There was a bang as the Knight Bus disappeared. Pansy took no notice and steadied herself against the possibility of knocking on her forgotten grandmother’s door. She took a deep breath and stepped quickly down the path.
It was a complete mess of a front garden. Ivy had taken over the left side and had already started to climb the side of the house. A group of rather vicious thorn plants guarded the sides of the door. Pansy curled her lip in disgust and swept past them quickly to keep from catching her expensive shirt on them.
The door loomed in front of Pansy, its tall and peeling grey paint set off by the large blooms of morning glory. The flowers were closed, it being closer to supper, but the tightly furled blooms showed a hint of purple. Perhaps she could find some seeds…
In a quick motion she reached out and knocked on the door. Pansy let out a breath she didn’t know she had kept. The downpour kept her from hearing footsteps but a few heart wrenching seconds and a human shape approached. It hobbled slowly and surely until it could reach the door and open it a crack.
“Yes?” It was an old woman, her voice as rough as sandpaper across the tender underarm. Pansy shifted to see the eye peering out of the crack.
“Grandmother MaryAnn?” Pansy twisted her mouth into what she hoped looked like a warm smile. The woman was silent for a moment than opened the door wider. Pansy could now see her grandmother fully. The rather slender frame was slack from age and use. Gray hair was pulled easily into a bun that sat hidden behind a face lined with more worries than Pansy would ever know. A pair of attentive blue eyes studied her intently.
“Pansy…oh, come in!” Recognition shone and grandmother’s frame moved to the side. Another breath, Pansy entered.
Her grandmother smiled at her, the gesture lost on Pansy. The hall was small but had a strangely homey feel to it. Woven foot carpets covered old wood floors occasionally. A pair of double doors on the left, not even an arms length from Pansy, led to a formal parlor. Pansy let her bag slip from her shoulder, shedding water onto the front mat all the while.
“Pansy, dear, why did you come all the way to Ireland just to see me?” Grandmother peered at Pansy from a few feet down the hall. Her gaze said it all. Pansy scowled and whipped out her wand from inside her jacket, muttering a simple cleaning spell.
“Bloody parents sent me; gave me an idiotic story about a ‘vacation’. But I know that this is no vacation.” Pansy lifted her eyebrow, as if daring her grandmother to contradict her. There was a moment of silence before her grandmother sighed.
“Well there is no sense in just standing in the front hall. Leave your bag there and come into the kitchen. I was about to leave to listen to the choir practice…” Pansy followed quietly down the hall and into a small yellow kitchen. Grandmother busied herself with a pot of tea on the stove, finding tea leaves from the old hanging cabinets. A small table pushed under the back window was set for two. Several black candles were arranged with sprigs of evergreen strewn around them, the new green colour contrasting the black sharply. After a moment of deliberation, Pansy pulled the nearest chair out from the table and sat in it.
“Of course I was going to go over to the cathedral to help them set up for All Souls Day. Do you know about All Souls Day? Do they take you to church even?” Grandmother babbled on, barely pausing to let Pansy get a word in, “My Connor-bless his heart-needs to be taken care of also. But I suppose I could attend to that tomorrow. I think I will take you to the cathedral. Have you ever been inside a church before? Our choir is really amazing. I believe they’re practicing for the service tomorrow. You’ll get to here them. Do you like your tea with sugar or cream or both?” Grandmother moved toward Pansy, holding out a cup of the steaming liquid.
What, did her grandmother actually expect that Pansy would make her own tea? She rose an eyebrow and rested her chin gracefully on her hand.
“I like mine with two spoonfuls of sugar and just a tiny bit of cream; non-fat cream if you have it.” grandmother looked surprised but than hobbled back toward the counter to put the allotted amount of sugar into the tea. Pansy turned to gaze out the small window.
The back garden was in as much disarray as the front. Strange ivy was climbing steadily over the back porch poles. Neighbouring brick houses closed in on the small space as if they were ashamed of the overgrown garden. Pansy lifted the corner of her mouth in a sneer. How could her grandmother let it get into such a mess? Didn’t she realize that she was ruining the Parkinson name?
Grandmother placed the mug of tea in front of Pansy, wringing her hands slightly. She stifled the action as soon as Pansy turned to take the cup.
“Go ahead and drink that up as much as possible. We have to walk a few blocks to get to the church.” Pansy almost spit the mouthful of hot tea at her grandmother. Instead she swallowed it and gasped.
“What?” There was a pause, than, “I am not going to some dumb church. I will stay here.” Pansy eyed her grandmother who was slowly going red in the face. Apparently Pansy had hit a blow-up topic with her.
“So that is why…no, missy, you are coming with me to the cathedral whether you like it or not. I will not allow a hot headed demon into my house!” Grandmother pulled her apron off, almost tearing the light blue fabric. Pansy widened her eyes, almost daring her to try and make her leave. They stared at one other for a moment, eyes boring holes into each others faces. Beneath the layers of wrinkles, a will of iron kept grandmother strong.
“Fine, but I won’t like it at all.” Pansy snarled and placed the tea cup not so gently on the table. Grandmother smiled and began to hobble toward the front door.
“Go ahead and grab one of those umbrellas from the rack in the kitchen when you pass it,” Grandmother called from the front hall. Pansy muttered something under her breath but still grabbed a hideous purple coloured and green spotted umbrella.
Grandmother easily ushered Pansy into the light rain. The light was fading from the sky, turning the rain clouds into dark masses above the small town. Pansy scowled at the rain, as if a frown could deter the water.
Grandmother was right; it was only a short walk to the church. The few houses that stood between grandmother’s and the church, Pansy counted three, were light and full of what seemed like a happy family. She watched a mother teach a young girl with pigtails how to play the piano. In the next house the family was playing some kind of board game similar to wizard chess. Pansy felt her stomach ache and she turned away from the last house.
Stupid, it’s all stupid.
Pansy was pulled gently by grandmother into the small parking lot of the church. The church sat there looking like a prim old aunt that sniffed her nose every time someone was ‘improper’. Wooden siding was in the process of being repainted on the right side and the steeple was leaning a little to the left. Pansy was pulled into the double doors all the while making the most squinted and sour face possible.
Inside the doors though, her sour face melted. This unearthly beautiful sound was echoing from on this stage-like area in the front. A small group of children dressed all in white robes were singing. Pansy stared, barely feeling her being dragged into one of the benches.
“That is the angel choir. Aren’t they wonderful?” Grandmother whispered into Pansy’s ear. Pansy nodded slowly, “They’re practicing for All Soul’s Day, it's tomorrow you know, and I think they’ll blow everyone away.” The choir paused, listening to instructions given by the choir master on the side. Pansy glanced toward grandmother. Her wrinkled face was screwed up in an intense emotion and she was blinking rapidly. Pansy was puzzled for a moment, than decided that she’d rather not waste her time figuring out her reclusive grandmother’s emotions.
Pansy looked over to see grandmother bent over with her hands clasped together and murmuring softly.
“…give her strength and give me strength to deal…shed light on his memory…help me to heal and to forgive…” Pansy only heard small phrases, snatches that didn’t make sense. Strength to deal with what? Her attention was drawn away. From the choir, a new noise started. This noise was soft and gentle, like a lamb nudging you forward. If Pansy had been a cat, her ears would have perked forward in interest.
I stand to praise You,
But I fall to my knees.
A young girl with flame red hair that was already struggling at the numerous clips was singing. She was not much younger than Pansy, perhaps only a year or two. Her voice was smooth, rather like silk against a cheek and it slid softly through the sad notes.
My Spirit is hungry,
But my flesh is so weak.
This…this girl was wonderful. Pansy could have gasped aloud at the beauty of her voice. No human could sing so beautifully! She had to be an angel!
Light the fire,
In my soul,
Fan the flames,
Let my Spirit grow.
Lord you know,
Where I’ve been,
So light the fire in my heart again.
So a mudblood can be an angel now? The question came unbidden to Pansy’s mind and she was startled by the rage of it. Every word of it, though, was true. This…this girl is a mudblood and is not even worthy to be in Pansy’s pureblood presence.
I can feel Your arms around me,
As the power of your healing begins.
Pansy gripped the edge of the seat tightly. How could this mudblood even dare to sing! She was a demon! A wretched scum compared to Pansy! She was dirt!
You breathe new life into me,
Like a mighty rushing wind.
Pansy could take no more of this disgrace. She stood, sending hot glares toward the bent over form of grandmother.
“I’m leaving.” Pansy muttered through clenched teeth. After sending a glare towards the singer upfront, Pansy left, marching hotly out the doors and down the sidewalk.
How could that mudblood even dare to sing in Pansy’s presence! How could she??!!! How…could…she…!!!
Pansy slowed her stamping feet outside grandmother’s house. For the second time today she stood, staring forlorn at the darkened front windows. A big wet rain drop splashed on the bridge of her nose. Pansy yelped, startled, and pushed her way to the front door.
The door was locked and the rain only began to fall a little bit harder. Big droplets of water plopped noisily onto the just dried leaves of the dangerous looking vine growing nearby. Pansy took a breath to steady her before launching back into the growing downpour. She had to find a way in.
Perhaps grandmother had left the back door open! A new gleam in her eye, Pansy shot off toward the back door. The big droplets only grew more frequent and Pansy was getting slowly soaked. Large vines creped up the brick siding of the house while a small pine forest was slowly taking up the grass.
Pansy shouted and pushed herself toward the back door. Its rusted handle did little to comfort her fear of being locked out. The dark kitchen where perhaps a half an hour ago she had tea, looked gloomy and full of warning through the glass. She jiggled the handle; no luck. About ready to cry in desperation and getting progressively wetter by the minute, Pansy glanced around for some other way in.
“There has to be some other way in!” she shouted to the rain. As if someone had heard her, Pansy’s eye caught on one of the second story windows. The window was open! She squealed in joy and immediately began planning how to reach it. The drain could perhaps hold her weight…and it wasn’t a far reach after that…
Pansy glanced at the drain uneasily. If it didn’t hold her weight she’d be in for a fall. It only took a thunderclap from the clouds to send her scurrying toward the drain.
Every two feet or so a bracket attached the pole to the side of the house; it would be child’s play to use them to shimmy up slowly. Of course, that would be during midday while it wasn’t raining with an adult right beneath you to catch you. Pansy wiped her hands on her pants.
“I’m cold, I’m wet and I’m about to climb a drain pipe to get into a house.” She shook her head and began to climb, muttering curse words every time her hand slipped. For every bracket she passed, it seemed like there were fifty more waiting. And every time it thundered, she was reminded again why she hated storms. Pansy pulled herself up the last bracket, finally coming even with the open window.
Now the only thing to do was to climb into the window. Pansy gritted her teeth and reached out with her left foot toward the ledge. After an agonizing moment in which she was sure she’d fall, the tip of her shoe tapped against the ledge. Pansy smiled and secured her foot further. She slowly reached her left hand off the bracket and toward the edge of the window. Only the tiniest miscalculation would send her tumbling down to the back garden. She grasped the edge firmly and pulled the rest of her body across the gap. In one exhilarating moment she felt like she was flying.
Forward motion from her jump propelled Pansy into the room. She tumbled not so gently onto the floor, slamming her left arm against the wood.
“OWWW!” Pansy growled at her own carelessness and slowly picked herself up. Nothing was broken on her at least. Perhaps a few war wounds and a new story to tell at parties. The corner of her blue shirt was ruined. Thank goodness she’d changed into pants before leaving her own house, otherwise that skirt would have been shredded.
The room was dark; walls painted black around her. Even the furniture was black, as if someone had gone crazy and thrown a bucket of paint over everything. A large bed was shoved in the farthest corner with all kinds of junk stuck around it. Pansy’s foot kicked against a chest, unseen in the sea of black lumps. Another flash of lightning, throwing the white light across the room; it was filled with trunks. Only a miracle had caused her to not fall on one when she came through the window.
Pansy chuckled; what was in these trunks? Money? She reached down and felt for the handle of the nearest chest. Giving it an experimental tug, she grunted; it was heavy. Using both of her already sore hands, she managed to drag it towards the small amount of light that the open window allowed. A few scattered raindrops flew through the window as Pansy sat down, exhausted, next to the chest.
There was no lock and the handle was a simple black handlebar. Pansy simply pulled the top open, half expecting to find containers filled with galleons. Instead, rows of shoeboxes met her anxious eyes. Shoeboxes…? Pansy was clearly disappointed and reached in to pull the lid of the nearest one. The whole box was filled with discoloured photographs.
Pansy stifled a gasp and picked the box out of the chest. Here, a fading brown boy played with a dog, throwing a stick into the waves of an unknown ocean. The photograph behind was a young woman smiling serenely while dancing with a man in a suit. Her dress billowed gracefully as she was swung into a dip, laughing the whole way. After that was the same man, this time dancing with the same boy that was throwing a stick for the dog. The boy’s hair was combed back but already a few strands were straying. They were a family than, a happy one by their ecstatic expressions. Pansy’s stomach clenched again.
Stairs creaked and the door was opened. Pansy looked up, startled and tried to stuff the shoebox of photographs back into the chest. Grandmother’s figure stood in the doorway.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Pansy Parkinson.” Pansy was not startled by the suddenness of grandmother’s appearance but by the tone of her voice. The usually cheery woman’s voice had gone low and accented the words like steel. Pansy stood and fidgeted a moment to get the chest closed.
“I just-“
“-you shouldn’t be in here,” Grandmother repeated. Pansy sheepishly turned to the window and shut it, “Now come with me and I’ll show you where you can sleep for tonight.” Just like that, grandmother’s voice changed back into the sweet old woman tone. Pansy took one last glance at the black room before grandmother shut the door firmly behind her.
The Necklace by AshNight
Chapter Notes: A/N: As always, the characters you recognise belong to J. Rowling. Again, thank you Thor for your hard work. The lyrics are from the song, 'Light the Fire' by Bill Maxwell. Finally, reviews are ALWAYS welcome, even if it is to say how much you hate it!