Chapter Text
Three years later...
It had been a cold day in Paris and Pansy had overslept.
No, not overslept, that would imply a slightly frantic morning where perhaps her lipstick ended up smudged and her hair a little mussed when she rushed into the breakfast meeting five, maybe ten minutes late. But the morning the first of the tendrils had appeared and begun their steady pull towards home Pansy had been in a state of practical hibernation, refusing to be roused by several alarms, a floo call or even the thumping at the door of the shared entrance to the apartments.
She was sure she would hear no end of that from Madame Phillipe next time they crossed on the stairs.
There was no reason for it, her business was showing steady growth, she had eliminated all dating stress by flatly refusing any and all attempts at matchmaking after the last debacle that saw her banned from one of the better sushi restaurants on her side of the Seine.
Pansy’s assistant, who went by Dominique or Dom, rather than her presumably given name of Satan, had thoughtfully rescheduled the breakfast meeting before apparating right into her apartment to check whether Pansy was in fact dead.
She wasn’t.
It would have been Dom’s fault if she bloody was.
Something between Dominique’s shifty expression and the fact that even the usual nightmares had left her alone for once had sent Pansy scurrying to the fridge to give the remains of the Beychevelle she had been sampling last night a suspicious sniff. The usual notes you’d expect were there but there was almost an undercurrent, the sickly sweet cut of something that didn’t quite belong.
Her assistant was still clearly trying to poison her.
Pansy narrowed her eyes at the back of Dominique’s head who had taken it upon herself to start laying out clothes, somehow managing to make the act look as if that were something she would do every day and wasn’t the act of an insane woman who was planning to kill her boss.
Dom turned, presumably to try to chivvy Pansy along, but caught one look at her face and set about finding the perfect black pump to go with the black woollen dress with the dropped waist she had selected. Pansy continued to glare, a carefully manicured nail tapped against the neck of the bottle before she finally relented and turned to pour it out.
What a waste.
It wasn’t worth the argument though, it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last. Dominique, the hellion without boundaries or morals was adamant that dosing one’s boss with sleeping potions wasn’t in fact ‘poisoning’ and that if Pansy had such a big issue with it then she should just fire her.
While the suggestion was inherently sensible in the way that Dominique was when she wasn’t a living nightmare, it failed to account for two points. One, for all her overstepping and bossiness, Dom was frighteningly competent, and two, Pansy had already tried it to little effect.
Dom, a nepotistic hire to ingratiate Pansy with her main financial backer, had originally been hired as a buyer. She had figured that she could send Dom off to the far-flung places to source fabrics while Pansy juggled the business side of a fledgling fashion company alongside the actual design process.
It had started swimmingly. Dom, unlike predecessors, understood that the trips were for work and not an excuse to go to the beach, she kept Pansy in the loop and sent entire flocks of owls detailing each and every stage of the process. With everything from the drape to the weight accounted for it seemed impossible that the day the bolts arrived in tidy stacks could be anything but victorious.
Somehow, impossibly, the buttery soft scarlet silks and satins that were to form the base of her autumn collection were rolled out in a cacophony of lime green and grey.
Dominique was, despite her protestations, colour blind.
No, not just colour blind, as far as Pansy could tell everything surely had to be the exact shade of grey. How else could you account for the truly heinous fabric she had unveiled with such glee. Truth be told, Pansy wasn’t entirely sure that someone hadn’t taken it upon themselves to teach her wrong as some sort of joke.
Delicate enquiries however revealed that Dom was yet to cross paths with Blaise.
When Pansy had sat her down and explained, extremely gently considering the absolute fortune Dom had just cost her, that perhaps the role wasn’t the right fit she had been shocked to find little argument. What was surprising was that somehow Pansy left the meeting with a new fully-fledged assistant, with the accompanying pay increase.
This was quite useful given that Pansy now had to somehow fit a trip to her suppliers in India into an already packed design schedule. Not to mention fit interviews for a new buyer into her schedule.
Pansy did have to concede, as she pulled on her dress, trying to keep one eye on Dom who was now shuffling around the kitchen in a deeply suspect manner, that her demented assistant was one of the reasons that Wild Violet was fast becoming a name to be reckoned with in wizarding society.
Dominique knew everyone and had in point of solidarity decided that everything she wore would be Wild Violet.
Pansy would have been slightly more inclined to take it as the compliment it was clearly intended were it not for the fact she had needed to spend a weekend making underwear that they most certainly did not sell, just so people didn’t think that she made her assistant run around commando.
Even if she had asked, Dom would only assume Pansy had wanted her to storm Madam Malkin’s with a knife clutched between her teeth to assure the victory of Wild Violet overall.
It wasn’t fashion, it was war, and to be quite honest when it came to the impulses of Dom, Pansy would rather have her on the inside pissing out than the alternative. She could only thank God that Voldemort hadn’t managed to lure Dom to his cause with promises of fine neon silks for all.
Potter wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Pansy tried to smooth her fringe, settling for just a smudge of red lipstick, it would have to do. She was already in danger of being late for the meeting. Again.
Dom was a force to be reckoned with, Pansy reminded herself as she slipped on her shoes and snagged her keys from the table by the door. Dom was a net positive to her business that she was lucky to have.
Even if it meant she still had 30 bolts of lime green silk that even came with a question mark on the order form.
Still, at least Dom was relatively relaxed about Pansy having missed the meeting, what with it being with her, that is Dom’s, great uncle Julian Mottenbaum, rather than the significantly more ornery landlord of their first shop. Where the landlord would have needed several bottles of champagne to remove the threat of a rate increase, again, Julian would simply forgive Dom anything, even if it was poisoning her boss with sleeping potions and making her miss their breakfast meeting.
Truth be told Pansy wouldn’t be surprised if the sleeping potion hadn’t been Julian’s idea all along. While their relationship had initially been one of mentor/mentee alongside a hefty chunk of start-up capital, the once stuffy business brunch’s had evolved into something Pansy genuinely looked forward to.
When she wasn’t sleeping through them, having been poisoned.
It wasn’t that she didn’t value his advice, Merlin knew what Julian didn’t know about business wasn’t going to be worth knowing, but Pansy found that the old man could be an absolute riot when he wanted to be. And he did want to be, rather a lot actually. He was Blaise without the active malice, with his stuffy grey suits tailored to exact precision one could almost be forgiven for thinking that Julian was just another stiff, but then you’d catch sight of an elaborate paisley cravat or a flash of exotic lining.
And the cackle of his laugh. So deliciously wicked, Julian had become one of the only people in her life that could still make Pansy laugh.
Not, Pansy realised as she double-checked she had this month's figures in her handbag before she locked the door, that she had many people in her life at all.
She could probably count them on one hand, Dom, Blaise, Julian and her parents, when they weren’t over in Singapore doing something deadly dull in finance. Five fingers wiggled back at her frown. Draco she supposed was a tentative six, when he could be bothered to come to Paris, which wasn’t often as of late, not after the incident. He’d always cry off with work, which was a useful excuse given that as an Unspeakable he couldn’t exactly say what work. Blaise was convinced it was a woman, which meant that he would eventually be pulled out of her life completely. After all, who would want an ex-girlfriend around ruining his best efforts at redemption?
Wands rising as one in the Great Hall.
Hazel brown eyes full of recrimination.
Dom was staring at her as Pansy stood frozen in the doorway, something clearly showing on her face to still Dom’s usual pleas for more haste.
Pansy rattled the door keys, trying to focus on the dull bite of metal as she squeezed them tight in her hand.
“So Julian knows the meeting’s moved, yes?”Pansy said, more to fill the silence and to get the worry off Dom’s face.
It worked, the fretful wide eyes narrowed in irritation. “Of course,” she said, throaty as ever, “otherwise he would have been sat alone. I would not have that.”
A moment's hesitation was all that was required to send Dom careening into the details of the now lunch meeting.
Julian had shuffled things around and if Pansy didn’t mind, which Dom had assured him, without checking, that Pansy didn’t, he would have to add her to a prior engagement with a lovely young man who had just secured funding for the expansion of his business. Really, Dom was at pains to stress, he was by all accounts an actual delight, Julian had raved about him.
“Would you like me to tell you about him? He’s very handsome.” Dom had said, already pulling out her notebook that no doubt included everything from his inside leg measurement to the exact brand of toothpaste he used. “He has lovely hair.”
“No,” Pansy said, already smelling a set-up. If Dom thought he had lovely hair then it was no doubt snot yellow or something equally hideous.
It wouldn’t be the first set-up that had been attempted. As far as she could tell, for Julian and his set, mostly formed of aristocratic German types, any spare time one did possess between the constant accumulation of wealth, would be filled with golf and the arranging of children, grandchildren and passing strangers into the most delightful and amusing pairs.
Julian’s longtime friend and bitter rival Frau Munty had managed to marry off her butler to some far and distant countess who collected the labels of rare and unusual cheeses. It was a match made in heaven apparently, and Munty had been the toast of the town for months.
Julian had spent their previous lunch both in rapturous delight and seething jealousy, it had been quite the sight.
If Pansy wasn’t very careful Julian would have her declared an actual delight and shipped off to marry some Polish pig fancier with a heart of gold.
“He’s very tall.” Dom interjected, “I’ve written you a brief summary to fill you in on what you might not know.”
“I’m sure that will be a long list given he’s a perfect stranger.” Pansy groused, taking the parchment and crumpling it into her bag as she took the stairs two at a time.
For security reasons she’d had her wards configured to only allow apparition from set locations, it was the benefit of being able to count one’s social circle on one hand. It did however mean that to apparate anywhere else she had to go down to the courtyard, which meant Dom was taking every opportunity to sing the praises of the latest ‘perfect man’ for Pansy.
Pansy let her chatter wash over her. If she had to sit through lunch with some block of wood masquerading as a love interest then she surely wouldn’t suffer through the preamble as well. Around the echoes of their footsteps on tile, Dom was still chattering, filling the silence with remarks of little consequence. Julian had got her excited about this one, he was famous apparently.
Goody.
That meant he was bound to be an absolute bore. The last one had brought actual newspaper clippings and had read them out to her in both French and English; she had needed to plead a chronic and permanent headache in order to escape the German rendition.
Pansy let out a long miserable sigh before apparating to a lunch that was guaranteed to be nothing but awful.
She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either.
The creased parchment in her bag was the warning she had missed. Even if Julian had seen fit to omit the name, which he hadn’t, Pansy would later realise that had she checked, even if she’d missed the familiar name from school she would have known him from the details. She wouldn’t have gone in completely blind, she probably wouldn’t have gone at all.
When she had fled the lunch to her studio she had shouted at Dom, actually shouted at her. When Dom had argued that she had tried to warn her Pansy just folded her arms and said she should have tried harder.
It was unfair, but Pansy wasn’t in the mood for fairness. Nothing about her life had been fair, she’d been all but banished from Wizarding Britain and now Julian with the help of Dom was trying to drag old nightmares to Paris.
Dom’s attempts at pleading ignorance had given way to a very French sulk. After all, surely the fact that the young man in question was an old school friend should mean that they would want to catch up. It was exciting. Fun! He was a war hero for Merlin’s sake. She couldn’t let petty differences like being in a different House at school get in the way of something special. That honestly, the Hogwarts students needed to just get over themselves, it wasn’t as if they were branded Slytherin and Gryffindor for life. People change Pansy.
But the arguments would come later, as Pansy stood in the entrance of Sorciers waiting to be seated; they were nothing but tension on the breeze. The painfully chic restaurant was a favourite haunt of Julians, he all but lived on the back patio where the stained glass windows threw little rainbows across the crisp white tablecloths.
It made for a beautiful setting for his attempt at blowing up everything Pansy had tried to build.
She socialised with five people, two of them were her parents, two were actively trying to ruin her life.
You know your life had taken a turn when Blaise was the one you were supposed to rely on. It was hard when you had a hole where your heart was supposed to be.
Julian, never a fan of petty things such as convention, had come out to meet her, shooing the waiter away as he threaded Pansy’s arm through his own. He led her through the winding tables pausing occasionally to examine a particularly exciting looking meal.
“I do say that salmon looks divine.” He said with such panache that Pansy watched the confused patron sat at the table half push her plate towards Julian. He did that sometimes, bent the universe around himself, it was a trick she longed to learn. Julian took the proffered fork and peeled off a sizable pink flake. “Absolutely divine.” he all but sang and then led her onwards, squeezed her hand with the papery skin of his own. “Pansy, my darling, I’ve someone I want you to meet.”
There it was.
Something of a giggle about his voice, his step a little too bouncy to be anything other than suspicious.
“Julian,” Pansy sighed, not quite having it in her to be too cross with the old man when he was clearly having too much fun. “Please stop setting me up. I’m just not interested in meeting someone. This has to be the last one.”
“Now Pansy, you said you didn’t want to meet anyone new . That’s what got me thinking, why would our delectable Miss Pansy not want to sow her wild oats with some marvellous gentleman.” He ignored Pansy’s protestations that she managed just fine. “I was talking with my dear Dominique about it and I hit upon what I think is the reason.”
It was easy to forget that Julian wasn’t just frippery and fun, that when he wanted to he could be lethally sharp.
Pansy could feel her stomach drop. What had he done?
“Perhaps, I wondered, she had already met someone. After all, you seem most reticent about my suggestions in regards to the Diagon Alley expansion.”
Suggestion was putting it lightly, they had come close to rowing about that exact point on at least three separate occasions. Pansy had no doubt Julian had researched her thoroughly before investing in Wild Violet but she doubted whatever bestseller glorying the war days could truly capture the loathing in the eyes of every person in the Great Hall.
“But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!”
Eight words that had cost her everything.
Julian was still talking, unaware that she was no longer in the breezy rooms of Sorciers that Pansy’s eyes were taking in the points of a hundred wands, each trained on her.
Eight words and she had lost him forever.
“...it got me thinking, a pretty girl like you, you’re bound to have a few star crossed lovers in your past. I had worried it had been that dreadful Malfoy boy, his father is vile you know, but I said to myself no, Julian there must be someone. I ended up contacting that Zabini of yours, who also has a dreadful mother if you haven’t met her,” Pansy had and wholly concurred. “...so after a couple of false starts he confirmed what I had begun to suspect.”
Pansy was going to kill Blaise. Actually, kill him. He was a dead man walking and right now the Italian wind had started to blow ill for him. She’d made allowances for his increasingly odd sense of humour but this , this was just cruel.
“Don’t fret my dear, all will be well. It will be fun, you’ll see.” Julian said with a smile, treating it all as a massive game.
They never seemed to quite understand the war on the continent, it’s why she had stayed here when her parents had moved on to greener pastures, the magical community here didn’t seem to quite grasp how raw it all was. To them, the war was something that they would read about in the paper, where they would make a sympathetic noise and then turn to the sport. They hadn’t lived it, didn’t bear the wounds that were still fresh, still deep.
“Come now Pansy, we need to get you back to London, if it takes an uncomfortable conversation then...” Julian gave a gallic shrug. “C’est la vie”
Dread pooled in her stomach like thick and binding tar. He knew , somehow he knew why she avoided Diagon Alley, London, an entire country. She hadn’t read the Prophet in two and a half years, she couldn’t bear it…
Julian reached over to squeeze her hand between his papery grip once more. “I would never want to harm you my dear, but business means making difficult choices. You cannot avoid the London market forever, you need it.”
Pansy nodded the scent of someone’s choice of fish making her queasy.
“So you’ll stay?” Julian asked, his bright blue eyes boring into her.
Pansy nodded, half wishing that her original instincts had been right. Anything, anything, would be better than this absolute ambush of a meal.
She would take some bore in a suit a thousand times over what she knew was about to walk through that door.
Julian gave her a beatific smile. There he went again, bending the world around himself. Julian wanted her to have a shop in Diagon Alley and he didn’t care what he had to go through to get it, he would have it.
They settled themselves at the usual table, right beside the sprawling lawns that Pansy was quite sure no living thing had ever walked on. Her skin felt itchy, like a favourite dress that would no longer sit right.
Julian, what have you done?
The minutes ticked by, Julian leaning in conspiratorially to fill her in on what ‘her man’ had been up to since he had left Hogwarts.
Pansy wondered whether it would be considered rude to vomit on the table.
He had become an Auror, because of course he had, working alongside Harry Potter. They were rising through the ranks nicely alongside another friend from school. Although he was considering leaving that path behind, Julian had advised that a bright young man like him should focus on what was already a very successful business.
Plants probably. It would never be anything but.
Julian ploughed onwards, his girlfriend he said ignoring Pansy's flinch as her stomach had lurched that particular revelation, was exceptionally bright, of course, but they didn’t seem to have much time for each other. Julian had offered them the use of the chalet to reconnect but he hadn’t taken him up on the offer, he had said she wouldn’t be able to get time off work. She was some sort of Unspeakable doing Merlin knows what.
It was all very exciting, Julian assured her.
Had her mind not been reeling, Pansy might have considered the veracity of Hannah Abbott as an Unspeakable, Merlin knew Draco spent enough time complaining about Granger to have not mentioned the somewhat dim Hufflepuff as an inevitable office hazard. She might have picked up on the fact that even Blaise at his worst surely wouldn’t have outed her secret to Julian, that he preferred mischief on most occasions. He’d seen her cry into her dinner too many times to do something like that.
Hell, had she not been lost in the dread of seeing him again, because it had to be him, how could it be anyone but him, she might have even not missed the point where Julian actually said his name.
Time. If she’d have had more time it would have trickled through, she might have read Dom’s notes, might have seen the answer spelt out in the lemon wedge and ice of her drink, might have had Voldemort himself dance in wearing nothing but confidence and a tiara to sing the answer in a falsetto that would have put Freddy Mercury to shame.
All of this might have happened, might have allowed Pansy to brace for the inevitable, had he not chosen that moment to walk into the room.
Ronald Weasley .
Pansy sagged back in her seat, feeling the shock on her face mirror his.
What.
The.
Actual .
Fuck?