5 Parkinson notebook, Part 1, AV 4
One of the odder items in my steadily growing collection is a small black notebook, circa AV 4, that belonged to my childhood friend Pansy Parkinson. How this small journal, which bares the printed title "Charms for Keeping" came to be in my possession, and how it came to be included here, is a bit of a story in itself.
About a year after I'd returned to the UK, Pansy quite unexpectedly owled me an invitation to meet her for tea at the Bella & Donna's in Knockturn Alley. It was years since we'd spoken. Dutifully intrigued, but still cautious, I agreed. Arriving there on a stormy evening, I found the small shop deserted. For a while I studied the decor, which consisted primarily of dried herbs and egg tempera landscapes, the kind that make you think of, well, rainy evenings in crepuscular rooms. After some time, Bella, dressed entirely in what looked like egg tempera robes, appeared behind the counter. "Yuv tun munits. Arter that, phfew," she said in glistening Glouchester, making a sweeping dismissive gesture with her hands. As Bella stared at me, waiting for me to order, the door opened, and Pansy, who I immediately saw had more than a touch of goth still about her, bundled in, looking very rushed indeed.
"No time to talk, Parvati. Gotta give you this." As she dug around in the pockets of her black robes, I studied her face. It was both softer and harder than it had been at Hogwarts, though just as alert. She found what she was looking for.
"What's this?" I said, as she handed me the small notebook.
"Never mind now. It's for your archive." At that point, Pansy grinned. "A gift."
I started to ask her what she's been up to, but she'd already turned, and was halfway through the door when she stopped and looking back at me said, "Later." Then she was gone.
As I gathered my things to leave, tucking the notebook in my robes, wondering why a diary would have such a strange cover, Bella made a strangled sort of huffing sound. She was pointing toward an egg tempera sign, on which the only thing I could make out was "minimum charge."
"There's a zine, miss."
"Yeah. Um. Sorry about that. Bye." I apparated home, made some dinner, had a bath, and forgot about the notebook. I was disappointed. Though we were never that close, we had been childhood friends. After 11 years, I get 20 words worth of her time?
I remembered the notebook that night when I went to bed. I read it before going to sleep.
My dreams that night were filled with, I don’t know any other way to put it, corrections. Mental corrections. Someone was showing me tapestries, and whenever I thought I had seen all the details, they told me to look closer, and point out things I’d missed. "Don’t worry, the sail has all of it, just as you intended. You didn’t know it when you put it there, but it’s there as plain as day. You just haven’t looked for it yet."
I leave it to the reader to decide why Parkinson’s Notebook was "gifted" to me, and to posterity.
It is included here in its entirety.
5 Parkinson Notebook - Part One, AV 4
[the first 3 or 4 pages have been torn out ED]
home day
listening to
"imperio'd by love" by a mug of glee
"accio bitch" and "h the f w" by sal serpens
i know what i don't want to know
and i don't know what i want
That is so much unnecessary prepartion. "It looks good on you." Let me count the hidden meanings: as long as something's on you; as opposed to something normal; it, but not you; looks good, but isn't really; and so on... Thanks, "friend."
Greetings: Yeah, I'm not dead yet. Deal with it. (old)
You know, I think you'd look good in wood.
Have I got noose for you! [scratched out ED]
!!! "Hey, I'm pining away down here!" !!!!
* * *
Just another day - snicker
If someone ever told me, ever hinted, that my almost living room would one day be host to it's present occupant, I would have cursed them into a gibbering mesh of drool. But if they had gone further...
Ha. Well. Yep.
Last night I was passing by a Spelling Be in Diagon Alley, when I caught sight of everRedy. everRedy hasn't changed. There's a bit more everRedy, but it's still everRedy. What he was doing at a Spelling Be I haven't the foggiest. "Cut a forlorn figure." I mean, he was alone at the edge of the crowd, hands in pockets, just watching. I passed close behind him, tempted to bump him in the back as I passed, but settled for an evil stare, sure I'd pass that way again shortly, with something irritating to say.
I have a confession to make. Want to know? Here it is. I didn't like everRedy at Hogwarts! Cool, huh? Guess what else. I (Pansy whispers) still don't like everRedy.
So I get to the Cauldron and the place is nearly empty. Old wizards, old witches, cabbagey-looking people. In the corner, though, h the f w is sitting, nursing some hideous custom brew the bartender probably puked.
I can't help myself. I am drawn to him for some reason.
Oops. Back in a bit.
* * *
Day after just another day
Holy cricket.
* * *
Day after day after just another day
Listening to
nothing
Here's a picture: me, my quill, my notebook. It's not the complete picture.
I'm afraid to write it down. Anything.
I've never been so scared in my life.
Someone could draw it though. My left hand resting on...
Say it, Parkinson, you coward.
* * *
Day after etc.
Except I've lost track of time, written time, that is. I know how long, in this living time, its been. Let's see, it was Friday, so, it's Monday already. I need to sleep. I'll try to catch up tomorrow. I should be getting this down.
I already know, and I don't care. A learning experience. Yeah, right. Learning how to walk and talk turned inside out.
Once again, I know something will be broken.
It's strong. I didn't predict that. I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it's going to kill me.
He knows too.
* * *
Another day
Still here, Parkinson? Good. Let me tell you. Wake the hell up!
Got it? Good.
You're lost and found. [scratched out ED]
So I sat with him there, as he stared at the door. "Hello, Harry," I said, trying to ignore the swill in his glass, which smelled like vomit. Slowly he turned his head toward me. "Hi, Pansy." Then he looked back toward the door.
Hi Pansy!!!
"Harry, you melt my heart. It's me, Pansy. Mistress of Arch-evil, and all that. Huh?" He smiled a bit, but didn't look at me.
"So, uh, who's going to come in through that door? Friend of yours? Not She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Contradicted?!!?"
Now he perked up a bit, cause I could see a touch of playfulness in the corner of his eyes, or whatever that is when we see what we call playfulness in the eyes.
"Generally, I'd be waiting for Ron, but he's gone to the sp..."
"Spelling Be, yes," I finished the sentence for him. "So, not everRedy, not wonder woman. Who?"
Harry looked at me then, smiling. It took me a moment to realize he was smiling at my name for his best friend, which I'd invented only recently. "How have you been, Pansy Parkinson?"
I swear a weaker woman would have melted at the combination of earnestness and playfulness there, behind green eyes.
That's an exaggeration. I really should stop trying to justify myself about this. Natural instinct, I guess. Anyway, not entirely unmoved (ha!) I told him about working for my family and what I'd been doing, generally speaking. Nothing too specific. I should have realized right then that the urge to justify myself, and fighting it at the same time, meant the damage was as good as done.
I felt suddenly as if I were being watched. "I'm going over there, to that table," I said, getting up. "I think your frien..." Before I'd a chance to finish, the walking battlefield came in. He'd obviously seen me talking to Harry with his perv-eye. "That's right, Parkinson. Want to talk to Potter alone," or something like that, he grated.
I watched them openly from across the room. I don't think I was scared at all, in fact, of the walking battlefield.
I should make a list like the ones I used to, of things I was even slightly afraid of. Get the list down to 2 or 3 things again. Of course, there are always circumstances we never imagine.
Or a list of people who fear me. Bet there'd be more than a few.
Harry and the walking battlefield didn't talk long. The walking battlefield approached me as he was leaving, though. "You want to be watching your step."
"What I want to be watching is your back disappearing through the door," I said.
I hope he was offended.
"Why are you so dismissive?" asked Harry, when I'd rejoined him.
"You're the most dismissive person I know," Drecko once told me. "Draco," I said, "you're fawning again."
Anyway, Harry and I started talking, about everything. Even the war. Correction - about MOST things.
We talked about:
The post war wizard pride movement (e.g. the Spelling Be), and whether is was really useful or just made us feel better, whether it encouraged a new pureblood movement blah blah blah
My features had changed - duh 1
My situation had changed - duh 2
His situation had changed in only one major way - duh 3, but he was still lost (hint?)
Who we've seen lately
(About this time I made him switch drinks, as his was nauseating me. He responded by forcing me to order something that, in his words, "didn't smell like a potpourri." I laughed at that.)
(When people say eyes "flash" with laughter, intelligence or humour, what the hell are they were talking about? When I laughed, during the stinky drink exchange, I could swear Harry was about to tell me my eyes were "flashing." He didn't, though. I never got the opportunity to tell him I was not a streetlight.)
Him - Granger, everRedy, the walking battlefield, that's Professor Snape Harry (! another good one), The Longbottom Stomp, P and P Pains in the ass, the Minister for Muggleness
Me - Drecko, Turgid, Crabs and Boils, The Ghost who forgot to die...
Harry: Who's The Ghost who forgot to die?
Pansy: Lovegood.
Harry: Oh, Luna. (In a slightly irritating distant kind of voice)
Pansy: She seems to have picked up the habit of talking to street furniture (Where did I get that?)
Pansy: Let’s take a walk around London.
Clock at Pansy’s when we got back: 2 AM.
* * *
Day Five
Can I be two people at once? Or even three, or more? Being one is work enough.
Pansy 1 - not thinking about being me
Pansy 2 - thinking about being me
Pansy 3 - thinking about person X
Pansy 4 - thinking about Y
Pansy 5 - not thnking at all
[entire list scratched out ED]
So, 2:30 AM that first night, we were sitting on the couch, extremely drowsy. I’m not sure why. We were a bit tipsy. What came over me was - I wanted this man to sleep with his head on my lap. It’s silly, but I could think of nothing else. (And I call myself smart!) I wanted him to trust me.
Isn't that dreary and wonderful at the same time? I wasn’t even thinking that, if I had wanted to, if I had a good reason, I could have really compromised him. I was just thinking that, for some reason, maybe he would sleep with his head on my lap. The sleep part would be easy - he could hardly keep his eyes open.
"Lie down," I said, reaching for his shoulders.
He let me pull him into the very position I was imagining.
This was the first time I ever touched h the f w. I stroked his thick, dark hair gently, his forehead. The warmth spread through me like sugar. This was new, and I was liking it.
But I was so tired, and there was no way I could sleep sitting up-right on the couch. I get up slowly, so as not to wake him, and collapsed into my bed, thinking all the while about everything and about one thing only. Would he be there when I woke up...?
It's silly, I know, but something else too, something like the stone wall of a castle, the concrete wall of an office building.
Anyway, he was at the door to my bedroom when I woke up. The sun was high.
"Should I go?" he said.
Not even fully awake, and this!?! I had been so hopeful, and now the cheesecrab was going to scuttle off? "If..." I tried to talk, but knew that it would turn to something horrid if I did, something small and petty, after such hopes. Instead, I rubbed my eyes.
He came over to the side of the bed, where it had taken me about half a second to start stewing. He leaned over me, took a deep breath and said, "can I lie down beside you?"
Better than nothing, perhaps, but come on now. I’m sure I glared open-mouthed at him.
I wasn't to be disappointed, though. Still leaning over me, his eyes inches from my own and his hands now gently touching the sides of my face, he tried again. "I want you."
That was good.
End of story.
At least of the first 24 hours. 18 hours. Something...
* * *
Day Six
Okay, what's been happening? Harry is working with the walking battlefield every day. I, on the other hand, am still on my extended vacation. That is, the business doesn't need me at present, which is fine. Makes me wonder what they’re up to, though.
Drecko owled me this morning, after trying the fireplace and realizing I'd severed it temporarily from the network.
No, I don't want to meet you tonight at The Throng. No, I don't want to crash a Spelling Be. No, I don't have Nicomeldian shank scrapings... However, if you happen to be around Hogsmeade tonight at, say, 8 o'clock, you might catch a glimpse of me.
So, is this evil? If it is, in what way is it evil, exactly? Even if I don't tell Harry, it's not something I'm doing TO Harry, or TO our
relationship
A lame word for what's happening.
* * *
I need to explain this to myself, and I hate feeling that way. I'm in love, yes... or no, maybe not that. How to describe what’s happening? We’re in passion?
For example - I used to think that it was only from positions of power that one could let oneself be taken, as they say. That isn't quite correct. Positions of understanding, maybe. Ownership of self, of one's feelings, that's part of it. But how, exactly?
And it's also not at all solitary. More like an agreement, on some organic level.
Finally I have an excuse to use the word visceral.
Gotta get ready. Later.