The flat is unbelievably tiny. Pansy doesn’t understand how people can actually live like this. Her old bedroom was bigger than the entire flat that she’s now supposed to call home. Of course, she doesn’t have that room anymore. The house was sold during the trials, and even this flat is better than the cold room at the Leaky Cauldron that she’s called home in recent months.
There’s a small kitchen with items that she doesn’t know how to use. The bathroom confuses her. There’s a toilet and wash basin in one small room and a tub in another. She can’t help but remember her old bathtub longingly as she stares at the one she has now. It’s not big enough for her to lie under the water, much less get comfortable and relax in like her old one. There isn’t a bedroom. Instead, she has a bed with a lumpy mattress in the middle of the lounge. It’s probably good that she’ll never have company because she can’t imagine entertaining guests while her bed is right there.
There’s a rug between the ‘bedroom’ and kitchen, which is the only extravagance in the entire flat that she’s seen. The rug has seen better days, true, but she can recognize expensive items. The rug would have cost a great many galleons at one time, perhaps a century ago before it looked worn out and used. Still, it’s a reminder of home, in a twisted sort of way, so she sits down on it and stares at the cracked paint on the wall.
A knock on the door interrupts her pity party. She scowls as she gets to her feet and goes to open the door. She’s surprised to see a large box made out of some odd material nearly filling the door frame. “Uh, hello?” she says hesitantly, noticing hands holding the box but unable to see the face of whomever is carrying it.
“Oy, move, will yeh? This is right bloody heavy.”
It’s a man. A rude man, at that. Her scowl becomes more pronounced as she taps her foot. “You must have the wrong place,” she informs him coolly. “I haven’t requested a box of any sort.”
“Daft bint. It’s not the wrong flat. Arabella asked me to bring this up to you, so move your arse so I can put it down.”
Arabella? Oh! Mrs. Figg. Pansy steps aside but continues scowling. The elderly squib who runs this boarding house is strange, but she was willing to allow Pansy to let a flat when no one else would even speak to her. Pansy feels bizarrely loyal to the dotty old woman, no matter how horrid and tiny the flat turned out be.
“It’s food and stuff for the kitchen.” The man carrying the box is now inside the flat, and Pansy is staring at his back as he puts the box down on her bed.
He’s got sandy blond hair that’s too long and shaggy to be appropriate. He’s also tall, skinny, and is wearing Muggle trousers that have a rip above his left bum cheek. He turns around then, catching her staring at his bum. No, not at his bum. At the ripped trousers, which are certainly not acceptable for wearing amongst polite company. Pansy looks up and blinks when she recognizes him.
He smirks and looks amused, which means he obviously caught her staring. “See somethin’ yeh like, Parkinson?”
She straightens her shoulders and glares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Finnigan.” He seems surprised that she’s said his name, which is annoying. She might not speak with Gryffindors, but she certainly knows who they are. Besides, it isn’t as if anyone who had attended that final hellish year at Hogwarts wouldn’t know him.
“Dunno know why Arabella let you move in,” he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her as if he’s attempting to be threatening. Oddly, it works because she suddenly remembers that her wand is on the floor near his feet. “It’s her place and all, but if’n you hurt her, you’ll regret it. Got it?”
Pansy purses her lips and sniffs in a way that her mother would praise as being very ladylike. Not that she should care about earning her mother’s praise, considering the fact that the woman is currently incarcerated at Azkaban and has left Pansy to fend for herself with no money or prospects. She straightens her shoulders and glares right back at Finnigan because she’s tired and upset and isn’t going to let him get away with intimidating her, even if she is slightly anxious about it all. “The only thing I’ve ‘got’ is that you’re still an aggressive bully, as demonstrated by your posturing and snarling threats,” she informs him.
He rakes his fingers through his messy hair, and the result is certainly not attractive in any way. Pansy concentrates on holding her ground, not allowing disheveled dirty blond hair to distract her. He’s a Gryffindor, which means he probably doesn’t even own a brush, considering Granger and Potter’s horrible hair issues, and that also explains why his trousers fit too tight and have worn out holes in them. When she sees his tongue flick out to quickly drag across his lower lip, she bites the inside of her cheek.
“I’m not a bully,” he finally says, snarling slightly by the end of his sentence. He looks her over, and she has the distinct impression that she’s been found lacking, which irritates her even as she reminds herself that he’s no one and his opinion means nothing. “Arabella’s bloody bonkers, is what she is,” he mutters under his breath, but she’s close enough to hear it. He shakes his head and displays a sneer that would have made Draco envious back at Hogwarts. “I’ve got the flat across the landing. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Don’t hurt Arabella, and we won’t have to discuss any of my ‘snarling threats’. Not that you’ll be here long. I give it two weeks tops, Princess.”
Before she can form a properly scathing reply, he turns and leaves her flat. “Don’t call me Princess,” she manages to call out to his back, but he just snorts and disappears into the flat she now knows is his. She glares at the empty space and slams her door, finding some sense of satisfaction at the noise it makes. “Bloody Gryffindor.” She scowls at the box he carried in and shoots another glare at the door. “Two weeks tops. What does he know? Him and his stupid hair and outrageously tight trousers and judgments about me…”
She trails off and tilts her chin stubbornly. Instead of sitting back down on the rug and feeling sorry for herself, she picks up her wand and goes into the tiny kitchen. Finnigan thinks he can flounce around her flat threatening her and making assumptions about how long she can endure this wretched place, does he? Well, she’ll show him just how determined she is, and he’ll have to take back his words because she’s going to be here as long as it takes to make something of her life and show people that there’s more to her than just Death Eater parents and a Slytherin crest on her school robes. If she can make Finnigan’s life a little more miserable by not staying out of his way, well, that’ll just be an added bonus to the whole situation. With that thought in mind, Pansy smiles for the first time in months and begins to unpack the box of supplies.
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