Juvenile DelinquencyWord count:
“They sent the Slytherins to a re-education camp over the summer after the war.”Warnings:
angst, slightly darkfic.Disclaimer:
The boys and girls belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
Oops, forgot to post. This was my ficlet for dmpp_ldws
Round 4 for this prompt
, and led to me losing comprehensively. (Seriously. Seven Least Favourites.) I quite like it, though.
They sent the Slytherins to a re-education camp over the summer after the war.
The Ministry had collaborated with Voldemort, so they couldn’t imprison the students who’d done the same. Instead, they came up with a revoltingly Gryffindor solution: merciful, insufferably self-righteous, and determined to make everyone like them. In all senses of the word.
They bought a concrete warehouse and turned it into a re-education camp, to teach them the error of their ways.
Pansy was sent a letter ordering her to report to the Young Offenders Institute, or risk ‘further sanctions’. She threw the letter at her bedroom wall. That was unsatisfying and she threw a glass after it.
To be sent to some ‘institute’ to learn to be a nice girl!
The overseers searched her for contraband on arrival. She stood silently, humiliation scorching her from the inside until she felt her body would fall apart, blackened, with the heat of it.
Then they cut off her hair.
Pansy shuddered with the shock of it, loss stealing her breath at the sight of the black tresses abandoned on the concrete.
She was given a Slytherin Hogwarts uniform and sent to the girls’ dormitory. It had sixteen beds in military rows, and they weren’t allowed to put pictures up. A monitoring spell recorded conversations.
The next day’s lessons were about Muggle contributions to the world and the importance of Muggleborns to the economy.
Already she was less herself. They were going to break her apart, take every marker of Pansy Parkinson to make her into a sweet, faceless member of Dumbledore’s Army.
At lunch she caught sight of white-blond hair and a pointed face and her heart seemed to explode in a starburst of relief. “Draco!”
His head snapped up. His lips parted, his face animating at the sight of her. “Pansy!”
The overseer snapped for silence. Pansy didn’t eat another bite. She sat staring at Draco, while he looked back at her.
That night Pansy sneaked from the room. She and Draco had snogged in Hogwarts’ towers a thousand times. She found a stairway, a big red door marked FIRE EXIT, and there he was: waiting on the roof under starlight, as she’d known he’d be.
Pansy hugged his hard body against her, clinging to certainty. They kissed, their mouths sealing together. They stumbled across the roof together, laughing into each other’s mouths, and Draco straddled the low wall between them and freefall. He grinned up at her, daring. She popped a few shirt buttons and straddled him
His hands slid into her shorn hair, and suddenly it was hers: the violation of it melted away by his fingers stroking the bare nape of her neck. She curled her hands over his shoulders, sliding her fingers along his contours. Yes: this was still Draco. They hadn’t changed him and they couldn’t take this away: his hands taut on her hips, his taste on her mouth, her name on his lips.
This moment was who she was.