Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Epilogue

One Month Later....

"Pansy, dear, we must get going." Her mother's oily voice filtered up the stairs and through Pansy's bedroom door.

"I'll be down in a minute, Mother!" she hollered, sighing at the woman's impatience. Pansy turned back to the mirror, tossing a stray ribbon of hair away from her face. Years ago she would've gasped at the horrible reflection. She was so pale and taunt. Her eyes were red from a lack of sleep; Pansy's nights were spent differently nowadays. She'd stare out the window and count the stars, spelling out words and carelessly--and easily--naming off the constellations until the sun peaked over the horizon and she pulled away from the window, the memories.

A creak pulled Pansy's attention to the doorway where the petite Mrs. Parkinson had suddenly appeared.

"Darling, we mustn't be late for your father's trial." The woman came up behind where Pansy was standing, her figure looming behind Pansy's in the pool of glass, and started fussing with Pansy's short, black dress.

"He's going to be prosecuted, you know that, Mother? There's plenty of evidence and witnesses to state he was involved in Death Eater affairs. You're lucky he kept it hidden as long as he did."

Mrs. Parkinson dropped her hands listlessly to her side and gave her daughter a strict look in the mirror. "But we are prideful, Pansy, and we will show up anyway. You are his daughter and I expect you to not embarrass us."

A sad smile crossed her lips and she whispered, "Funny, I thought I already did that." The graying woman spun the younger one around and latched onto her shoulders.

"A month ago you came, tear-streaked and drenched, to my doorstep. I opened my arms and welcomed you back into our home, into our society. You will do as I tell you and obey my rules and wishes. I am you mother, Pansy"--she released her death-grip and tugged down her dark black sunhat--"and I know what's best for you."

But Pansy knew that look in her mother's eyes and that sneer hiding on the women's thin lips. "What did you do, Mum?" Slowly, Pansy turned back towards the mirror, bracing herself for the worse.

Without hesitation, she replied, "Blaise Zabini will be at your father's trial today, I thought we'd join him and his mother for lunch." Pansy groaned and rolled her eyes. "He is a very upstanding gentlemen. He's handsome, smart--"

"Pureblood...."

"Well, yes. He comes from a very nice Italian family. As you'll recall they always supported the Dark Arts yet remained uninvolved during the wars, a very smart move on their part after seeing the pitiful fall of our once dear Dark Lord. We're lucky they're even mixing with us, after the mistake your father made."

Pansy headed towards her tall, double windows muttering, "I recall you were quite the supporter as well, Mother."

"Oh, pish posh." She waved her frail hand absentmindedly as if swatting at a fly. Abruptly changing the subject she added quickly, "Blaise is a very lovely boy, Pansy."

"Is he rich?" She turned back to her mother, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

"He's an only child and yes, he has a very healthy amount of money. And mark my words, that boy's going to be Prime Minister someday. He fancies you, you know? Has since Hogwarts. Pity you always clung to Draco."

Nearly laughing, the younger woman looked incredulously at the older one. "Because it was what you wanted...no, what you requested that I do."

Pansy slowly sashayed her way over to the large window where clouds dotted the sky; it never rained anymore. Her shoes kicked up a soft layer of dust even though she'd walked this path nearly every hour. A tall, broad bed sat in the middle of the room, it's deep green satin sheets perfectly folded--Pansy hadn't crawled into them once since she'd arrived. Besides the dresser the mirror was propped on, the room was bare. No pictures, no furniture. Just a trunk full of untouched clothes and an echo full of restrained tears.

Mrs. Parkinson stood a bit taller and headed gracefully for the door. "Pull your dress down a bit, dear, and spray on some of that lovely new perfume I bought you. I'll see you downstairs in a minute."

As soon as the woman had gone, Pansy turned back to the window, scrunching her dress a little further up her thighs in silent protest. She bit her lip with a sparking white tooth until the pink flesh had a single drop of blood on it.

Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, holding herself the way he used to. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Reaching the pad of her forefinger to the frosty windowpane, she wrote the word 'vivre' on the window, a word she knew could not be interpreted any other way. And staring through the slightly large oval dotting the "I" you could see the last, lonely tear fall down her cheek and drop on the floor.

The early morning clouds shifted in the sky and a heavy rain began to fall from the heavens. The young woman stood before the window, innocent for the briefest of moments, before a permanent mask fell forever into place. Pansy Parkinson turned and walked towards the door, passing by a dusty old dresser on which sat an unopened perfume bottle and a yellowed newspaper whose bold headline read 'The-Boy-Who-Lived Lives No More. This Time the Grave is Real.'