It took several hours for Pansy to feel well enough to stand up on her own and head slowly towards her room. Blaise’s dark eyes followed her every move, as if expecting her to falter and fall. She didn’t blame him for that. How could she, when she had needed him to stay upright mere moments before?
“Did the article bring you here?” Pansy asked, her voice hoarse and quiet. Her eyes felt dry and itchy and she knew, was certain of it, that she looked quite ridiculous. Perhaps pathetic, even. “A dose of my misery to go with your morning coffee?”
“Not entirely,” Blaise replied, and followed the witch into her room. He watched the exhaustion and sadness etched on her face as she sat down on one of the beautifully crafted chairs by the large windows. Blaise pulled another chair closer and sat on it, hating the sight of tear stains on her cheeks. Not for what they were, but rather for what they told him: Pansy’s tears had never been cheap or quick to come.
“But you did read it.”
“I did.”
Pansy sighed heavily, her shoulders slumped. “I used to love it when the Daily Prophet would pick Potter apart. I’d still love it if it did the same for the Malfoys.”
“You said you wanted to make them pay,” Blaise reminded her, and the witch looked up at him. He didn’t smile, but neither did he offer any condolences. He knew better than to offer her empty platitudes that were more suitable for strangers. Instead, he said: “Wipe your tears, Parkinson. I found a potential place for that Witchroom of yours. Are you going to fall down on your arse every time someone hits a sore spot?”
The last thing Pansy wanted to do was to step outside into a world where everyone she could think of would be smirking at her and enjoying her loss, but she knew that there was only one correct answer for what Blaise had said. Courage came easier when doused with anger, she found, even if what the Daily Prophet had done was far worse than poking at a tender wound. And that was why, with a heavy heart and no small amount of apprehension, she took a deep breath and shook her head.
“We will go shortly,” she said, already thinking of what she would wear. Something elegant, but not particularly fun. Dark blue, perhaps. Suitable for the cloudy and slightly chilly weather. Neutral and plain enough for people to not… to not pay too much attention to her yet. “How big are the premises?”
“Quite big,” Blaise told her. “With a recreation room and a kitchen. You can also have one room renovated to be some sort of an infirmary. It needs a little bit of fixing in some parts but that won’t take longer than a week if we use a company to do the fixing.”
Pansy nodded, and hauled herself up from the chair. “Well then, I might as well start getting ready. Are we going to use the Floo?”
“We’ll apparate,” Blaise said, raising his voice so she could hear him despite moving away. “I heard my mother and a friend of hers discussing houses and the friend mentioned that she has a house in Malmesbury she wants to sell. So I asked to see it and she gave me the keys. The Floo has been disconnected though so we’ll need to apparate.”
“Have you ever been there? Malmesbury, I mean,” the witch asked, stepping into the bathroom to wash her face, but leaving the door ajar. “Is it in a good neighbourhood?”
“I’ve been there a few times. It’s a really cute town, very peaceful. It’s a good place for a shelter,” Blaise told her. “Not to mention that it’s completely muggle-free.”
“Good,” Pansy said, her voice muffled by the towel she was using to dry her face. She left the bathroom and sat by the vanity table. Pansy had heard and read plenty on what most men and even some women thought of make up. A waste of time and money, and who knew what else. To her, that had never been the case, as each layer represented a distance she could create that would keep her safe from the eyes of the others. Glaring came easier when she had her eyeliner perfected, and she trusted her smiles when she painted her lips red.
“You’ll need to hire a few people to get things running,” Blaise said. “I mean, a house-elf can do the cleaning and cooking, but you’ll need someone to actually manage the place. Not to mention a healer of some sort, and a few bodyguards wouldn’t go amiss – the place will need to provide protection for the women, right? Any plans on who you will employ?”
“I have a type in mind,” Pansy said, finishing her make up and shooting him a smile. “People who face discrimination in the job market. Old women who cannot find a job to replace the one they lost or young women who don’t have enough experience to be taken seriously.”
“Not men?”
“No. We can’t guess what kind of conditions the witches seeking shelter would come from. I hate to say this, darling, but more often than not the danger they’re escaping from comes in the form of a man.”
“But not all men–”
“I know,” Pansy cut in. “I know that not all men are like that. Believe me, that’s the first thing every man ever says in his defense. But enough men are and, honey, it’s one of those risks that women should have the right to choose whether they take or not.”
“Fair enough,” Blaise sighed, and the two fell into silence while the woman finished changing her clothes. By the time Pansy put on her hat and pulled on her cloak, she looked like the woman Blaise knew she liked to be: the strong, vicious daughter of John Parkinson.
***
“It’s beautiful,” Pansy said, taking in the sight of the house. It wasn’t ideal, exactly. It wouldn’t be able to house as many women as Pansy had initially wanted, but it was certainly beautiful and would work well enough for the first year at least. “Where’s the fireplace than can be connected to the Floo?”
“You’ll see it once we go inside,” Blaise said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her forward with him. “You know this will take a lot of money, right?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I know that you trust that it’s worth it, but I need you to remember that money is always bound to run out. Unless you get sponsors or donations.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Pansy promised dryly, and smiled once she stepped into the house itself. The polished wooden floors were mostly hidden by plush, clearly expensive carpets. The walls were light blue with golden flowers and the large windows allowed sunlight to sweep in generously. The rooms were big with high ceilings and the stairs were beautifully decorated with what looked like tiny flowers and butterflies etched into the bars. “Merlin, Blaise. I’m almost tempted to forget the shelter and buy this for myself.”
“Only almost?” Blaise asked.
“Yes, only almost,” Pansy replied, following him up to the second floor. “The Witchroom is just… means to an end. It will hopefully work in my favour. You said one of the rooms can be turned into an infirmary? How many rooms for residents, then? And oh, the stairs, we can change those flowers into protective runes and make it even better.”
“The place is not short on rooms,” Blaise said. “And some of those rooms are big enough to fit four beds comfortably, with plenty of space for other furniture. This isn’t a hotel, however, or a permanent residence for anyone. So I doubt that the rooms require much in the first place. But if you really want to embed protective runes into the building then we’ll need more time and more money.”
“That’s fine,” Pansy said. “If I’m going to get this done, I’ll get it done properly. What’s this area?” One of the doors had been open, showing her an indoors balcony that hovered above an empty space with floor and walls made of stone.
“She calls it the garage,” Blaise explained, following her. “You can access it better from the first floor, actually, but not from inside the house – it has its own separate door. Her husband used to collect muggle cars and this place can fit quite a few of them.”
“Hm.” Pansy eyed the place with a contemplative expression, before she nodded slowly. “I see.”
“If you have any specific plans, you better share them with whichever company you’ll use to renovate the rooms,” Blaise told her. “So, you like it?”
“I do,” Pansy said, and for the following few moments she simply walked from room to room, familiarizing herself with the premises. Blaise patiently waited for her to be done, and smiled at her obvious satisfaction. He didn’t need to ask her whether or not she would like to buy it – her answer was clear without saying.
“So, what next?” Blaise asked, following her outside. “Brunch?”
“Yes,” Pansy replied, refusing to think of the dreadful article about her father. “Perhaps a local restaurant? Do you know any?”
Blaise did. It wasn’t a restaurant, really, as much as a very well-stocked cafe with polished marble floors and walls made mostly of glass, water fountains and tall black pillars and artful paintings. Blaise and Pansy were led to a table for two next to an opened window, and after taking their order and lighting the candle, the waitress retreated with a promise to return soon.
“Lovely,” Pansy said, eyeing the cafe, and then the scenery outside. “Thank you. You… you’ve been…”
“Hey, it’s all right,” Blaise assured her, offering her a smile. “I know you’d do the same for me. In fact, you have. Many times. So don’t thank me for this.”
“If you insist,” Pansy replied, mustering up a smile despite the lack of… happiness that she was feeling. “So, I will need to select one of my house-elves to keep things running smoothly at the Witchroom. In addition I’ll need a manager, a healer… perhaps a counselor too? And bodyguards.”
“Those will be for the shelter, yes,” Blaise agreed. “But then for you – you will need a lawyer and a publicist, at the very least. You’ll be garnering a lot of attention the more you work on improving your reputation, and a publicist wouldn’t go amiss. And a lawyer for, well, everything. Just in case.”
“We can talk with Theo about finding a lawyer,” Pansy decided instantly. “Once the shelter is ready, I’ll need to make a public deal out of it. Make an event out of the opening. But who would come if I invited them?”
“Quite many,” Blaise told her. “Sure, they wouldn’t turn for much with your name on it, but this is the kind of a thing that will also boost up their images, so… Regardless, be careful about who you invite. Remember to include journalists.”
“You’re quite knowledgeable on these matters,” Pansy remarked. Blaise shrugged.
“You know that my mum is the sort to organize all kinds of events regularly, and I–,” the wizard was cut off by a small black owl that swept close to the slightly opened window and eyed the two of them for a few moments from the other side of the glass. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed the window to open futher in order to allow the small bird in.
“It’s from the Hogwarts Board of Governors,” Blaise said, and Pansy’s felt an twinge of fear once again. What if they had made their decision after today’s article, and weren’t even going to allow her a meeting? “From Fittleworth, more specifically.”
“What does it say?” Pansy asked, just as the waitress returned with their orders. The time it took for her to set everything down properly seemed to last a lifetime, and Pansy had to restrain herself from snapping at the other witch to hurry up. Finally the woman left, and Blaise could finally respond.
“In two days,” he said. “Meeting at two in the afternoon. Here, it’s best if you keep his response since the location and time are there.”
“The whole board will be present,” Pansy said, reading through the brief message. She looked up at Blaise, unable to hold back a smile.
It wasn’t a remarkable victory yet, but it was certainly the beginning of one.
***
The following day found Pansy busy with paperwork. There was surprisingly much to do, even though renovating the shelter hadn’t even begun yet. It wouldn’t take long, however, and once everything was ready, Pansy wanted to have the staff already formed and prepared.
What kept distracting her, however, was the appointment she’d have with the school board of Hogwarts. They had granted her an audience, sure, but they were bound to come up with any counter-arguments to give them more credit and money, reminding her of who her father had been, and perhaps even of how she… had tried to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord.
‘I should have just kept quiet,’ the witch thought, resisting the urge to slap herself. ‘But really, how many times had everyone else wanted to get him into trouble? How come I’m the only one to suffer for it?’ Granted, none of the others had implied that they wanted him dead as much as Pansy had, but… ah, details!
Suddenly, a house-elf popped in, its ears twitching nervously. “Miss Pansy, Mistress and friends wants Miss Pansy to come to the lounge to enjoy tea with everyone.”
“Mother has guests?” Pansy yelped, alarmed. “No, don’t disappear, you wretched creature. Who’s everyone?”
“Lady Montague and Lady Flint,” the house-elf squeaked, and trembled at the sight of Pansy’s grimace. “Mistress is asking Miss Pansy to be there soon.”
“Yes, yes, fine,” Pansy huffed, dismissing the house-elf and slamming down the documents she had been holding. A meeting! With Lady Montague! Flint she could handle, the woman wasn’t worse than her son and Pansy had long ago learned how to deal with Marcus. Montague, on the other hand, swanned around feeling entitled to dictate other people’s lives and share her unwelcome advice with anyone she laid her claws on.
Stopping briefly by a mirror, Pansy made sure that she looked presentable, before continuing her way to where her mother and the two guests were. The moment she arrived, three pairs of eyes rose to appraise her with varying levels of disapproval.
“There you are,” her mother said. “Come here, dear. Have some tea.”
“Still no fiance,” Lady Montague said as soon as Pansy sat down, eyeing her hands. “No ring yet? How come?”
“Don’t be too picky, sweetheart,” Lady Flint hurried to add. “The times are tough and years go by so fast. Soon you’ll be too old for any man to want.”
“Oh, Carmen, she’s only twenty,” Pansy’s mother said, though it was clear that she agreed at least party with what the other woman had said. “There’s still some time, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know,” Lady Flint muttered, pursing her lips. Then she offered Pansy what was meant to be a consoling smile. “She’s very pretty, however. And no matter what these new-age Muggle lovers say, plenty of people are still aware enough to recognize the importance of blood purity.”
“Absolutely,” Lady Montague agreed. “Why, I heard that the Higgins heir looking for a-”
“He’s thirty-eight,” Pansy cut in, the smile on her face hardly anything more than a displeased twist of her lips. “And has a child already.” She didn’t like men, or children, let alone men with children.
“Oh, but young Frederick can be handed off to a nanny most of the time, you needn’t even see him aside from a few times a year,” Lady Montague said dismissively, and Pansy wondered if that’s what she had done with her own son. It would certainly explain a few things.
“But what about one of the two young gentlemen you spend so much time with,” Pansy’s mother said, and with horror Pansy realized that she meant Blaise and Theo. Perish the thought! Now, how to respond to that in a way that would demolish the idea firmly, and yet without embarrassing her mother?
“Oh, nonsense,” Lady Flint said, taking the decision out of Pansy’s hands. For once, the witch was glad about it. “We all know that young Zabini does not view women the way, ahem, well, how to say this…”
“He’s asexual, as he has declared many times,” Pansy helpfully supplied. “And Theo is very busy with creating a career for himself. I, also, will be looking for something productive to do with my time.”
“Yes, very wise,” Lady Montague said. “Perhaps you could host a Yule Ball this year–?”
“Absolutely not,” Pansy interrupted, and stood up, offering yet another of her humourless smiles. If all they had called her here for was to discuss marriage and potential husbands, then she wasn’t wiling to take any part in it. Especially not with so much else to do. “I’m truly sorry, but I really must take my leave. There’s so much for me to do, you all must understand. It was wonderful to see you today, ladies, and I’m looking forward to seeing you soon again.”
“You will, dear,” Lady Montague said, her words coming across much like a threat rather than a promise. “If only to help you realize that a woman in your situation cannot afford–”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with you, really,” Lady Flint hurried to add, perhaps finally cottoning in on how close Pansy was to pulling out her wand for some educational hexing. “But the times are tough, you must know that.”
“All we’re asking from you is to think about it,” Pansy’s mother added, aiming for a gentle tone but missing it by a mile. “We all want to see you happy, Pansy.”
“I can make my own happiness,” Pansy replied, doing her best to keep her tone in check. Alienating the few friends her mother still had because of her behaviour was something she knew she’d regret. “I really don’t need anyone to hand it to me.” She didn’t want to owe her happiness to anyone.
“Of course,” Lady Parkinson sighed. “But give it a thought anyway, all right? For my sake, if not for yourself.”
“Fine,” Pansy lied, and shook her head feeling utterly sick of the whole conversation and the rotten logic that kept inspiring it. “I’ll think about it.”
***
As always, the Ministry of Magic was crowded and noisy, and Pansy hated every step she had to take to get herself through the crowd and into one of the elevators. Very few of the people she could see dressed like purebloods, and she could only guess how many of them were simply trying to imitate the mudbloods in power. It made her sick, it really did. What happened to being proud of being a witch or a wizard? These days, in fear of being labeled as a Death Eater everyone was doing their best to be as muggle as they possibly could.
Knowing how easily anger showed on her face, Pansy closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths. She was a woman on a mission and this could bring her closer to her goal. If what she needed to do was to grin and bear it for the next hour or so, then by Circe she would do it.
The Hogwarts Board of Governors consisted of six wizards and six witches, and Pansy could only hope that none of them held a grudge against her for a reason or another. It was rare to see them all gathered at once, and Pansy felt a cold shiver down her spine when she stepped into the room where they all were waiting for her. It reminded her of a time not that long ago, when Aurors had questioned her under the guise of ensuring the safety of others. You try to hand over Potter to the Dark Lord once, and you’re marked for life, apparently. At least she has never tried to murder a Weasley, which was a lot more than what the Malfoys could say.
“Miss Parkinson,” said an elderly woman with a large red hat and thick-rimmed glasses. “Please, come in. And do close the door behind you.” Pansy did as told, feeling like the silly student she had once been. Somehow the woman reminded her of Professor McGonagall.
“I am Greta Pikes,” the woman continued. “You will address me as Chairman Pikes. We have great hopes in regards to your proposal, but for it to be a success and for the benefit of all stakeholders, we will need your honesty and full cooperation.”
“Absolutely, ma’am,” Pansy said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. Thankfully she had plenty of practice in that.
“Now,” Chairman Pikes began, “Now, how about you start with telling us about this scholarship you’re planning on creating. Official name and purpose?”
“John Parkinson Scholarship for Orphans,” Pansy said, and the mention of her father’s name made her feel better. “The aim is to cover the educational expenses of the orphans attending Hogwarts. The current hand-me-downs that the school provides will not allow the children a socially equal footing with other students.”
“And the financing system?” Chairman Pikes asked, urging Pansy to continue. “We do not wish to waste resources on things that can be outsourced.”
“Rather simple,” the young witch replied. “The scholarship will be granted to every orphan starting their first year, without exceptions. From then on, however, only the children with certain level of academic success will be entitled to it. The vaults will be accessible to an account manager. Or rather, a scholarship manager.”
“And who would that be?”
“Anyone of your choosing. I will grant them full access to the vault.”
“And what is the weight of your influence in all proceedings?” Chairman Pikes’s eyes were narrowed, but she didn’t look particularly hostile or suspicious. Pansy took a moment to think, before responding.
“The extent of my influence would be very limited, technically. The scholarship is named by me and that name will not change. It will be sponsored by me and also officially granted by the Parkinson family. Any non-monetary profit will be credited to me. You, ladies and gentlemen, can freely determine which students can keep reaping the benefits of the scholarship after each student’s first year of education. I will not interfere with the criteria for the award recipients.”
“Are we to believe,” said an old man that Pansy vaguely recognized to be Thaddeus Rufford. “Are we to believe that you, Miss Parkinson, are doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
“With all due respect,” Pansy replied, “my reasons are of little importance. What matters here are the children who, without my scholarship, may suffer social isolation due to the… stigma of being poor. Children are cruel after all.” She’d know. She had been a very cruel child herself.
“What’s the sum that you’ll be starting with?” Chairman Pikes asked, and Pansy relaxed, knowing that the deal was practically sealed now. The woman wouldn’t otherwise ask about the price at this point.
“Eight hundred with an annual administration,” the witch replied, refusing to smirk when a few members of the board didn’t manage to hide their surprise. “If there’s a need for more it can be arranged. I would need for that, of course, official explanations and the expense statements.”
Chairman Pikes turned to look at the others surrounding her, and with the exception of Rufford who eyed her as if he expected her to pull out a wand start hexing him, seemed quite satisfied with the agreement. Pikes pursed her lips before nodding slowly. “We have the right to renegotiate or terminate the contract at all times.”
“We both have that right,” Pansy replied quickly. “As long as we maintain a respectable level transparency and honesty.”
“Very well then,” Chairman Pikes murmured. “Who will take care of the press release?”
“I will,” Pansy assured her. “Eventually. I will make a brief statement.”
“There are some papers that need to be signed, of course,” Chairman Pikes said. “And an account manager needs to be assigned and Gringotts informed of the access permits. If you don’t mind sacrificing a little more of your time, Miss Parkinson, we could do that right away.”
“By all means,” Pansy said with a smile. “For this, I have all day.”
***
It was late when Pansy returned home. She was tired, but very satisfied. She had feared that they would reject the scolarship proposal based on the name tagged on to it, but no such a thing had happened. Well, it was easy to justify: muggleborns wouldn’t know the reputation of the Parkinson name, and even if they did, Pansy had no influence over what they would be taught. In addition, her providing a decent amount money meant that the school board didn’t need to spend as much of their own budget on poor students anymore.
If there was one thing Pansy knew how to count on and use to her advantage, it was the selfishness of others. Not necessarily greed, but simply selfishness. Because even saints had things they wanted to keep only for themselves.
She would need to send Blaise a token of her gratitude. He and Theo had done a lot for her, and would do much more, Pansy had no doubt of that. Blaise perhaps moreso than Theo could, simply because of Theo’s busy schedule. The poor man hadn’t had a break in a few days, and Pansy wondered how he was coping.
Perhaps she could drop by the Nott residence for a visit? If he was too busy to even speak with her, she could leave after making sure that he didn’t need anything. It was the least she could do, especially if she wanted to make use of his network of lawyers.
Decision made, Pansy turned on her heels and headed towards the fireplace again, heading towards Fairview Manor where Theo lived all by his lonesome. Pansy remembered Mrs. Nott’s funeral from nearly fifteen years ago, and Theo’s father’s imprisonment before they had even graduated from Hogwarts. It was only a matter of time before what had happened to her father, would happen to Theo’s.
It made her so angry, especially when she thought of Lucius Malfoy and his house arrest.
“Elf!” Pansy called sharply as soon as she stepped out of Fairview’s floo-connected fireplace. One of the Nott family’s bug-eyed, overly enthusiastic and freakishly affectionate house-elves appeared, and nearly threw itself at her feet in its delight.
“Miss Pansy,” it shrieked. “Miss Pansy has returned! Oh, Wibby is so happy!”
“Where is Theo,” Pansy asked, taking a step away from the creature. Theo wouldn’t appreacte her kicking it, she was certain of that. He had always been stupidly fond of the tiny creatures. “I’m here to see him.”
“Master Theodore is in his study,” the house-elf replied. “Wibby thinks Master Theodore works too hard.”
“I am not going to talk with you,” Pansy said, side-stepping the house-elf and continuing her way towards Theo’s study. Much to her irritation, rather than pop away to work on whatever it should have been working on, Wibby followed Pansy like a talkative shadow.
“Listen,” the witch finally hissed, turning to eye the creature with no small amount of disdain. “You. Go… make us tea or something to eat, if you must. But I don’t want to see you again.”
“Miss Pansy always says that,” Wibby sighed happily, its eyes fixed on Pansy. “But Wibby knows that Miss Pansy never punishes her house-elves.”
“I hate you,” Pansy snapped, fingers itching to take a hold of her wand and hex the creature, if only to prove it wrong. “Now begone.” She then promptly turned to open the door of the study, and found Theo already looking up from the books he was hunched over.
“Someone looks cheerful,” Theo said with a grin. His hair – which he was yet to be cut, evidently – was tucked into a small ponytail with a dark hairtie. The look suited him.
“One of your deranged house-elves followed me,” Pansy told him with a shudder, before taking off her hat and cloak and leaving them on a chair. “I hope I’m not intruding. Do you mind if I stay for a while?”
“By all means,” Theo replied. “How has your day been?”
“I had a meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors earlier today,” Pansy said, moving further into the room and towards a comfortable couch near Theo’s desk. She was careful to avoid knocking any of the towering piles of books that were practically everywhere. “Regarding the scholarship.”
“They accepted?”
“Yes, they did.”
Theo nodded and offered her a quick smile, his eyes returning to scan the pages in front of him. Pansy quietly sat down on the couch and for the next few moments, the two enjoyed the companionable silence. She found it strange how even silence could sound different just by having someone sharing it with her. Both kept quiet, enjoying the minutes as they passed, up until the house-elf Wibby returned with tea and sandwiches. Thankfully the creature itself didn’t say anything, but the way it eyed Pansy gleefully made the witch scowl.
“I really hate that wretched house-elf,” Pansy muttered, causing Theo to laugh.
“It adores you,” he revealed, leaving his books and moving to sit next to the witch by the couch. “I’m not sure why, to be honest.”
“If only the rest of the world found me as delightful,” Pansy sighed. “Oh well, that’ll change soon.”
“Is that what you’re aiming for?” Theo asked, his voice suddenly soft. “The scholarship, and… the Witchroom that Blaise gave me an update about. He mentioned that you’ll be looking for a lawyer and a publicist as well. Is this all for the sake of an image change?”
“Yes,” Pansy admitted readily. “I’m… All those people who decided that the I’m not worth their time… I’m going to prove them wrong.”
“By doing charities?”
“It’s a start.”
Theo put down his cup of tea and eyed her with a serious expression. “What are you planning, truly? What’s your endgame here?”
“Can I trust you to not reveal it to anyone else?” Pansy wanted to know. “Even more than that: can I trust you to have faith in me?”
“I always do,” Theo replied. “Have faith in you, that is. And if it’s secrecy that you want, I would help you cover a murder if it came to that. You know this.”
“Theo,” Pansy breathed, setting down her own cup of tea as well, before reaching to hold his hands between hers. “Theo, I want to become the Minister for Magic.”
marlowfication 