Napkin Scenes

Napkin Scenes

By Pansy Parkinson

Prologue:

I'm not quite sure how to start a story, so here goes:

I was born in a garden. Ironic, I know. My family name is known for being one of the oldest and richest in England. But I was born in a garden.

My Mother, Abigail Tudor, was a snobby child. Poor, but snobby. My grandparents made her travel around with them everywhere until one day, when they were visiting in Paris for a year, she got a letter of acceptance to Beauxbatons. This was an honor and my grandparents let her off to Beauxbatons. At least it was better than Hogwarts. So my mother attended there for seven years until she graduated.

My Father, William Parkinson, was the first boy to be born in the family after four girls. He was raised to be the perfect son. And to produce an heir to keep the family name going like most boys are raised to do in the Wizarding world. Well, pureblooded ones. Rich, pureblooded ones. He attended Hogwarts for seven years and soon as he graduated went out looking for a wife. My mother just happened to be staying in town for the month and they "fell in love".

Then I was conceived.

Eight months later, my mother decided to go on a walk through the park. But then I was inconveniently born two weeks early. My mother says that someone had summoned a doctor and that when I was actually, literally born, she had been lying next to a few pansies. All of their faces were staring back at her and she had decided to, therefore, name me Pansy.

I personally hate my name and the flower. Everyone says I look like a pansy and I take that as an insult. Pansies have horrible faces. They all look like dogs ready to devour their prey.

After I was born, I was dressed in frocks everyday and taken care of by a nurse until I was old enough to walk and talk and hold a cup of tea. That was when my "training" began. I was to be the perfect daughter until a son was born. Then my parents would hire someone to train me. My little sister had been born by then and my parents had been deeply disappointed. My mother had decided to keep up the garden themed names though and (unfortunately) named my sister Ivy.

A son was eventually born and his name is (thankfully) Paul. He's still little though and I doubt he's really my father's. He looks a lot like Mother but nothing like Father. I think Father's learned the art of denial.

When my Hogwarts letter arrived, I was pleasantly pleased. I took it in a calm manner and pretended to be utterly bored with the idea of going to Hogwarts. But later in my room I jumped and screamed like a maniac until my nurse told me to hush up.

So I went to Hogwarts, robes pressed, books brand new, and wand in hand. I of course met with the children of my parent's acquaintances. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise... etc. We spent the ride to Hogwarts joking and teasing about the other students and how Mudbloods were evil and all that. I don't think we really believed it. We just accepted what our parents hypnotized us with by saying it over and over again.

"Mudbloods are the scum of the Earth and don't even deserve to live."

"House Elves are not to be played with dear, they're to order around."

"Don't be silly. Muggles are horrid creatures that have to do everything by hand... without magic! Can you imagine?"

Yes, we had all heard the same things as children. Our parents paid the nurses extra to say it.

Draco Malfoy was of course bossy, rude, self-centered, and the only child in his family. His only purpose in life was to get good grades, be the best at everything, and marry a rich, blonde, pureblooded girl that was high up on the social ladder.

I remember being devestated when I heard that I wasn't suitable to be Draco's future wife (i.e. I didn't have blonde hair, instead I have thick brown hair that most envy but I hate).

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both idiots with wannabe parents but I had to respect them to their faces because they followed Draco around and seemed to be his only friends.

Blaise Zabini was a stuck up, attention starved boy and had three other siblings. All older than him and all perfect. This put a lot of pressure on Blaise and so he was always having to be the best at absolutely everything. Ironic that he seemed to do horribly at everything. Except Potions.

That was his passion.

I was sorted into Slytherin of course along with all of the above people. We were expected of it. I remember the Sorting Hat trying to put me in Ravenclaw but I had argued with it until I almost cried to be in Slytherin. It payed me my wishes.

And so I spent six years of my life at Hogwarts, doing one of the following:

1) Giggling at one of Draco's jokes in my own hope that someday he would learn to love me and defy his father's wishes for a blonde wife.

2) Teasing people Draco hated.

3) Checking to see if I looked okay in the mirror.

4) Cheating on a test.

5) Studying for a test I was just going to cheat on as my memorization skills were horrid.

6) Wishing I was in Gryffindor because I always secretly longed to be a part of their goody-good group. The group that always saved the day and won in the end. Slytherin always seemed to be the bad guys.

7) Spreading a rumour about someone.

8) Snogging a boy that wasn't Draco, but wishing he was.

9) Going to classes.

or

10) Criticizing myself.

But by my seventh year, I had come to realize that my life was just a play, and I was going through the motions I was meant to act out. So I decided that I needed to change myself; that my seventh year was going to be different; that I wasn't going to be the stereotypical Slytherin girl that went around bad-mouthing everyone.

I was going to change everything about inter-house relationships. I was going to force myself to be friendly to the girls I normally said I hated. I was going to forget Draco and find someone else to love. I was going to stop cheating on tests and actually start studying for them.

But most of all, I was going to defy everything Slytherin. And before graduation too.

It was a silent agreement I had made with myself.

But little did I know that I was going to get a little help that year. And in the strangest form.