Part Two:
She hadn’t expected her to answer, hell, she hadn’t expected herself to write the letter in the first place. But she had written it, and she’d sent it too. It had been about two weeks since everything had happened, and she had needed to talk to someone who knew what was going on, and yet was still outside of the situation.
Seeing as Narcissa, Caralyna, (she still wasn’t sure which one to call mum and which one to call godmum or auntie, or whatever) and Draco, were the only ones that knew, and none of them could be considered even remotely outside the situation, she was left with rather limited options. So she’d owled the only other person that had any idea what a mess her life had become.
None of the others had been thrilled with her decision – not that they’d known about it until after the correspondence had already begun – but she was glad she’d gone ahead with it. It had been nice, these past few weeks, to talk with another girl, one who wouldn’t hex her (literally, or figuratively) in the back at the first opportunity. The fact that the younger girl could carry an intelligent conversation was a definite plus.
Pansy shook her head slightly. Her new – dare she say it – friend, was very interesting to her. For all that she was a lion to the core, there were parts of her that seemed remarkably snake-like.
It was an intriguing byproduct of her first year and the debacle that was Tom Riddle’s diary – details of which she’d had to pry from both Draco and Ginny over the course of their owl exchange. Despite the way she’d acquired it, however, Pansy was quite thankful for the insight Ginny had gained into the machinations of the Slytherin mind. It came in very useful as the two new friends tried to bridge the gap between them, a gap that seemed to close more and more with every owl.
Now, if only she could get her new friend and her new brother to close their own gap. It wasn’t as if it was that big, the dark-haired girl thought with a suppressed smirk. Sure, the two liked to pretend there were still miles of house rivalry, and familial animosity there, but in truth, the two would get along quite well if they tried. Granted, Draco still sneered at the redhead’s occasional mention of her brother and/or his friends, but he no longer sneered at the mention of the Gryffindor’s name, or glared at her when she read the younger girl’s letters aloud.
Pansy smirked. She could still remember the first time she’d done that. He’d sneered and demanded she stop, he’d even stomped around a bit, but he’d never left the room, never really made more than a token effort to stop her from continuing to read. She’d found it strange at first, but then she’d thought back to the dark dungeon hallway and she’d realized something.
Draco didn’t hate Ginny anymore.
Sure, when he’d found her, securely ensconced in Ginny’s offered comfort, he’d been less than thrilled. He’d scowled and glared, and eyed the younger girl with blatant suspicion like any well-trained Slytherin should. Then he’d nodded at the little redhead, acknowledging what she had done for them, and helped his newly discovered sister back to their dorms without so much as a taunt or threat towards the small redhead.
It had been a pivotal event, not only for their individual lives and families, but for the strange friendship that was, against all odds, somehow forming between the three of them. Not that a certain blond-haired member of their little trio would admit to such a thing. No, Draco was still adamantly denying anything beyond grudging tolerance of the youngest Weasley.
Grudging tolerance.
Pansy rolled her eyes as she watched the object of her musings enter the room with half-hidden anticipation sparkling in his grey pools. It was a look she’d grown somewhat familiar with seeing over the weeks of her correspondence with Ginny Weasley, one that had a tendency to show up right around the time she usually received a return owl from the younger girl.
“So,” the Malfoy patriarch drawled as he leaned oh-so-casually against the wall just inside the parlor where Pansy had decided to take her tea that morning, “has there been anything of note on this fine summer day?”
She shrugged rather delicately and took a sip of her tea, trying to suppress to urge the roll her eyes again. Of course he couldn’t just ask straight out if she’d gotten an owl from Ginny yet. Her dear brother really could be too much of a snake at times, even for a viper such as herself.
“Not as of yet. I was actually planning to go out for a bit, care to join me?”
“Out?” A single white brow rose in question. It was an unspoken agreement amongst themselves and their mother and godmother that it was best if they kept the frequency of their time together discrete, lest it garner suspicion from Lucius and Jasonan’s former acquaintances.
“Just to the gardens, of course.”
Grey eyes examined her all-too-innocent expression with skepticism even as he gestured for her to precede him as they left the parlor in favor of the sprawling gardens of the Parkinson estate. The land had been in her father’s family for centuries and it was little wonder why they had chosen to keep it. There was a patch of forest to the north and west, and to the south there ran a wide stream her mother used to scold her for playing in as a child. The eastern edge of the property was fenced off, blocking access to the long drive that led to the front doors of the large manor house that was her home.
She’d always loved her home, and the land that surrounded it, even the mountains that loomed on the other side of the dense woods. She could see them from her sitting-room window and had long ago learned to tell the seasons by the amount of snow that adorned their jagged peeks. Of all the beautiful aspects of her ancestral lands, however, the gardens were her favorite.
The Slytherin princess allowed herself a soft sigh as they stepped past the first row of hedges and entered what she considered her personal sanctum. For all the splendid opulence of her rooms in the manor, this was where she was most comfortable. It didn’t look exactly the same as it had when she was younger, but she didn’t mind that much, seeing as she had helped select the different plants and flowers that had been added when her mum, or at least the one that raised her, had decided to renovate the gardens several years before.
It had been the summer she’d turned eleven, just after she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter. They’d made it a big event, and for the first time, she’d been allowed to get involved with every aspect of the planning and execution. She’d even planted a few of the flowers herself. She’d used magic, of course, but the act had still left her with a sense of pride and accomplishment and she considered that summer one of her happiest memories.
The day the new gardens had been completed, the Parkinsons had hosted a rather lavish dinner. It had been fairly small, by their social standards, but it was by far her favorite of all the various social functions she had ever attended. She could still remember how, after the meal had been finished, she’d been invited, for the very first time, to join the ladies for their after-dinner tea.
She’d sat between the woman who’d raised her and the woman who’d given birth to her (though she’d known them as mum and godmum at the time) as all the wives sipped tea and discussed the latest events in the wizarding world. She’d found it funny at first, that in the absence of their husbands the women chose to discuss current events and politics, and even, at times, sports. Then, when the men had returned, she’d watched their faces as conversation turned to fashion and beauty charms. After that she hadn’t found it funny so much as hilarious.
A small smile twisted her lips at the memory, her mind so lost in the years that she almost missed the small pop from behind a nearby shrub, where the gazebo had been built. Almost, but not quite. She came back to herself and made it around the shrub just in time to see the petite redhead stumble slightly as she set the small Portkey on one of the low benches around the gazebo.
Icy blue orbs focused in on their target and a wicked grin curved across her face as she caught sight of the thoughts flickering through a pair of icy grey pools just before the dungeon mask slipped into place and his face became void of sincere emotion.
Grudging tolerance indeed.
End Part Two
She hadn’t expected her to answer, hell, she hadn’t expected herself to write the letter in the first place. But she had written it, and she’d sent it too. It had been about two weeks since everything had happened, and she had needed to talk to someone who knew what was going on, and yet was still outside of the situation.
Seeing as Narcissa, Caralyna, (she still wasn’t sure which one to call mum and which one to call godmum or auntie, or whatever) and Draco, were the only ones that knew, and none of them could be considered even remotely outside the situation, she was left with rather limited options. So she’d owled the only other person that had any idea what a mess her life had become.
None of the others had been thrilled with her decision – not that they’d known about it until after the correspondence had already begun – but she was glad she’d gone ahead with it. It had been nice, these past few weeks, to talk with another girl, one who wouldn’t hex her (literally, or figuratively) in the back at the first opportunity. The fact that the younger girl could carry an intelligent conversation was a definite plus.
Pansy shook her head slightly. Her new – dare she say it – friend, was very interesting to her. For all that she was a lion to the core, there were parts of her that seemed remarkably snake-like.
It was an intriguing byproduct of her first year and the debacle that was Tom Riddle’s diary – details of which she’d had to pry from both Draco and Ginny over the course of their owl exchange. Despite the way she’d acquired it, however, Pansy was quite thankful for the insight Ginny had gained into the machinations of the Slytherin mind. It came in very useful as the two new friends tried to bridge the gap between them, a gap that seemed to close more and more with every owl.
Now, if only she could get her new friend and her new brother to close their own gap. It wasn’t as if it was that big, the dark-haired girl thought with a suppressed smirk. Sure, the two liked to pretend there were still miles of house rivalry, and familial animosity there, but in truth, the two would get along quite well if they tried. Granted, Draco still sneered at the redhead’s occasional mention of her brother and/or his friends, but he no longer sneered at the mention of the Gryffindor’s name, or glared at her when she read the younger girl’s letters aloud.
Pansy smirked. She could still remember the first time she’d done that. He’d sneered and demanded she stop, he’d even stomped around a bit, but he’d never left the room, never really made more than a token effort to stop her from continuing to read. She’d found it strange at first, but then she’d thought back to the dark dungeon hallway and she’d realized something.
Draco didn’t hate Ginny anymore.
Sure, when he’d found her, securely ensconced in Ginny’s offered comfort, he’d been less than thrilled. He’d scowled and glared, and eyed the younger girl with blatant suspicion like any well-trained Slytherin should. Then he’d nodded at the little redhead, acknowledging what she had done for them, and helped his newly discovered sister back to their dorms without so much as a taunt or threat towards the small redhead.
It had been a pivotal event, not only for their individual lives and families, but for the strange friendship that was, against all odds, somehow forming between the three of them. Not that a certain blond-haired member of their little trio would admit to such a thing. No, Draco was still adamantly denying anything beyond grudging tolerance of the youngest Weasley.
Grudging tolerance.
Pansy rolled her eyes as she watched the object of her musings enter the room with half-hidden anticipation sparkling in his grey pools. It was a look she’d grown somewhat familiar with seeing over the weeks of her correspondence with Ginny Weasley, one that had a tendency to show up right around the time she usually received a return owl from the younger girl.
“So,” the Malfoy patriarch drawled as he leaned oh-so-casually against the wall just inside the parlor where Pansy had decided to take her tea that morning, “has there been anything of note on this fine summer day?”
She shrugged rather delicately and took a sip of her tea, trying to suppress to urge the roll her eyes again. Of course he couldn’t just ask straight out if she’d gotten an owl from Ginny yet. Her dear brother really could be too much of a snake at times, even for a viper such as herself.
“Not as of yet. I was actually planning to go out for a bit, care to join me?”
“Out?” A single white brow rose in question. It was an unspoken agreement amongst themselves and their mother and godmother that it was best if they kept the frequency of their time together discrete, lest it garner suspicion from Lucius and Jasonan’s former acquaintances.
“Just to the gardens, of course.”
Grey eyes examined her all-too-innocent expression with skepticism even as he gestured for her to precede him as they left the parlor in favor of the sprawling gardens of the Parkinson estate. The land had been in her father’s family for centuries and it was little wonder why they had chosen to keep it. There was a patch of forest to the north and west, and to the south there ran a wide stream her mother used to scold her for playing in as a child. The eastern edge of the property was fenced off, blocking access to the long drive that led to the front doors of the large manor house that was her home.
She’d always loved her home, and the land that surrounded it, even the mountains that loomed on the other side of the dense woods. She could see them from her sitting-room window and had long ago learned to tell the seasons by the amount of snow that adorned their jagged peeks. Of all the beautiful aspects of her ancestral lands, however, the gardens were her favorite.
The Slytherin princess allowed herself a soft sigh as they stepped past the first row of hedges and entered what she considered her personal sanctum. For all the splendid opulence of her rooms in the manor, this was where she was most comfortable. It didn’t look exactly the same as it had when she was younger, but she didn’t mind that much, seeing as she had helped select the different plants and flowers that had been added when her mum, or at least the one that raised her, had decided to renovate the gardens several years before.
It had been the summer she’d turned eleven, just after she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter. They’d made it a big event, and for the first time, she’d been allowed to get involved with every aspect of the planning and execution. She’d even planted a few of the flowers herself. She’d used magic, of course, but the act had still left her with a sense of pride and accomplishment and she considered that summer one of her happiest memories.
The day the new gardens had been completed, the Parkinsons had hosted a rather lavish dinner. It had been fairly small, by their social standards, but it was by far her favorite of all the various social functions she had ever attended. She could still remember how, after the meal had been finished, she’d been invited, for the very first time, to join the ladies for their after-dinner tea.
She’d sat between the woman who’d raised her and the woman who’d given birth to her (though she’d known them as mum and godmum at the time) as all the wives sipped tea and discussed the latest events in the wizarding world. She’d found it funny at first, that in the absence of their husbands the women chose to discuss current events and politics, and even, at times, sports. Then, when the men had returned, she’d watched their faces as conversation turned to fashion and beauty charms. After that she hadn’t found it funny so much as hilarious.
A small smile twisted her lips at the memory, her mind so lost in the years that she almost missed the small pop from behind a nearby shrub, where the gazebo had been built. Almost, but not quite. She came back to herself and made it around the shrub just in time to see the petite redhead stumble slightly as she set the small Portkey on one of the low benches around the gazebo.
Icy blue orbs focused in on their target and a wicked grin curved across her face as she caught sight of the thoughts flickering through a pair of icy grey pools just before the dungeon mask slipped into place and his face became void of sincere emotion.
Grudging tolerance indeed.
End Part Two
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