Fic Post: sinking toward a deeper blue
Apr. 1st, 2022 10:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkhairedgirl
But she didn’t. She stayed. She caught her breath and steeled her nerves and against all better judgment, forced herself back into the fray.
Blaise had asked her, once, why she didn’t leave when the war was over. “You could have gone anywhere,” he said to her, the two of them walking through Kensington Gardens on a rare afternoon she had off from the Cauldron. “Isn’t your mother still in Calais? You could have followed her and finished up at Beauxbâtons, or found yourself a pub in Knockturn, since you want to trap yourself behind a bar counter so badly. You can’t deny you would have been treated better if you’d plied your trade down there, Pug.”
“Because you what?” he teased, knocking his shoulder into hers, “Because you wanted to hand off their precious Potter over to You-Know-Who?”
Blaise, for his credit, had let the conversation go.
As if she could. Pansy, in her mourning black, sitting alone in the third-to-last row of white chairs, squares her shoulders and twists the fraying edges of the entry ticket clutched tight in her fist. If she is the only Slytherin member of the graduating class of 1998 able to show her face today, then so be it. She won’t let them keep her away.
For all that Pansy is alone, though, there are still people she knows scattered throughout the crowd: Amaryllis and her husband are sitting with their daughters near the front; Marcus Flint is in his dress greens along the far aisle, standing with the other new Auror recruits; down at the opposite end of Pansy’s row, sitting between her parents, Astoria Greengrass catches Pansy’s eye and waves. Pansy nods her head but does not wave back; she does not want to bring any more attention to herself than she absolutely has to. Hannah rode in with her on the train, but she’s sitting with the rest of the DA in the first two rows, Susan Bones on one side and a Ravenclaw boy on the other. A stab of jealousy spikes through her as she watches Susan lean over the velvet rope behind her row of chairs to say something to Justin, who is sitting next to Penelope with the rest of the general audience, but for the life of her, Pansy can’t tell what this feeling is for. Is it the fact that Susan is allowed to publicly mourn the friends she lost, allowed to grieve their absence? Is it that Susan is being honored by the world around them for her part in the battle? Is it that Susan, harsh, bitter Susan, is able to talk to Justin without drawing the ire of everyone around her? Maybe it’s everything, all of it, every awful part all at once.
Minister Shacklebolt takes the stage, and his arrival pulls Pansy out of her thoughts; the low murmur running through the crowd falls to anticipative silence as he approaches the podium, as Hogwarts staff and Ministry members fill in the chairs on the dais behind him, then Granger and Weasley, Harry Potter himself. Shacklebolt taps his wand to his throat and his amplified voice is deep and somber as he speaks to them of honor and victory, of survival and loss. His speech is short and to the point, respectful, meditative, surprisingly kind, and at the end he motions for Potter to stand. Potter joins him at the front of the stage, and the two of them point their wands at the statue to raise the sheet and reveal the obelisk to the audience. It is beautiful in its simplicity: clean white marble with no ostentatious design or scrollwork, just panels at each side where the names of the fighters and of the fallen have been engraved.
But there should be, she thinks, and she looks over to Astoria, tears streaming down her face, and thinks of her sister, thinks of loud, opinionated Daphne, harmonizing with Pansy in the stands during Quidditch matches, chewing on the ends of her hair as she focused on her chessboard pieces. She thinks of snotty, clever Theo, his nose perpetually in a book, a hex permanently up his sleeve, tossing elaborate paper airplanes at Crabbe and Goyle from across the Common Room. His mother is years dead, his father killed in the battle, and there is no one here but her to mourn for him. Pansy covers her mouth with her hands as she finally gives in and cries, trying to block the sound. Her friends were more than collateral damage, more than names carved into a monument. They deserve better. They all deserve better.
There is a moment of silence before the ceremony ends, and with another echoing ring of the bell the service is over. The noise that fills the space around her feels worse, almost, than the respectful quiet; Pansy dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and stays in her seat as the rest of the crowd rises and moves, seeking out their friends, their families, shuffling toward the path leading up to the castle for the post-service luncheon. Pansy considers what staying would mean: sitting in a far-flung corner for a painful hour of missing Daphne with Astoria and her parents, or maybe just hiding in one of the trophy rooms off the Great Hall until the whole affair was over. Hannah might take pity on her if she does that, she reasons, and draw her in to sit at her table with the other Hufflepuff DA vets; Pansy debates it for a moment, wondering how purple Susan Bones’ face would get if she was stuck sitting next to Pansy for the duration, if making that kind of scene would be even worth the trouble.
Probably not, she thinks, looking around the emptying rows of chairs to see if she can spot the Greengrasses. The audience has left, but Pansy is not the only one who has stayed behind: Justin Finch-Fletchley is across the lawn in front of the Memorial, staring at the names engraved with a strange expression that from this distance, Pansy can’t decipher. He is standing so still that there is a moment where it feels like everything around him has gone blurry, like he is the only thing that is actually in focus, and before she can stop herself Pansy is up and walking, crossing the grass until they are side by side. Justin says nothing at her approach; his expression is carefully blank, like he is looking at a train schedule, or an advertisement, not a list of all their fallen schoolmates.
It takes a moment, but she manages: “I thought I might have seen you up there, today,” she says by way of greeting, gesturing vaguely toward the stage.
Justin only shrugs. “Shacklebolt wanted to keep it small,” he says, “And he didn’t want to take away time from everyone else today. Besides, Penny’s the better speaker. I’m still not used to being in front of crowds.” Pansy raises an eyebrow at that, and Justin adds, “It’s… I don’t know, just – all the people, the noise –” he breaks off abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s a lot,” she supplies, and he nods in agreement.
“What would I even say? The war’s over, and everyone is trying their best to move on. No one wants to hear about eating rats and losing your mind right now, not when they’re here to remember how their best friend caught a hex and bled out on the castle steps.”
Pansy swallows hard and Justin turns to look at her. “Was it –” she falters, “Was it really like that?”
Justin’s voice is impassive. “Worse.” He fits his hands into the pockets of his fine jacket and looks back to the Memorial. “It was worse.”
“Susan asked me to sit with them inside,” Justin says after a beat, “With her and Hannah and Ernie and all the other Hufflepuff DA. I was one of them, she said. I should be proud I survived, and I should take today as the means to move on. And I love her – God help me, she is my best friend, but the minute she said that all I wanted to do was strangle her.”
Some things are hard to process, she thinks, remembering Penelope’s words, wondering where she is. Likely up at the castle with her husband and his family, staring into a cup of weak tea and listening to them talk about the brother he lost. The thought makes Pansy want to cry again; how awful it is, that they have gone through hell and lived, but are still not free from the pain. How awful it is, that they feel like they can’t even grieve what was taken from them, not when others count their loss as higher. How awful, that she understands exactly what it feels like.
“Everything feels all, just – all rattled, you know? Just wrong. She wants me to move past it, and Susan doesn’t… she doesn’t get that none of this is over for me. I lived, I came back, but it’s not finished. She doesn’t want… she wants me to be what I was, and I’m not. I’m not the person she knew anymore.”
Justin slumps forward then, falling like he’s just been hit with the full weight of realization. He catches himself on the obelisk, one hand splayed out over the cold marble as he covers his mouth with the other. His shoulders shake but he makes no noise, and Pansy wraps her arms around him on pure instinct, drawing him in without thinking, her forehead falling against his shoulder. Justin lets out a sharp inhale like he’s forgotten how to breathe; he goes still in her grasp, awkward and unsure, like he doesn’t know what to do with his own limbs, but Pansy holds on. Pansy does not let him go. Something seems to break within him, and Justin settles slowly into the gesture, moving so that he can meet her comfortably in the embrace.
Justin says nothing; he squeezes her elbow when they finally part, hand trailing down her forearm to her wrist, a thin smile on his mouth that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Pansy’s breath is caught in her throat as lifts her gaze to his, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she’s sure everyone up at the castle can hear. Pansy reaches out and takes his hand in hers, lacing her fingers through his, holding it tight.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, stronger now, heat rising in her cheeks. Justin studies her, his expression still hard to read, but Pansy doesn’t shy away. Neither of them speaks; Justin tugs her forward by the hand and curves his arm around her waist, holding her steady, keeping her close. He tilts his head against hers, and they stay like that in front of the Memorial. They stay like that for a long time.
