Crowds of obnoxious college-aged kids weren’t out of the ordinary on a Saturday evening at the store where Percy worked - they arrived en masse pre messy nights out to bulk buy vodka and own-brand mixers - but even still, the group that had just passed through the automatic sliding doors exuded the cocky self-confidence that could only be pulled off by the incredibly entitled.
The group was headed up by an arrogant blonde boy drawling loudly into a mobile phone as he pointed his friends towards the liquor aisle.
“I don’t care if there’s vodka there,” he was saying. “If you think I’m going to drink dollar store toilet cleaner, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Percy sighed as he began to unpack the next crate of tomatoes, thankful only that he wasn’t on checkout tonight.
“Can we do tequila shots with pink Himalayan sea salt?” A brunette girl in heels about as high as her skirt was short asked.
“Only if we’re criminally insane,” a dark-skinned boy replied rolling his eyes. “Honestly Daph, you’re as blonde as your sister sometimes.”
‘Daph’ stuck out her jewel-studded tongue at the tall boy and returned to perusing the shelves.
“Marcus says to get more solo cups - they’ve run out - and also to bring him some fags,” the cocky blonde boy announced, having hung up his phone and loaded two bottles of tequila into a shopping cart being pushed by a girl with a razor-sharp bob and a bored expression.
“Oh, Draco don’t talk about yourself like that,” Daphne quipped, causing the girl pushing the cart to laugh loudly and obnoxiously.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Draco shot her a venomous look but the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smirk.
“I wasn’t sure,” Daphne replied. “It’s so similar to your bad mood.”
“Is anyone but me going to be useful?” Draco ignored the jab, “Or do I have to do everything myself.”
“Title of your sex tape,” bob girl smirked, blowing a large pink bubble with gum that popped loudly.
“I’m a saint to deal with you lot,” was all Draco replied before he swept ahead of the group towards the fruit and vegetable aisle.
Percy immediately put his head down and tried to look invisible - an impossible feat considering his carrot-top hair and green polo emblazoned with the words ‘ASK FOR ASSISTANCE’ across the shoulder blades, but an admirable attempt nonetheless.
The short-haired girl leaned forwards over the handle of the shopping cart, giving anyone looking an ample view of her chest covered only by what Percy suspected to be lingerie rather than a top.
“What, we need broccoli or something?” She asked, “Worried no one at the party will have enough vitamin C?”
“Scurvy is an admirable cause,” the tall dark boy replied. “And Draco is a philanthropist.”
“Scurvy or preventing it?” Daphne asked with a grin, plucking a peach from the stand Percy had finished stacking only ten minutes earlier and biting into it.
“God, Daph,” the other girl scoffed, popping her gum again.
“Want some?” Daphne asked, holding the peach out. Juice dripped down her wrist onto the shiny laminate floor.
The girl wrinkled her nose and Daphne turned, “Hey Blaise, want some of my peach?”
“Is that a metaphor?” Blaise replied, “Because if so it’ll have to be a hard pass.”
Daphne had just taken another bite of the peach when Draco rounded the fruit display.
“Excuse me?”
Percy didn’t look up from his tomatoes.
“Excuse me?” Draco repeated, louder this time.
Percy straightened slowly, plastering his customer service face on. “How can I help?”
“Do you have any limes that aren’t so… ugly?”
Percy couldn’t help but frown at this, “Ugly?” He repeated.
“Yeah, like more aesthetically pleasing limes,” Draco confirmed.
The unnamed girl snorted from behind Percy, Draco glared at her over his shoulder.
“Whatever limes are out are all we have,” Percy said, dumbfounded at this line of questioning.
“We could go to Trader Joe’s,” Daphne suggested through a mouthful of peach.
“They’re limes,” the dark-haired girl said. Percy stepped out of the middle of their conversation, wondering if he could return to unloading his tomatoes.
“We’re gonna be too drunk to see what they look like in an hour,” she said rolling her eyes.
Draco sniffed, “Maybe you, Pansy. I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I know our limes are so deformed.”
“You’ll be deformed in a minute,” she retorted. “Go grab some limes before I hurt you so badly you won’t be able to enjoy yourself ever again.”
Percy wished fervently he wasn’t experiencing this.
The four of them stood in silence as they waited for Draco to return with the limes. After what felt like an eternity he dropped several into the shopping cart, which now contained two bottles of tequila, several stacks of red solo cups, a tub of table salt, and several admittedly unattractive limes.
“Onwards,” Daphne declared licking peach juice off her wrist whilst waggling her eyebrows at Blaise.
Percy wondered if she was planning to pay for the peach or not.
Pansy threw Percy a penetrating look as the other three left toward the checkouts.
“What time do you finish working?” She asked her gaze moving from him to the crates of tomatoes.
“What?” He asked.
“What time do you finish?” She repeated, “We’re going to a party at Phi Delta Alpha, come along once you get off.”
“I don’t really… do parties,” Percy protested.
“Whatever, I don’t care. You should come anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said like it was obvious, “Draco likes you and I’m sick of listening to him talk about how depressing his life is, or whatever.”
“Sounds like you’re a great listener.”
“Thanks,” she said, unaffected. “You’ll come then.”
“When was the last time someone said ‘no’ to you?” Percy asked.
“They don’t. I don’t let them.”
“How democratic.”
She didn’t reply, just grinned wickedly and turned towards her friends who were arguing loudly by the door about cocktail umbrellas versus tiny plastic swords.
Percy wished he could claim he didn’t know where Phi Delta Alpha was but it was pretty much impossible to attend UW without at some point acquiring such knowledge. He could, however, honestly say he had never been there before. When he pulled up and squeezed his tiny, shitty car into one of the last spaces left on the street he almost pulled immediately out and left again.
Students spilt out of the front of the house onto the lawn, most holding red solo cups and some smoking and vaping. Percy knew this area was mostly student and Greek housing so parties tended to be thrown here regularly, he’d never come to one before.
Summoning all his courage he climbed out of the car and approached the frat house - he’d changed out of his green polo shirt back into the casual button down he’d been wearing earlier that day but still felt incorrectly dressed for the occasion.
He squeezed through the crowds of people into the house, some rap song Percy didn’t recognise was blaring from the speakers and a keg was shoved unceremoniously in one corner of the living room. Percy stepped over a discarded solo cup, trying not to let his discomfort show on his face and moved further into the room.
A girl shrieked and someone grabbed his arm halting his progress.
“You came!” Daphne screamed at him, more than loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter.
Her brown hair had been twisted into a careless bun on the top of her head, and her insanely high heels discarded in favour of a pair of high-top converse that were clearly several sizes too big for her and had been laced tightly to stop them from slipping right off her feet. She held a solo cup in the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around his wrist; it was full of what looked like Red Bull and sloshed dangerously.
“Want some?” She offered the cup to Percy.
“No, thanks,” he replied. “Did you pay for that peach?”
She screwed up her entire face with the effort of understanding him after he’d repeated the question enough times to make him feel ridiculous she grinned childishly. “What are you the peach police? Peachlice?” She laughed at her own joke then, seeing his frown replied, “Calm your tits, of course I paid for it. Draco’s in the kitchen with Pansy by the way.” She added, taking a swig of the drink.
“Right,” Percy replied. “Cool.”
Someone called Daphne’s name, and she turned away, already smiling widely at the newcomer. She tripped on her too large converse and made her way across the room laughing to herself, wiping red bull off her skirt.
Percy found his way to the kitchen, unsure of why he had come here at all. The song had changed to Barbie Girl and, upon entering the room, Percy found Pansy sitting on the kitchen island, her legs loosely looped around Draco’s waist and both of them singing along to the music. Unsure of whether to make himself known Percy stood stupidly in the doorway until someone walked into him, spilling half a beer down his shirt and causing the rest of the kitchen to turn towards the commotion.
“Watch where you’re fucking going!” The stranger who had poured their drink down Percy’s front swore.
“Crabbe,” Pansy said sharply.
Crabbe turned to look at her, opening his mouth to retort.
“Fuck off,” Draco supplied picking up a drink from beside Pansy and joining Crabbe and Percy by the door.
Crabbe scowled but did as he was told and Draco held the drink out to Percy.
“What is it?” Percy asked frowning.
“Lemonade. You can pour it yourself if you don’t believe me,” he added seeing the scepticism on Percy’s face.
“You were confident I’d come.”
“You came didn’t you?” Draco smirked pushing the drink into Percy’s hand, “Come on.”
Percy followed Draco into the kitchen proper and watched as Draco prepared himself a confusing concoction of drinks.
“I’m Draco by the way,” he said once he’d taken a sip of the purple drink.
“Yeah,” Percy replied slowly, pretty sure he was having an out-of-body experience. “Percy.”
“Right, your name tag said so.”
“Do you normally invite random guys to parties with you?” Percy asked feeling supremely uncomfortable.
“Pansy invited you,” Draco pointed out, taking another swig of the purple concoction.
“Right.” Percy put the untouched lemonade down, “I should go.”
“No, I’m sorry, I just meant - no I don’t normally invite random supermarket workers to parties. That’s more Pansy’s thing, but I’m glad she did.”
“Well, how has your night been so far?”
Draco laughed, “Better than yours I’d wager - you’ve probably made an enemy for life in Crabbe.”
“He walked into me!” Percy protested before catching Draco’s expression, “You’re joking.”
“Yeah,” he replied with a grin. “He has the memory of a possum.”
“How do you know possums don’t have really good memories?” Percy challenged.
“Do they?”
“I don’t know. You’re not as drunk as Pansy threatened,” he added when the conversation lapsed. “Did the ugly limes affect you that much?”
Draco grinned, “Didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you more than I already had. Although, ugly limes do plague my mind.”
Destiny’s Child was now pounding through the speakers. Percy wondered if he’d been transported to an alternate universe where frat parties played nineties hits and rich kids were actually kind of charming.
Feeling bold he turned to Draco, “Wanna dance?”
Draco looked a little shocked but decidedly thrilled with the suggestion and downed the rest of his drink before overzealously dragging Percy to the makeshift dance floor.
As soon as Percy realised that even if he was sober everyone else was too drunk to care what a fool he was making of himself he found he actually rather enjoyed frat parties. He and Draco danced to the two Destiny’s Child songs that played back to back (Say My Name and Nasty Girl) then, when some techno song neither of them knew came on, Draco dragged Percy back to the kitchen and allowed him to mix him a drink. It turned out the colour of fertiliser but Draco drank it anyway and mostly managed to conceal his disgust.
Percy watched as Draco wiped the corner of his mouth, “That was… delicious,” he said, eyes watering.
Percy smiled wickedly, “I can make you another.”
Draco looked panic-stricken for a moment before he burst out laughing, “You’re a menace!”
Feeling emboldened Percy stepped forwards, closing the short distance between them and pressed his lips to Draco. The other boy responded instinctively, one hand grasping the back of Percy’s shirt at the small of his back and the other reaching up to cup his face. Draco opened his mouth and Percy tasted the remnants of the drink he had made on his tongue.
When they broke apart Draco was flushed and Percy’s shirt had come untucked from his jeans at the back.
Percy pulled a face, “Pansy was right, you must really like me if you drank that.”
Draco laughed, “And you must really like me if you’re willing to come to frat parties and get beer poured down you.”
Narcissa was certain she’d never seen this girl before, and yet she strolled into the small, on-campus Starbucks and made easy conversation with the rumpled looking barista as though she’d done it a thousand times before. The girl had pin straight black hair, cut sharply at her shoulders, and clear blue eyes. She wore frayed blue denim cut off jeans and platform sandals, yet somehow still managed to look effortlessly elegant. A large brown leather bag was slung over her right shoulder, and, judging from the edge of the plain black sketchbook visible to Narcissa, the girl was an art student.
Narcissa couldn’t help but notice that this girl was both very pretty and very out of her league. Narcissa herself studied Pre Med, and would never wear jeans; her mother had told her many times that denim was unbecoming for a young lady. Today Narcissa was dressed casually in a pair of skinny black cigarette pants, ankle boots and a Burberry trench coat. Whereas this girl was embracing the last dregs of summer as though she were savouring an iced coffee, Narcissa leaned into the oncoming cold weather with open arms.
Trying not to dwell any more on the mystery girl, Narcissa turned back to her textbook and illicit text conversation with her estranged sister, which she would have to remember erase from her phone before she met her eldest sister, Bellatrix, for dinner later that day.
Dorcas ordered a caramel frappuccino, finishing her conversation with Remus and assuring him that she and Lily would be making an appearance at his friends’ party later that week, before moving past the counter to wait for her drink. Absently, she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, more for something to do whilst she waited than any actual curiosity towards any messages she may have. Mid reply to Lily’s question that may have been about an essay deadline, but also may have been about whether Remus had said anything about James saying anything to him about her, Dorcas glanced absently at a table, and paused.
Sitting alone, gorgeous designer leather handbag in the chair beside her, more textbooks than could possibly fit in it piled onto the small table in front of her, was a girl. From where she stood, almost directly behind her, Dorcas could only see the sweet, sharp edge of a jawline, the tip of a ski slope nose and the curve of a pair of soft lips emerging from the silky finger curls of white-blonde hair. She was far too beautiful to be sat in a badly lit, overpriced on-campus Starbucks and yet, Dorcas thought, she would look effortless wherever she was.
Checking the time Dorcas cursed softly, she was meant to be meeting Marlene for their fine arts class, and Marlene hadn't yet texted her to cancel, so Dorcas assumed she was planning on showing up today. Giving the beautiful blonde girl another subtle appraisal as she passed her, Dorcas grabbed her drink and hurried out of the Starbucks towards her lecture.
Marlene was only three minutes late to meet Dorcas and the two girls managed to seat themselves only a few rows from the back of the lecture theatre. Marlene never liked to sit near the front, claiming she was far sighted, but Dorcas suspected this had more to do with the fact that the time not spent playing on her phone in classes Marlene spent carving inappropriate drawings into the desks, than any eyesight problems she may or may not have.
This fine arts class was one of the few Marlene and Dorcas shared; Marlene was studying Fine Art and Dorcas was studying Fashion Design, so only a couple of their classes overlapped. Flipping open her sketchbook Dorcas glanced at Marlene, who was already immersed in her phone, before putting pen to paper. Although she was a talented artist, outside of school assignments Dorcas usually stuck to drawing clothes, but today she was feeling inspired. She hardly realised as her pen moved across the sheet of paper, it was a rough sketch but the girl in it was obviously very beautiful. She was in profile, with long hair covering most of her face, her ears were pointed and she sat in a floating dress surrounded by a bed of vines and roses.
The rest of class passed painstakingly slowly, Dorcas tried to take notes but found herself fixated on the girl from Starbucks. Marlene paid about as much attention as she normally did; that is to say, absolutely none, and the pair left the lecture theatre at the end of the hour having retained nothing more than the topic of the lecture, and an interesting fact about penguins that their lecturer had thrown in in a desperate attempt to seem more relatable to his students; it hadn’t worked.
Dorcas didn’t usually go to Starbucks unless to see Remus whilst he was at work, the coffee was in equal parts disgusting and overpriced, but she found herself there several more times in the upcoming weeks, searching for a glimpse of the blonde girl again. When she finally did run into her in mid-October, it was entirely by accident.
Narcissa wearily pushed open the door to the on-campus Starbucks, she’d had a long week, coupled with the stress of Bellatrix and Andromeda finally ending their two year long silent stalemate in favour of an all out war, with both using Narcissa as a weapon.
The weather had turned entirely now that it was well into October, and Narcissa pulled off her gloves to reply to Andromeda’s text. She was so engrossed in her sisters’ feud that she didn’t notice the pretty dark haired girl sitting sketching at a table by the window, a takeaway cup of coffee with the lid popped off sitting slightly too close to the edge of the table for comfort. As she passed Narcissa absently hoisted her handbag higher onto her shoulder, it knocked the coffee, which tipped over instantly spilling all over the girl’s sketchbook, which was overflowing with spare sheets of paper.
“Shit!” Narcissa cursed, fumbling to help the girl pick up her things before realising who it was. When she looked up and met the girl’s blue eyes she turned bright red. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, I mean I was, but not to you, to my phone, I mean, not that I don’t pay attention to you, it’s just that…” she trailed off, if possible more embarrassed than she had been before, and glanced down at the drawings she had rescued from the coffee.
The same disheveled boy who’d been working the first time she’d seen the girl had hurried over with a cloth and was mopping up the spilt coffee. “I’ll get you another one.” He told the girl, “Do you want anything?” he asked, turning to Narcissa.
She looked up, still flushed and avoiding the girl’s eyes. “What? Oh, right, coffee. Yes please. Can I get a double espresso please?”
“Of course, I’ll bring them over.”
The dark haired girl thanked him and sat back down, motioning Narcissa to the seat opposite, which she took, still trying to look anywhere but the other girl.
Settling the offending handbag on the floor beside the chair, Narcissa held the sheath of papers she was still clutching out to the girl. She wanted to look through them, but knew it would be rude to look without permission.
“Thanks.” The girl smiled, flipping through them for damage. A couple of them had small splatters of coffee at the edges and Narcissa cringed as the girl laid them out on the table to dry.
Then she froze as the girl put down a drawing of an elfin woman sitting amongst a grove of flowers and crawling vines.
“Is that –” She started before snapping her mouth shut before she could embarrass herself further.
To her surprise, the dark haired girl went bright red and snatched up the picture before Narcissa even had a chance to get a proper look.
Now it was her turn to gabble, “I… you’re very pretty. I saw you in here a few weeks ago, back in September and drew you. It’s not creepy I promise, just… you’re very pretty.” she finished lamely.
“You said that already.” Narcissa replied with a small smile, “May I see it?”
The girl’s eyes widened but she handed Narcissa the drawing. It was very good, just a sketch, but the girl looked startlingly like Narcissa. Narcissa smiled.
The rumpled boy returned with their drinks, his nametag read ‘Remus’.
“It’s good.” Narcissa said, turning the drawing over in her hands, “But it’s missing something.”
“It is?” The dark haired girl asked, an anxious look crossing her face.
Narcissa fished a pen out of her bag and glanced at the girl for permission. “May I?” she asked, motioning the drawing.
“Of course.” The girl smiled, but she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
Flipping the page over to the blank side, Narcissa penned her phone number across the back of the drawing in her loopy handwriting. She handed the drawing back to the girl, who blushed when she realised what Narcissa had done.
Standing up, Narcissa picked up her handbag and coffee from the table. “I’m Narcissa, by the way.” She said.
The girl glanced up from the phone number, still blushing, to reply, “Dorcas.” she said.
“See you around, Dorcas.” Narcissa replied with a smile, before leaving.
She’d only made it a few metres from the Starbucks when her phone vibrated in her bag. She stopped, groaning, wondering what argument her sisters could be pulling her into now. When she found the phone, however, there was only one text from an unknown number.
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten you admitted to stalking me.”
The first thing Theo had noticed when this new customer had entered the coffee shop was that he was hot. Like, indescribably, mouth-wateringly, life-changingly hot.
The second thing Theo had noticed was that he was rude.
“Tell Draco to mind his own damn business and get those numbers on my desk within the next 72 seconds or I’m firing him – small Americano, extra shot, Blaise – I believe the term you’re looking for is silent partner so he can keep his opinions to himself, that’s what he’s paying me for–”
The incredibly rude, and now slightly less hot, guy, Blaise, placed his order and swiped a credit card in payment all without removing his phone from his ear.
Rolling his eyes, Theo picked up the small cup and scrawled a lazy ‘Blaize’ on it. Ah, the joys of small revenges, he thought, as he put the cup in the queue by the industrial coffee machines and turned to take the next customer’s order, a friendly ginger girl who was a regular and always gave him her name – Ginny – sans phone glued to her ear, with a smile.
The next day the rude and/or hot guy returned, today with a greeting of: “No Penelope, I’m running late, I’m still getting my coffee. – Why don’t I let the interns get my coffee? Now that’s a good question Penelope – small Americano, extra shot, Blaise – you see I seem to remember that the last time I let an intern get my coffee I–”
Blahze was what Theo penned on the cup this time, feeling vindicated.
By Friday, Blaise’s name had become ‘Bhlahysz,’ and Theo was beginning to think Blaise wasn’t even noticing his gross misspellings – an unfortunate thought since it was the only revenge and entertainment that Theo pursued on a day to day basis.
On Saturday, Theo wasn’t expecting to see Blaise, for he usually came in on his way to work and so it seemed logical he wouldn’t be coming in on a weekend. However, just after eleven, the bell signalled someone was entering the shop, and Theo looked up to see Blaise at the doorway.
Theo’s mouth went dry; if he thought Blaise looked good in a suit, it was nothing compared to how good he looked in his casual clothes – if they could even be deemed casual. He was devoid of his mobile phone today; instead, he was accompanied by a brunette girl who was chattering away as they queued.
“Anyway, so I got the samples in the end but it took three days and set us back by as much. Honestly, the amount I’m paying them—! And they can’t even deliver some fucking fabrics on time. I’m going to have to fire somebody just to get my blood sugar down.”
Blaise laughed and said, “Fire Draco, he’s been a pain in my ass lately.”
“Please, if you tried to fire Draco he’d just come back at double strength the next day. The best way to deal with him is let him think he’s got what he wanted and then get on with your business around him. Like putting a grumpy child in a playpen.”
“He’s a grumpy child alright,” Blaise grumbled. “I’m going to have to hire somebody to applaud him every time he finishes a menial task just to keep him happy and out of my hair. Small Americano, please — Blaise. Can we go past the showroom later today?”
The brunette girl was polite enough to pause her part in the conversation to order.
“Medium skinny latte, please.”
“Name?” Theo asked her, picking up the cup, pen ready.
“Daphne,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.”
‘Bolognese’ Theo scribbled on Blaise’s cup and added both of the cups to the queue.
Usually Blaise received his misspelt drink and exited the shop without so much as betraying whether or not he had even noticed the error. Today, however, he paused on his way out and addressed Theo.
“It’s ‘A I S E,’” he said.
“Pardon?” Theo asked, only partly feigning his confusion.
“My name,” Blaise clarified. “It’s spelt ‘B L A I S E’.”
“Isn’t that what I wrote?” Theo furrowed his brow innocently.
“Blaise! Stop flirting, we’ve got work to do,” the brunette girl called to Blaise from the door.
Theo blushed lightly at her boldness.
Blaise grinned. “See you on Monday, Theo.”
Theo managed to find his footing in time to respond, “Is that a promise? L A I S E?”
Pansy received her first assignment after three months of training. A singular name, one she knew well, printed in white on a black calling card.
Eliezer Carrow.
A friend of her father’s, Pansy couldn’t help but think; but her father was gone now – at least The Last Meal had had the mercy to take him quickly.
The day of the kill Pansy hadn’t been able to eat at all, her stomach knotted as the sun sank and she readied herself to leave. Plaiting her hair back so it was out of her face, dressing all in black and packing her equipment belt with knives. I am Nightshade, she thought; I am deliverance.
The pavement was wet as she made her way to her mark’s house, the streetlights reflecting in amber and red off of the wavering puddles. Pansy trod silently, stealthily, as she made her way down the street she had known so well. Eliezer hadn’t fled, believing, foolishly, that the Ministry could protect him. Instead he lived, boldly, unabashedly in the house he was raised in, whilst Pansy and the rest of The Last Meal lived in the shadows, the spaces that nobody else wanted.
Something flickered inside Pansy, as a simple alohomora turned the lock of the grand front door. She thought, perhaps, that it was fear but as it built up inside of her she recognised it as justice, vengeance, control.
“He’s upstairs,” Angel spoke for the first time since they had established their legilimency connection ten minutes earlier, “in the library.”
“Is he expecting company?” Pansy asked, twirling a knife in her left hand, “I would hate to interrupt.”
“I believe he knows his time is coming.”
Pansy knew this house, she had spent time here as a child, at balls and charity functions, and she allowed the third stair to creak under her weight. She imagined Eliezer cowering in the library behind a shelf. Fear would not save him, but it would gratify her.
She was quiet but not silent as she ascended the stairs, hoping the soft rustles would scare him, the house was breathing its last breath. Casting a quick revealing charm Pansy saw the jinxes Carrow had put in place in an attempt to save himself. She almost laughed, it was futile for him to try and hide; she could disable all of these charms in her sleep. She set to work on the anti-intruder jinx, it was difficult to unravel but not impossible. Slowly she unpicked the jinx as though it were an unfortunate embroidery hoop, threading the needle in reverse to release the strands of the nasty curse. Just when she thought her attempts ineffective, the jinx fell away.
Pansy then quickly disabled the other jinxes and hexes before moving to the door of the library. It was locked and as the silent alohomora Pansy cast did nothing, she almost groaned in frustration. Eliezer was on the other side of this door – it was just a matter of getting to him.
“It’s likely a clausaro charm,” Angel spoke up, “you’ll have to unpick it.”
Pansy unwound the locking charm much like she had the other charms and relished the soft click that told her the door was open. She considered a disillusionment charm for a moment but decided against it; she wanted Carrow to know she was coming for him and that there was nothing he could do to stop her.
Pansy trod lightly into the library, it was grand but not large enough for Carrow to hide. He shot a stunning spell at Pansy from behind a shelf, which she deflected. After deflecting several more hexes and a particularly deadly entrail-expelling curse, Pansy bound Carrow with a well-aimed incarcerous.
Carrow scrambled to get away from her, kicking his legs in an attempt to free them, until his back hit the bookshelf behind him and he realised he was trapped.
Pansy removed a dagger from her belt. It was long and silver, with a handle shaped like a fish. It felt heavy in her palm, it felt like everything she had lost, everything she was willing to give to get it back.
Standing over Carrow she fingered the knife, relishing the look of fear on his face. He knew better than to beg, however. Which, although she wouldn’t admit it, made it easier for Pansy.
The knife fell from her fingers in a practiced spiral, sinking into Eliezer’s chest with a soft precision. She had meant to hit a major artery, and she hit her target on her first try. Still, she removed the knife slowly from Carrow’s chest, watching his face critically to discern any sign that the wound may not be deadly.
His eyes met hers as he struggled to move in some attempt to retroactively save himself. After a few quiet minutes his eyes closed as blood loss rendered him unconscious, Pansy knew that he would be dead within another five.
Retrieving a clean handkerchief from her pocket Pansy wiped the blade of the dagger clean and replaced it in her belt. She then opened the library window and whistled for a crow.
A silent moment stretched just long enough that Pansy felt her skin begin to crawl before a bird appeared out of the darkness, flapping its way down to the windowsill. Pansy held out the handkerchief for the bird to take, petting its head briefly before it took off, the evidence of her kill in tow.
She closed the window, wiping it down in case of fingerprints, and left the house the same way she had entered, stopping only briefly at Carrow’s body to check for a pulse. There was none.
“Target neutralised.” Pansy told Angel over the link, not bothering to wait for a reply before she terminated it.
The quiet London streets felt too quiet, too calm as the backdrop to the blood rushing through Pansy’s head. The jubilation of her first kill, of retribution coursing through her body left her high. She felt as though she could do anything, have anything; but Pansy couldn’t have the things she wanted anymore so instead she quietly returned to her apartment, where her two cats and a bottle of red that she had been saving for a special occasion were waiting for her.
As Pansy rummaged through her kitchen drawer for a bottle opener, her phone buzzed where it sat on the counter.
2:47am a crow? How fitting
Pansy knew she shouldn’t reply. While Pansy was confined to cower in the shadows, Potter was the sun. She scrolled absently through the dozen or so texts prior to this one that she hadn’t responded to. This one shouldn’t be any different.
But today was different. Today the entirety of Pansy’s body buzzed, she felt drunk and reckless, she wanted more.
The muggy summer air was really too close and humid for the long black clothes Millicent was pulling on, and her long dark hair stuck to her back with sweat as she struggled into her shirt. Freeing her hair from her neck she began the arduous task of braiding it tightly in coils against her head to keep it out of her way for the task ahead.
It was late, after nine, but the sun was only just beginning its lazy decent across the skyline, it wouldn’t be dark for hours – but Millicent didn’t mind the wait; she enjoyed time for contemplation, or, perhaps, penance; and time was something she’d had plenty of of late.
Leaving her boots next to her equipment belt and favouring bare feet she left the room in search of Peregrine – who would be on intelligence for her later that evening – and something to eat.
She found both in the kitchen of the run-down manor The Last Meal had taken residence in. Once the mansion had been grand, a symbol of status and wealth. Now, however, with large bills in reparations to the Ministry and the confiscation of the house elves, the manor was dusty and unforgiving. The Last Meal didn’t live in the manor, although sometimes members would crash there for the odd night or two, but members regularly gathered there, and preparations and debriefings for missions were often carried out in the library.
Millicent’s mark for this evening was not as prominent as some she’d had – a distant cousin of Daphne and Astoria’s, Millicent had considered giving them a warning but The Last Meal felt like a shameful secret and talking about it brought bile to her mouth – so she felt little anxiety over the upcoming mission as she made tea for the people seated in the kitchen and fashioned herself a sandwich from the slightly stale bread in the bread bin.
Peregrine briefed her on the floor plan of her mark’s house again as she ate and Millicent nodded along at the right intervals, but her mind was elsewhere, roaming through the corridors of her childhood home, which was not unlike the house they currently resided in. She remembered the window seat in her bedroom, where she had sat and watched the rain with the window wide open. Her governess had always told her she’d catch her death, but Millicent had loved the rain and hadn’t minded if she’d ended up wet and shivering. That was all gone now, the window seat most definitely, the house almost certainly. The part of Millicent that had lived in that house was long gone as well, shorter, rounder, less death in her.
Two cups of tea later Peregrine finally fell silent and Millicent returned upstairs to put on her thick rubber soled boots and attach her equipment belt around her hips. When she returned to the kitchen she and Peregrine established their legilimency connection and he took yet another cup of tea with him to the sitting room that had been delegated their command unit.
Millicent left the manor and apparated to the village where her mark, Sebastian Blishwick, lived. The village was a muggle one but with a strong wizarding presence.
“Perhaps you should disillusion yourself,” Falcon fretted over the link.
“Quite worrying, Falcon, you’ll wear yourself out.” Millicent replied, besides, it was too late now; she couldn’t just vanish off the street, it would look more suspicious than her attire.
Peregrine was silent as Millicent approached her mark’s house. It was a muggle townhouse, three stories of humble grandeur loomed above her as she let herself through the front gate and up the pathway.
“Do you have eyes?” She asked Peregrine as she approached the front door.
“Yes,” he replied, “he knows.”
Millicent grinned wickedly, let him know, she thought, it wouldn’t save him.
She raised a hand to the knocker and let it ring out, a loud clear death toll to the house’s inhabitant.
Of course, there was no answer, so Millicent simply let herself in; the locking charm no match for her training. Once she was inside she cast a revealing charm and the anti-intruder jinxes and hexes Blishwick had put in place glowed a faint blue; there were several tricky charms but Millicent managed to unpick them with little display.
“Where is he?” She asked Falcon, panting a little with the strain of undoing so many powerful charms.
“Top floor, to the left, at the end of the corridor.” He replied, “Study.”
Millicent began to hum as she approached the stairs, an eerie tune. When she reached the first floor landing her humming turned to song.
“Tili tili bom
Close your eyes now
Someone’s walking outside the house
And knocks on the door.”
Millicent could almost hear Blishwick’s heart thudding as the stairs creaked beneath her rubber soled feet.
“Tilli tilli bom,” she continued up the second flight of stairs.
“The nightbirds are chirping
He is inside the house
To visit those who can’t sleep.”
She reached the top floor landing.
“He walks
He is coming
closer.”
“Tilli tilli bom,” the door to the study creaked on it’s hinges as it swung open, “Can you hear him closing in?”
To his credit, Blishwick was waiting to meet her when she stepped out of the shadowy hallway into the faint lamplight of the study, pressed up against the desk as though he could back up no further, face white and hands trembling where they grasped the edge of the ornate writing desk for support.
“Dobry vecher.” Millicent greeted him, almost conversationally, her lips blooming into a wicked smile. “It’s hot out today,” she motioned the open window and took a step forward, as though she were simply heading to close it.
Blishwick twitched, a jerky, terrified movement. Millicent stopped, her smile growing wider, if it was possible.
He reached for his wand, in what she supposed was supposed to be a lightening movement, but Millicent saw it coming and with a swipe of her hand he flew to the side and was pinned by invisible hands to the bookshelves lining the walls.
“Tilli tilli bom,” she continued, her hand forming a fist as the invisible hands closed their hold around Blishwick’s neck, his eyes bulged in their sockets and he scrabbled at his throat for a hold on something that was not there.
“The silent night hides everything
He sneaks up behind you
And he is going to get you.”
A gargled noise emitted Blishwick’s throat and Millicent tightened her grip.
He gave one last futile effect at clawing the invisible hands squeezing the life from him before his arms fell limply to his side.
Millicent released the vicelike grip on his throat before directing Blishwick’s motionless body to the floor where she propped him against the desk leg, as though he had simply sat down there for a moment. His eyes were wide with fear, staring unseeingly at a spot on the floor near the doorway, Millicent bent to check his pulse before removing a box of matches from her equipment belt. She struck one, letting it burn for a moment, before opening Blishwick’s mouth and placing the still lit match on his tongue. The wet of his saliva fizzled it out immediately with a soft hiss leaving the charred, half burnt matchstick in his mouth, which Millicent closed again.
The window was still open and it had begun to rain softly. Millicent allowed herself a moment, and crossed the room to stand by the window looking out into the dark backyard.
“Someone will see you.” Falcon snapped.
“Piss off,” Millicent retorted, but she took one last breath of the rain-soaked air and moved away from the window.
She barely glanced at Blishwick’s body as she left, his arms hung awkwardly at his side and his head lolled lazily. His neck was perfectly devoid of any bruises or marks.
This was mestʹ, Millicent thought, as she trod silently down the two flights of stairs and paused briefly by the front door to disillusion herself. She opened the door just enough to allow herself to slip out into the damp night.
The rain could not see her, but she could feel it as the cold drops soaked her clothes and rolled down her neck and between her shoulder blades. She walked a little further than necessary to apparate, enjoying the feel and the smell of the rain around her; it smelt like jubilation, she mused. It smelt like mshcheniye.
With the onset of summer at Guilleton comes the arrival of wealthy orphan, Harry Potter, and his best friend the noble but destitute sixth son Ron Weasley. Whilst Astoria immediately takes a shine to the humble and kindly Ron, Pansy’s initial interaction with Mr Potter is much less agreeable.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass/Ron Weasley
Setting: Regency AU, Pride and Prejudice AU
ao3
“Ah!” Sirius exclaimed, spotting two boys heading towards them. “This is my godson, Harry Potter, and his good friend Ron Weasley.”
The boys who had approached them looked about Pansy’s age. One was shorter than Draco by an inch or so, and sported dark, messy hair and vivid green eyes. The other was tall and lanky, and was topped with a head of bright ginger hair – Pansy didn’t need to have been told to know that he was a Weasley.
“Harry, Ron, may I introduce my cousins Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy, her husband Lucius and son Draco, as well as Draco’s friend Miss Parkinson.” Pansy curtsied in greeting but Harry’s eyes drifted right over her to settle on Draco.
“Yes,” he replied. “Draco and I have met at Oxford.”
A quick glance at Draco told Pansy that this meeting had not been a pleasant one.
“Draco, would you care to dance with me?” She asked him, drawing both his and Harry’s attention towards her, “I haven’t seen you in so long after all.”
“Of course,” Draco replied smoothly, offering her his arm. “If you’ll excuse us.” He nodded to the others and moved away.
Blaise interrupted them as the song ended to reclaim Theo for himself and Pansy soon found herself standing with Harry Potter.
“Mr Potter,” she greeted him.
“Miss Parkinson,” he replied, surveying the dance floor.
“Your godfather tells me that you run a business,” Pansy said politely, by way of making conversation. “That’s very impressive at your age.”
“It’s my parent’s business, I am at university,” he said curtly.
“Oh,” Pansy replied, confused about what Sirius had told her, and asked, “are your parents here tonight?”
“They’re dead.” He stated, not looking away from the dancing couples.
“I’m sorry to hear that, my mother passed almost ten years ago now.”
Harry didn’t respond and, when the silence became too much for Pansy, she tried again.
“Do you like to dance Mr Potter?”
“If I find my partner agreeable.” He replied shortly, he had yet to look at her during the entire exchange.
“Of course,” Pansy replied with a faltering smile, before adding, “I love to dance. I missed the boys terribly whilst they were away, they are all such accomplished dancers.”
“I’m sure Draco is accomplished at many things, excuse me.” With that, he walked away, leaving Pansy alone and humiliated.
“What about the Parkinson girl?” Ron asked. Pansy sniffed, feeling as though she deserved a little more respect than that, but kept quiet. “She’s quite pretty,” Ron continued. It was hardly a compliment from the likes of him but Pansy allowed herself to smile anyway.
“If you like that sort of thing,” Harry replied, “I find her to be quite repulsive if I’m honest.”
At that, Pansy gaped in the most unladylike fashion.
“Her personality and friends hand her little merit also, I’m unsurprised that Draco Malfoy attracts two-bit gold diggers.”
36 + fredlee (au maybe??) please!! lmao i saw that prompt and basically screamed
“You never told me you had a fucking twin.”
Fred looked up from his lunch in surprise to as Lee Jordan, the boy he’d been completely, embarrassingly obsessed with for the past 4 months, dropped into the seat opposite him.
“Excuse me?”
“You never told me you had a twin.” Lee reiterated, snatching a tomato from Fred’s half eaten salad.
“How did you find out?” Fred asked. He didn’t know Lee even knew he existed, let alone his twin brother, George.
“Well I figured it wasn’t you that came up to me whilst I was working in Petco yesterday and started telling me in third person and a lot of detail about your crush on me since you’ve been looking away every time I catch you staring for the past 2 months.”
Fred was pretty sure his face was on fire.
“Unless you’re triplets?” Lee continued conversationally, as though Fred didn’t resemble the tomatoes Lee was still stealing from his plate.
“Uh… no.” Fred managed to stutter out.
“Good, that’s far too much confusion for me.”
Fred didn’t reply.
“So where do you want to go?”
“What?” Fred was certain he’d never looked like a bigger idiot in his life.
