Pansies of Silk

Draco walked around to the other side of the black Malfoy carriage, trimmed with silver, and shielded his eyes from the sunlight. The day was far too bright for his unadjusted eyes after having spent hours in the dark carriage. He opened the other side’s door to usher out a tall blonde witch, wearing robes of green velvet. She appeared anxious and furrowed her brow, looking to her companion for reassurance: “Draco, are you sure this will work? If we really go through with it... I mean, there‘s no turning back...”

"Of course it will. Pansy," he added sardonically. She gave a weak smile and took the hand that he offered her. They walked into the Manor together, where they were greeted enthusiastically by Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

"Ah! Pansy, even more beautiful than I recall. Congratulations!" Lucius proclaimed happily, kissing her hand.

"She certainly is," beamed Narcissa, her usually pale cheeks rosy with excitement. "Draco, dear, would you like to show her to the East Wing guestroom?" He nodded graciously and led his ill-at-ease fiancé up the stairs and into the correct room, as she magically hovered her large pile of baggage behind them. Once inside, he closed the door after them, turning the key until it locked with a small click. She looked around at the room and then turned to give him a kiss.

"Stop," he said. "I don't like kissing you this way."

She smiled slyly and turned again to unpack one of her trunks, saying, "I guess we'll just have to wait an hour, then, won't we?"

He smirked. "Yes, I guess we will. Do you need any help unpacking, my dearest Pansy?"

The blonde witch wrinkled her nose. "Quit calling me that. Some of us have a conscience, you know."

"If some of us have a conscience, then maybe some of us shouldn't have suggested this idea."

She bristled and retorted irritably, "If some of us don't want to get slapped again..."

"If some of us believe in domestic violence despite our alleged conscience...”

Knowing that this argument could not be won, the woman took to perusing the room.

“You lot are definitely filthy rich, I’ll give you that,” she murmured distractedly, in considerable awe. Judging by the room’s decor, it was easy to infer that the Malfoys had more than their share of money. The carpeting was lush and spotless, adorned with green and gold Celtic knotwork; it shared its pattern with the velvet drapes that covered the windows and with the down comforter on the black iron canopy bed. The other furniture was also of black iron, and the room tied together quite nicely. “Did your family decorate the house themselves?”

Draco snorted. “Of course not! What do we look like, commoners? My ancestors hired the best- and most expensive- designers in the Wizarding World.”

“I might have known,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Their dull gray-green was beginning to be tinged with brown, as was her banana-peel hair. Draco laughed.

“Dark roots, Love. Time to redo your dye job.” She gave him a sour look, and he laughed again: by now she had quite an interesting combination of facial features.

“If this is what you’re going to do, I should just stay Pansy all the time. Is that what you would prefer?”

Struggling to returnto a suitable conversational state, he choked out, “No!”

The now-brunette turned and went back to refolding her clothes, looking troubled. “Draco, it has been long enough, and you know it has.”

“A little longer.”

“No! We graduated three months ago- that’s long enough.” Her transformation was complete now, leaving her identifiable as Hermione Granger. She was fixing her fiancé with an angry look, and he was matching it with one of his own. It had been a month since she had first decided it was long enough, but he had gotten his way every time she brought it up. She knew somewhere in her mind that this was because she wasn’t really looking forward to telling them, their feelings aside. She had to, though... When she allowed an image of their faces at the funeral to flicker through her mind, she knew she had to.

He knew it, too. He didn’t care about Potty and his stupid Weasel, but he could see what this was doing to Hermione. She was no stranger to keeping a favorable secret; in fact, she very much enjoyed it. But an unfavorable secret appeared to drive her out of her mind... she had adopted numerous nervous habits, among them hair-tossing and nail-biting. She was indulging in the latter now- Draco seized her hand and pulled it away from her mouth. “Fine,” he told her, exasperated, “ but you can’t tell every damn Weasley in existence.”

It was Draco’s turn to be right. Hermione had spent a good deal of her spare time planning who to tell and how to tell them. Ron, Harry, Ginny, her parents. It came down to five people. That meant that only six people, total, would know that she was alive, counting Draco. This left a very large amount of Weasleys, however, and quite a few Grangers to boot. But that was for later.

“I know. I’m going to tell Ron, Harry, Ginny, and my parents.”

“Ginny’s a Weasley, I venture?” Draco asked; she nodded her confirmation. “I bet they’ll tell their whole family.”

“No, they won’t. I’ll tell them not to, and they won’t.”

“You trust them, sure, but I don’t.”

“I know you don’t.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, Hermione still organizing her belongings. There was a knock on the door, and she gave a sharp yelp. Draco motioned to the bathroom, and she went in, carrying with her a small bottle of Polyjuice Potion.

“Yes?” Draco called through the door.

“It’s me!” sang Narcissa, sounding as though all her dreams had been realized, which they had. Draco sauntered over and pulled the door open. Narcissa stepped in and looked around for Pansy. “And where is my lovely future daughter-in-law?”

“She’s just stepped into the bathroom...”

“All right,” she responded with considerable glee. “I won’t stick around- your father and I have a cocktail party this evening- but could you give her this for me? It’s a family heirloom. Oh, I’ve always wanted a daughter to give it to!”

Dropping an aged silver necklace, adorned with an emerald “M,” into his hand, she slipped out of the room and down the hall. Guilt slipped inside Draco like a piece into a jigsaw puzzle, but he waved it away as usual. A moment later, Pansy emerged from the bathroom. She looked as though she were certain that someone would discover her secret; when she saw that Narcissa had left, relief swept over her.

“Mother was in... she left this for you.”

She nodded quietly, pulling the soft blonde hair that wasn’t hers away from the back of her neck. Draco clasped the necklace in silence.

“It’s beautiful.”