Public Appearances

When most people look at a person for the first time, they only see skin deep. And while it may be a somewhat shallow accusation, it's human nature and everyone has all done at one point or another. Taking that statement into account, when most people looked at Pansy Parkinson they did not like what they saw. Maybe this was the reason for her self loathing, but for whatever reason she did not like herself physically, mentally and emotionally.

She studied herself in front of the mirror critically with a seemingly blank expression on her face, though the wheels in her mind were spinning wildly. Sighing, she watched as her face distorted from blank to one of utter distaste and self loathing. It was no wonder she thought, time and time again, that she had never received any advances from the opposite sex. When she looked into their eyes, she saw nothing of want or desire, just a willingness to be courteous towards her. She really wasn't surprised, what with her thin, narrow form that was pitiful for her seventeen years of age. Everyday she got up and cursed her form for being so narrow, why couldn't she be more curvy? She had taken an eternity to grow breasts - if that is what you wanted to call them - they were barely there. Her long, straight, black hair that came down to her wrists was dull and there was nothing spectacular about it. Next, she studied her skin, the porcelain white texture would have been flawless had it not been for the self-inflicted pain that showed near her wrists. The small indentations of half circles had dried blood covering them, making them stand out. Her veins stood out in an almost unnatural violet color, making her want to slash them open. Even her eyes that had once been a lively dark brown color, were now pitch black.

Yes, Pansy was depressed in the deepest sense of the word, and had not been able to pull herself out of it. Some people when they are down on themselves hide from the world without warning, others sleep all day without regard for others. Pansy however, went around all day with a mask of happiness plastered on her face, and a cruel laugh that inwardly made her cringe.

She sighed again, sitting down on her bed and began to pick at her night dress. When she had been younger, she had been much different. At the beginning of her Hogwarts career, she had prided herself on be born into a dark family and had been proud to call herself Slytherin. She was a nasty little bitch and wasn't afraid to show it, she insulted anyone and everyone, namely those Draco Malfoy had no appreciation for. Now she winced when she remembered how she followed him around, faithfully doing anything for him.

The years had gone by though, and the treatment people from the other houses gave them and people from inside her own house towards her, she had grown quiet and studious. No longer did she obsess over the boy who showed her little or no recognition. No longer did she pick on Granger out of boredom, instead she replaced group activities with books and immersed herself in school work. She had begun to hate where she was from, her family and the fact that she was expected to become a Death Eater. Her thoughts were cut short by the sudden opening of her bedroom door. She turned and saw her mother - her mother - standing in her doorway. The women who had given birth to her was barely even in the same vicinity as her, let alone her room.