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Pansy grit her teeth, struggling into the corset that her mother had laid out for her. Tears sprung to her eyes. She wouldn’t fit in it.
She didn’t even want to wear the bloody thing. She was so sick of being paraded around in tight ensembles that she couldn’t breathe in.
She was sick of being dressed up like a doll. Sick of her only purpose being to attract men.
“We need to find you a husband, Pansy,” her mother constantly said to her.
“You need to be thinner, prettier, more obedient.”
“No one will want you if you aren’t pliant. Do better.”
Her mascara ran down her face as she sobbed in frustration.
She felt as though she couldn’t do anything right.
Ever since the additional 8th year at Hogwarts had ended, she had been hauled around to every fancy event and gala possible.
“Pansy! What’s taking so long?! We need to be at Malfoy Manor in half an hour!” screamed her mother.
Pansy stifled her sobs, forcing herself to calm down. Happy memories, she told herself. It’s alright. You’ll only have to act for a few hours.
She sucked her stomach in as much as possible, a new bout of frustration rising in her. She tapped her wand quickly, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep her stomach in so long to make sure that she was laced up. Nonetheless, the laces of her corset wrapped intricately, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
The suffocation would be worth it if it kept her mother from tossing reviling comments about her body around.
She tried not to let them affect her; Melania Parkinson was just a bitter woman going through a midlife crisis after all, but it ultimately did affect her.
Her mother’s comments had burrowed themselves into her, making Pansy question everything she ate, everything she wore, everything she did.
When her mother criticized her cake intake at her own birthday, she put the cake away and retreated to the dance floor with a false smile on her face.
When she was told that she “wasn’t girly enough,” she went out and bought herself dozens of new makeup products, skirts, and heels alike.
But she despised being introduced to old pure-blooded men who would always leer at her creepily, would always cop a feel. She couldn’t even do anything about it. The one time that she had complained to her mother and father, they had admonished her. They won’t want you if you can’t even please them, Pansy.
It was the first time that she had made a scene in public, screaming about how her parents would sell her for the highest bid if they could. That was what they were doing, wasn’t it?
At least this event was at Malfoy Manor. Draco had always stood up for her.
She knew that he was back from his brief vacation to Paris with his girlfriend, Hermione, and would be at the gala. Pansy envied Hermione.
Hemione didn’t have to deal with the perfect pure-blood pretenses. Hermione had Draco at her side, and if there was anything true about the Malfoys, it was that Malfoy men always worship their wives. It was a phrase that had commonly been tossed around during her adolescence; the reason that she had so desperately cozied up to Draco when they were children.
What if she didn’t want to be a trophy wife? Was it really so bad that she wanted to be a journalist?
She often found herself wishing that she were a man. Pureblood men didn’t have to go through the ritual that was constantly being passed around like a plaything in order to get married.
I’m okay. I’m okay, she whispered to herself like a mantra.
She wiped away a stray tear and hastily fixed her makeup in the mirror, painting a smile on her face.
She slipped her six inch heels on, casting a few cushioning charms before slipping out the door to meet her parents in the corridor.
“You better behave, Pansy.”
“Yes, mother,” Pansy replied mechanically, forcing herself to smile.
The three went through the floo to Malfoy Manor one by one, then made their way towards the ballroom as a unit.
As the seemingly picture-perfect family strutted into the expansive ballroom, Pansy spied Draco and Hermione across the room, Draco’s arm around Hermione’s waist.
After introducing herself and making small-talk with a few society-prominent witches, she started to make her way over to greet Draco and Hermione.
“Pansy, stop walking like that,” her mother whispered harshly.
“Like what?” she asked, confused.
“You’re staggering around like a newborn foal. Have you forgotten everything that I’ve taught you?” And so, Pansy forced herself to saunter, moving her hips seductively.
She was almost to the couple when she was stopped by Avery, who had miraculously avoided being sent to Azkaban.
The justice system failing once again, Pansy had thought.
“Pansy,” drawled Avery. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve made your acquaintance.”
It had, in fact, only been 2 weeks. 2 weeks too short. She’d been hoping that it would be much longer before she had to see his hideous face again.
Every time that she saw him, she was flooded with memories of her 7th year at Hogwarts, the countless times that she had been cornered by him. His malignant leer as he threatened her. Most times, she had been fortunate enough to be near Blaise or Theo, who had thankfully rescued her.
A few times though, she hadn’t been so lucky.
After Voldemort was defeated, she had been sure that Avery would be sent to Azkaban, where he belonged. She should have known.
She had cried to her parents about the things that he had attempted to do to her, their only daughter.
And yet, they waved her off and she was forced to interact with him as though all was normal. As though nothing had happened, like he hadn’t molested her in a dark corridor while she tried to subdue her tears.
Pansy fought the grimace making its way to her face, smiling saccharinely.
“Avery. Pleasure.”
Avery pulled her into his side, and she had to push down the urge to scream, the instance so reminiscent of the past.
In the corner of her eyeline, she caught Draco looking at her tentatively.
He bent down and whispered something in Hermione’s ear, to which she nodded, and the pair started making their way over to her.
“So sweetheart, tell me, you haven’t been up to any debauchery without me, have you?” Avery asked her, leaning in close, his breath reeking of alcohol.
Pansy remained silent. What was she supposed to say to that? Her skin crawled. How was she to make him get away from her without making a scene? She didn’t even have her wand, all wands collected at the door to ensure that no duels would erupt.
“Please let go of me,” she whispered, her voice unnaturally small as she curled into herself as much as possible. Don’t make a scene. Don’t make a scene, Pansy.
Pansy’s heart stuttered upon seeing Draco and Hermione stopped by a journalist.
Avery pulled her in closer, ignoring her behest.
Suddenly, Avery reared back slightly, letting go of her.
He turned around to a rigid looking Draco Malfoy wearing a scowl. Hermione was standing next to him, looking menacing.
“Avery. I wasn’t aware that mother invited you, what with all the allegations you’ve been facing.”
Avery laughed nervously. “Yes well, you know me, Draco. I mean no harm,” he said too quickly.
He scurried away quite disgracefully, and Hermione stifled a laugh.
“What a pig.”
Pansy breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the pair.
“Of course. Are you okay?” Draco asked her, looking distraught.
“I’m always okay,” Pansy replied, offering him a little smile.
“Would you like to walk with us?” Hermione asked inquisitively.
Hermione and Pansy had a—difficult, to say the least—past, but the two had kindled a strange companionship in 8th year, thanks to Draco.
When Draco had revealed that he was seeing Hermione, Pansy had been horrified. She had still been holding out hope for the two of them.
After all, if she couldn’t get Draco to marry her, she would be doomed.
Pansy had been bitter and spiteful towards Hermione for a good part of 8th year, until Draco finally made the two of them talk it out (mostly her doing the talking.)
The desire to marry Draco for security had been pried out of her, the night ultimately ending in a flood of tears. To her surprise, Hermione had taken her hand like she hadn’t just been crying about her boyfriend, and the two had found familiarity and acquaintanceship in each other.
“Sure, thank you,” Pansy answered.
Hermione carefully looped their arms together, almost elegantly, which she knew was for her benefit. Hermione had been nearby once when Pansy was on the receiving end of her mother’s vitriol and had comforted her after, so Pansy knew that Hermione would help her.
The two walked together, catching up, while Draco trailed slightly behind. Hermione told her about their trip to Paris, and Pansy—well, Pansy just listened. She didn’t want to trouble Hermione with the perturbing matters that came with being a pureblood woman.
Walking with them, Pansy felt as though a weight had been lifted off her chest. She felt untethered when she was with Hermione and Draco.
After a few minutes, she spotted her mother and excused herself to the restroom, hoping that she could avoid a “don’t associate yourself with mudbloods, Pansy,” lecture.
As she made her way to the bathroom, she was cornered once again.
Avery had dropped the ingratiating sweetness. He glowered down at her threateningly.
“Here’s how this is gonna go. You’re going to do everything I say, just like old times.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, brushing her corset strap slightly aside.
Pansy froze in horror, her blood rushing loudly in her ears.
As Avery made to push her inside the bathroom, suddenly—“NO!”
Pansy shrieked loudly, and was met with horrified looks.
Whispers instantly arose from every corner of the room, witches and wizards alike gossiping about her.
“Come on Pansy, don’t you remember 7th year, you’ve always been my good g—”
Rage bubbled up in Pansy.
Fuck it all.
She kicked him in the balls, hard, angling her stilettos to bring the most possible pain.
Avery doubled over in pain, hissing and clutching his lower half in an undignified manner.
“If you call me good girl one more time, then my fist will meet your skull,” she snarled.
“Pansy,” her father hissed, hurrying to where she was standing. “You can’t do that.”
“Yeah? Watch me,” she replied, raising her head to look him dead in the eye.
She raised her hand, sending a wandless, nonverbal stinging hex towards Avery, who was still howling in pain.
“Fuck you. All of you.”
She turned to face her father. “I needed you to protect me, your daughter, but instead, all you and mother do is try to sell me off. I’m not good enough for you, no matter what. I’m not pretty enough, skinny enough, and really, how in the everloving fuck would you find me a husband then, right?”
Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked at the man who had raised her with fury.
“I’m done. I’ve had enough.”
She stomped away, kicking Avery’s head on the way out.
As she made to exit the ballroom, she caught a glimpse of Hermione holding her hand out to Draco, who instantly handed her his wand.
“This,” Hermione hissed. “Is for all of the women that you’ve terrorized.”
Pansy slipped out of the room with a small smile, happy that Avery would finally get what he deserved.
She broke out into a sprint, a carefree smile making its way onto her face.
As she exited the manor, she discarded her heels on the grass.
She knew that she should probably feel worried, anxious; after all, she had just upended her entire life in a single moment, but instead, she felt free.
No more fake smiles. No more acting. She wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit anymore.
She steadied herself for apparition when she heard the doors fly open behind her.
“Wait!”
Turning, Pansy met eyes with Draco, his suit looking almost haphazardous.
“If you ever need, you always have a place with mother and I,” he said.
“Thank you, Draco,” Pansy said, and with one final turn, she apparated away, ready to begin her new life.