Love in Idleness

The Pansy, it would seem, is one of the most alluring of all garden flowers. Its little faces make most of us laugh when we look at them. The English have given the Pansy many nicknames, such as Call-me-to-you, Love-true, Three-faces-under-a-hood, Pink-eyed-John, Tickle-my-fancy, Bird's-eye, Jump-up-and-kiss-me, God-father, Godmother, Love-in-idleness, Kiss-me-in-the-buttery, Rob-run-the-street, and Heartsease. With such names, it is not strange that the French call it pensee, for this word means thoughts. Yet with all the Pansies' charms, there are some persons who do not grow them.

She opened the door and breezed into the dark room with a leisurely gait, stopping when she realised that the room was completely immersed in darkness. The light from the hallway only penetrated a few feet into the darkness, as if it was a solid thing that repulsed it. Even after half a year in this cold manor, she was still rather unused to the presense of so much darkness. It almost seemed as if the manor grew them inside its body.

"Lumos," she said, waiting for the magical lamps to light up. But the lights didn't materialize, and she made a low exasperated sound. "Lumos, I say."

The room still didn't light up, and she wondered whether she should go back to get another source of illumination, when another, deeper voice spoke from somewhere in the room.

"Lumos."

A previously dark corner of the room flared into light, outlining a man sprawled comfortably in an armchair. His eyes flashed with the burst of light, and she almost screamed in surprise before just barely getting herself back under control. She frowned at the man with distaste, even as she closed the door behind her.

"Do you always HAVE to do that?"

"Sorry."

It was a token apology, they both knew. She smoothed her frown with a conscious effort. Trying to appear nonchalant, she walked over to the cabinet, where the rows of dark bottles dully reflected the light from the glowing tip of his wand.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked, hoping a stiff drink would steady her rattled nerves. She was halfway to pouring one for herself, before she realized that alcohol was off limits. For the next six or seven months, anyway.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Well, pretty much everything there is to have."

"Vodka, if you can find half a decent bottle in there."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He was hardly a heavy drinker - though from what she knew of his current situation, she shouldn't be surprised if he asked for the whole bottle. She poured him half a glass, then added a few more splashes for good measure.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked as she placed the glass on a side table beside him, and backed away slightly. At the moment, it wouldn't do to get too close to him. Theirs was an uneasy deal, at best. At worst.... "They'll kill you if they find out you're here."

"And you won't?"

"I know better than that," she said, pointing at his wand, aimed unerringly at her, tracking her every movement. "Besides, I left my wand in my room."

"Careless," he mocked. Condescending, as always. "It's going to get you killed one day."

She put her hands on her waist and leaned over him, her lips twisting into a sneer. "Well, being careful didn't get you lot anywhere, did it?"

He glowered at her, and she noticed that his robe was splashed with specks of mud, apart from the general all-round dirt and wrinkles that had acculumulated over the days, and there were dark patches of dampness here and there that she really didn't want to think too deeply about. He looked exhausted - which was exactly what he should be looking, after a day-long battle then three days of evading the Dark Lord's best trackers and hounds.

"Was it bad?" she asked neutrally. He lifted an eyebrow, recognizing the brief truce she offered, and shook his head.

"It wasn't bad." He took a sip from the glass, and sighed. "It was an unmitigated disaster."

"Ah, well," she said smugly. "We planned it rather carefully, you know."

"Rather." He chuckled mirthlessly at her words. "Brilliant would be more like it. Or so I've been finding out."

"Well, why are you here then?"

He finished his drink in a single gulp, before jumping to his feet. He set the glass on the table and gave her a small, meaningless smile. And all the while the wand never wavered from her.

"I think I'll be going to the Continent for a while," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "See the world, gain some experience and all that. And wait for you all to fall apart, of course. Thought I might drop by to say goodbye before I left."

"We'll never fall apart," she declared, ignoring his last sentence. Although winter in the Mediterranean sounded tempting. The manor was so cold, even in summer, and it seemed that the sun refused to impart any ray of light to the scions of darkness.

"Come on, now. What Death-Eater truly gives his loyalties without a catch? Besides, with you lot it's always Family first, everything else second."

"Following the Dark Lord IS beneficial to Family."

He chuckled drily. "You don't believe that any more than I do, and neither does your precious Family. Otherwise they wouldn't have married you off to that awful git. But really, thanks for the drink. At least the Malfoys keep a decent bottle or two."

She crossed her arms and tapped her feet on the floor, sighing. "Why are you REALLY here?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Spill."

"Well," he looked about the room with feigned interest. "I did hear an interesting rumor about you getting pregnant."

"Yes, and it has nothing to do with you. I've made sure of that." He grinned at her, neat rows of teeth reflecting the light, and she noted with amusement that he looked almost feral, just like her husband. A comparison that would probably send both of them howling, had they known it. "Next excuse," she demanded.

He crossed over the room to the curtains, somehow maneuvering around the furniture without taking neither his wand nor eyes off her. With a hand on the window latch, he spoke again. "Well, seeing as we won't be coming back home for a while, a couple of friends and I thought we'd like to leave something behind. A farewell gift of sorts."

Moving closer to him, she narrowed her eyes, turning over the implications in her mind. He stood there, looking as innocent as a babe, but she knew that gleam in his eyes. Mischief, she knew from her school days with him, coupled with impressive magical abilities and sound planning usually spelled either danger or disaster, and more often than not, both. Neither of which she was particularly fond of.

"What sort of gift?"

"The guys had a Guy Fawkes sort of theme in mind. Personnally I thought we'd go for more of a Doomsday kind of gig."

She put a hand to her head, just barely stopping from groaning. "The Weasley twins survived, didn't they?"

"Oh yes. And Remus and Hermione are in the game, too." His eyes were twinkling with dark mirth.

She wrinkled her nose at the mention of the Mouse, but passed it over. "Oh, Professor Lupin survived. That's nice. I liked him. Sort of. For a werewolf, anyway."

"It's mighty kind of you to say that," he said, words remarkably free of sarcasm - which only underscored his point. "For a Death Eater, anyway."

"And why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you're, ahh...." he paused, searching for the right phrase. "Exactly the right person to let this sort of information slip to?"

"Is this a trap?" she asked brusquely. He only laughed. There was only a hint of manic amusement underneath. There had always been an aura of a desperate bravado about him.

"Of course! But what exactly it is, will be for me to know and you to worry about."

"Devious bastard," she muttered.

"Learnt from the best," he retorted with a smile. "Besides, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin - but then you already knew that, didn't you?"

He leaned over and pushed the windows open. The cool draft blew the curtains inward, rustling his already unkempt black hair. He took a glance outside - and she shot her hand into her sleeve, drawing her wand in an eyeblink. But he was much faster.

"Expelliarmus." It wasn't even shouted - just spoken calmly and quietly, as if he'd been expecting it all along. Her wand flew out of her hand into his, and he grinned. "Why, for a moment there you almost had me fooled. You've really gotten better at the whole draw thing, I must say."

He flung her wand far out into the garden, and she privately hoped that it didn't fall into the patch of poison ivy that Narcissa had been cultivating. She'd never hear the end of it. "Like I said all along," Harry continued. "The sleeve-draw comes with practice."

She rubbed her aching hand and glared at him, but he only kept the grin on his face, before sticking a leg out the window, straddling the sills. For a moment she had the wild, irrational urge to launch herself and push him over, but restrained herself. The man had an uncanny knack for landing on his feet - both literally and figuratively.

"Oh, and Pansy?"

"Yes?"

"Next time you plan a takeover of Hogwarts, please leave the kitchen alone. The fools broke all the crockery." With that final shot, he was off and gone.

Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy leaned against the windowsill and sighed. "Damn you, Harry Potter."

The End?

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