A/N- Here it is! Chapter two! Just a little reminder, this fic is Ginny's recount of the events over the course of her first year in college, so she learns about designers and whatnot thanks to the times she recounts here.
Theories on How Danger Finds Us - Chapter 2
Of all the people I got stuck rooming with, it had to be her.
No, it couldn't be some former Gryffindor, or some nice girl from Beauxbatons, it had to be HBIC of the Slytherin house, Pansy fucking Parkinson.
And her looking all vulnerable, lounging on the couch, all "woe is me", like her life is so bleeding awful that she has reason to lay on the sofa in such a manner, did not convince me that the kitty had clipped her claws.
"While I hate to disrupt this moment of yours, is there any particular reason why you had to slam the front door upon entering?" I asked as I hovered over her, arms crossed over my chest, glaring ever so slightly.
Pansy took her hand away from her eyes, cracking them open to look at me. "Weasley?" she asked before bubbling with laughter. "Weasley? Oh, this is just too good! Wait until Draco finds out!" She sat up quickly, clutching her sides as her giggles morphed into belly laughter.
I cleared my throat, slightly annoyed, for this was not the reaction I was hoping for. "Is there something humorous about my presence?" I inquired icily, nostrils flaring.
"No, no, it's not you, darling," she replied, rolling her eyes. "It's just that, well, oh, never mind. It's really none of your concern," she finished, waving me off with her hand.
I raised an eyebrow in question. Was I really that repulsive to her? Personally, I think I'd make a pretty fantastic roommate - I'm personable, funny, smart, an all-around amazingly kick-ass kind of girl.
Alright, so maybe I'm just the tiniest bit biased, but still; I've never once heard complaints about me as a roommate during my Hogwarts years. At least to my face.
"How long have you been here?" Pansy asked, standing with a languid stretch.
"Maybe an hour or so. The room's pretty nice. Your bedroom and bathroom is over there," I responded, pointing to the door directly behind her.
The brunette turned, making note of the door with her name written on it in the same flowing script as mine.
"What are you here for?"
"I'm majoring in English."
"What types of classes are you taking?"
What was this? The bloody Spanish Inquisition? (No pun intended, by the way.) Twenty questions? No, I thought not.
I smirked, thinking that I had her.
"It's really none of your concern," I mimicked, placing my hands on my hips, raising an eyebrow.
Pansy narrowed her eyes, glaring at me with all of the venom in her shriveled, black soul. Her lips were pursed, making for a fairly suitable impression of McGonagall at her most temperamental. I decided right then and there to ask Pansy at a later date as to whether she studied the fine art that is pursing one's lips.
We stared each other down for a minute or two more before she gave me a smirk of her own.
"You're not that bad, Weasley," she announced, crossing her arms across her chest, her smirk growing wider by the second. "I thought you were going to be an absolute pushover. I'm happy to see that there are still some pleasant surprises left out there in this world."
My glare lessened, but only a little bit.
"We might even become friends," she added on after a moment's thought.
It was that simple afterthought that made me lose it.
There are two types of 'lose it's for me: I can either completely lose my temper, and start throwing hexes aplenty; or I can burst into the type of hysterical laughter that causes one to clutch to one's ribcage, wheezing, tears streaming down one's face.
I chose the latter.
In retrospect, though, that was probably not the most brilliant of ideas I've had in my eighteen years. Not quite up there with trusting a magical diary, but it's definitely up there.
So I erupted into a volcanic sort of laughter -- wheezing, clutching onto my ribcage and all. I didn't quite reach the point where a torrent of tears poured down my cheeks, but I was close.
It all felt like a role reversal now; "The Prince and the Pauper"-esque, only Pansy was still obscenely loaded, while I struggled with my pithy savings account at Gringotts. I was the one laughing, while Pansy became the petulant, enraged one; glaring daggers at me, her hand sneaking dangerously into a pocket in her trench. It was this small glimpse of potential pain caught in my periph that caused me to sober up pretty darn quick.
Pansy smiled in victory, taking her manicured hand out, resting it on her hip. "I'm glad to see that you find me so bleeding hysterical, Weasley."
"Anytime, Parkinson. Happy to be of service. If you ever need testing for a comedic routine, you know who to contact," I replied with a wink, strolling off to my room to finish unpacking.
Pansy followed me. Apparently, she wasn't done having her little one-sided chit-chat with me.
"No, seriously, Weasley. I want to know why you can't see the two of us as friends."
I spun around to face her, suddenly irritated. Was it really that hard for her to understand why? "Is it really that hard for you to understand why? I've never liked you, you associate with people that I can't stand, and you've always made fun of me and my family."
"Is that it?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow. "For someone who's attending the school they're attending, you're acting a bit immature, if I do say so myself. And besides, my friends aren't all that bad. Draco's a bit of a pain in the ass and Tracey's a dependent wreck, but other than that, they're a decent sort."
Malfoy's name stirred an overwhelming feeling of nausea in my stomach, but I swallowed it down; I really didn't feel up to ruining as nice a trench as Pansy's.
"And another thing," I began, pointing a finger at Pansy, "Why would not only you, but Malfoy, be shocked to see me at this school? I got in fair and square, just like you and he did."
Pansy let out a dry chuckle, leaning against my door frame. "I don't think you get it, darling," she began, bending down to take off her boots. "The Lufkin School is one of the most elite wizarding colleges in the British Isles. It costs nearly a small fortune just to attend." Gosh, I keep on forgetting to explain everything right from the start. I'll work on that; I promise. Unlike the primary wizarding schools (Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang) wizarding universities require students to pay for their classes and whatnot, much like Muggle universities. Anyways, on with Pansy's diatribe. "The fact that you're standing here, is, well, you're just a fucking anomaly, that's what you are. So I guess my question is how the hell are you paying for this?"
"I got a scholarship," was my lame answer. But there was no other way to explain it. I did get a scholarship. The few stipulations were that the school only paid for my academic fees, while I paid for everything else. I never really bothered to pay attention to just how expensive the school was because of how good of a reputation it had. So naturally when I was offered the scholarship, I accepted. I'm not stupid, you know.
"You," Pansy started, her eyes becoming like that of a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, "You got a scholarship."
I nodded my head a couple of times. "Yeah. Is it really that big of a deal?"
"Weasley, they didn't give Draco a scholarship, and he's like some goddamn genius."
"I'll concede to that, but then again, he's not living close to poverty, is he?" I might have exaggerated my family's financial status, but what Pansy doesn't know, doesn't kill her. Right? Right.
"Touché."
"I never got a chance to ask, but what are you here for?"
"Mass Communications," Pansy replied a beat later.
"Which translates to?" I asked, prompting her with my hand.
"Journalism, that sort of thing." 'That sort of thing' meaning 'Not only am I stuck with you as a roommate, but also as a classmate.' Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.
Pansy must have read my mind for she shot me a coy smile, twisting her hands behind her back before she continued. "You know that most of my classes are going to be with you, right?"
"Yes, I am rather aware of that fact."
"If you're up to it, we should study together sometime."
I opened my mouth to make a smarmy rebuttal, but Pansy cut me to the quick. "Think of it as my version of extending the olive branch, a peace offering. I'm not asking you to stay up all night with me, braiding each other's hair as we gossip about boys, I'm just saying that if you ever need someone to study with, I would be more than willing to join you."
By that time she had her boots off, dangling in her pale hands, as she stood awkwardly by the entrance to my room. As much as I was loathe to admit at the time, I did appreciate her offering of an academic partnership.
"I'll think about it," I told her, proceeding to close the door, hoping she'd get the hint that it was time for me to be all by my onesie for another hour or so, unpacking.
Luckily, Pansy's a smart girl, and she did take the hint, stepping away carefully, as though she were walking on eggshells, or a frozen lake, trying not to crack the already fragile surface. For that's what we had right now: surface tension. Like oil and vinegar, or water and liquid soap, our individual surface tensions were too great, preventing us from coagulating properly. Maybe with a little shake, or a proper whisking, we'd be better suited to each other, but as of that moment, we hadn't reached that point.
I turned back toward my bed, sighing for the second time that day.
I bent down to one of my trunks, pulling out an old Cannons shirt Ron had given me before I left. I held it up to my nose, breathing in the familiar scent of home - freshly cut grass, apple bark, and the various spices Mum uses when cooking. All of it brought on the stunning realization, the crushing reminder that I was no longer home.
I clutched the shirt to my chest, allowing tears to flow freely from my hazel eyes, lit up and glassy from the torrent of emotion running rampant throughout my person.
It was a deluge, as though someone had dealt my emotional dam a final blow; and all because of a shirt.
I've always found it rather interesting how much value we put on the seemingly insignificant in life - the t-shirts from family members, that first Valentine from a childhood crush, a toy wand that hints at what's to come. We cling on to these objects, treasuring them and whatever value we place on them, thinking them to be the most expensive objects we own. But are they really? These little knick-knacks interweave with the threads of our memories, so these memories become the objects and the objects become the memories. When too many of our memories transpose themselves onto a single object, there is memory confusion; a rush of emotion and actions flashing before our eyes anytime our senses come in contact with one of these objects.
It was for this last theory that I began crying over the t-shirt. I was crying for all of the times I laughed with my family, all of the times I fought with them, cheered them on, provided comfort. I cried over the fact that, unlike Hogwarts, none of them were there to guide me. I was so used to a life at school with Ron and the twins; a life where Ron was always the overprotective big brother and where Fred and George knew how to keep me grounded.
I stopped sobbing, dabbing my face with the shirt, before folding it and placing it in one of my myriad drawers.
About an hour later, everything was in its proper place, my trunks stowed underneath my bed. I sat on my bed, falling back onto its goose-down padded surface, turning so I was lying on my side.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.
A soft knock came upon my door, snapping my eyes open with a start.
Pansy opened the door, sticking her head inside. "Hey, Weasley, I'm going down for dinner. Do you want to come with me?"
I looked down at my stomach, patting it once I heard a distinct grumble. "Sure," I replied, tentatively.
"Well?" my roommate (now there's a phrase I had to get used to) asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I wanted to go sometime this millennia, Weasley." She swung the door open, prompting me to climb my lazy arse out of bed.
I strolled toward the door, allowing Pansy to give me the once over for probably the first time that entire day.
"Okay, I refuse to allow myself to be your roommate without at least three shopping trips," she stated, hooking her elbow with mine as she led us out the front door.
I rolled my eyes exasperatedly. I knew this was going to happen if not sooner, then later: the requisite shopping trip. The kind out of cheesy teen romantic-comedies and pre-teen lit. The kind where the benevolent, occasionally sweet, exorbitantly wealthy, and popular queen bee takes it upon herself to take a piece of female rabble underneath her wing, swearing by all things Christian Dior/Coco Chanel/Yves Saint Laurent/any designer of your choosing that she would make a work of art out of a piece of garbage, a "diamond in the rough". And because I was within a suitable distance, Pansy had sunk her claws into my Play-Doh-like wardrobe, hoping to make a Venus de Milo out of me; only I would have arms.
And don't get me wrong, I appreciated her interest into my fashion well-being, but really, was I that unhip?
I chanced a peek down at what I was wearing: a basic white tee (organic cotton, for your information); dark wash, low-rise, straight-legged jeans; and black, round-pointed flats. Again, pretty basic, but also pretty cute. Gareth can attest to that.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked with a pout.
"It's basically boring, no pun intended," Pansy replied, haughtily staring me down. "There's no color to it, no attention-grabbing accessories, and no designer label."
"Maybe I don't want attention. Maybe I don't need the designer label."
"You say that now, darling, but after a shopping trip with me, you'll be singing a different tune. Besides, you're attending one of the more chic wizarding universities in the world; you're kind of expected to dress and behave in a certain manner."
"But I thought the whole point of universities accepting certain people is that they like their individual and unique personalities." Boy was I not jaded yet.
"Oh, that's a load of bullshit," Pansy announced, waving off my statement with her hand. "Yeah, maybe they like your personality, but they like you more if you're grades and test scores are mind-bogglingly outstanding. That, and if you donate to the school, or are willing to pay an arm and a leg for their educational services."
And, as I was quick to learn with Pansy in regards to her theories on life and the universe, she was right.
"But why me out of all of the other girls you could choose from?" I posed to her.
"Because I think I could have a good deal of fun being around you," she answered rather honestly. "You're all over the place with your emotions, which is a nice change from Slytherin girls, but at the same time, you have the snide, sarcastic bits to your personality that could make for very interesting conversation, if developed correctly. It is for this reason that we are sitting with some of my former Housemates this evening at dinner," she finished with a winning smile.
"Oh, no, you don't!" I huffed, attempting to pull away, finally recognizing what she was trying to do. She was trying to force a bond, mixing our water and liquid soap personalities together until they were nice and frothy, hoping for the best. And besides, I knew "former Housemates" equaled Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Tracey Davis, amongst others; those three names alone did not come together to form a smashing time in my brain.
I tried to pull away once more to no avail. Pansy had latched on and now there was no turning back.
"Nice try, Weasley, but you're sitting with me at dinner, and you're going to have a fabulous time, whether you like it or not," Pansy spat out through gritted teeth, trying to contain me.
I tried flailing a bit in her grasp, trying to throw a tantrum, but her hold was too strong, and eventually my white flag went up, conceding victory to Ms. Parkinson. "Fine," I pouted. "But if you insist on being my fashion guru, do you think you can call me by my first name? Hearing 'Weasley' reminds me of Malfoy, and I'd rather not have a constant reminder of him, if that's not asking too much."
Pansy nodded a couple of times. "Sure, I can handle that. Just as long as you call me Pansy."
"Okay," I replied with a smile. Satisfied, we continued walking.
"Wait." I stopped us, just before we walked through the double doors to the dining hall. "Just because we're on a first name basis doesn't mean we can't snip at each other anymore, does it?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, Merlin forbid we act like best mates and actually like each other, Ginny." My name sounded weird coming from her.
"I'll take your sarcasm as a no."
The brunette by my side grinned, the act lighting up her entire face. "Why don't you stop being so analytical for now and just see where time takes you?"
I nodded my acquiescence, taking a deep breath as I stepped through the doors.
A/N- Thanks for reading! As always, thanks to my wonderous betas, Ginnygie and Eugenia, for their
skillz.