ENTRY #11

[torino10154]

 Title: A Night in the Life of a Perfectly Ordinary Muggle

Author: oldtoadwoman

I am of legal drinking age in my region: YES

Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, some random OCs who aren't important (Harry Potter universe)

Challenge/Prompts used: [] Pansy Parkinson, [ ] April Showers, [] Greenhouse 3, [] Wolfsbane, [] Under the Stars, [] Bird's Nest

Summary: Violet Vickerson is a Perfectlyy Ordinary Muggle, thank you very much

Rating/Warnings: Just swearing and drunkenness per usual.

Word count: just under 3k

A/N: Original typed entirely in 16-point Comic Sans. Y'all are missing out on all the ambience.  (I would like to thank auto-correct for making this story more coherent than it might have been otherwise. I , for one, welcome our new robot overlords.)

Violet Vickerson was a PErfectly Ordinary Muggle, thank you very much. She was perfectly ordinary and average in all things, living a quiet ordinary average sort of life. SHe had worked a variety of menial or clerical jobs over the years and was currently employed in a small florist shop which suited her wel. She lived in an ordinary flat and had ordinary friends. She was average height and average looks, with unremarkable hobbies. She liked movies and music and romance novels and she had a paralyzing phobia of snakes. Normal muggle stuff.

It was admittedly a fact that one thing Perfectly Ordinary Muggles did *not* do was announce that they were Perfectly Ordinary Muggles after they'd had a few too many drinks. Muggles, as a general rule, didn't know they were muggles. Fortunately, the other muggles had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, so it generally worked out just fine.

Mark only patted her shoulder and "Of course, love" and ordered another round. The bartender served her more of the nasty whiskey that Mark was drinking, forgetting she'd requested a rum-n-coke, but it was too late in the evening to be properly fussed about it.

Violet tended toward impatience and irritability, but despite her appearance—middle aged with permanent lines that let you know a frown was her default expression—she never, ever asked to speak to a manager. Violet Vickerson avoided conflict at all times and did not bring attention to herself. 

"Whad'ya want to go to the sea for?" Mark slurred when Violet brought the idea up again. "Cold and damp this time of year, and the two weeks a'year the weather's nice it's just all full of tourists."

Violet missed Paul. It was a recurring theme in her life to miss the most recent ex, regretting the impulsive choices that brought her to the next relationship. She had never expected to miss Paul of all people though. Mark was hot. Unnaturally thin and unnatrually blond and, though he owed his pale hair to a bottle of bleach, he stil reminded her of a boy she'd known in school. First love and all that shit. Working at the florists shop occasionally dredged up wistsful memories of Herbology classes. They'd done things after hours in Greenhouse #3 that had scandalized her at the time, but which wouldn't even make Mark blush. *And* Mark was a drummer. Fucking hot.

Paul had not been hot. At all. He reminded her of some other boy she'd known in school whose name she couldn't remember. Someone she'd mocked for being adumpy and unappealing. That didn't narrow it down. Violet had mocked a lot of people in school. Violet was a right bitch, frankly. But Paul woudl not have scoffed at the idea of a day trip to the sea. Paul would have taken her and bought her fish-n-chips and Violet was just now coming to terms with the idea that she was at a point in her life where what she really wanted from a man was compansionship and food.

She didn't *really* want a man at all. She definitely didn't want children and so it seemed more efficient to avoid men entirely. She'd given lesbians the old college try but she and her ex-girlfriend only bickered a lot and the sex felt like a chore. She'd followed that with a few years of celibacy, but was even more miserable. Violet liked dicks and that was that. So best to have a dick around, but sort of at a distance, weekends and special occasion, definitely not a regular daily thing.

So there had been Paul who'd been a bit dumpy and boring but generously eager to please and now there was Mark who was fucking hot, but also dumb as a rock and too cool for a tourist holiday to the beach.

"Bored!" Violet announced.

They left the bar and were walking down the street when it started to rain. She had a moment standing there, under the stars, where the entire world felt clean and beautiful. "April showers bring May flowers," Mark quoted. "Are you a May flower, love?"

"My name actually means violet," Violet said, absently, forgetting herself yet again. "Like the flower."

Mark was drunk. Possibly also stoned. He wasn't in a state to call her out, he only observed absently, "I know, love, I just said that."

They staggered a bit, leaning on each other as they traversed the pavement, and Violet couldn't remember where tehyw ere going. Home? Or did Mark have a gig at another nightclub? 

Her scalp itched and she realized her hair was slanting sideways. Violet wore her hair in a knot, wound in on itself and pinned in place with a long ebony stick. It held firmly almost indefinitely as long as alcohol was not involved, but somehow drinking instantly turned her hair into a bird's nest and now everything was sliding to the left. She removed the stick—a Perfectly Ordinary Stick some twenty centimeters long—and shook out her hair, finger combing out the tangles.

Mark said something she didn't catch, but the tone sounded obscene and so she very much hoped they were heading home (his or hers, didn't matter) or that there was at least a private corner in whichever club they were going to.

She wound her hair back up and carefully replaced the stick. It had been much longer than twenty centimeters originally, but over the years, she had very, *very* carefully filed and sanded it down, removing much of the ebony but preserving the unicorn hair core. She tested between each sanding with a simple leviosa spell to ensure none of the magic had leaked out. On the final trim, she'd gotten just a *touch* too close to the core and had to tape up the end with green florist's tape, to which she'd added a silk violet. It now looked even more like a deliberate hair ornament so she was generally pleased with the result.

She also had a pocket knife that she kept on her at all times and—as proof that she really was just a Perfectly Ordinary Muggle these days—it honestly got more use. (It had a bottle opener on the side.) 

Mark starting cursing and yelling. Something about his phone being stolen at the last bar. Violet did her best to ignore him. It was unlikely it had been stolen, though she dreaded the effort involved in going back to the bar to look for it.

Her anxiety gave way to relief when she caught sight of the Knight Bus. "We are saved!" she thought and possibly also said aloud..

Muggles had no business on the Knight Bus, but Mark was too drunk-and-possibly-stoned to notice anything amiss. When the triple-decker bus pulled up, she shoved Mark on and lead him to an empty bed near the back.

"Where *are* we going?" she repeated when the conductor asked their destination.

Mark gave the name of a club that she vaguely remembered having been to before.

The conductor squinted at them suspiciously, but then looked over Violet's left shoulder and nodded before turning away.

Violet disentangled herself from Mark to look over her shoulder and felt a shock of inexplicable panic.

*Paul!* her brain said. But it wasn't Paul. It was someone taller and more attractive and definitely more judgemental. Not-Paul was sort of glaring at her with crossed arms and a frown.

"What?!" she asked defiantly, because despite having spent her entire adult life in conflict-avoidance mode, Violet was,at her core, still a bitch.

Not-Paul stood and walked toward her as the Kinght Bus lurched from side to side so Not-Paul looked almost as drunk as she actually was.

Violet blinked and yawned and closed her eyes again. "Where do you live?" the stranger asked and that didn't seem like a safe sort of question to answer, so she didn't. 

She looked around and then asked, "Where's Mark?" because Mark didn't seem to be on the bus any longer.

"Ah, awake again?" Not-Paul asked.

"I've *been* awake," Violet insisted irritably, basic evidence to the contrary. "Where's Mark?" she repeated.

"I Put him in a car home," Not-Paul said. "Muggles don't belong on the KNight Bus, and you know it, Pansy."

Violet winced.

Paull had reminded her of a boy she'd known in school and  Not-Paul reminded her of Paul *and* he knew her name. There were unfortunate conclusions to be drawn.

"Vincent?" she asked hesitantly.

Not-Paul scowled at her even more. Oh, of course, not, Crabbe was dead, wasn't he?

"Gregory? No," she stopped herself before he could evendeny it, "Not Slitherin at all. Hufflepuff? Yes, definitely Hufflepuffl."

He rolled his eyes in a *very* familiar and superior way and she corrected herself again, "Nah, fuck it, Griffyndor. Know that fucking attitude anywhere."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, as if she was really supposed to remember his name all these decades later. "Peter? Norbert? Ronald?"

Not-Paul pinched the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration.

"No, not Ronald," she realized, "he was the one with the pretty hair."

"Pretty hair?" Not-Paul repeated.

She nodded. "All the Weasleys had such lovely hair. I'd have killed for hair like that."

He sighed.

"Norbert," she said firmly. 

"Norbert was a dragon!"

"Norbert Widebottom," she insisted. "I remember you now. We had… *classes* together," she finished vaguely because she coudln't remember which ones.

"Longbottom," he said flatly. "Nveille Longbottom."

"Right," she agreed. Close enough. "So, how've you been?"

"This is your stop," the conductor announced.

"We still don't know where Pansy lives," Neville protested.

"Your stop," the conductor repeated firmly.

For reasons she din't quite understand, the conductor seemed to outrank them both, though she was reasonably sure they could have overpowered him if they'd worked together. But they got off the bus without any fuss and she followed Neville home though he didn't seem particularly happy about it.

There were stairs involved at some point because she remembered going up them on her hands and knees. Very narrow, steep, dangerous. They oughtn't to make stairs like that. Hand-and-knees were the only way to do it.

She didn't remember all the details, but she was sitting on a small divan now with a crocheted blanket wrapped around her and a hot cup of tea in her hands. She'd have preferred rum and may have even said so, but the tea was comforting all the same so she continued to sip at it.

Neville asked what she'd been up to for the last few decades and for reasons she din't fully understand she actually told him. She told him about the grocery store job and the years at the car dealership and the florist shop. About how washing machines worked surprisingly well and when you couldn't just pop into Diagon Alley, because you were a Perfeclty Ordinary Muggle thank you very much, to pick up ingredients like wolfsbane and such, it was actually *easier* just to buy washing powder at the store and do your laundry the muggle way than to attempt some sort of purification spell. She told him about Rachel and Gavin and Mark. She did *not* tell him about Paul.

By the second cup of tea, Neville's expression and softened from annoyed to bored, which counted as an improvement so she ventured to ask him again what he'd been up to and she put a certain amount of effort into actually listening to his answer.

He offered her a third cup of tea and she offered him something a bit vulgar and they both politely declined and the conversation cotninued with barely a pause.

"Hogswarts?" she asked with a shudder, "really? That's not like… dunno, PTSD-central or something?"

"You should talk," he said. "You're still hiding? Voldemort's been gone for ages. Not coming back this time."

"It's not you-know-who I'm hiding from, is it?" she asked. 

He tilted his head and squinted at her as if he ddidn't understand the obvious.

"Do I need to spell it out?"

"Please do."

"I'm a shitty person! Alright?! Me, shit, me. Can't show my face, can I?"

She had the vague idea that he should now be reassuring her that she wasn't a shit person because this was how drunk confsssions normally went, but he only nodded in agreement. "Which particular moment led to this revelation?" he asked.

"Well… I mean, there was the whole suggesting we turn Harry Potter over to you-know-who which turned out… well, wrong side of history and all that."

Neville nodded again. "Well, that's one, yes."

"One?"

"Do I need to list out all the others?"

"Look, I'm a shit person already! I said it! Fuck! I'm a mean, shitty, awful person and I think mean, shitty, awful things and the only reason I don't say them all out loud anymore is that I don't want anyone to notice me."

"Progress, I suppose."

"Progress?"

"Not saying them out loud."

"I still think them."

"Everyone *thinks* them," Neville said.

"Everyone? Like… you? You think mean, shitty awful things?" She couldn't imagine that a nerdy little (well, not-so-little) do-gooder like Neville Longbottom had the faintest idea what sort of spiteful things popped into her head.

But he proved her wrong. "We all think all manner of awful things. We think obscene things about pretty strangers who we shouldn't be looking at and we think of mean-spirited rude jokes to say at inappropriate moments and we want to scream insults at the barista who can't get a simple coffee order right and we want to punch the neighbor who plays their awful music too loud. The difference between a good person and bad person isn't want they think. It's what they *do*."

Violet Vickerson, who hadn't done or said a single particularly awful thing in over two decades, blinked up at him. "Are you saying I'm a good person?"

"What?!" Neville spluttered. "No! No! What?! You're a bitch! You're a horrid *unapologetic* bitch, Pansy Parkinson! You always have been!"

"I *just* apologized!"

"For *one* thing and barely."

"So what *are* you saying then?"

"That it's a *choice*. And it's a choice you make every single day. And if you've been making better choices lately… well… good." 

 "Okay, then."

"Okay."

There was a long awkward silence and she wished she'd accepted that third cup of tea as that would have given her something to do. But the cup was empty. Her bladder wasn't. "I need to pee," she announced.

He pointed her to the loo and she fled the room. After taking care of business, she took the extra time to snoop around because, after all, she knew she wasn't a good person so why waste time pretending. A look through the medicine cabinet and the shower didn't turn up any evidence of anyone other than Neville in the flat. Had he been wearing a ring? She ought to have paid attention. Fuck, why was she even thinking about this?

She walked back out into the living room as steadily as her legs were capable of and stood facing him square on.

"I'm sorry. Truly."

"For?"

"I honestly don't remember."

He groaned.

"I *don't* remember," she insisted. "I was shitty to everyone about eerything and I don't remember what I specifically said or did to you. But Iknow I was mean. When I was scared I took it out on other people and when I was angry I took it out on other people and when I was insecure I put other people down to feel like I was better than they were. And I thought other people *didn't* do those tings because they werne't clever enough to think of a good insult."

She took a deep breath and sat back down on the divan. After a moment, she wrapped the crocheted blanket around her again. "It never occurred to me," she said, "that other people had mean thoughts and just didn't act on them because… because they were better than I was."

Neville patted her on the knee in a surprisingly non-creepy away. "Get some sleep, Pansy. I'll see you home in the morning."

"Or the seaside?" she asked.

Neville had already gotten up to the leave the room, but he stopped and turned to stare at her. "What?"

"Do you ever find yourself just wanting to go to the seaside for no reason?"

"What you mean just to … eat sweets and fried fish?"

She nodded. "I know everyone says it's still too cold, but…"

"But if you wait until midsummer it's all overrun with tourists," Neville agreed. "Now's really the best time."

Violet Vickerson said nothing. Pansy Parkinson suggested something obscene.

Neville Longbottom stared vacantly at the wall, a slight twitch around his lips the only indication he'd even heard her, a tiny hint that sometimes even good people considered wicked things. "We can talk about both of those things in the morning, Pansy."

He tucked the blanket around her shoulder as she mumbled, "My name means violet, you know. Like the flower. That's why I use the name."

"Would you prefer I called you Violet?"

"Nah, I haven't been called Pansy in years. Makes me feel young."

"Goodnight, Pansy."

"Goodnight, Norbert."

Comments

[lq_traintracks]

Wow, that had an actual plot that you managed to carry all the way through! Congrats! This was very engaging, and I like the hope in the ending. :)

firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

Thank you!

[ride_4ever]

This really gave me the sense of "and now for something completely different" where it says one thing Perfectly Ordinary Muggles did *not* do was announce that they were Perfectly Ordinary Muggles after they'd had a few too many drinks. Muggles, as a general rule, didn't know they were muggles. Fortunately, the other muggles had no idea what the fuck she was talking about....

I <3 the line Violet was just now coming to terms with the idea that she was at a point in her life where what she really wanted from a man was compansionship and food.... It says so much about Violet (plus...uhm...I can really identify with it).

And this says so much about Violet too. So best to have a dick around, but sort of at a distance, weekends and special occasion, definitely not a regular daily thing.

"My name actually means violet," Violet said.... LOL LOL LOL.

This, oh yes. "Nah, fuck it, Griffyndor. Know that fucking attitude anywhere."

There were stairs involved at some point because she remembered going up them on her hands and knees. Yikes!

In vino veritas -- or in whatever you are drinking veritas -- Neville's remarks "We all think all manner of awful things....The difference between a good person and bad person isn't want they think. It's what they *do*."

Wow, you constructed a coherent story, a drunk!fic coherent story...and I really <3 this story and have feels about it.

firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

Thank you! I like the idea that being a good person is something you put effort into. (I'm tired of people using excuses for bad behavior that actually apply to all of us.) And I'd certainly like to believe that some of those awful people I knew in school mellowed out a little with age. I had to google Pansy Parkinson because I didn't really remember anything specific about her and the Internet said it was kind of an open question of what happened to her in the end. Did she join up with the bad guys or just run and hide? Once I realized that I had a prompt where the canon left the story wide open, the idea just dug in.

[maraudersaffair]

Norbert widebottom ! Haha

This was delightful

firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

Thank you!

[seal_girl]

I love this!
A drunk!fic about being drunk, a lovely plot, some excellent lines, and I adore the idea of a wizard finding the muggle world preferable in some ways - washing machines :)


My fav bit is her fixing the end of her wand with florist tape. Go muggle stuff! *snigger*

-x-

firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

Drunk!fic about being drunk is such a natural. :-)

And seriously, some of those spells seem like so much effort.

Thank you for the lovely comment!

Re: firewhiskey

[seal_girl]

If (when??!!) you want to post it somewhere else I'd love to beta for you if you need it.

I love this fic ♥

-x-

Re: firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

I hadn't really planned to do anything else with it, but if you think it's worth the effort, I might consider it. ♥

Re: firewhiskey

[seal_girl]

I enjoyed it hugely, but if you don't feel it, don't force it.
I love the idea that a wizard would prefer our muggle world to theirs.

If you do ever feel like it, I'd love to help :)

Re: firewhiskey

[oldtoadwoman]

I'll let you in on a little secret. I pretty much pander directly to whichever audience is encouraging me the strongest. :-)

On rare occasions, I'm inspired by the story itself (and have written thousands and thousands of words in dead fandoms that only a handful of people will ever read), but mainly it's responding to a beta reader patting me on the head going "more of this please". In fact, what turned some of those dead-fandom epics into such long detailed stories were having a couple of beta readers cheering me on the whole way. (Because it doesn't really matter how many people are patting me on the head. It's more about the consistency of "good fanfic author, have a cookie, now go write more".)

And I don't really have an active beta/cheerleader at the moment, so output has been slim.

Re: firewhiskey

[seal_girl]

Right then. My path is clear.

This is a great little story that needs to be seen by the wider fandom at large. Now, I know I'm not even a part of HP, but I don't care, because maybe that's the point for me. It's a HP fic that is so grounded in our poor old Muggle World: stupid crappy jobs, dead-end relationships, getting drunk and making mistakes.

MORE OF THIS PLEASE
please, please, please, please???

I could probably find cookies too :D

Now - being slightly more serious, I really love this and I really, really hope that you decide to do more with it.

-x-

[erinosse]

Lol you’re so funny. I loved Violet’s name meaning violet “like the flower”, & that she was a grumpy bitch but not a manager-seeker & it being best to have dick around but not as a “regular daily thing”. I loved the plot idea, of good people being the ones who make the effort, & I loved the way you seamlessly incorporated all those prompts. Also, adult Neville Longbottom is a catch these days I think, I hope it works out haha.

♥

[oldtoadwoman]

::hugs:: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the drunk fic!