ALL NOVEL Chapter 1: Meeting
We are following paralell to my main fanfiction, ME AND THE DEVIL.
I hope you like a glipse of their own little bubble that they built.
Pansy Parkinson
[Surrey]
Dear Ms. Parkinson,
We write to inform you that in accordance with the Forced Marriage Act of 2002, you have been selected to participate in a binding magical union.
This act, designed to ensure the stability and prosperity of the wizarding community, necessitates the pairing of eligible individuals for the purpose of procreation and social cohesion.
After careful consideration of various factors, including magical aptitude, blood purity, and familial ties, we have determined that your lifelong partner will be Blaise Zabini.
A formal ceremony will be arranged to solemnize this union. Further details regarding the date, time, and location of the ceremony will be provided in due course.
Please be advised that any attempt to circumvent or disobey the provisions of the Forced Marriage Act will result in severe penalties.
Yours sincerely,
Penelope Puffington Plimpton
Head of the Forced Marriage Act Division
Ministry of Magic
Pansy Parkinson paced furiously across the marble floors of her family's drawing room, her heeled boots clicking sharply against the stone with every agitated step. The room, once a sanctuary of her childhood, now felt like a prison, its opulent decor suffocating her as the weight of the letter in her hand bore down on her like a curse.
"Fucking fucks," she muttered under her breath, crumpling the parchment in her fist before flinging it across the room. The letter fluttered to the floor, but the words it contained were seared into her mind like a dark mark she couldn't erase.
The Ministry of Magic, in its infinite wisdom—or sheer idiocy, as Pansy preferred to think—had decided that after barely surviving the Second Wizarding War, her reward for getting through it was to be chained to a complete stranger. A forced marriage? To who? It didn't matter. She'd hex them into next week before she'd let some Ministry drone dictate her life.
"Of all the bloody nerve," she seethed, throwing herself onto a velvet chaise with a dramatic flair that would have made any actress envious. "I just began living my life! I'm finally free of that wretched school, finally away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares, and now they want to marry ME off?"
She felt a surge of anger flare up from her chest, hot and fierce. Pansy had spent the last few years meticulously reconstructing her life, distancing herself from the wartime decisions that still haunted her dreams. She had kept her head down, worked quietly on her potion business, even begun to redeem herself in the eyes of some—not that she cared for their opinions, of course.
But this? This was a step too far.
"If I wanted an arranged marriage, I'd ask Grandmother Parkinson to dredge up some ancient pure-blooded idiot from the family tree!" she snapped to the empty room, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "At least then, I'd have some say in the matter!"
Pansy's grandmother had been trying to marry her off since she was 15, parading her in front of every eligible bachelor with a family name worth remembering. But even that infuriating matchmaking seemed preferable to this farce. At least it was under her control—or as close to control as one could get when dealing with her formidable grandmother.
She leaped up again, unable to stay still, and began pacing once more. Her mind raced with thoughts of rebellion. She could run away, disappear into the Muggle world for a while, or maybe she'd find some loophole in the law. Yes, that's what she'd do. She'd get her hands on every scrap of legal jargon that ridiculous law was written on and tear it apart word by word.
But even as her mind spun with plans, she knew she couldn't escape this so easily. The Ministry was serious, and ignoring the letter would likely result in consequences far worse than marriage. Still, the idea of surrendering to their ridiculous demand made her stomach churn.
Pansy paused, catching her reflection in the gilded mirror that hung above the fireplace. Her dark eyes flashed with defiance, and she tossed her sleek black hair over her shoulder with a disdainful sneer.
"I'll find a way out of this," she vowed to herself. "I am Pansy Parkinson, and I refuse to let them ruin my life with their pathetic attempts at peace-building."
She would play along, for now. Let them think she was compliant. But Pansy Parkinson was nothing if not resourceful. If the Ministry wanted to force her hand, they'd soon realize they were playing a dangerous game.
With a final huff, she stalked over to the discarded letter and snatched it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. As her eyes skimmed the words again, she allowed herself a small, wicked smile.
"Let's see who they think is worthy of Pansy Parkinson," she murmured, her voice dripping with venomous anticipation. "Whoever he is, I pity him already."
With a huff, she leaped up from the chaise and snatched the crumpled letter from the floor, smoothing out the creases with an annoyed flick of her wand. She scanned the letter again, her eyes narrowing on the name of her so-called fiancé.
Neville Longbottom.
The name stopped her in her tracks. For a moment, all she could do was blink at the parchment, as if the words might change if she stared hard enough.
"Neville Longbottom," she repeated slowly, tasting the name on her tongue like it was something foreign and unappetizing.
The shy, bumbling boy from Hogwarts? The one who couldn't brew a potion to save his life? The one who was always losing his toad?
Her mind flashed back to the awkward, gangly boy who used to trip over his own feet in the corridors of Hogwarts.
But then, like a jolt of lightning, she remembered the Neville Longbottom she'd seen in the final battle at Hogwarts.
He wasn't the same boy anymore. Taller, broader, and with a certain ruggedness that was impossible to ignore.Not so ugly now. In fact, quite handsome.
Quite climbable.
Pansy blinked again, this time in surprise at herself. Where did that thought come from?
But she couldn't deny it. The Neville Longbottom of today was far from the awkward boy she remembered. At least he was tall.
And, thank Merlin, he was pure-blood."See that, Granny?" she muttered to herself, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "You had your wishes come true after all. I'll be marrying a pure-blooded war hero."
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. The Ministry, with all its grand ideas of peace and unity, had paired her with Neville Longbottom. Well, at least they had taste, she thought, her mind drifting back to the memory of his broad shoulders and determined eyes.
Still, pity lingered in her thoughts. Poor Neville. The shy boy from Gryffindor had no idea what he was getting into, being forced to marry someone like her.
But if Pansy was anything, it was adaptable. She'd figure this out, just like she'd figured everything else out since the war ended. If the Ministry thought they could throw her life into chaos, they had another thing coming.With a sigh, Pansy straightened her shoulders and marched out of the room.
There was planning to be done, and she'd be damned if she went into this marriage without a strategy.
Neville Longbottom didn't know it yet, but he was in for the ride of his life.
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Neville Longbottom sat on the worn, comfortable couch in his small London flat, staring blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth. The flames danced and flickered, casting shadows across the room, but Neville's thoughts were far darker and more turbulent than the firelight.
How had it come to this? How did a man who once stood defiant against the Dark Lord, who had fought to protect everything he believed in, end up here—facing a future that seemed impossibly distant from the one he had imagined? How does a war hero become the husband of a Death Eater? Ex-Death Eater, he corrected himself quickly, though the distinction didn't bring as much comfort as he hoped.
Pansy Parkinson.
Neville closed his eyes, leaning back into the couch as memories of Hogwarts flooded his mind. Pansy had always been there, lurking around corners, trailing behind Malfoy like a shadow. He remembered her as the pug-faced girl who had sneered at him, called him names, and made his already difficult school life that much harder. She had been cruel, her sharp tongue a weapon she wielded with precision, especially when it came to him and his friends.
But that was years ago. Back then, she had been a delicate flower in Slytherin's poisonous garden, hiding behind the bravado of those around her. He had never given her much thought beyond her association with Malfoy and the other Death Eater brats. She was just another obstacle, another reason to keep his head down and focus on surviving each day at Hogwarts.
Yet, when he'd seen her recently, in one of those rare public appearances she made, it was clear that delicate flower had bloomed—spectacularly.
The change was startling. The girl who had once been defined by her cruel smirk and mean-spirited jibes was now a woman of undeniable beauty. Her black hair, once harsh and flat, now cascaded in glossy waves that framed a face much softer and far more alluring than he remembered. The pug-faced girl had transformed into a stunning woman, with high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that could ensnare you if you stared too long.
And her body—Merlin, what a body. She had curves that could make a man forget his own name, the kind of figure that could turn heads in any room. Neville had caught himself staring, and not just because of her physical appearance. There was something else about her, something more subtle yet equally powerful. A confidence, a grace that she had never possessed as a teenager.
She had become witty and funny, too, according to the gossip he'd overheard. It was strange to think that the same girl who once ridiculed him might now make him laugh. But the strangest thing of all, the most unbelievable part of this entire situation, was that she was about to become his wife.
He hadn't seen that coming. Not in a million years.
Neville shook his head, as if to clear the fog of disbelief that still clung to him. The Ministry's decree felt like a cruel joke, one last twist of fate that he hadn't anticipated. Marrying Pansy Parkinson? It was the kind of thing he might have laughed at, had the situation not been so deadly serious.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much things had changed. Pansy wasn't the same girl who had tormented him at Hogwarts. She had grown, evolved—just like he had. And though he was reluctant to admit it, there was something about her now that intrigued him, something that made the idea of this marriage less repulsive and more… challenging.
Could this really work? he wondered. Could they actually find some common ground?
He let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with both hands. This wasn't the life he had imagined for himself. He had pictured something quieter, simpler—perhaps a small cottage in the countryside, filled with plants and laughter. But this? This was something else entirely.
Still, if there was one thing Neville had learned from the war, it was how to adapt. How to face the unexpected and come out stronger on the other side. Maybe this marriage would be another battle, one fought not with wands or spells, but with patience and understanding.
Or maybe, just maybe, it would be something else. Something he couldn't quite define yet.
After all, he had never imagined that the girl who once seemed so small and insignificant could grow into someone so… captivating. And if Pansy Parkinson had surprised him once, perhaps she could surprise him again.
"Pansy Parkinson," he murmured to himself, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. "My wife."
The words felt strange, foreign, as though they belonged to someone else's story. But they were his now, and there was no turning back.
Neville stared into the flames, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on, just as he had faced everything else in his life. And maybe, just maybe, this new chapter wouldn't be so bad after all.
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The next morning, Neville found himself standing on the grand steps of the Parkinson mansion, his heart pounding in his chest. The towering doors loomed before him, dark and intimidating, much like the woman who resided behind them. He had been here once before, years ago, under far different circumstances. But today, everything has changed.
He raised his hand to knock for what felt like the hundredth time, his knuckles sore from the effort. He was certain he'd been standing there for at least eighteen minutes, but who was counting? Certainly not him. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, a reminder of just how out of his depth he was.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open. Pansy Parkinson stood in the doorway, her expression a perfect blend of irritation and disinterest. She looked him up and down with those sharp, dark eyes, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance and nervous demeanor.
"Longbottom," she said coolly, as if his name was a greeting and a challenge all at once.
Neville swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto his face. "Pansy, it's so nice to see you again."
Her lips twisted into something that could barely be called a smirk. "Oh yeah, yeah, the pleasure is fucking mine." She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe with a casual defiance that made Neville's stomach twist. "What do you want?"
Neville took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could feel his nerves threatening to take over, but he pushed them down. He had faced far worse than this. He could do this.
"I'm here," he began, his voice wavering slightly before he forced it into steadiness, "because I'm required to be here this morning to offer my sympathy. And to have a talk about our… our marriage."
Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Sympathy? For what, exactly?"
Neville hesitated, not entirely sure how to navigate this minefield. "For… well, for the situation we've found ourselves in."
She laughed, a short, sharp sound that held no real humor. "Sympathy, Longbottom? I don't need your pity. This isn't exactly my dream scenario either, but here we are."
He couldn't help but flinch at her words, but he kept his resolve. "I'm not pitying you, Pansy. I'm just… I just want to make the best of this. We both know the Ministry's decree is out of our hands, but that doesn't mean we have to make it harder than it already is."
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Neville wondered if she was going to slam the door in his face. But then, something in her expression shifted—ever so slightly—and she sighed, rolling her eyes.
"Fine," she said, stepping back and opening the door wider. "Come in, then. Let's get this over with."
Neville nodded, stepping inside the mansion. The interior was just as grand and imposing as he remembered, with high ceilings, dark wood paneling, and portraits of stern-looking ancestors watching over everything. The air was thick with the scent of old books and polished furniture, and it felt as though the walls themselves were closing in on him.
Pansy led him through the foyer and into a drawing room that was almost too elegant, with richly upholstered furniture and heavy drapes that blocked out most of the morning light. She gestured for him to sit, and he did so, feeling distinctly out of place on the plush couch.
She remained standing, her arms still crossed, as she eyed him with a mixture of skepticism and annoyance. "Alright, Longbottom. Let's talk. What exactly do you want from me?"
Neville shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. "I… I want us to be able to talk about this. To figure out how we're going to make this work."
"Make this work?" Pansy echoed, her tone dripping with incredulity. "You really think there's something to be 'made to work' here? This isn't a bloody business arrangement, Neville. It's a life sentence."
Her words stung, but Neville kept his calm. "I know it's not ideal, Pansy. But we don't have a choice, do we? The Ministry made sure of that. So, rather than hating every second of it, why not try to find some common ground?"
Pansy studied him for a long moment, her gaze piercing as though she was trying to see through him. Then, she let out another sigh, though this one was less exasperated and more resigned.
"Common ground?" she repeated, as if testing the words on her tongue. "Alright, Longbottom. You want to find common ground? Then let's start with this: don't expect me to change who I am just because the Ministry's decided we're suddenly perfect for each other. I'm not going to play the doting wife, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm happy about this."
Neville nodded, appreciating her honesty, even if it was blunt. "I wouldn't expect you to," he replied. "And I'm not asking for that. I just want… I don't know. I want us to at least be able to get through this without tearing each other apart."
She tilted her head, considering him with a look he couldn't quite decipher. "We'll see," she said finally, her tone still guarded. "But don't think for a second that I'm going to make this easy for you, Longbottom."
A small, uncertain smile tugged at Neville's lips. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Pansy rolled her eyes again but didn't protest further. Instead, she sat down across from him, her posture as rigid as ever. "So, what now?"
"Now," Neville said, feeling a bit more at ease, "we talk. About how this is going to work, about what we expect, and… about whatever else we need to figure out. We've got time, Pansy. Let's not waste it."
For a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of the situation settling in the room like a heavy fog. But then Pansy leaned back slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.
Neville nodded. "Where are we going to live?"
"Here, of course," she answered, her tone making it clear that there was no room for debate.Neville blinked in surprise.
"But I have a flat," he protested, the thought of leaving his small but comfortable home filling him with unease. It was his sanctuary, a place where he felt safe, surrounded by his books and plants, his own little corner of the world.
"Then sell it," Pansy said, her voice flat and unyielding.
Neville's brow furrowed, his anxiety beginning to mix with a stubborn resolve. "No."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting him to stand his ground. "Then rent it out. Next question."
Neville opened his mouth to argue further but stopped himself. There was no point in pushing this now. She wasn't going to back down easily, and they had more important things to figure out. He could deal with the flat later."
Fine," he said, though he wasn't entirely pleased with the compromise. "We'll stay here."
"Of course we will," Pansy replied, the corners of her mouth twitching in something resembling a smile. "This is my home, Longbottom. It's only fitting."