The Rules of the House

In Which Pansy Has a Late-Night Excursion and Makes an Agreement

Pansy fell right to sleep that night. It was amazing what hours of strenuous labor and a little bit of dust could do to a girl. She slept solidly until three in the morning, when her bladder decided that Pansy had drunk much too much hot chocolate.

Grumbling, Pansy pulled on her robe and slippers and shuffled into the hall, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. Peeking cautiously inside first, Pansy was relieved when nothing abnormal seemed to be happening.

She relieved herself and washed her hands, frowning at her tousled hair in the mirror.

"Looking good," the mirror said with a deep voice. It laughed darkly.

Pansy was startled. She'd never met a mirror so... frightening before. Though it seemed to fit in this house. She dried her hands on a gray towel, and glanced back into the mirror. What she saw was absolutely terrifying. Instead of her familiar, pug face, the person in the mirror was old and wrinkled. The old woman grinned, and fifteen of her rotten teeth fell out of her moldy gums.

Pansy slapped a hand over her mouth and hightailed it out of the bathroom. Maybe the others were right. Maybe it was the house. She scurried down the stairs and straight into a warm body.

"Ooof!" cried Pansy.

"Ooof!" cried Pansy's landing pad. "Lumos."

It was George Weasley.

"Watch where you're going, Weasel," Pansy snarled, picking herself up. She tried to casually straighten her hair.

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? You're the one who just dived on top of me." He rubbed his backside.

I wonder if that's where his birthmark... Stop it, brain!

"Yes, well, I've just had a bit of a fright, that's all."

"Well, I was going down stairs for some tea. Would you like to come?"

Pansy sniffed. "I suppose so."

Downstairs, the kitchen was not much brighter than the hallways. George lit a few candles on the table and stoked the fire, putting on a kettle to boil.

"Why do you heat it that way? Why don't you just use magic?"

"I find that half the fun is getting there."

Pansy didn't know what to say to this, so she contented herself with studying the wax drippings on the floating candles.

"Don't tell the others, but," Pansy sighed, "I think you might be right. About the house, I mean."

George placed two cups on the table. "Pansy, let me ask you a question. You, as a Slytherin, have basic guidelines to follow, right?"

"Yes. Each first year Slytherin is given The Noble Laws of Slytherin. It's the handbook any true Slytherin has memorized and highlighted."

"Right. And inside are basic things, for behavior and whatnot, that Slytherins generally follow, right?"

"What are you getting at, George?"

"Let me put it to you this way." George lifted the kettle away from the fire and poured it into her cup. "In each place you live there are certain rules and guidelines. You have them at Parkinson Manor, you have them at Hogwarts, and you have them at Slytherin house. We have them at Gryffindor, at home, and here, at Grimmauld Place.

"For example. Fred and I are notorious pranksters who always have jokes up our sleeves, right? Well, though we're fond of pranking everyone and everything, there are certain times and places for things."

"Okay..." said Pansy, slowly.

"Well, here's what I was thinking. You don't seem to have any problem following the rules in any of your other homes; I think you should do the same here."

"What do you mean? I haven't owled anyone or flooed anyone..."

"No, that's not what I meant. You should always follow Moody's Laws - though he's a paranoid bloke, he usually knows what he's talking about. But I mean the general rules here at the house. While we're at school, or while we're out in the world, we're Gryffindors and Slytherins, bookworms and pranksters. But while we're in here, we're all residents of Grimmauld Place, which means we also have different rules."

"And what, exactly, are these rules?" Pansy took a sip of her tea.

"For one, everyone here attempts to be civil. Back when Sirius was still alive, he and my mum used to argue a lot, but they always tried to keep it together. Even though Professor Snape comes around, we all try to respect one another and respect the fact that everyone is different, and though we may not like those differences, we have to put up with them anyway.

"I mean, look at this whole situation with the house. If you had chosen to ignore Mrs. Black that day, hard as I know it can be," his face darkened, "you probably wouldn't be in the situation you're in now. Tolerance."

She looked at him, frowning a bit. "I'm sorry, but this whole 'good advice for the Slytherin' bit seems too serious for you. Why?"

"Well, for one, I'm the quiet twin. It's my job to be a little mysterious." He winked. "For another, I kind of like you. I think you've got some potential, underneath the Inquisitorial Squad badge and Slytherin robes."

"Not all Slytherins are bad, you know." Pansy looked into her cup. "These days it seems like you all think that Slytherin is full of Death Eaters. I'll admit, most of us aren't opposed to the idea. But we have good qualities. The hat doesn't just put us there because our parents want us there. Well, except for Vincent and Gregory. I think the hat just felt bad for them."

George laughed. "Would you like a pastry?" He offered her a plate.

"Thank you." She bit into one, and promptly turned into a canary. When she molted, she glared at George, who was clutching his sides in laughter. "What did you do that for?"

"To show you that underneath the Gryffindor robes and Weasley hair, I have some potential too."

"Yes, for being a bloody nuisance," Pansy grumbled. "Okay. What if, hypothetically, I told you that I was willing to play along here, to surrender to the rules of the house? What would that entail?"

"Stop arguing with everyone. Believe it or not, my kid brother and his friends aren't out to get you. I'm not saying you have to be friends; just learn to tolerate one another."

"What do I do about the house?" Pansy looked at the walls; she could practically see them grinning with malicious intent.

"Well, I'm not sure. We'll talk to some of the Order members. They'll probably know something we can do. In the meantime, stick with other people. The house seems to target you when you're alone."

Pansy nodded. "Alright."

"So. Do we have an agreement?" George stuck out his freckled hand.

Pansy studied him for a moment before accepting it. "Agreed. But understand, by accepting these rules I'm not giving up my rights as a pureblood or a Slytherin, I'm just trying to maintain the peace and get a good night's sleep. Clear?"

"Crystal."

Pansy, in an act of good faith, picked up their cups and rinsed them out in the sink. George picked up the plate of creams.

"Don't." Pansy put a hand on his arm. "Leave them for one of my lovely new housemates."

George grinned.

~*~

The next week or so passed pretty uneventfully. Pansy did her best to get along with the others - it was easy to make allies when you were battling a house like this one. She'd earned Mrs. Weasley's approval when she yanked Ron out of the couch that tried to swallow him.

As unusual a feeling as it was, Pansy was grateful to the Gryffindors. The house would probably have eaten her by now if they hadn't put up with her. She found herself talking rather pleasantly with them and even took up Ron's offer to play chess one evening (she lost horribly.)

Pansy still didn't know what to do about the house. She and George had consulted everyone from Hermione Granger to Mad-Eye Moody. Nobody knew what could be done. But she couldn't continue to live this way. She always made sure she never went anywhere alone. If the others thought it was odd that she was suddenly sticking around as much as possible, they didn't comment.

Once or twice she thought Ron might say something - apparently the trio needed some alone time - but a look from George silenced him, which Pansy appreciated. Granger even walked her to the bathroom and waited for her outside the door.

~*~

In Which Pansy Has a Good Idea

One evening, sitting around the fire in the parlor, Pansy had an idea. A good idea. She had been alternating between doing her Potions homework, watching Ron and Potter play chess, and making faces at George, when she looked over at Granger and had an inspiration.

"Hey, Granger?"

She looked up. "Yes, Parkinson?"

"Do Muggles have any sort of potion for removing paint?"

Granger frowned in concentration. "Yes. They have a special kind of paint called turpentine. It usually strips paint from a canvas or a wall. Why?"

"Well, I was just thinking that even if Mrs. Black warded her painting from Wizarding paint-removing potions, she was probably too high and mighty to ward against Muggle methods."

"Unlike some other people we know." George smirked at her and dodged a hideously embroidered seat cushion.

"You know, that's really not a bad idea. It just might work." Granger studied her. "I didn't know you had it in you, Pansy."

"Well, I am a Slytherin. We are always prepared to use any means to achieve our ends."

"Even using a Muggle method?"

"I am rather desperate."

"Well, we'll talk to Remus. Maybe he can buy some for us tomorrow."

~*~

"Well, Pansy, if you're sure..."

"Professor Lupin, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay. But be careful. She didn't respond to the paint removing potion very well." He rubbed his arm with a grimace, remembering the large burn he'd received from the wards covering the irate portrait.

"Well, here goes nothing, I guess."

Pansy, followed by a troop of people, made her way upstairs.

"Oh Mrs. Blaaack," she said in a sing-songy voice.

The curtains flew open. "WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLEEP? FILTHY, DISGUSTING CREATURE!"

"SHUT IT!" Pansy breathed deeply, and continued, "You had better stop making the house attack me!"

The painting laughed. "Oh, really. What will a nasty, blood traitor like you do to me?"

Pansy smirked like a true Slytherin. "Two words: Muggle turpentine."

"Anything made by a filthy Muggle can have no effect on me!"

"Oh yeah?" Pansy splashed a bit of turpentine onto the corner of the canvas. Almost instantly, the paint began to separate.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME!"

"I won't do it if you promise to follow a few conditions."

"And what conditions are those?"

"You get the house to leave me alone, and you stop shrieking like a banshee every time your curtains open. You may not like the people who live here, but you can tolerate them."

The painting started laughing maniacally; the eyes rolled up into Mrs. Black's head. "IDIOT GIRL! YOU DESERVE WHAT YOU GOT. I WISH THE HOUSE HAD KILLED YOU!"

A chandelier rocketed down from the high ceiling. George shoved Pansy out of the way just in time.

"AND I WOULDN'T ALLOW THOSE FILTHY, MUDBLOOD CREATURES TO LIVE IN MY HOUSE UNDISTURBED. THIS HOUSE, WHICH HAS BEEN IN THE BLACK FAMILY FOR HUNDREDS OF YEARS! TAKEN OVER BY A BUNCH OF DISGUSTING BLOOD TRAITORS WHO-"

Pansy threw the contents of her bucket onto Mrs. Black's face.

"That's what you get when you don't obey the rules of the house!"

"I'm melting!" she screamed. "I'm melting!"

Potter and Granger looked at each other before they burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Ron looked between them, very confused.

"It's from a Muggle movie - the witch at the end has water thrown on her, and she melts. That's what she says."

Ron frowned. "But witches don't melt when you dump water on them."

Potter patted his arm. "Never mind, Ron. Never mind."

~*~

Pansy didn't learn to drop her prejudices against Mud- er, Muggleborns, though she admitted that some Muggle methods were pretty damn useful. She hadn't stopped hating Gryffindors - especially the Golden Trio and their entourage. She didn't know where she stood on the whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named issue, but she was glad that her mother was letting Pansy decide for herself. All in all, Pansy was still her lovely, Slytherin self.

But she did learn several very useful things that summer: Being civil will not kill you; don't piss off a portrait; and no matter where you are, if you follow the rules of the house, you can't go wrong.

She also learned a bit more about birthmarks.

The End