The Innocents

Chapter Six

Nescit vox missa reventi.

- Horatius, 'Ars Poetica'

*

If Pansy thought she would spend the following days preparing for her wedding, she was completely and utterly mistaken. In fact, the only thing that changed was the fact that she was even more strung-up than before.

At the moment she was sitting in the drawing room with her father, arguing about her engagement.

"Why didn't you wait for my permission before agreeing?" he snarled.

"Because you were inebriated," she replied coldly. "What was I supposed to do, ask Blaise to wait for you to regain your mastery of verbal communication?"

A dull flush slowly covered his neck and his nostrils flared. Gods, how he needed a drink.

"You could've told him you needed some time for deliberation," he ground out.

"No, I could not have done that, because it was a limited-time offer. If I said I had to think about it, I am absolutely sure he wouldn't have asked again."

Despite his anger, he had to admit that his daughter had done well for herself. A mere two months since her betrothed had fallen from favour, and she was engaged to an equally rich pureblood. He swallowed his pride, and felt a pang of self-pity.

"I can't say you've made a wrong decision, because that would be completely counterproductive." He took a long, calming breath and continued. "Moving on to more practical matters, have you set a date for the ceremony?"

"No, but I'm sure we'll be married by the end of the year." Probably right after your funeral.

"Good, good. I had arranged for you to start training a week from now. I'm not sure what Blaise feels about this, so I'll have to talk to him first, but you probably won't have to go, since you're going to marry him."

She gritted her teeth against the yell that threatened to burst. He was doing it again. He was treating her like an object. He was going to send her to training without being called, and he hadn't even consulted her on the matter!

"Nemo iudex in causa sua," she said in a barely-contained voice, "but no-one could claim this is fair, father."

"You mean you want to go anyway?"

"No, I mean you were going to send me without being called!"

"Yes, to keep you safe!"

"Don't make me laugh! Keep me safe? You're putting our life at risk all the time with your drunken carelessness! Or have you forgotten the Diagon Alley incident?"

"That's it! Everything I do, I do for you and your sister, and this is what you think of me?" He got out of his chair and strode to hers, eyes blazing. "You ungrateful little...!" He slapped her hard with the back of his hand, and for a moment they stood there, shocked and glaring at each other.

"I'm seventeen. I'm leaving," she said in a completely blank voice. "And if you dare screw up again, I'm putting you in St. Mungo's rehabilitation ward before you even arrive home, and take Ivy to live with me." She got up from her chair and walked to the door. "You don't deserve her," she spat over her shoulder and went to pack.

*

When her heartbeat finally slowed down and the adrenaline was drained from her system, she collapsed on her bed, throwing the cloak she'd been folding into the trunk. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, so she screwed her eyes against them and bit down on her lip.

She would not cry.

Her eyes stung, but no tears leaked, so she was satisfied with her self-control. A fresh wave of anger rose inside her chest, but she clamped it down firmly.

Slytherins don't get angry, they get even, she recited. Her father was a poor excuse for a human being; she knew that now. How she'd managed to fool herself for so long was somewhat of a mystery, but she chose not to look into it. Bottom line was, her father didn't deserve to be a Parkinson, and he certainly didn't deserve Ivy and herself.

The idea nagging at her mind for so long was let loose.

She'd kill him herself.

She'd get even.

She threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace and, after a little consideration, called for Blaise. His neat, black-haired head appeared in the flames, eyes boring holes through her head. He always made her shiver somehow.

"I have a proposition," she told him. "There may be a better way of killing my father than a Death Eater attack. It would bring too much attention on us, especially when I get Ivy's legal custody. It might seem too staged." Encouraged by his inquiringly raised eyebrow, she continued with the plan her subconscious mind had been hatching for days. "All we need to do is place a little poison every day in his whiskey bottles... he drinks them like the Elixir of Life, as you well know, and with a little 'public concern' for his health displayed at the right moment, his death would surprise no-one."

He stared at her for a few seconds, allowing his brain to wrap around this turn of events. It certainly had its advantages. Like the fact that his future wife would be able to get her family mansion right away, and not wait for the investigations to be over.

He smiled his slow, knowing smile at her. "Why Pansy, just yesterday the attack on your father was put under my jurisdiction. I have free reign on the matter... and I couldn't agree with you more. However, I must make sure you're up to it before I set the entire mission on your pretty shoulders. For instance, have you ever deliberately hurt anyone before?"

She raised her eyebrow in response. "I'm a Slytherin," she added. "That's what we do."

"True," he conceded. "Have you ever taken a life before?"

"I have killed some of my sister's pets with and without magic, on her request. She was an easily bored child."

He sighed. "I have to ask this question, so don't go through the roof. Has Ivy ever killed?"

Pansy's eyes suddenly looked glassy. "Yes."

"She--she has?" he stammered. "A person?"

She wondered if she should tell him, and decided she had to. He was the leader of a group of Death Eaters right now, not her husband-to-be.

"She killed Madame Clotilde de Mercier-Savigny. She was our governess. Tripped her down a flight of stairs."

His thoughts on the matter were suddenly very professional. "How old was your sister when this event took place?"

"It was before she went to Hogwarts."

"Does she have any remorse about it?"

"No. She hated the woman completely. Why are you asking so many questions?"

"How does she feel about your father?" he asked, unfazed.

"No!"

"Why not?"

"No," she deadpanned. "Forget it. She's not even fourteen yet. I can't ask her to kill our father. Let him be killed, yes, certainly, but not poison him herself. I'll do it."

"But Pansy, think of the advantages!"

"I want to kill him myself, Blaise. I hate him. I want him to know it was me who killed him, and I want him to die with my face being the last thing he sees, knowing it was me who ended his life."

The blankness of her tone struck a cord inside Blaise. "Does it really matter to you that much?"

"Yes. I'd strangle him if I could, but that would be very unwise. I'll never find peace if I don't kill him, and you know that." She knew she was hitting a sore spot. "You've seen your mother."

He was taken aback by her reference to his mother. "But that was different! Those men were treating her like an object, like a piece of furniture!"

"And my father doesn't do that to me?" she retorted, not missing a beat. He knew he'd lost.

"All right. I'll send you the poison from Severus Snape's personal stash by owl tonight. Stay safe," he said in a warmer voice, and she smiled a little.

"Don't I always?"

*

Pansy was in the garden, enjoying a silent smoke, while her thoughts roamed free. Her cousin Madeleine had sat in that exact spot just a few days before, and so had Jacques. Jacques, her favourite cousin, who had been broken. She knew they had killed their mother the day they left. She remembered how she thought she'd never do that to her father.

And now she walked around with vials of poison, slowly ending his life.

She felt just like Madeleine and Jacques had. She hated her father. She didn't mind killing him in the slightest. What a change over such a short time!

She inhaled the smoke deeply, enjoying the dirty feeling it gave her. She was so jaded and cold these days, that any feeling was welcome. Gone was the schoolgirl, the teenage charm that she had at Hogwarts. She was a woman who'd been engaged twice, who had killed her first fiancé, albeit indirectly, who was going to murder her father soon.

And Ivy... now that she thought about it, Ivy had always had a little mystery about her. Now that she knew it was a childhood murder, she could explain a lot of things. Like the scars she'd noticed on Ivy's back one day; those were hex-marks left by Madame Clotilde.

She threw the spent cigarette in the water of the fountain and lit another one with mechanical motions.

She couldn't kill for Ivy then, but she would kill for both of them now.

*

Ivy watched her sister from an upstairs hall window. She'd seen Pansy pour something into their father's bottle the day before, and Pansy had told her it was poison. She had taken it upon herself to kill their father.

Ivy unconsciously touched the small of her back, where one of the deepest scars could be felt even thorough her clothes. She should've gotten those old scars fixed a long time ago. But she hadn't, and now they meant much more to her than they did initially. They were symbols, markings of a righteous killer, and the real reason the Hat had put her in Slytherin, when she belonged in Gryffindor. Those scars had saved her.

The Hat felt the power of her anger, the viciousness of her vengeance, and had decided she would fit perfectly in Slytherin. She had killed in cold blood when others would have cowered in a corner, or allow themselves to be pushed around. She was a survivor.

What Pansy was doing now worried her. She had a feeling her sister couldn't handle the burden of taking a human life, and she felt she needed to step in again, as she had done with the drinking.

She wanted to ask Pansy to allow her to take the burden upon herself.

She was ready to kill their father. Pansy was the defender, but she, Ivy, was the warrior. She hated killing, but not when it came to those she hated, those who had hurt her. Those, she could kill without it affecting her. Pansy was dying on the inside; Ivy would be the same, no matter what she did.

Sighing, and knowing she wouldn't back down, she set herself to opening a bottle of Firewhiskey she had brought along. She glanced at Pansy.

"To survivors," she said under her breath, and filled her mouth with alcohol.

*

Pansy and Ivy were having a cup of tea in the dining room the following afternoon, comfortable silence engulfing them. The scented steam and the sunrays on her face made Pansy close her eyes. A memory, distant and precious, spun its web in her mind's eye...

She and Draco were lounging in chaise longues, sipping Ouzo contently and basking in the afternoon sun. Her legs were sprawled carelessly over his, and her eyes were half-closed lazily.

"I could stay like this forever," he drawled with a sigh. "Can't believe school starts in two weeks. Crabbe and Goyle... why me?" he whined. She combed her fingers through his hair and he shook his head irritably (or as irritably as he could, considering he was wearing swimming trunks).

"Don't worry, Draco. I'm sure you can get rid of them more easily than last year, at any rate." She paused for a drink. "I'll keep you busy," she continued with a smirk.

"I don't know, I might be busy elsewhere." He noticed the look on her face and hastily expanded his point. "I have managed to bring myself into... people's... attention. I might have a part to play in the war. All I have to do is work my way under Aunt Bellatrix' skin, and do that without my mother noticing it."

"How dangerous will this part be, exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet. In any case, I won't be known as 'the son of Lucius Malfoy, prisoner of Azkaban extraordinaire'. Aunt Bellatrix told me that my father would've been offed anyway. After the Diary fiasco, he was on a--"

She had turned to face him, drink on the ground.

"What Diary, Draco? Why has your father fallen from favour?"

He sighed, rubbed his eyes in a rare expression of exhaustion and started telling her about the real events of their second year. He knew he might be killed just for knowing it, and that the risk was doubled when he told Pansy, but he also knew he'd need to tell someone who'd remain loyal to him for as long as possible.

And so Pansy had stood there, nodding when necessary, and she had refilled his glass when he was done, and helped him plan his way into Bellatrix Lestrange's good graces. What she really wanted to do was hold him, because he was fragile and much too young for any of this, and kiss him senseless, but helping him was all she could do right then.

Almost a year had passed, and now she was drinking tea in her dining room while he was running away from everyone.

Ivy couldn't wait anymore.

"Pansy, I want to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"I can't let you do this."

"How do you mean?"

Ivy leaned closer to her, shot a few wards over her shoulder and looked into her sister's eyes.

"Kill our father. I'll do it."

"No."

"You can't."

"Of course I can."

"Not without it being the last thing you do as a sane woman!"

"It won't kill me!" Pansy was finally getting angry. "You're my little sister, and as such you are my responsibility! I failed you before, but I won't fail you this time!"

"It's not about failing anyone, Pansy!" Ivy took Pansy's hand and squeezed it. "You're going to die if you do this! What use is a dull sister to me, anyway?"

Pansy smirked warily. "I could never be dull. Being born into this family prevents me from being anything other than utterly fascinating."

"Let me do it, then! Be a Slytherin and think this through logically! I've done this before, I can do it again. It'll be my own personal vengeance for all the things our father put us through. For the fact that he spent the first years of our lives in a drunken stupor."

Pansy considered the offer. She wanted to kill him... but Ivy had suffered a lot more because of him, or despite him.

"All right." She produced a vial of poison from her pocket and placed it in Ivy's hand. "Be careful."

Ivy rarely thanked anyone. So when her eyes locked with her sister's again, Pansy shuddered at the gratitude she saw.

They returned to drinking their tea, warm rays of sunlight playing on their faces. It could almost be a normal afternoon, were it not for their struggle to keep their eyes dry and their heads empty of thought.

*

Blaise visited Pansy the following week. It was the end of summer, and a suffocating heat engulfed them, slowing their minds and bodies down, making them drink more and more each day. The air smelled of dry flowers, crushed leaves and dust, and it was a dark, sultry scent, especially when mixed with alcohol.

He rolled out of Pansy's fireplace in a dusty heap, then quickly got to his feet, smoothed his robes and looked around. She was sitting at the window, backlit and glowing from the dying sun, a glass of Firewhiskey in her hand and her dark eyes set on him.

A slow smile spread on his tired face as he walked to her.

"Hello, Pansy."

She sighed and nodded at him. "Have a seat, Blaise. Would you care for a drink?"

He accepted, so she gave him a glass of Firewhiskey and went to sit on the bed. He looked around and noticed the chair was full of clothes, so he sat next to her.

They stared at the pink wall in front of them for a few moments, sipping their drinks.

"How's everything coming together?"

"Ivy tells me we're on schedule," she replied.

He turned to her. "So Ivy took things over?"

"Yes," she answered simply. He could tell just how hard it had been for her to give her mission to her little sister, but that she wouldn't back down.

"Good." He took another sip. "I've missed you."

"You have?"

"I have. How's October 31^st?"

"What about October 31^st?"

"For the wedding. I thought Samhain was a nice choice for an autumn wedding."

She looked at him, smiled a little, and nodded. "I've always wanted an autumn wedding," she said quietly. "The dresses don't have to be low-cut for one to be able to breathe, and the temperature is a lot more pleasant than in summer weddings."

"I'm glad you like the date. It's settled then."

They looked at each other again, Blaise mentally composing the guest list, and Pansy thinking about the autumn Malfoy-Parkinson wedding she'd always dreamed of, and would never have. They sipped from their glasses again.

"You know what I've missed the most about you, Pansy?"

"I have no idea."

"Your kisses. I've been missing your kisses for years now. Ever since third year. Remember third year?" he asked, smirking.

She laughed. "Of course I do. We abused alcohol and became promiscuous."

He leaned in and kissed her. She tasted of alcohol, and darkness, and wasted youth.

*

Mr. Parkinson was sitting on his bed, a bottle balanced on his knee and the edge of a glass on his lips. He drained it thirstily, knowing that a little liquid courage was all the courage he could hope for these days. Today, he had had enough.

Today was the last day of his life.

He put the bottle on the carpeted floor, went to the fireplace and called Maximus Goodwand.

His surprised bald head appeared in the flames immediately. "Oh, it's you. What's the matter?"

"I... As you well know, I'm not what you'd call a healthy man." He paused, coughed, took a sip of Firewhiskey and tried to gather his thoughts. "I've been feeling worse every day for the past ten days. I'm afraid my excesses finally caught up with me. If I were alone, I'd drink until I went into a coma, because I would never wake up again. But I am not alone."

"Neither are Pansy and Ivy."

"Will you keep your promise, Maximus? The promise you made over my wife's grave?"

"You know I will. I've always taken care of them. Me and your mother, remember? You needed two guardians."

"My mother is dead. You are the only one left. Will you take care of them? If something goes wrong, will you keep the Ministry away from them?"

"I made an oath and intend to keep it. But, as I always say, the man who says he'll die lives the longest. Nothing will happen. Nothing can happen." For another ten days, at least. "Just stop drinking for a couple of days, Merlin knows that's the most you can do, and you'll be fine."

"Maybe."

When the conversation ended, Parkinson took his wand, pointed it at his wrist, and muttered Diffindo. For fear he might call for help, he didn't stop drinking until he fell to the floor in a pool of blood.

*

Ivy was walking down the corridor towards her father's room, clutching a vial of poison in her right hand. Before she reached it, she stopped, took the seal off, and plastered a sickly smile to her face.

She knocked three times, then again, and when her knuckles were sore, she sighed and opened the door. It was dark, and her father seemed to have passed out on the floor, so she went to the window and drew the heavy curtains open.

As she whirled around, her brain registered a few very interesting things. First, the carpet was covered in blood. Second, the blood came from her father's wrist. Third, he was clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey to his chest, and she didn't remember having poisoned that particular bottle.

The scream that tore from her throat took her by surprise. She willed it to stop, but it didn't, and by the time she was out of breath, Pansy and Blaise, each wrapped in a pink cotton sheet, were staring at her from the doorframe.

Blaise was the first to react.

"I have to leave. Pansy, alert the Ministry. Ivy, call your godfather. Goodwand will take you to live with him as we had planned to, and he has to take care of a lot of paperwork before the funeral." Pansy turned and ran to her room, presumably to Floo the Ministry, but Ivy was rooted to the spot.

"Ivy, come on. There isn't much time."

"Bastard!" she shouted at the corpse, causing Blaise to jump.

"Excuse me?"

She turned to him, obviously enraged. "He didn't even have the decency to take the punishment he deserved. He killed himself before we had a chance to finish him off!"

"Don't talk bad about the dead. The important thing is that he's gone, and you're going to be better off without him." He gently steered her towards the door. "Now be a good girl and Floo your godfather in."

*

The funeral was quick and painless. It was the end of August, and the warm, stuffy weather smothered any reaction people might've had when watching a grave being filled. They looked vacantly at the coffin, not really listening to the only speech (delivered by Goodwand, and not mentioning Parkinson's somewhat unhealthy habit of drinking himself into a stupor daily), and then went inside the house for some mingling and a cold beverage. Nobody made a remark on the fact that his headstone in the vault was bare.

Pansy knew that people only got to talk to each other freely at funerals these days, and as the future wife of Blaise Zabini and already a rich heiress, she acted like a perfect host. Once or twice she went to the bathroom to throw up, and she cursed the heat and stress while holding on to the sides of the bowl. Ivy spent the day in the garden, by the fountain, nursing a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Pansy was a little miffed by the fact that Millicent hadn't come, but she assumed it was because she was on a mission somewhere. She was glad Blaise was there, and Goyle too, although he didn't exactly add much to the conversation.

Goodwand pulled her aside after a while.

"Can you tell Ivy to pack up? I'm leaving." Maybe if I ask him now he'll agree... it's a funeral, damn it.

"Godfather, I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Can you let Ivy live with me here? Just until I get married. The wedding is two moths away, but I can't move in with Blaise until I've gone through training, and I can't do that until we're safely married, so bottom line is, I have to live here alone. Can you, please? It would mean an awful lot to me."

"I'm not allowed by the law," he answered gently. For a Death Eater, he was very gentle. "She must live with me, unless you get her custody in a trial. The trial, as it wouldn't be a priority, would take about a year, during which she'll live with me. By the time you get her custody you'll probably have your own child to take care of."

She blinked, twice, then walked away. Her own child to take care of. Good god. Blaise probably expected her to provide him with an heir right after marriage, didn't he?

Right on cue, Blaise appeared by her side and took her arm. She looked at him numbly, which caused him to frown.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired. Come with me to find Ivy. I have to tell her to pack her things." He nodded, and they walked back to the garden holding hands.

*

Ivy levitated everything into her magically enlarged trunk without thinking about it. When the room was empty, she sealed the trunk, shrunk it, and called an elf to carry it down. The guests had long since left, so the drawing room was empty save for Maximus Goodwand, Pansy and Blaise.

Pansy tucked a strand of her sister's dark blonde hair behind her ear and backed away, as though touching her burned. She quietly took the wards off, and then watched sedately as Goodwand took Ivy's hand for side-along Apparition. They were gone with a Pop, so the wards were restored.

"You'll be able to visit her every day, you know," Blaise told her after they were left alone.

"I know I can. But I won't. I couldn't bear it."

"Do you want to come to my house tonight?" he asked after a pause.

"Yes. I'll probably spend most of my time there if you let me."

"Of course I will. You have to start the wedding preparations, don't you? What better place than my house? God knows it's big enough for any posse of wedding planners and fitters you might want."

"I don't want a big wedding, Blaise. The guest list will probably take the longest to take care of. I can't invite Death Eaters only, but there aren't many people willing to come to a Death Eater wedding." She let herself fall in a chair, conveniently forgetting she had bones in her body.

He frowned. "We can invite some Ravenclaws, and my Hufflepuff cousin, Emilia."

"You have a cousin in Hufflepuff? I never knew that. What year?"

"Fifth. Pretty girl with black hair, used to go out with that Ravenclaw prefect who got himself in St. Mungo's last month."

"Oh, I remember her now. I always thought she was a little too quiet for a Hufflepuff. So who was avoiding whom?"

"We were both equally keen on avoiding each other. Slytherin and Hufflepuff just don't go together, no matter what family ties they have."

"True. So that's one. Who else?"

"Millicent, Crabbe and Goyle, that cousin of yours, John or something, the one that doesn't want to be a Death Eater, your godfather, a few of my colleagues from the office, and an assortment of Death Eaters. Not more that thirty people, in any case."

"That sounds right," she sighed. "Do you think we should invite Narcissa Malfoy?"

"No. She's an outsider. And with Draco still on the run, we can't afford to be seen around her."

"That settles it then." She looked at him tiredly. "Take me home, Blaise."

He smiled and took her hand, Apparating to his estate.

*