Pansy Parkinson loved her vanity. Well, really she just liked to sit at it. She could stare at herself for hours on end, studying every bit of her face, discovering every flaw, marveling at the features she liked. This morning, she was focusing on her hair. It had grown out over the summer, no longer in that boring schoolgirl bob, but long enough to skim her shoulders. She picked up her brush and started pulling out the tangles that had formed when she slept. Pansy quite liked the colour of her hair-- a deep midnight black that was so dark it shone purple in the some lights. But it was pin-straight. She wished that she had curls. They would frame her face so much better. Of course, not frizzy waves like that Granger girl, but ringlets that sprung back up when you pulled on them.
She sighed, now staring at her nose. Pansy hated her nose. It was small and round, upturned at the end so it looked like it was squished up against her face. She frowned and attempted to push down the end of it, but like always, it popped back up, almost mockingly.
Pansy stared hard at her reflection. Mama always said that she was being too hard on herself, dissecting her appearance like this, but Pansy disagreed. She had to be beautiful, it was practically required. Her brown eyes looked back at her, steely. Pansy regarded her eyelashes; they were long and dark. Perfect. She wished her eyes were a bit more piercing, however. She attempted to make them so, but ended up appearing only squinty. She opened her eyes up wide, now trying to look innocent, but she looked oddly surprised, as if someone had hit her with something. Pansy decided to give up on the eye expressions. It was better to appear passive at all times, anyways.
Pansy stood up from her stool and stretched. This was a short self-observation session, but there was nothing she hadn’t seen before, so it would be all right to cut it short. Realizing that she was thirsty, Pansy headed over to her bedside table, expecting to see the crystal glass refilled with fresh water, as it always was in the mornings. She was surprised, however, to see that it was empty. The house elves must have forgotten to refill it. Accursed things!
Thoroughly annoyed, she yelled for one of the Parkinson’s house elves. “NELLIE!” she called, expecting to hear the pitter-patter of the elf’s little feet on the carpet almost immediately after her scream. When she didn’t, she grew even more deeply perturbed. Good for nothing vermin! she thought heatedly. Where were they when you needed them? Stomping out of her room and heading downstairs to complain to her father, she noticed that none of the house elves’ duties had been preformed that night. The carpets were dirty, her robes had not been taken away to be laundered, and she could smell no breakfast cooking in the kitchen. Something must be wrong. She quickened her step, heading for her father’s study. Knocking forcefully on the oak door, she prayed that he had a decent explanation for all of this. She needed clean robes today!
“Come in,” her father said, his voice laced with edginess.
“Papa, where are all the elves? My water was not refilled, my robes not cleaned! What is going on here?” she demanded, placing a hand on her hip.
“What does it look like? The elves have left. All of them. They’ve gone on strike, demanding wages and better treatment.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “This is ludicrous!” he exclaimed, banging a fist on his antique desk. “I’m going to the Ministry right away to say something to the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They will have to do something.” And with that, he Disapparated with a “pop”, leaving Pansy alone in his office, fuming. Storming out and slamming the large door behind her, she set off to find her mother. She headed down the expansive halls and towards her parents’ room.
On her walk, however, Pansy stopped abruptly in mid-stride. She stood still for a moment, looking around, sniffing the air. She smelled something. Smoke! she realized suddenly. She turned around and ran for the kitchens, thinking that was a logical place for a fire to start.
She was right.
The air was heavy with smoke as she dissented into the basement kitchens. She coughed and sputtered as she attempted to pull her wand from her pocket. It was hot down there, but she could see no flames. “Hello!” she called, between coughs. “Who’s down here?”
“Pansy, oh Pansy! It’s me! Help, come quick!” said her mother, her voice scratchy and hardly audible. Pansy ran frantically over to the voice. She found her mother in front of a stove, flames rising up from a pan. It wasn’t really that big of a fire, but it was creating billows of smoke.
“Mother! What are you doing?!” Pansy demanded. “Augamenti!” she cried, causing water to flow from her wand. “Don’t just stand there!” she barked at her frozen mother. “Help put it out!” Coming to her senses, Cecilia Parkinson drew her wand and helped her daughter. Soon, the fire was out and the only thing left of the smoke was its smell. Pansy whipped around to stare at her mother. “What was that all about?” she almost shrieked.
“I was cooking! With the elves gone, no one made breakfast, so I decided to do it myself.” Her voice was pretentious, which bothered Pansy horribly.
“Oh, and burn the house down while you were at it! Honestly mother, you should be glad that I am of age. Come on; let’s get out of this horrible basement.” Pansy looked around as she headed back towards the stairs. The walls were blackened with smoke and the stove looked ruined from the water. Pansy was about to call for the house elves to clean it up when she realized that none would come. She fumed silently.
“Pity about the elves leaving,” said Cecilia wistfully, as if reading her mind. “They could have fixed this right up.” Pansy shot her death glare, but Cecilia didn’t even seem to notice. She resisted the urge to yell at her mother.
“Yes,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Quite a pity. Mama, do you happen to know how things are going to get washed around here? I need my robes cleaned and…” Cecilia looked surprised. She obviously hadn’t thought of this herself. At the realization that she was going to have to do housework, her face flashed with annoyance,
“Well, honey, I think you’re aware that we are going to have to do it on our own. House elves have stopped working everywhere; there’s no other way.” Pansy deflated. This was not the answer she was looking for.
“Pansy,” said her mother, straightening, “you are a witch. You will be able to manage.”
Pansy shot her head up.
“Oh. Well, then I’m sure that you are going to be fine doing your own laundry, too, mother!” she snapped, stomping off, leaving Cecilia in a surprised silence.
*~*~*
Pansy grumbled as she picked up the dirty robes that she had strewn about the floor and gathered them into a basket. She would clean them, even if it killed her. She was headed to Hogwarts tomorrow, and she needed to be ready. So with all of her dirty, wrinkled clothes tossed into the basket, she headed towards the washroom, cursing every house elf in the wizarding world.
It crossed Pansy’s mind that she had never actually been into the washroom of her house. Why would she? The elves were supposed to do all of that sort of work for her! Well, at least she could remember where it was.
Pansy wasn’t really sure what to expect when she opened the door to the washroom. She hoped that she would be able to do most of the work with some clever charms and not actually have to touch any water; she hated it when her fingers got wrinkle-y from soaking too long.
She wasn’t horribly surprised to see three large wash bins and a table holding different sorts of soap. She noted several brushes that she assumed were for scrubbing, and a faucet jutting out from the far wall. She dropped the basket of clothes with a thump and began transferring them into one of the wash tubs. She then pushed the now-heavy bin over to the wall with the faucet, and turned the water to medium heat. The pipes gurgled and clanked as the tub filled with water. Pansy was proud of herself so far; maybe they didn’t need house elves after all! She went over and grabbed some soap from the table. I better put a lot in, she thought. I want the clothes to be really clean. So she emptied almost the entire contents of the bottle into the bin and watched it continue to fill with water.
It took a moment before Pansy realized that she may have used too much soap. She figured the bubbles would stop once they reached the container’s edge, but they didn’t.
She tried to turn off the water, but the faucet was jammed. She pulled and pulled it to one side, trying to get it to turn, but it wouldn’t budge. Meanwhile, the bubbles spilled out of the top and onto the ground, multiplying by the second. Pansy continued to yank on the faucet, but to no avail. Out of frustration, Pansy kicked the spout. Hard. But, as may have been expected, that did nothing to stop the water, and she only succeeded in hurting her toe.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Pansy yelped, holding her injured foot and hopping around on the other one. Bubbles and water coated the concrete floor, making it very slippery. Pansy did not to get to do much more jumping before she fell to the ground, landing on her side. “Oww,” she moaned, not bothering to stand. Soap bubbled up around her face, and water soaked her through, but she stayed to on the ground, self-pity making it impossible for her to move. She thought about crying, but decided against it. It was about a minute before she finally stood up.
When she did, her pitiful feelings had faded, to be replaced by a stark anger. She marched over to the tap and pulled it as hard as she possibly could. It squeaked in protest, but did move into the off position. Pansy celebrated silently as she heaved the soaking clothes into a bin without water. She looked around and noticed that excess bubbles and water were swirling down into a drain in the center of the room. How convenient. she thought truthfully. With all her might, she pushed the tub over and let the remaining water and soap spiral down into the drain. Pulling out her wand, she muttered, “Aguamenti.” Using the fresh water, she washed all of the remaining bubbles from the floor.
She then turned to see her pile of sopping wet clothes in the second tub. She groaned at the thought of having to rinse them, but knew that she had to because they were laced with soap bubbles. Never, ever wanting to touch that spigot again, she used the Aguamenti charm to clean them off. Grabbing her robes one by one, she pinned them up to the drying line near the wall. She left the washroom with no sense of accomplishment whatsoever, just an invigorated hatred for house elves and a nasty bruise forming where she had hit the concrete floor.
*~*~*
Pansy changed into dry robes before she stomped away to find her father. He had to have some news from the Ministry; she was never going to do a house elf’s work again.
“Father!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the halls.
“In here, Pansy!” her father replied, his voice sounding from the study. “Really, there’s know need to raise your--” but Pansy had already stormed into the room, her eyes wild.
“Did you find a way to get the elves back?” she demanded. Mr. Parkinson’s eyes clouded over with a flash of deep rooted annoyance.
“No. All I could find was this.” He slid a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet over the desk and in front of his daughter. She grabbed it almost hungrily.
Pansy scanned the front page, reading the articles’ headlines. She soon reached one that read: Hogwarts Girl Frees Elves! Noble Cause, Or Uprooting of Society? Beneath the article was a picture of a girl with brown, frizzy hair and a huge grin who waved enthusiastically, her face aglow. She seemed to mock Pansy with every movement she made.
“Granger!” she shrieked. “How could she do this?” Pansy’s felt her face flush hot and her breathing speed until she was almost panting with hatred for that Granger girl.
“Now, Pansy!” her father said, holding his hand up. “I have contacts at the Ministry, as you know. I will find a way to fix this; I’ve already started working on it.”
“I don’t care, Papa! I want it fixed now! I had to do my own washing today, did you know that? And I am never, ever going to do such a thing again! And mother, mother almost burned down the house while she was attempting to cook! This is causing complete havoc in my life! It can’t go on!” Her voice turned suddenly low, determined. “I’ll get her. I’ll make her pay.”
“Now Pansy,” her father began to caution, but she was already out of the office, the slam of the door reverberating throughout the house.
~*~*~*~*~
Pansy positively seethed with malice as she walked onto the Hogwarts Express. She scanned the crowd, looking for only one face. She thought she would explode if she didn’t find Granger, her anger was so great. She looked down at her wrinkly, still slightly damp robes. It was Granger who had done this to her”made her go off to Hogwarts in front of everybody with these crumply robes.
Pansy marched onto the train, looking into every compartment as she passed. First years cowered away from her, as if she was breathing fire. When she finally glanced Hermione Granger’s face, she felt herself heat up to a boil. She had never felt this raw of an emotion before, something so consuming that she thought she would never feel anything different again.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione blanched at the sight of Pansy, who was marching toward her, wand drawn and back hunched over.
“Hello, Granger,” Pansy seethed, her voice low and menacing. “I’ve been looking for you.” Hermione tried hard to look unafraid.
“Oh?” she said, attempting to sound friendly. “And why is that?”
“I think you know quite well why. You and your little house elf brigade have taken my family’s elves, and I won’t stand for it. You have no idea what you are doing.” Pansy’s wand inched its way up to Hermione’s face. Hermione took one finger and knocked it down, but Pansy brought it right back up again.
“Well actually, Pansy, I do know what I am doing. SPEW is a organization seeking--”
“Oh, shut it!” Pansy hissed. “I don’t care at all about SPEW is about. All I care is that my elves are gone and that you took them!”
“I didn’t take them,” Hermione began to clarify. “They left willingly and have been relocated to--”
“Again, Granger, I don’t care. You need to bring them back.”
“Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Pansy’s eyes bugged, and something inside of her snapped. She lunged forward, thrusting her wand next to Hermione’s head.
“You will bring them back,” whispered Pansy into Hermione’s ear. Hermione shook her off, looking indignant.
“As I have said before, it is impossible to bring them back. SPEW has already been put into motion, and I am not turning it around now,” she informed Pansy superiorly.
Pansy’s breathing became heavy and loud. She looked positively wild, her hair streaming from the plait she had so delicately put it in that morning, her cheeks dotted with splotches of red, her eyes dancing with loathing. She was beyond reasoning with, Hermione noted with deep dismay.
Pansy threw herself at Hermione. “Petrificus Totalus!” she shrieked as she ran.
Hermione fell to the ground, unable to move. Pansy towered over her, wand pointing at Hermione’s face.
“Now,” Pansy began calmly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “If you ever want to move again, I suggest you reconsider. Bring my house elves back, or else you can bet that you will stay like this for a long, long time.” Hermione stayed frozen, but Pansy could feel the mixture of fear and hate radiating off of her petrified form. “I’m just going to leave you like this for a bit to let you think about you answer. I may be back; I may not be,” she said breezily. “But, to make sure no one finds you before I come back,” she pushed Hermione’s stiff form into a luggage compartment. “You can enjoy some time down here.” Pansy cackles manically as she kicked Hermione’s wand out of her rigid hand before she shut her in. “No need for this!” she giggled as she sauntered away.
*~*~*~*~*
Pansy returned to Hermione only a short while before they were to reach the castle. She opened the compartment to find Hermione still there, unmoving and inflexible.
“So,” she began, her voice almost normal. She had calmed down considerably during the trip, but her anger had by no means gone away. “Have we come to a conclusion yet?” Of course, Hermione could not answer, so Pansy quickly performed the counter curse so she could. Hermione crawled out of the luggage hold, her hair even more wild than usual, her face now contorted with fury.
“Parkinson!” she howled. Pansy waggled a finger at her.
“Now, now Granger, remember who has the upper hand here.” Pansy pulled Hermione’s wand from her robe pocket and twirled it in front of her face tauntingly. “Have you come to an answer for me?”
Hermione breathed heavily, making an attempt at controlling her anger.
“No,” she almost growled. “Your elves were some of the worst treated out of all the ones I rescued. I can’t- won’t- send them back to you.” Pansy’s eyes flashed, but she fought to keep her composer.
“You really must enjoy that compartment, Granger. Truly, I have no problem sending you back in.” Hermione looked fearful for a moment. She knew she wasn’t kidding.
“How about if I make deal with you,” she said to Pansy cautiously. “If I give you your elves back, you will have to follow the SPEW guidelines for proper treatment of elves.”
“And what would those be?”
“Well, you see, I have been planning on giving all wizards and witches their elves back ever since the beginning. I just needed to prove how much this society really needs them, so I could get the keepers of the elves, such as you and your family, to agree to my rules for decent elf treatment,” she informed Pansy smugly. “Hogwarts has already agreed,” Hermione continued, “to my regulations. Everyone there realized that the school simply cannot function without the elves and agreed to give them vacation, pay, and proper housing.”
Pansy bristled with annoyance.
“What in the world would house elves need vacation time for?” she said, unable to grasp the concept.
“The same reasons you and I do. They work hard, so they deserve a break.”
Pansy sighed. Normally, she would never have given into Granger’s demands, but she knew that her house would not be able to stay in one piece without the elves.
“I’ll have my father look over your policies. Send him an owl with the list of them. He can sign whatever is needed.”
“I’ll do that right away,” Hermione promised.
“I expect the elves back in my home by next week, Granger,” Pansy threatened. She twirled her wand around her fingers menacingly.
“I will probably be able to arrange that,” Hermione almost conceded. She wasn’t going to give into Pansy that easily.
“You better have them there,” Pansy called over her shoulder as she walked away. “Because now I know that you have a fondness for luggage compartments.” She gave her a sly smile. “And oh, here’s your wand.” Pansy tossed Hermione the wand with a flick of her wrist, sending it spiraling towards her face, making contact right on the nose. Hermione looked shocked and rubbed the spot, bending over to retrieve her wand. She stood up to say something to Pansy, but she had already left. Hermione fumed silently in the empty train compartment, irritation coursing through her at the fact that she had to admit defeat to Pansy Parkinson.