Cowardice or Bravery

"Are people born wicked or did they have wickedness thrust upon them?"

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A bedtime story should have had princes and quests and happily-ever-afters, but Henry drifted to sleep with his sister's whispered warning about Death Eaters and the Dark Lord echoing in his small, untroubled snores. Pansy sat at the edge of his bed, brushing hair from his eyes as she sang him the lullabies she'd learned at Hogwarts and wove more age-appropriate tales. They lived in his favorite book, but she edited the bits about the family fortune and loving parents, careful not to let any ugly truths spill onto the page. Outside, raised voices bounced off marble walls, but Henry's world stayed simple, good, and true. Just how she wanted it.

As he slept, Pansy touched a bruise on his cheek with light fingers, ensuring she didn't wake him. Poor, defenseless Henry. He wouldn't remember their father's rage, nor his mother's cool indifference as she insisted the family's precious heir not be disturbed. Not if she could help it. The door to his bedroom closed with a soft click, and Pansy's face twisted as she tried to bury her rage.

Her own memories did not give her the luxury of sleep. They unfurled themselves in quick succession: breakfast together in the kitchen. She spread toast with marmalade as he bemoaned an owl-less summer without her, and she assured him she'd be back before the last leaf turned brown. They played Gobstones, and she let him win—sometimes.

They colored, and Pansy feigned shock when Henry refused to color within the lines. "Aunt Ursula is going to explode," she said. Henry laughed. "I'll clean it up with the Leviosa spell," he said, floating the crayon above the page. "The what spell?" said Pansy, as if she hadn't just completed a term at the most prestigious wizarding school in Britain.

Her best memories, though, were the ones with action, the ones with risk and stakes: holding hands in the labyrinthine gardens as they looked for dragons. Henry swung a stick sword through the topiary. He would need a real one, someday, to protect his family from harm. It made Pansy happy to pretend, even though the truth made her sick.

In these memories, they were too carefree to care. Pansy caught Henry at the bottom of a spiraling slide, lifting him with surprising strength. She pushed him on the swings while their mother hosted a stuffy lunch, pretending he was a bird, and she gave him piggyback rides in the orchard, laughing despite herself as they tipped sideways and landed in the dirt.

How could Pansy protect him from a world with so many cracks? From the bruises on his skin and his innocence? She sheltered him from family obligations, covering his ears to keep their mother's complaints from leaving a permanent mark. Her favorite memory was of them building a blanket fort with drapes stolen from the ballroom.

A lot of this memory took place when Henry was young enough that he still called her "Bassy," which she pretended to hate but secretly loved. In the center of the tent, they read a magical atlas, their heads side-by-side on a single pillow. It was one of their favorite books, because they could live there in safety. It was all castles and fjords and blue skies and—

Screaming, their father's voice filled the house like a storm. There was a tense moment of silence, and then Henry began to cry. Pansy knew she had to protect him. She found him wrapped in the pages of the atlas, hoping he hadn't heard too much. A couple years older now, she took him to his room, brushing his cheek and singing until he fell asleep again.

The recollection left her feeling less like Pansy and more like an observer who barely remembered any of this, and who now felt the grief of an abandoned soul.

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Pansy never thought of herself as a coward. She supposed cowards didn't.

It was easy, when you were Draco's darling and everyone loved you, to mistake self-interest for bravery. In the hallways of Hogwarts, she did just that, keeping to the warm cocoon of other purebloods and flattering them with the words she knew they wanted to hear.

Gryffindors were trouble, but Slytherins were loyalty, ambition, legacy, and strength. That's how she remembered it.

It was a time when Slytherins had power. When Gryffindors were weak and flailing, when the balance shifted in their favor. It was the best year. She marched down the hall like she owned the place, certain that she did. Everyone she knew had the Dark Mark, or a parent in Azkaban, or was a coward and a blood traitor. It was easy to be fearless in that company.

Pansy sneered at students she didn't know and barely remembered their names. At Christmas, she spread rumors about who got left behind, making them sound as miserable as she secretly felt on summer holiday.

She dumped a full vial of ink on a Muggleborn girl's Potions essay, then offered her half a Galleon to mop it up, then walked away, laughing, as it was never about the money.

As soon as Pansy and Draco boarded the train, they made their dominance clear. This time, it was Crabbe and Goyle playing fetch, threatening a little boy with something wiggly and disgusting that he couldn't reach. She pretended not to be jealous that she'd never had such an obedient pair of henchmen.

Draco treated her like a queen, like a pureblood princess, like she was someone worthy. It made her feel dizzy and in love. Like she was on a swing, before the world went dark. Was she a coward then? Or only when she was protecting Henry?

Sometimes she let others think she was fragile. It made them underestimate her. It made them say yes when they should say no. Was she really any different, any kinder, than the boys who cornered the Gryffindor pet? The memory took hold in full force, her mask stripped away.

Gryffindor Tower should have been an easy target. Pansy clung to Draco's side like a sparrow on a hawk's wing. "Got you!" she called, yanking the little redhead out of sight, trapping her like prey. They hissed blood-traitor and carrot-top and four-eyes and Weasley. A flick of a wand glued Harry's biggest fan to the dungeon ceiling, hoisting her and leaving her to stew while they watched and jeered.

They had the power. They had it all. They had friends and loved ones and didn't die. And they would never let the Gryffindors forget it.

Cowards would've run away, but Pansy and the others stayed. They didn't care who saw, they didn't care if they got caught, and when it was done, they gave themselves medals for bravery.

Was she a coward to think of herself first? Was she weak and small, or was she strong like Draco said she was? The longer she asked herself, the less she knew. The more she wondered if everyone else saw through her act.

Her hand quivered as she was sorted into Slytherin, like she wanted to tear off her mask.

Was she always a coward? Was she even brave enough to ask?

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"Somebody grab him!" shouted Pansy, leaping to her feet and pointing with conviction. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. It should have been a moment of power. It should have been when they proved how smart they were. How right. But instead it was a moment of fear and desperation, the moment Pansy thought she might lose Henry forever.

"Potter's right there! What are you waiting for?" She'd believed in Draco, in herself, in her place. How could the others have lost faith? She watched as Harry ignored the threat and the noise, as if it weren't a matter of life and death, and walked away. She remembered what she said. She remembered the sick way she felt when no one had her back.

"Grab him! Before he gets us all killed." Maybe they were all cowards. They thought Pansy was one too, or they would have rallied. It was supposed to be when they showed their bravery, but it turned into the moment she broke, the moment she let Henry down.

When she watched him leave the Great Hall unscathed, when nobody listened, when nobody had her back, she thought the world was over. They couldn't stop him, they couldn't fight the Dark Lord, but still they turned on her like she was the traitor.

She ran to the one place she felt safe. But could it ever be safe again? Would it crumble with everything else? Could they ever be right? Could they ever win?

Pansy hid in the Headmaster's office, waiting for the worst. It was only a matter of time.

She waited for hours, for days, for eternity, alone with her thoughts. She started to doubt everything, even herself. Maybe she was small. Maybe she was the coward they thought she was.

What if Henry was wrong about her? What if Draco was? She was brave enough to stay, but they still thought she was scared.

A shout from below broke her thoughts. She almost ran. But instead she waited. She did nothing, not even breathe, until silence took over and her courage returned.

She watched out the window, watching and waiting and hoping to see anyone she knew, wondering if they'd all forgotten her. Or if they remembered and hated her anyway.

Slytherins were loyalty, ambition, legacy, strength. She'd thought she was all of those. But in the end she had none.

It took every last shred of loyalty to stay. But it was all she had left. Her heart rattled against the silence of the castle, as she hid in the Headmaster's office, alone with her doubts and the fear that the worst had happened.

Maybe the Gryffindors and their mudblood friends weren't so weak after all. Maybe Pansy was the weakest of them all.

They left her behind. That was all she could think. She risked everything and they left her behind.

She didn't even know who they were. They should have stayed with her, but she couldn't be sure of anything. She was beginning to see how cowardly she really was.

She'd let Henry down. She'd let herself down. Maybe there was nothing left to lose.

When the door opened, Pansy nearly screamed. The first thing she noticed was how filthy he was. How angry he looked. How alone he was.

It was Potter. She stayed very still and very quiet and hoped he wouldn't see her. She would've done anything not to be noticed.

Harry walked right by her. He was in shock, just like she'd been. She couldn't believe her eyes.

He stared into a stone basin. She'd heard about the Pensieve but thought it was a myth, like loyalty or love or courage.

A shimmer of blue light bathed his face. She wanted to ask him what he saw, but she was too scared to move, to breathe, to do anything except wait.

Harry's face was too stunned, too defeated, too much like her own when Draco disappeared. He backed away from the Pensieve like it was poison.

He looked right at her and she hid anyway. Coward, coward, coward. That was all she was. That was all she would ever be.

She watched him leave the office. He was still alive. He was still alive!

And then he was gone. And she wanted to know why.

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She had to know what the boy hero saw. And when she looked, when she dared to gaze into the swirling memories of the Pensieve, Pansy saw things that could not be. Horrors that must have been tricks of the light or the imaginings of a scared and defeated mind.

Her first thought was of Harry, and she almost felt sorry for him. But she wasn't that kind of girl. She was selfish, she was spoiled, she was herself. So she had to see.

Pansy leaned over the stone basin, waiting for a clear view. Waiting for something to confirm her worst suspicions or contradict them completely.

A tower. A young Snape. An unbreakable vow. Pansy saw it all. A dead man, walking with his head held high and full of secrets, a Death Eater with a double life.

It couldn't be.

Severus killed Dumbledore. Severus was a hero.

It was all too horrible to believe. Too much to make sense of. She had to know more. She had to know everything.

Pansy leaned closer, reckless and afraid, seeing more than she ever wanted to see.

Maybe they tricked him too. Maybe they tricked them all.

It wasn't just about Snape. Pansy saw the truth unfold in front of her. It was worse than she ever imagined. Worse than a nightmare.

Dumbledore's secrets. Prophecies. Horcruxes. Pigs.

Harry. They were going to let Harry die.

She was not alone in her betrayal. She was not alone in believing in false promises and broken trust.

And there was one last secret that explained it all.

One final lie that tied everyone together.

She saw it all. She couldn't believe it. And she couldn't believe she hadn't known.

She fled. She ran like Harry ran, but she had no one to find.

The world was even uglier than she'd feared.

It was a miracle any of them survived.

When the last memory faded, Pansy ran with new purpose and old loyalties. There were truths. There were dirty lies. There were abandoned promises. And she believed in all of them.

It was worse than anything she'd seen in the Pensieve. Her own memories came rushing back, uninvited and unwanted.

Pansy couldn't get away fast enough.

Everyone was gone. The halls of Hogwarts were empty. The world had turned its back on her, but she ran anyway.

She saw betrayal. She saw loneliness. She saw Henry.

She was scared and she was scared to admit it. But what was left to fear?

Did they even care that she was gone? Did they even notice?

There was nobody to see her cry. Nobody to see her break. Nobody to care.

She always thought she was smarter than them. Always thought she knew the truth.

She ran from everything, just like always. She didn't know where she was going, just that she couldn't stay.

Was this how it felt for Snape? For Harry?

Was this how it felt for Henry?

She wanted to know what it was like for everyone.

She wanted to feel it all.

They wouldn't have left her. Not like this. Not like Draco.

It was too horrible. Too unbelievable. But she believed it.

It couldn't be the end.

Was she a coward, or was she brave enough to find out?

Pansy thought she had everything to lose.

She was finally willing to lose it all.

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Darkness washed over her like a second chance, but this time it didn't come with screams and accusations. This time there was safety. There was warmth. There was a heartbeat.

It was everything she'd run from and everything she wanted.

This time she wasn't alone. She was part of something bigger. She could feel it all.

The world stopped spinning. The world stopped breaking. The world stopped.

It was Pansy, it was nothing like Pansy, it was someone new. It was all of them.

Her cowardice. Her bravery. Her Henry. Her friends. Her soul.

She was alive and she was alive again.

And then she was reborn.

The darkness gave way to light.

The warmth gave way to chill.

The heartbeat gave way to screams.

Her own scream startled her back to life.

There was no escaping it.

It was all she ever knew.

It was all she never knew.

She was ready.

She was someone new.