Bathwater

The Prince's Truth

Pansy Parkinson was not the meddling type.

All right. Correction—she was not the meddling type if there was nothing for her to gain. Had she not been bred to exploit weaknesses and sink her perfectly manicured claws into everything she wanted, she might have felt an inkling of guilt to know almost every interaction she had with anyone was based on manipulation. Of course, that bit of remorse never did surface because people were often idiots. If Pansy wanted something, she had to make it happen herself. 

Like cursing Draco Malfoy into oblivion.

Out of everyone she had ever met, she had once believed he was the most cunning. He surveyed his surroundings and companions the same way Pansy did; searching for strengths, flaws, and everything in between to use however he saw fit. Sure, he had the Malfoy fortune behind him, granting him anything he wished, but if there was something more, if there was something he craved, even if for a second, he would find a way to claim it. 

Once upon a time, Pansy had been in love with a version of Draco that believed he deserved everything. But that was before the war—before the Dark Lord, before Death Eaters, and before Hermione Granger.

Pansy had never had any delusions that Draco was someone she could wrap around her finger, not when he had yanked on all her strings first, forcing her to stand, sit, talk, and move in any way she thought he might love, but there had always been something behind those beautiful, pale silver eyes of his. He would never love her like those sappy, disgusting fairytales the Greengrass sisters used to fawn over for, Pansy knew that, but Draco had wanted the same future she did. Something illuminated by gold, social status, and blood purity. Then the walls of Hogwarts crumbled along with the world people like the Parkinsons and Malfoys wanted to build, leaving only ash, loneliness, and death. 

Leaving only everything Draco thought he was ever going to have and be.

Had this fucked up marriage law never been passed, Pansy had no qualms confessing she would have eventually come up with a plan to still force Malfoy into her name. Everyone had lost everything, from all angles, but Draco still had his wealth. If they had to be miserable, then they could have been miserable together—in a chateau drowning with expensive things. But the Ministry had set up arranged marriages and Pansy ended up with more than she ever thought she would get.

She ended up with Ron Weasley.

Did she deserve everything? Absolutely. No one would ever be able to convince Pansy that she didn't deserve every star in the sky resting at her feet, but she was a realist. She would have to compromise to still get everything but in more achievable variation. Love was one of those things. She had never really known the thing—yes, her feelings for Draco came close to it, but she wasn't even sure the allure of him wasn't wholly guided by what he could provide. As such, she could sacrifice sweet, genuine affection for good sex and the title of wife. 

Of course, she had not been expecting to get all of that wrapped up with a bow and given to her by the Ministry. Nor had she known everything the love she grew for Ron would heal.

Had she made mistakes? Well, the answer was dependent on how one looked at it. For Pansy, all she knew how to do was play this game of chess they insisted on calling Life. She knew how to move pieces because she had been one herself; she had been born to see what her existence could bring to her family, or how it could tear down those in their way. She had not been trained to consider trivial things like feelings, especially the feelings of those beneath her designer shoes. It was only until she was staring into Ron's blinding, magnetic blue eyes that she knew there was more.

She wasn't sentimental enough to share this new feeling her dusty, unused heart insisted on calling Love, but Pansy was loyal enough to want her friends to have it.