RP: Pacing the Floor
Title: Pacing the Floor
Date: August 11, 1998
Time of Day: Afternoon.
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, mentions of the Malfoys
Location: Parkinson Estate
Status: Private
Brief Summary: Pansy is upset.
Completion: Complete
Warnings: None.
Pansy had spent the past day and a half pacing her house; from bed to door in her room, back and forth in front of the fire place in the parlor, and up and down the stairs and around the porch. She felt nervous and worried. Draco's trial had been the day before, along with his mother's. Lucius Malfoy would be in the middle of his trial now.
She didn't like not knowing what had happened. There hadn't even been word in the Prophet, and the fact that she hadn't received an owl (not that she had really expected to; surely the Malfoys had so much on their minds that owling her probably wouldn't be thought of) made her stomach churn with nausea.
They had turned her away at the Ministry, staying tight-lipped and refusing to let her see Draco, or even tell her anything about what was going on. It was infuriating. Pansy was half-annoyed that they hadn't called her to be a witness, though part of her knew that she didn't really have any useful information. The only thing she knew was how worn Draco had been by the end of their sixth year.
It still made her mad, thinking about it. She cared about the blond, and seeing him slowly break down had hurt, in almost the same way it hurt Pansy to see her mother going through the worry about where her father was. It was sharp in a different way, but still there. She knew most people thought that they had brought it upon themselves, and she was inclined to agree, partially at least. Her father had willingly joined Voldemort. Draco's father had willingly joined Voldemort.
Her mother hadn't, however, and she was suffering for it. Draco was suffering for it. Pansy didn't like seeing the few people she cared about suffering.
Whipping around, she glared at the window where a branch was tapping softly at it. Damn thing had been at it all day, every time making her think it was an owl bearing news. Clenching her hands she tried to keep the sudden well of anger she felt down; temper tantrums would do no good right now.
She couldn't think of anything that would do any good right now.
Date: August 11, 1998
Time of Day: Afternoon.
Characters: Pansy Parkinson, mentions of the Malfoys
Location: Parkinson Estate
Status: Private
Brief Summary: Pansy is upset.
Completion: Complete
Warnings: None.
Pansy had spent the past day and a half pacing her house; from bed to door in her room, back and forth in front of the fire place in the parlor, and up and down the stairs and around the porch. She felt nervous and worried. Draco's trial had been the day before, along with his mother's. Lucius Malfoy would be in the middle of his trial now.
She didn't like not knowing what had happened. There hadn't even been word in the Prophet, and the fact that she hadn't received an owl (not that she had really expected to; surely the Malfoys had so much on their minds that owling her probably wouldn't be thought of) made her stomach churn with nausea.
They had turned her away at the Ministry, staying tight-lipped and refusing to let her see Draco, or even tell her anything about what was going on. It was infuriating. Pansy was half-annoyed that they hadn't called her to be a witness, though part of her knew that she didn't really have any useful information. The only thing she knew was how worn Draco had been by the end of their sixth year.
It still made her mad, thinking about it. She cared about the blond, and seeing him slowly break down had hurt, in almost the same way it hurt Pansy to see her mother going through the worry about where her father was. It was sharp in a different way, but still there. She knew most people thought that they had brought it upon themselves, and she was inclined to agree, partially at least. Her father had willingly joined Voldemort. Draco's father had willingly joined Voldemort.
Her mother hadn't, however, and she was suffering for it. Draco was suffering for it. Pansy didn't like seeing the few people she cared about suffering.
Whipping around, she glared at the window where a branch was tapping softly at it. Damn thing had been at it all day, every time making her think it was an owl bearing news. Clenching her hands she tried to keep the sudden well of anger she felt down; temper tantrums would do no good right now.
She couldn't think of anything that would do any good right now.