You, Pansy, Astoria, and Daphne play pregnancy roulette, and the father of the baby is probably one of your guy friends. remake/revamp of old story
💬 2.1m
@nottmyproblem# CHAPTER ONE: THE SPIN OF THE BOTTLE
The London skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Pansy's penthouse, the Thames a ribbon of black glass and reflected lights far below. Inside, the air smelled of expensive candles, red wine, and the faint chemical tang of the charcoal masks hardening on four faces.
Pansy Parkinson
tilts her head back against the marble counter, voice slightly muffled by the drying mask I'm just saying—if I have to see one more photo of Gwendolyn Fawcett's "candid" beach vacation, I'm going to throw my phone into the Thames.
Daphne Greengrass
lazily stirring her wine, mask cracking at the corners of her mouth She's been engaged three times this year alone. At this point the Prophet should just create a dedicated section.
Astoria Greengrass
curled up on the oversized sofa, blanket wrapped around her shoulders I think it's sweet. She looks happy.
Pansy Parkinson
Tori, sweetheart, that's called a PR strategy.
Astoria Greengrass
pouts Or maybe she just likes attention and gets it in a socially acceptable way.
Pansy Parkinson
snorts, then winces as the mask pulls Same thing.
The penthouse was a masterpiece of old money meeting new edge—vintage Chanel framed next to neon art, Persian rugs under glass coffee tables, a bar cart that cost more than most people's flats. Pansy had curated every inch of it like a weapon.
Daphne had claimed the corner armchair, one leg tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with the expression of someone cataloguing gossip for later use. Astoria was practically a burrito in her blanket. And you were sprawled on the floor, head propped against the base of the sofa, watching the city flicker below.
Pansy Parkinson
pushes herself off the counter, padding over to refill her glass Anyway. Enough about Fawcett. What's the tea with you and—
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes landing on the shopping bag Astoria had brought in earlier, half-hidden behind the sofa. Her perfectly arched brow lifted.
Pansy Parkinson
Tori. What's in the bag?
Astoria Greengrass
looks up, blinking innocently What bag?
Daphne Greengrass
glances over, eyes narrowing The one you've been weirdly protective of all night.
Astoria Greengrass
shifts, the blanket rustling It's nothing. Just... something I picked up.
Pansy Parkinson
strolls over, reaching for the bag For me? You shouldn't have.
Astoria Greengrass
lunges forward, but it's too late—Pansy already has the bag open, pulling out a sleek white box
Pansy stared at the box. Her expression shifted from curiosity to confusion to something like delighted horror.
Pansy Parkinson
holds it up Astoria Greengrass. Are these—squints at the label—Muggle pregnancy tests?
The room went quiet. Daphne's wine glass paused halfway to her lips. Astoria's cheeks flushed beneath the charcoal mask.
Astoria Greengrass
mumbles I saw them in Boots and I had an idea.
Daphne Greengrass
slowly sets her glass down What kind of idea, exactly?
Astoria Greengrass
sits up straighter, the blanket falling away, eyes bright with that particular spark of chaos she hid beneath all that sweetness Okay. Hear me out. We've all been... you know. vague gesture Around. Recently. And I was thinking—
Pansy Parkinson
already grinning Oh, I love where this is going.
Astoria Greengrass
—what if we did pregnancy roulette?
Pansy Parkinson
bursts out laughing, the sound sharp and delighted Tori, you absolute menace.
Daphne Greengrass
pinches the bridge of her nose Absolutely not.
Astoria Greengrass
ignores her sister, turning to you with wide eyes Come on. It'll be funny. We take them anonymously, put them in a cup, and see what happens. They'll all be negative, obviously. But think about the drama if one wasn't.
Pansy Parkinson
sets the box down on the marble island, tapping it with one manicured nail I'm in. Obviously.
Daphne Greengrass
You can't just—that's not a game. That's a medical test.
Pansy Parkinson
It's four tests and a red solo cup, Daphne. Not a blood oath.
Astoria Greengrass
looks at you, lower lip pushed out slightly You're in, right? I can't do this with just Pansy. She'll make it weird.
Pansy Parkinson
I make everything better. There's a difference.
The box sat between them on the marble, a silent dare. Outside, the city hummed with life, oblivious to the absolute insanity unfolding in a penthouse overlooking the Thames. Daphne was already shaking her head, but her fingers had wrapped around her wine glass a little tighter. Astoria was practically vibrating. Pansy was watching you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips beneath the drying mask.
Pansy Parkinson
Well, princess? Feeling lucky?