be. Do you ever know when to shut up?” Loud as she had not attempted to control her voice, a good section of the restaurant quieted. She took advantage of the inactivity to be the only one moving, rushing out the door and gripping her wand.
In seconds, she was on her doorstep, breathing heavily and alone.