"That was an impressive display of magic."
Pansy lifts a sleeve and finally wipes at the blood on her cheek, all the while keeping her wand trained on him. "And it's the last you'll ever see. I doubt recreational duels happen often in Azkaban."
Her father gives a weak chuckle, but Pansy notices when his smile turns to a small grimace of pain. "You think you'll send me to Azkaban?"
"I don't think. I know."
"Oh? How?"
"I have all that I need to prove your guilt."
"Even should that happen to be true, once you disappear into that floo…once you arrive at the Ministry and send those pathetic lapdogs here, do you think I'll still be waiting?"
Pansy hesitates, then shakes her head swiftly. "It doesn't matter. They'll find you."
"Perhaps they will. But do you think they'll find me before I find her?"
"Who?" Pansy asks with a frown.
"Your Mudblood."
Pansy can feel her gaze harden at the mention of Hermione. "You don't know who she is. You'll never find her. And even if you do, I won't let you do anything to her."
Her father manages another weak chuckle. "Of course. You'll kill me first."
"I will."
He surveys her for a moment, then smiles. "Then do it."
Pansy's frown deepens and she shakes her head. "What? No, I'm not going to…" she straightens her back once more. "I'm going to the Ministry. They'll deal with you."
"And when you get back, I'll be gone. Even if you cast a Full-Body Bind on me, by the time it takes you to go to Ministry and back, I'll have a house-elf Apparate me away from here. And once I do, I'll spend the rest of my life hunting you down. You and your Mudblood bitch. Neither of you will ever know safety again. Unless…you kill me."
Pansy feels something cold trickle down her spine at his words. It's true—if he manages to evade capture, if he manages to continue living and breathing, then there's no doubt in Pansy's mind that he'll continue to track her and everyone she loves, picking them off, one by one.
But she won't let that happen. She'll stun him. She'll levitate him into the floo and deliver him to the Ministry herself if necessary.
Pansy's grip tightens around her wand and she changes her stance in preparation to Stupefy him. Her father must notice, because he shakes his head and says, "come now, Pansy, no more stalling. You said you could do it if necessary." He spreads his arm and gives a horrible laugh. "Well, the moment is upon us, dear girl! It's here! Either you kill me now, or I kill everyone in your life. Starting with that that insufferable Greengrass girl."
Pansy freezes at the threat against Daphne and all thoughts of stunning him briefly vanish from her mind. A smile flickers to her father's face as he continues. "I'll start with her. It won't be hard to find her, and once I do, I'll draw it out. I'll make her suffer in a way that will make Beatrice's fate look pleasant. I'll break and re-break every bone in her body. I'll burn her flesh until it bubbles. I'll pry her nails from her hands, one by one. I'll do whatever it takes until she tells me the name of your little Mudblood whore, and once she does, I'll kill her. And then," he whispers, his voice chilling Pansy to the bone, "then I'll move onto the real prize. Perhaps I'll even take the time before I kill her to see what it is about this Mudblood that's so…alluring to you," he finishes with an horrendous, lewd smile.
Pansy stares at her father in numb horror. The casually delivered threat makes her breath stick in her throat and she's dimly aware of a high-pitched ringing filling her ears. Frantically, her eyes flick back and forth, trying to land on something that won't exacerbate her sky-high anxiety, but eventually, they drop down to her father's collar where she notices pinpricks of blood staining the pristine white a deep, dark, scarlet red. She stares at the spots, overwhelming dread filling every space inside of her, and she remembers another, long ago night when he had come to her with bloodstains on his collar. Her legs buckle beneath her and somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant scream echoes.
No. Not now.
Pansy gives her head a small shake to try and clear her thoughts, to fight off the nightmare that's plagued her at every turn for years, but it's of no use. Being in the same room makes the memory come on so strongly, she can barely breathe, and whatever combination of willpower and adrenaline she had been relying on to keep the recollection at bay evaporates in an instant. The scream is growing louder, overpowering the high-pitched ringing, and Pansy lifts her hands desperately to her ears, trying to block out the very familiar noise.
Her vision starts to tunnel and both her father and the room around her slowly melt away.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you've left me no choice," her father said, raising his voice to be heard over her aunt's harsh breathing and moans of pain. "Really, Beatrice…did you think we'd just stand by and let it happen?"
Underneath the table, Pansy curled in on herself, her long-forgotten doll lying useless by her side. She was trembling madly, so much so that she was surprised her father couldn't hear her bones vibrating against the wooden floor.
She didn't know what was happening—all she knew was it was really, really bad.
The moment she had heard the first scream, Pansy had squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears, desperate to block out whatever horrors were being inflicted on her aunt. Everything had seemed to fade away except for that horrible, bloodcurdling scream. But now that the room was quiet again, Pansy was slowly becoming aware of other sensations—the ragged and swollen flesh on the insides of her mouth, where she had bit down to keep her own scream from joining her aunt's; the metallic taste of blood lingering on her tongue that she desperately wished she could wash away; the pain in her fists from clenching them tightly enough to cut off circulation.
But Pansy didn't care about any of the things she was feeling. She would go through anything in the world if it meant keeping her aunt safe. She'd let herself be tortured, no questions asked. All she wanted was to wash the entire night away. To wake up in the morning to find that this was all some horrid nightmare.
There was a series of thuds from above her and more long, pained groans as a polished shoe connected with Beatrice's ribcage over and over. Pansy clenched her fists once more, digging her nails into her palms as she repeated three words over and over again.
She'll be okay.
She chanted it in her head like a mantra, willing it to be true.
She'll be okay, she'll be okay, she'll be okay, she'll—
"You stupid, foolish woman," Pansy's father murmured, almost gently. The strange, soothing tone in his voice made Pansy stop her recitation.
The room was completely silent, save for her aunt's gasps of pain.
Hesitantly, she cracked open her eyes.
Perhaps she had thought her mantra hard enough. Perhaps her father had taught her aunt whatever lesson she needed to learn. Perhaps it was all over. Perhaps—
"Crucio."
Another horrific scream filled the air, this one somehow worse than the first. Pansy smashed her hands against her ears again, curled into herself even tighter, and rocked underneath the table. "No, no, no, no," Pansy whispered, but her voice went unnoticed. Tears rolled down her face as she silently sobbed against the gleaming floor, shaking her head back and forth wildly. "Make it stop," she whispered, pleading with no one in particular. "Please make it stop."
She stayed curled in a ball until the screams stopped once more. In the silence, Pansy immediately started to repeat her mantra once more.
She'll be okay. She'll be okay.
But it didn't work. No matter how many times she said it, it didn't make her father stop, and eventually, she lost track of how many Cruciatus Curses were cast above her head.
After what felt like ages, silence filled the dining room once more, but unlike the previous times, it seemed to linger. Pansy could still hear her aunt's breathing, nothing more than a hollow wheeze, but at least it meant she was still alive.
Maybe it was finally done.
Pansy decided to be brave and open her eyes once more. But this time when did, her aunt was there, crawling toward her.
Except it wasn't her aunt anymore.
She was a monster.
Rivulets of blood were trickling from her purplish-black, bruised face, dripping thick, sticky drops onto the floorboards below. Her neck and cheeks were crisscrossed with deep gashes, presumably from where her fingernails had torn into flesh in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. Wide green eyes were trained on Pansy, and Pansy shuddered uncontrollably when she noticed how the burst blood vessels polluted the whites of her aunt's eyes, staining them with angry blotches of red. But even though the eyes were something out of a grotesque horror novel, Pansy forced herself to look. She knew if she looked hard enough, she'd be able to find her aunt, lurking beneath the pain and horror.
And she did look. She looked as hard as she could, but it didn't matter. Because somehow, whatever warmth and love that had always been present in that familiar gaze—that gaze that had always made Pansy feel like the sun was shining on her—had been completely extinguished. In its place was a kind of glassy-eyed madness that made a scream claw its way up the back of Pansy's throat and an unbearable chill settle into her bones.
Somehow, she managed to drop the awful, empty gaze and turn her eyes elsewhere.
Pansy tried to focus instead on her aunt's lips, trying to read what she was mouthing to her. But even though the lips kept opening and closing, she never managed a sound. The only thing that came out was an eerie, rattling wheeze. Something pink and foamy was bubbling at her mouth, and as it foamed over and dribbled onto her blood-soaked shirt, Pansy felt a wave of nausea roll over her. She pulled her eyes away and looked toward the hands that were slowly pulling her along the floorboards. The nails looked ragged and worn, and Pansy could see a few that looked split in two. The same purplish-black bruising that had covered her face was blooming all over her hands, and though the rest of her skin was covered by clothing, Pansy had a feeling her aunt's entire body matched the color.
She was growing closer and closer, her arm stretched out in desperation, and Pansy felt paralyzed. She wanted to help her aunt, but she didn't know how. What could she possibly do? How could she stop her father? How could—
"Pansy?"
Her mum's shocked voice cut into her thoughts, but she didn't look up. She couldn't take her eyes off of her aunt. Not now. Not when she had to help her.
"Pansy."
If she could just figure out what to do. How to help.
"Pansy."
She could make it better. She could fix her. She could fix this.
"Pansy."
Pansy's father's voice cuts through the memory.
Almost immediately, the sights and sounds of the present moment come roaring back to life, and Pansy manages a choking, startled gasp. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her body is drenched in a cold sweat, and the hard, unforgiving floor presses uncomfortably into her knees.
How did she end up on the floor?
She must have collapsed at some point during the memory. Dimly, she's aware of the pain in her palms where her fingernails have dug into her skin, but the pain doesn't help to focus her thoughts. Now that she's back in the present, her mind is spiraling out of control.
How had this gone so awry? How had they managed to get to this place? All she had to do was stay calm, avoid detection, and get to the Ministry. But now, everyone she loves is in danger. Now, the two people she loves most in the world are going to face the same fate as Beatrice.
She thinks about Daphne and Hermione desperately. There's a sharp pain on Pansy's neck and some part of her realizes that she's moved her nails up to claw at the skin there wildly. When she feels sticky blood against her fingers, she doesn't stop clawing. Her whole body is trembling now, just like it did that night, and she can't seem to make herself stop.
"My, my. Where did you go, my girl?"
Somehow, she manages to meet her father's coldly amused gaze. And even though her body feels like she's just been through some sort of unspeakable trauma, in that moment, as she looks at the vile, evil man before her, one thought forms in her mind with startling clarity: she has to kill him.
She has to kill him. If it means keeping Hermione safe, then she'll kill him. She'll do anything in the world to keep Hermione safe. She'd kill for her, she'd die for her, she'd—
"Hermione? Is that her name?"
Somehow, her father's quiet question manages to infiltrate her thoughts like a knife. Everything in her brain comes to an abrupt halt as her hands fall limply from her neck to her side, and she stares up at him with wide eyes. "I…I didn't…how…"
"You're quite good at hiding your thoughts, my dear. I suppose a lifetime of repression prepared you well. But you left your mind open. Didn't you feel me?"
Pansy shakes her head numbly. She hadn't felt her father infiltrate her thoughts at all. Both her mind and body were still thoroughly shell-shocked from the memory she had been forced to relive, and at the time, she had been using what little mental energy she had left on thoughts of Hermione. Of how she was going to save her.
How is she going to save her?
Her body feels like it's underwater. Every inch of her feels exhausted, and all she wants to do is lie down on the floor and close her eyes for the next two years .
But she can't. She still has a job to do. She has to fight through the pain. She has act now. She has to stun him and get him into the floo. Then, she'll leave it up to the—
"Well, if you're not going to kill me, then I'm afraid we're just wasting time."
Pansy looks up at her father to find his fingers moving in an intricate pattern. Before she can even consider what's happening, she feels the familiar tug of an Expelliarmus, and her wand flies from her hand. Her father catches it easily and twirls it between his fingers. "Your nonverbal magic was impressive. Perhaps one day, you would have graduated to wandless magic. You did have such promise…" he murmurs as he gazes at her.
Then, he points her own wand at her forehead.
As Pansy stares up at it, she feels the walls closing in around her once more. Her heart is thundering in her chest and she can hear her own ragged breathing in her ears. Slowly, she drags her gaze up to her father's eyes to find him watching her with a grim kind of finality, and in that moment, she knows what's about to happen.
She's going to die.
She's going to die right here, at the hands of her own father. She doesn't know enough wandless magic to protect herself and even if she did, her body is in no condition to be fighting.
She's going to die.
And yet somehow, that's the last thing she's worried about.
In that moment, with her life hanging in the balance, the only thing that comes to her mind is Hermione.
With the last scrap of energy she has, she whispers, "don't hurt her."
Her father laughs, a low, disbelieving sound, and the vein in his forehead throbs. "You would waste your last words on her?"
"She hasn't done anything," Pansy says, her voice rough. "You've got what you wanted. You're going to kill me. No one will know I'm a blood traitor. Isn't that enough?"
"I didn't want to kill you. This is only happening because of that girl. And she needs to be put in her place." His wand arm grows taut. "I'll be more than happy to be the one to do it."
"Why? Why punish her for my faults? She didn't do anything."
"She corrupted you," her father says.
"She didn't." Pansy manages to drag herself up to lean against the fireplace behind her. "She doesn't even know how I feel," she whispers as tears come to her eyes. "She's done nothing wrong, and if you…if you ever loved me," she whispers, her eyes boring into her father's, "then you'll respect my last wish. You'll leave her alone."
Her father surveys her stoically for a moment, his arm still rigid, but the rest of his posture purposefully indifferent. Then, a cruel smile flickers to his face as he idly flicks his gaze over her. "I suppose it's good thing that I never loved you, then, isn't it?"
Pansy sees his grip tighten on her wand. She sees his posture change and the hatred build in his eyes. She sees the bitter smile fade into pure, blinding rage. She sees the moment her father transforms into the monster he is.
She sees his arm draw back. She sees his mouth open. She sees his lips form two words.
She sees the ball of brilliant, green light gather at the tip of her wand.
She sees the moment he throws his arm forward.
She sees the jet of green explode from her wand.
She sees flashes of her life, disconnected and hazy.
She sees Draco, wrapping her up in a warm, tight embrace. She sees Daphne, grasping her hands with shimmering eyes, begging her to be safe. She sees Felix, waking her in the morning with gentle head butts and deep, rumbly purrs.
She sees Hermione.
She sees Hermione's warm, fond gaze. She sees her soft smile. She sees the girl she is now and the woman she'll become. She sees the whole beautiful, brilliant life they could have had together, stretched out in front of her. She sees dancing under a sky full of stars and long summer days spent exploring the streets of Paris. She sees dark winter nights, spent wrapped up under one blanket in front of the fire. She sees lazy mornings spent lounging in bed, trading long kisses and snarky quips. She sees all the beautiful, simple things that make up a lifetime. She sees happiness and accomplishments and love, so much love it almost makes her want to weep.
She sees the Killing Curse rushing toward her in slow motion.
She sees nothing more than green.
Her eyes slam closed.
She doesn't see anymore.
***
Pansy had given some thought to what happened after death. It's part of being human, after all. She had heard all of the arguments and weighed them all equally. She had even politely entertained the absurd Muggle concepts of heaven and hell when a Slytherin half-blood had regaled her with them during a drunken party during fourth year. But no matter what she researched, nothing swayed her from her own, personal belief—at the end of the day, when you're dead, you're dead. Whatever bits and bobs that had miraculously come together to make you up would eventually disintegrate into the vast, void of nothingness that stretched out for all of eternity, and that would be that.
So it's quite a surprise to see just how wrong she is.
Her eyes are still firmly closed, but she can already tell that death is far louder than she expected it to be. Though it's loud in a strange, muffled, muted way. Like every sound has been distorted and warped.
It's also strangely physical.
Pansy had thought that on the off-chance that there wassomething after death, it would be some sort of perfect, blissful peace. All her physical ailments would be gone and her mind would be at ease.
That's not the case at all.
Her cheek is throbbing, her neck is in agony, her body feels as if she's just been hit by the Hogwarts Express, and her mind feels like it's filled with heavy, soaked cotton balls.
Hesitantly, she cracks an eye open to see what kind of bizarre, uncomfortable afterlife she's found herself in and when she does, she's rewarded with a view of the Parkinson's dining room.
Great. So Muggle hell, then.
But as her eyes focus, she frowns.
Why on earth would there be a massive Shield Charm in Muggle hell?
And why would there be the remnants of angry, green light crackling in the blue web of the Shield Charm?
Pansy blinks a few times.
Huh. So not dead, then.
She squints to try and see through the charm, attempting to figure out who had come to her aid. She can make out her father's tall, lithe figure, but she can only see him in profile. He's staring with furious betrayal at someone just over his left shoulder. Pansy squints a little harder to see through the vaguely opaque charm to see who's bearing the brunt of her father's wrath and as the Shield Charm starts to fade away, she gets a clearer look.
It's her mum.
And she looks furious.
Her wand is stretched out in front of her and before Pansy can even blink, her mum shoots a hex at her father, and he's forced to throw himself sideways to avoid it.
Pansy takes a long, shocked moment to watch her mum weave around the room with grace, and after a while, she realizes that her mum's mouth is moving, and she's gesturing toward the fireplace.
Suddenly, the noise of the room comes roaring back and Pansy can make out what her mum is yelling.
"Go, Pansy! Now!"
Her mum hits her father with a quickly cast Diffendo and a spurt of blood erupts from his arm. He roars in frustration. It's clear he's not moving as well as he normally does, and Pansy realizes that his encounter with the chandelier had left its mark.
"You would help her?" her father bellows. He shoots a curse at her mum, but his movements are jerky and full of fury, and the spell misses wildly. "She's a blood traitor!"
"She's my daughter!" her mum screams back, flicking her wand to deflect another spell. "And you will not kill two members of my family in this room!" She casts another Protego, then turns to Pansy again. "Now, Pansy!" she screams, almost wildly.
Pansy glances toward her father and sees the moment that he starts to turn back to her. His eyes are black with fury and he looks completely unhinged, and Pansy feels fear grip her tight around the throat.
"Pansy!"
Her mother's well-timed scream kick-starts her mind. Without really knowing what she's doing, she staggers up from the floor, reaches into her pocket, grabs the floo powder, and tosses it wildly into the fireplace behind her. Red flames immediately double in size and turn to green and somehow, Pansy finds the strength to throw herself into the fire.
"Ministry of Magic," Pansy says, speaking as clearly as she can manage as the heat and ash start to swirl around her. Her head is swimming as she tucks her elbows in, and just before the flames can take her away from the horrors unfolding before her, she catches her father's gaze.
There's murder in his eyes and even with the heat of the fireplace rushing against her ears, she can still hear the Avada Kedavra as it leaves his lips with perfect clarity. There's a blinding, guttural rage behind the words, and instinctively, Pansy braces for impact.
The impact never comes. The last thing she sees before the floo rescues her is her second Killing Curse, hurtling toward her.
The next thing she knows, she's practically falling out of the fireplace at the Ministry of Magic.
Normally, she'd take a moment to get her bearings. To figure out how to go about this rationally and calmly, to remember the way Hermione had described Tonks (tall, heart shaped face, fair skin, dark eyes, most likely sporting pink hair), to try and piece back together the shattered and fractured pieces of her mind, to rejoice in the fact that she's alive.
But she doesn't have a moment. Not when her mother is fighting against a monster. And not when that monster has made it his mission to kill the witch Pansy loves.
She staggers forward, making her way toward the Ministry's security stand. There's some part of her that's aware of hushed whispers as she walks by, but she can't find it in herself to mind. She's running on nothing more than pure adrenaline right now and the fact she's even managing to move is astounding. And anyway, she's sure the whispers are warranted—there's still blood flowing down her cheek, her robes are soaked with sweat, and she's sure she looks like a complete and utter mess.
When she gets to the security stand, she marches directly up to a bespectacled man in peacock-blue robes. His eyes are cast down as he fiddles with an old, dodgy looking Probity Probe, and he doesn't look up, not even when Pansy leans her full body weight against his podium in a desperate attempt to keep herself upright.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and hand over your wand," he says, boredom dripping in his nasally tone.
"Pansy Parkinson. And…I don't have a wand."
Dull brown eyes flicker up to her, and to his credit, he doesn't even blink at her appearance. He simply sweeps his gaze over her, then gives a long, weary sigh. "No wand, no entry."
Pansy blinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "No, I…I need to get in. I need to speak to Nymphadora Tonks."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but she'll be expecting me."
"Right. Well, I'm afraid you'll need an appointment. And a wand," he adds quietly.
"I don't have a bloody wand," Pansy says, irritation creeping into her tone.
"So come back when you do."
"My father has my wand and he's currently using it to try to kill my mother," Pansy says, raising her voice. It's not on purpose—she doesn't want to make a scene, but after the encounter she's just barely survived, she's about three seconds away from falling to the ground and screaming for the next ten years. Though if this pathetic excuse for a watchwizard doesn't let her in soon, she might shelf the screaming and just throttle him instead. "I need someone to send Aurors to my house right now. I need you to capture him."
"Pansy Parkinson, you said?" the watchwizard drawls, idly twisting his mustache between his index finger and his thumb.
Pansy gives a stiff nod and clenches her fists.
"Right. Well, I can alert the Auror Department and they can send somebody down to talk to you. You can take a seat over there, and—"
"No! No," Pansy says. She's not going to risk any more lives because of some bureaucratic bullshit. "I need to see Tonks now. Do you understand that? Now!"
"Miss Parkinson, please don't raise your voice to me," the man says, looking toward the ceiling as if he's begging for patience. "I told you, you'll speak to someone from the Auror Department if you just—"
"Not someone, you daft fool!" Pansy cries. She's sure there are eyes on her now. She can almost feel the interested gazes burning into her back, but she doesn't care. She needs this mustachioed, glasses-wearing twitto let her by so she can save her mum and save Hermione. "Don't you understand? He's going to kill her! I need to speak to Tonks! I need to speak to her right fucking now!"
"Miss Parkinson, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Pansy laughs wildly and the man actually shrinks back a bit into his seat, his grip around the Probity Probe tightening. But she barely notices his discomfort. All the fear, anxiety, and trauma of the day make something splinter in Pansy's mind, and before she knows it, she's yelling at him. "Are you fucking deaf? He's going to kill my mother! He's going to fucking kill her and then he's going to kill Hermione!" An actual scream tears its way from her raw throat and she thrusts her hands through her hair in frustration. Familiar panic claws at her throat, and if she wasn't so close to completely shattering in such a way that she'd never fully recover, she might notice a man in the corner of her vision stiffen at her words. "If something happens to Hermione because of you, I swear to Merlin I'll fucking…I'll…"
Whatever threat she wants to say doesn't make it out. Instead, a sob bursts its way out of her throat and she practically crumples over the podium.
She's so fucking close and she's going to fail because of some pompous, over-important nobody.
Another sob wracks her body. She knows she's wasting time and she should be vaulting past him, sprinting toward the Auror Department with whatever strength she has left, but she's so tired.
But Hermione is in danger.
Her hands tighten around the podium at the thought, and she readies herself to make a mad-dash past the man holding her hostage. Just as she's about to lift her head and risk her neck breaking into the Ministry of Magic, of all places, she becomes aware of someone at her side.
Of course. They've sent security to remove me.
Maybe whoever this is will listen to her, she manages to think weakly.
Or maybe they'll just close firm hands around her biceps and drag her back into the floo.
But instead of being manhandled, a serious, urgent voice says, "did you say Hermione is in danger?"
Slowly, Pansy lifts her head.
Standing beside her is a tall, red-haired man, surveying her with concern shimmering in his blue eyes. He's slightly balding, there are laugh lines around his mouth and fine wrinkles surrounding his concerned eyes, and his stomach certainly protrudes more than some of the other members of his family, but there's no doubt in Pansy's mind—this is a Weasley. Arthur Weasley, if she remembers her Sacred Twenty-Eight correctly.
"Hermione Granger?" he confirms, a deep furrow coming to his brow.
In any other situation, Pansy might find it completely ludicrous that after all her Weasley-related disdain, one of them would turn out to be her savior.
But her mind is barely functioning, so instead, she nods. "My father is going to try and kill her," she whispers. "My mum is holding him off right now, but he's…he's strong," she says, wincing when her voice cracks. "And I'm supposed to talk to Tonks, but I can't get through. My father has my wand and he won't let me by," she finishes, gesturing at the watchwizard.
The elder Weasley's shoulders set, and he turns to the watchwizard with a glare. "Send Tonks, Gore, Savage, and Williamson down immediately. Then send notice to Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Make sure Hermione Granger is accounted for and tell them to keep her protected until they hear otherwise. But be sure not to worry her. Understood?"
The watchwizard nods in alarm at the anger in Arthur's voice and scrambles to send word. As he does, Arthur's glare turns positively lethal and he says, "and next time a girl shows up in obvious distress, for Merlin's sake, helpher, Eric." Then, he turns back to Pansy with softer eyes and says, "I'm afraid I missed your name, dear."
The way he says dear is different from the way her father says it—it's warmer, full of concern and compassion and none of the cruel contempt that she's used to associating with the term. But even though the uses couldn't be more different, the word still makes her cringe. "Pansy," she finally says, leaving off her surname. She has a feeling it's wise—chances are, this Weasley has heard all about her from his son, and nothing good, at that.
"Pansy. Are you alright?" he asks, gripping her arms firmly. His concerned gaze sweeps over the still-bleeding gash on her cheek before landing back on her eyes.
"I will be. Once I know Hermione is safe," Pansy whispers.
Arthur squeezes her arms and says, "if you're a friend of Hermione's, then you should know better than anyone how strong she is. She can take care of herself, our Hermione."
Pansy knows he's trying to comfort her, but it doesn't work. Nothing will work until she sees Hermione is safe with her own eyes, and until she hears that her father has been sent to Azkaban. Until then, she feels like she's sleepwalking through a waking nightmare.
There's a bustle of commotion near the lifts behind the security stand, and the next thing Pansy knows, four people are rushing toward her, led by a tall, thin woman with shockingly bright, shoulder-length pink hair. She practically skids to a stop in front of Pansy. "Pansy?" she asks, panting a bit as she skims Pansy's injuries with clever, dark eyes.
Pansy manages to nod. Tonks says, "Hermione told me to expect you. Are you hurt?"
"No. No, but my father…" she starts again.
Mercifully, Arthur must notice how exhausted she is, because he steps in quickly. "Her father is trying to hurt her mother. From what I can gather, she's holding him off for now, but if she fails, he's going to go after a student at Hogwarts."
Tonks nods and immediately turns to face the other Aurors. "You three need to floo to the Parkinson Manor immediately," she says. Pansy notices when all of the Aurors and Arthur's eyes widen with surprise, and she shifts uncomfortably. But Tonks doesn't hesitate. Her mouth sets and she grimly says, "I don't need to tell and of you how dangerous Parkinson is. Stay alert and if possible, bring him in alive. If he's gone by the time you show up, go immediately to Hogwarts and find a Gryffindor by the name of Hermione Granger. Arthur and I will take Pansy and find Robards. We'll get her statement while we wait."
The group all nod at Tonk's instructions and without a word, the three men turn and run off toward the floo. Pansy watches until they step into the towering green flames and disappear from sight. A gentle hand settles on her shoulder and she immediately cringes away from it.
"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't know if…" Tonks sighs and says, "I'm glad you're alright. Hermione's letter was…well, let's just say it's clear she cares about you. Though why you two didn't just come straight to the Ministry, I'll never understand."
"My father has contacts here. Connections. Even in the Auror Department," she adds, noticing when Tonks's eyes narrow in concern. "He'd never be convicted without the proper evidence."
"And you have it? The proper evidence, I mean?" Arthur says, raising an interested eyebrow.
Pansy exhales shakily, relieved that Arthur doesn't seem to be holding her surname against her. With a shaking hand, she reaches into her interior robe pocket and pulls out the Muggle technology. The tape is still running, and she breathes a small sigh of relief. At least the floo journey hadn't wrecked it.
Arthur's eyes immediately grow wide and he takes an eager step forward, then hesitates and shoves his hands in his pockets. "That's a Muggle device, isn't it?" he asks, looking absolutely desperate to examine it for himself as he rocks back and forth on his feet. "Some sort of audio recorder?"
Pansy nods. "It is. And it has my father's full confession on it."
"Well, then," Tonks says, looking suitably impressed. "Let's hear it."
***
It takes absolute ages to get through Pansy's statement.
There are at least six Aurors in the room at all times including Head Auror Robards, and Pansy eyes all of them with distrust (except Tonks, of course, who stays firmly by her side the entire time).
Tonks had provided Pansy with a Wideye Potion the moment she sat down, and while she's still feeling completely numb, at least the lack of exhaustion had helped her get through the entire story.
And she tells them everything—she tells them about watching her aunt's murder, she tells them about her father's attempt on her own life, she tells them about how he had promised to kill Hermione.
Tonks and Arthur (who had insisted on staying, saying that tinkering with Muggle things could wait for a day) both look absolutely furious when she whispers what her father had planned to do to Hermione, and she squeezes her hands as tightly as she can, hoping that it's not too late.
After what feels like hours, there's a sharp rap on the door and Pansy freezes, mid-sentence. The door opens to reveal one of the Aurors who had been sent to her home, and she waits with her heart in her throat to hear his report.
"We got him," he says with a grin. "He's stunned now and in a holding cell until further notice."
Hot, potent relief fills Pansy's body, but all she manages is a kind of pitiful whimper. She hears Head Auror Robards congratulating the man in the doorway on a job well done, and just as the tall, fair-haired Auror is about to duck back out of the room, Pansy clears her throat. He pauses at the sound and waits, his eyes on Pansy.
"My mum?" she whispers.
"She's alive. She's been transported to St. Mungo's. He did a number on her, but she'll be okay."
Pansy feels like she might pass out. A warm hand lands on her knee and gives it a squeeze, and she lifts her eyes to find Tonks gazing at her. "You did it," she whispers intensely. "He won't hurt anyone. Not anymore. Not ever."
Pansy just manages to nod and blink away tears.
She's safe. They're all safe.
It's going to be okay.
After the Auror leaves, she continues giving her statement. By the time she's done, her voice is shot and she can feel the Wideye Potion beginning to wear off.
Pansy looks up to find Robards regarding her with grim, but compassionate eyes, and she feels some of the fear lift from her heart. Perhaps he's on their side after all. "I'm sorry you had to experience all of that, Miss Parkinson. But it takes great courage to stand up to those we're closest to. It's a kind of courage I don't see often. As a matter of fact, I only see it in the people I tend to work with. I wouldn't be surprised if one day, I'd be lucky enough to work beside you." He leans back in his chair and seems to ponder for a moment, then he turns back to Pansy. "Your testimony and your mum's should be more than enough, but you said you had proof? I'd love to hear it. It'll make your father's eventual trial much easier."
Pansy nods and pulls out the recording device. From across the table, Arthur straightens up and eyes it with anticipation. The rest of the room looks more suspicious.
"What is that?" Robards asks, eyeing the device with interest.
"Muggle technology," Pansy replies. "It records audio. I recorded his entire confession. Everything I told you is on this tape."
Without waiting for Robards to say anything, she presses the button to make the device talk. Immediately, her father's voice issues forth from the device.
"Well? Aren't you going to sit?"
Pansy grips her leg and as the conversation plays out, her grip tightens to the point of pain.
She's forced to sit there and relive the entire ordeal, and the second time she hears her father threaten to kill Daphne and Hermione in the same breath, she feels her vision start to tunnel again. But before it can, she's aware of Tonks's hand, firmly covering hers. With effort, Pansy manages to find Tonks' eyes, warm and steady on her own. "Breathe," she whispers. "You're okay. She's safe. They're both safe. No one can hurt them."
Pansy nods as she tries to match her breathing to Tonks', and mercifully, her vision starts to focus again.
They listen to the entire tape, all the way until Pansy had remembered to click it off in the Ministry's Atrium, and once it's done, the room sits in stunned silence.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Arthur is the first to speak.
"Brilliant what Muggles can do nowadays, isn't it? The ingenuity! I mean, the ways they've had to adapt to solve problems without magic, it's truly—"
"Arthur," Robards says gently. "Perhaps now is not the time."
Arthur immediately turns bright red and nods. He catches Pansy's eye and says, "sorry. Though that was clever thinking on your part. Using Muggle technology."
Pansy shakes her head. "It was Hermione's idea," she murmurs. And while Pansy may be numb and tired, she doesn't miss the way Arthur's eyes soften for a moment.
"Fiendishly clever, our Hermione is," he says. "I'd say you're lucky to have her, but from everything I just heard, it would appear you're lucky to have each other."
Pansy manages a small nod as she hastily blinks away the film of tears in her vision. Because even though she's been through the wringer tonight, she doesn't want to sit here crying in front of some of the Wizarding world's top Aurors.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of questions and testimony and before she knows it, she's back in the Ministry's Atrium with Tonks by her side.
"We'll probably need you back later, and I expect you'll have to testify at your father's trial," she says as they walk toward the floo. "But don't worry, that won't be for a while. And until then, he'll be held in Azkaban."
"Good. That's good," Pansy nods. She stops before the fireplace and hesitates a bit. "I just…he's dangerous," she says. "And if he gets out, or if someone on the inside helps him…"
Tonks shakes her head. "I know every Auror that was in that room today and I'd trust any of them with my life," she says seriously. "But we'll certainly look into the rest of the department, just in case."
Pansy nods again, then Tonks says, "and if it helps, I was in the room with your father when they modified his memory."
Pansy raises her eyes to Tonks with surprise. "I didn't know they could do that."
"Oh, yeah. It's a fairly common practice in cases like this. Keeps any potential victims safe from retribution."
"So Hermione…?"
"For all your father knows, Hermione Granger is the name of someone's pet squirrel."
Pansy manages a small laugh at that and Tonks grins at her, clearly pleased to have lightened some of the burden on Pansy's shoulders. But then, something occurs to Pansy and she looks to Tonks quickly. "What you heard on the tape…I mean, what he implied about…about…"
Tonks lifts a hand. "None of my business. Plus, I'm sworn to secrecy, anyway. Can't reveal a thing I hear in that room to anyone. But…can I be honest with you?" she asks a bit nervously, shifting on her feet.
Pansy nods slowly, and Tonks says, "what do you know about my parents?"
Pansy frowns as she tries to remember what she was taught about the Sacred Twenty-Eight and those unmentionables who had strayed from the path. "Your mum is Andromeda Black. She was ostracized when she married a Muggle man. A Tonks, I'd assume. And…" she trails off, then shrugs. "I'm afraid that's all I really know."
"It's all you need to know," Tonks says. Then, she leans forward and whispers, "sometimes, Pansy, two people can find each other under the most extraordinary of circumstances. And even if they come from completely different worlds…even if one has a Muggle background and the other is…oh, I don't know…a pure-blood," Tonks says, grinning when Pansy shifts uncomfortably, "if it's right, it'll work itself out eventually. Even if all the odds are stacked against it. I'm living proof of that."
"Yes, but—"
"And Arthur was right, you know. Hermione is lucky to have you. It's not every day a self-preserving Slytherin will go out on a limb for someone else. I mean, threatening to kill him?" Tonks gives a low, impressed whistle and surveys Pansy with so much admiration in her eyes, it makes Pansy flush uncomfortably. "That's something else."
"I—"
"Though of course, my official position as an Auror is…y'know, murder is wrong," Tonks says, putting the words in quotation marks and lowering her voice to sound like a gruff, stuffy old man. "But my official position as someone who cares about Hermione is…bloody good for you," she says, lightly punching Pansy on the shoulder.
"I—"
"And honestly, if the letter she sent me about you is any indication, well…I'd say you're in a good space. Anyway, just try not to cock it up," Tonks adds with a wink. "And don't worry, I won't say anything to Hermione. But I willcheck in with you when you're back at Hogwarts, just to be sure you're holding up okay." She breaks off as a low chime echoes throughout the Atrium, announcing the changing of the hour. "Merlin, it's late. I was supposed to go home three hours ago," Tonks says with a small chuckle as she glances back at the massive grandfather clock in the corner of the Atrium. She turns to Pansy and says, "I'd expect you're exhausted, but if you still want to see your mum before you get back to Hogwarts, I'd go now. Visiting hours at St. Mungo's are almost over."
Pansy nods, a bit shell shocked by the rapid-fire pace of Tonks' speech. "Right. Right, I should—"
"Oh, bloody hell! I almost forgot!" Tonks interrupts, smacking her forehead with a small groan.
She lifts her wand and points it toward one of the security stands. Pansy watches as her own bag flies toward her, and once it's close enough, she catches it. "Gore recovered your things. Everything should be there."
"Thank you," Pansy says. She glances at the bag and hesitantly says, "and my wand?"
"In the bag. But that said…if you want a different one, I'm sure no one would blame you," Tonks says gently.
Pansy thinks about staring at her own wand, thinks about the Killing Curse coming toward her and she shivers slightly. "I might just do that," she murmurs.
"Smart girl. I'd do the same."
Pansy's not sure if she's just being nice, but it helps her to hear that. She spares a smile for Tonks, then turns to face the floo once more. But before she can reach for the powder, she takes a deep breath and says, "thank you. For helping me. And for…for everything. I'm afraid I don't know how to pay you back," she adds with embarrassment. It certainly seems that Pansy owes a lot of favors nowadays.
"Just keep Hermione safe and we'll call it even. I trust you can do that," Tonks says with another wink. "But as interesting as I am, I'm sure you're sick of me. So go on, then. You'll hear from me soon enough. For now, you've got someone else waiting for you," she says, nodding toward the floo.
Pansy nods. She gives Tonks one last grateful smile, and as she steps into the fireplace, she knows that of all the favors she'll eventually end up owing to all the many amazing people in her life, keeping Hermione safe will be the easiest by far.
***
As Pansy sits alone in Snape's office, she's absolutely positive that she's never been more tired in her entire life. She can feel the exhaustion in her bones and frankly, after her visit to St. Mungo's, it's a miracle she's even upright in the high-backed, uncomfortable chair.
Her talk with her mother had been…illuminating, to say the least.
She had learned that her mum had no idea that her father planned on killing Beatrice that night. She told Pansy that she had stood there, paralyzed by shock and fear, unable to lift a hand to do anything. All she had been able to do was watch with numb eyes as her little sister cried out in agony, begging for help. It wasn't until she had realized that Pansy was in the room that she had been snapped out of whatever awful trance she was in and startled into motion. When Pansy had demanded to know how her mum had even let it get to that point, how she had let her own sister walk into that room, she had simply dropped her gaze and murmured, "I don't know."
It hadn't been good enough, so Pansy had demanded more answers.
"Why didn't you leave before, then? Anytime before it happened. Before I was even born! Why didn't you just leave?"
Pansy's mum had raised her tired gaze and said, "because sometimes, the fear of leaving is stronger than the fear of staying. Your father was always worried about appearances. He wouldn't have taken kindly to his wife leaving him." She had delivered the last part of her sentence with a tight jaw and fear flashing in her green eyes, and Pansy was smart enough to read between the lines—her father would have killed her if she ever tried to escape.
That knowledge alone helped thaw some of the ice in Pansy's heart, but she still could barely look her mum in the eyes. Before she left, though, her mum told her that even though she had a hard time showing it, she did love her. "Deeply. Just…in my own way," she had added stiffly. She had told Pansy that she had always been the only thing that had ever made her even consider leaving her father. And when she had come home and witnessed what he was about to do, she had snapped.
Then, she had asked if Pansy could ever consider forgiving her.
Pansy had told her she'd have to think about it and her mum had nodded curtly. "I understand. Take all the time you need," she had said. But when Pansy had finally turned to leave, she had hesitated, then turned back and dropped a stiff, awkward kiss to her mum's cheek and murmured thank you before immediately rushing from the room.
The conversation had sapped the last bit of energy in Pansy's body, and the second she had stumbled out of the floo, all she had wanted was to fall into bed.
But of course, fate had other plans.
Instead of beautiful, blessed silence, she had been greeted by a concerned looking McGonagall and Dumbledore, and a slightly less concerned looking Snape. They had clearly heard the gist of what had happened tonight, and Pansy had gritted her teeth for the lecture she was sure to come.
But instead of a thorough chastising, they had simply asked her if she was okay. They wanted to know if she would be alright on her own, or if she'd like to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. When Pansy had assured them that all she wanted was her own bed, they had accepted it without any fuss. They told her that she would always be safe at Hogwarts and if there was anything she needed, she could always come to them. All things considered, it had been rather nice, even if McGonagall had fixed her with an intense stare and said, "though perhaps the next time you decide to rush into battle, you'll come to a professor first."
Pansy had nodded weakly, too tired to defend her actions. And frankly, the thought of having to prolong the conversation with her professors had been enough to make her want to curl up at Snape's feet and sleep for decades. But McGonagall had seemed to notice her rapidly flagging energy, and she didn't make any more conversation than was strictly necessary. Instead, she simply awarded eighty points to Slytherin for "astounding bravery in the face of extreme danger." Pansy had opened her mouth stupidly, but Dumbledore had held up a hand and calmly said, "They're well-earned points, Miss Parkinson."
When the conversation had come to an end, Pansy had thought she'd be released to finally, finally fall into her own bed, but before she could stand up, McGonagall said, "I'm sure you'd like to get to sleep, but I'm afraid there's one more person you still need to answer to."
And that's how Pansy finds herself all alone in Snape's office.
As she waits for whoever this mysterious person is, her head droops onto her chest and her eyelids slowly slide closed. The gentle tick tick tick of the large clock behind Snape's desk is lulling her to slumber, and while she'd normally never be able to sleep in this awful leather chair or this horribly cold room, right now, it feels like the most comfortable place in the world.
She's almost asleep when she hears a door creak behind her and a sharp inhalation.
"Pansy."
The familiar voice immediately wakes Pansy up. She turns around quickly to see Hermione, staring at her from the doorway with wide, emotional eyes.
Before Pansy can open her mouth, Hermione flies across the room and flings herself at Pansy. Warm arms clutch at her tightly and Pansy can feel the gentle tremble going through the other girl's body. Without releasing her, Hermione slides down onto her knees and Pansy leans forward in the chair to maintain contact, but the angle quickly becomes awkward. Rather than release her, though, Pansy simply slides out of the chair and joins Hermione on the floor. Once they're both on the ground together, they're able to cling to each other even closer. Somehow, Pansy's head lands against Hermione's chest, allowing her to hear the rapid thumping of her heartbeat. And as she listens to the strong, pounding beat, the tears that she's been holding at bay for hours and hours start to fall. Because for the first time all night, she has the proof she's looking for—Hermione is safe. Hermione is safe, and warm, and in her arms, and so, so beautifully alive. Nothing is going to happen to her. She's safe.
Before long, the repressed sobs are shaking Pansy's body and tears are falling fast onto Hermione's soft jumper.
"You're okay. You're okay," Hermione whispers into her hair, holding her close as Pansy continues to tremble. "You're okay. You came back to me." The hand that's wrapped around Pansy's back tightens and she whispers, "you came back to me."
Pansy nods against her shoulder and shivers as she feels the fingers of Hermione's other hand lightly trailing through her hair. She keeps whispering soft, reassuring words and as the seconds tick past, Pansy can feel her breathing slowly begin to regulate. It takes another few minutes for the tears to finally stop but once they do, neither girl makes any move to pull away. They simply remain on the floor, completely wrapped up in each other.
Pansy's not sure how long they stay that way, twisted around each other, seeking the constant, physical reassurance that they're both here and they're both okay. And while it's obvious that neither girl wants to be responsible for ending the contact they've both clearly been desperate for, after a moment, Hermione draws back.
She doesn't go very far though. She takes in Pansy's features with a soft sort of hunger as she raises her fingertips to lightly trail them over Pansy's cheeks. "You're safe," she whispers, her fingertips continuing to gently stroke Pansy's face, trailing over her cheekbones and sweeping down to her jawline. "I didn't know…nobody told me anything for ages, and I just…" Hermione shakes her head and drops her hands. They land on Pansy's knees and Hermione gently grips them as tears well up in her hazel eyes. "I was so worried. I thought you were…I thought that I'd never get to tell you…"
Hermione trails off and this time, Pansy is the one to lift her hands. She gently swipes away a stray tear with her thumb as it trickles down Hermione's cheek. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, gently cupping Hermione's cheek. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
A watery laugh comes from Hermione. "I'm not sure I've ever been so frightened in my life. When McGonagall pulled me out of the Great Hall, I thought…" she trails off and shakes her head as more tears start to fall.
"I'm sorry," Pansy whispers again. She hesitates for just a moment before she drops her arm down and takes Hermione's hand in her own. "But I'm here. You're here. And he's never going to hurt anyone again."
"Thank god," Hermione whispers, reaching blindly for Pansy's other hand. She closes her eyes as she squeezes it and whispers, almost to herself, "you came back."
"I did," Pansy says. "It'll take a lot more than two Killing Curses to keep me from you."
She means it as something sweet and maybe even a bit flirty, but perhaps she's too tired to be doing any flirting. Because the moment the words are out of her mouth, Hermione's eyes fly open and she looks at her wildly. "Two Killing Curses?" she asks, her voice high and threaded with panic.
"Oh. I…yes?" Pansy releases Hermione's hands and rubs her neck uncomfortably, wincing slightly at the still raw, recently-healed flesh there. "I assumed McGonagall told you about…everything?"
Hermione shakes her head frantically. Immediately, she starts to scrutinize Pansy's entire body, looking for any sign of injuries. "No, she…she told me you were safe, but…" she lifts a hand and gently runs her knuckles along Pansy's neck, her eyes filling with a potent mixture of concern and fury. "Did he do this?"
"No, actually. That was…that was me," she admits, remembering the way she had clawed at her neck a bit sheepishly. "I suppose I should tell you what happened, then?"
Hermione nods, then waits patiently with her eyes trained on Pansy's face.
And that's how for the third time that night, Pansy ends up reliving the events that had happened in the dining room. But unlike the mostly stoic audience of Aurors at the Ministry, Hermione's face is ablaze with emotion the entire time. When Pansy tells her of her father waiting for her in the dining room, fear creeps into her eyes. When she quietly admits her father had told her that her grandmother (a change she just barely remembers to make) was dead because of her, the fear is immediately replaced by fury, and indignant protestations fall from her lips. It's only after Hermione's thoroughly satisfied that Pansy doesn't believe her father's words for a moment that she lets her continue her story.
When she does, she tells Hermione about the duel. She lets her in on her secret weapon—defensive spells and mockery, and something fond, amused, and exasperated flickers into Hermione's gaze when she manages to recall the line about Voldemort being an arsehole. And when she tells her about sending the chandelier careening on top of her father, there's definite pride glowing on Hermione's impressed face.
But then comes the harder part. Her father telling her to kill him. Pansy's hesitations. His promises to kill everyone she loved.
Her complete spiral that led to her reliving her most painful memory in shatteringly vivid detail.
Hermione doesn't try to interrupt. She simply finds Pansy's hands once more and holds on tight, giving Pansy the anchor she needs to keep speaking. And when she tells Hermione that her father had made it his mission to find the Muggle-born she had saved that long-ago night in some misguided attempt to hurt the person he blamed for "corrupting" his daughter, understanding dawns on Hermione's face.
"I had wondered," she murmurs. "I wondered why he knew who I was. How he knew to target me."
"I didn't tell him your name," Pansy promises vehemently. "I swear. He used Legilimency on me and I wasn't quick enough to shut him out. I didn't even feel him. My thoughts were…all over the place," she admits. "I think I was still partly in that nightmare. Reliving that night. He took advantage of me when I was barely holding it together. I'm so sorry," she whispers.
"Don't apologize," Hermione says fiercely. "You did nothing wrong."
"I was weak," Pansy says, her voice raising as frustration fills her chest. "I showed weakness and you could have died because of it." Tears spring to her eyes again as she realizes just how true the statement is—Hermione could have died tonight, and it all would have been Pansy's fault. She would have been responsible for killing the woman she loves. "You could have died," she repeats, quieter this time, a tear falling down her cheek. She lets go of Hermione's hand to brush it away as self-loathing settles into her chest like a heavy stone.
"But I didn't. I'm right here," Hermione says gently. "And you were not weak. You might just be the strongest person I know, Pansy Parkinson," Hermione murmurs as she runs a hand down Pansy's forearm. She tangles their hands together once more and says, "I knew the risks going into this, so whatever it is you're thinking, stop."
"Yes, but—"
"No. I knew what could happen, and I wanted to do it anyway. And I would have, remember?" Hermione adds, quirking an eyebrow. "I would have tried to bring him to justice, with or without you. So stop beating yourself up over it. I know it was scary and I know you're tempted to blame yourself, but what happened tonight wasn't your fault—it was his."
"I almost got you killed."
"You did not. You are not responsible for your father's actions. You couldn't have known."
"But I should have—"
"And anyway, it's not the first time I've almost been killed and it most certainly won't be the last," Hermione adds with an almost careless shrug.
Pansy looks up with alarm. "It better be the last," she says. Then, her shoulders slump again and she says, "I just…I know you're acting like it's all fine, but it isn't. What happened tonight, I…" she trails off, unable to complete the sentence. Finally, she sighs and says, "if you're upset with me, I'll understand. Because I'm upset with me. And I'll never forgive myself."
"Pansy, I'm not upset with you at all," Hermione says vehemently. "I'm upset that you were forced into this situation and I'm furious at your father. Furious doesn't even begin to describe it. But I'm proud of you. I'm soproud of you. Because you did the right thing. The heroic thing. The Gryffindor thing," she adds with a small grin as she nudges Pansy with her shoulder.
Pansy snorts weakly and mutters, "piss off."
"Never," Hermione says. Then, her grin morphs into something more serious, and she says, "but I promise, I'm not upset. Not at all. How could I be, when I would have done exactly what you did? I don't know if you know this, but rushing headfirst into danger is kind of my thing."
Pansy manages a smile. "We're going to have to compromise, you know."
Hermione frowns. "About…?"
"If I'm out there doing mad, foolhardy Gryffindor things, you're going to have to take on a bit of Slytherin self-preservation. It's only fair."
Hermione's frown evaporates and she smiles. "I'll consider it. But no promises." Then she says, "and anyway, even knowing what I know now, I wouldn't change a thing. I'd still help you in a heartbeat. Okay? So stop feeling guilty. The risk was worth it to me. And it all ended up okay."
Pansy sighs, but somehow, she feels marginally comforted by Hermione's emphatic words. Before she can reply, though, Hermione says, "and anyway, you were in an awful, impossible situation. He would've plucked the name out of my head, too."
Pansy shakes her head. "Maybe, but you wouldn't have let yourself get disarmed immediately after," she mutters.
Hermione seems surprised by the new piece of information. "I thought his wand was broken?"
"It was."
"Oh. Wandless magic?" Hermione asks. When Pansy nods in affirmation, she hums, then says, "I wouldn't have expected it. And certainly not if I was standing in thatroom again. With all those emotions and awful memories? And if he had just infiltrated my thoughts and threatened someone that I cared about? No, I never would have stood a chance. So there, we would've found ourselves in the exact same position. And unless you think I'm weak, you'll have to stop berating yourself."
Pansy's eyes drop down to where their hands are still clasped together. "Easier said than done," she murmurs.
"I know. But just…try. Try to forgive yourself," Hermione says gently. "You were fighting a monster. And at the end of the day, I'm still here. You're still here. He didn't win. And now, he's going to pay. Okay?" She idly rubs a thumb against Pansy's hand as she waits for Pansy to acknowledge her statement. But Pansy's too focused on the gentle tingling sensation that seems to amplify every time Hermione's thumb makes a new revolution.
"Pansy?"
"Hm?" Pansy says, pulling her eyes away from Hermione's stupidly mesmerizing thumb.
"I said he didn't win," she repeats softly. "We're both still here."
"Oh. Yes. Yes, you're right," Pansy says. "And I'll try. To forgive myself, I mean."
"Good," Hermione murmurs.
Pansy takes a deep breath and continues with the rest of her story. Hermione reacts to every detail as expected (Pansy's relatively sure she actually manages to cut off the circulation in her hand for a moment when she recounts both Killing Curses), and when she finally gets to the very end of her incredibly long tale, she slumps forward a bit, almost as if she's unable to hold her body upright for a moment longer.
If she was exhausted before, she's dead-tired now.
Hermione's silent for such a long time that Pansy can feel herself starting to drift off to sleep again against her will. Without really thinking about it, she leans forward toward Hermione, who immediately shifts to pull her into a comfortable embrace. As one of Hermione's arms absently winds around her, Pansy lets her hand come to a rest on the other girl's knee and she tucks her head into the crook of her neck. Once she's settled in place against Hermione's side, she inhales deeply, letting the familiar scent of vanilla and apricot soothe her frayed nerves.
Just as Pansy's beginning to fall asleep, she hears Hermione say, "McGonagall only gave you eighty points for all of that?"
The pure, righteous anger in Hermione's voice wakes Pansy once more and she tilts her head up just enough to catch the disbelieving hazel eyes above her. "Ridiculous, isn't it?" Pansy murmurs. "After all, the house points were the entire reason I went through with the bloody plan."
"No, I know that's not the point, and there are much bigger things to talk about, and obviously, I want to make sure that you're okay. That's the most important thing, but I just…" Hermione shakes her head. "They should have made you an Auror right on the spot and she only gives you eighty points?"
"Mm. You're Head Girl," Pansy says sleepily against Hermione's neck. For the first time all day, she finally feels safe and content, and it's quickly lulling her toward unconsciousness. "Give me points."
"I would if I could. But I can't give points to a prefect," Hermione says, gently running a hand through Pansy's hair once more. Pansy murmurs in pleasure at the sensation and lets herself snuggle in just a bit closer to Hermione's side, smiling when she feels Hermione's arm tighten around her.
Merlin, at this rate, she's going to fall asleep in two seconds.
"Pansy?" she hears Hermione say hesitantly. "You…you are going to be okay, aren't you? I mean, obviously, you might not be for a while, and that's fine. You have to take all the time you need, and I'll be here for whatever you need. Really, name it, and I'll be there, but I just want to make sure that—"
"Hermione?"
"Yes?" Hermione says quickly, cutting off her ramble abruptly at the sound of Pansy's voice.
"The only thing I need from you right now is to be here."
She hears Hermione exhale slowly. "Well, then, that's easy, isn't it? Because I didn't plan on being anywhere else."
"Good," Pansy murmurs. "And I'll be alright," she adds as an afterthought as she slowly traces a mindless pattern against Hermione's knee. "Maybe not right now. Probably not for a while, really, but…eventually. I think I'll need some time to sort through everything. And maybe some help to…to process it all," Pansy admits quietly. "But I…I don't think I can talk about it anymore tonight. If that's alright by you, I mean. I know I should, but I just…I can't. Not right now."
She feels Hermione's nod. "Of course that's alright. No more discussion. There's always tomorrow." She continues to run her hand softly through Pansy's hair and Pansy takes a moment to think about what she's just said.
There is tomorrow. There's a whole beautiful, wonderful world of tomorrows, stretched out before them. They've got a whole lifetime to look forward to—a lifetime full of laughter and love and kisses and fights and laundry and dishes and so many tiny, beautiful things, it makes Pansy's chest ache. They have a whole lifetime, just waiting for them to take the first tentative step toward it.
"Can I ask you a question?" Hermione murmurs quietly, distracting Pansy from her thoughts.
"Is it whether or not Snape will mind us sleeping in his office?" Pansy asks drowsily.
Hermione chuckles. "No. I think he'll be delighted, actually. He seems to be the type of person who would love an impromptu sleepover."
Pansy hums. "Fine. He can stay. But he has to find his own person to snuggle with," she adds, lifting the arm that's been resting on Hermione's knee and wrapping it around her waist instead, letting her fingers trace back and forth over her hip. "I'm afraid you're taken."
Pansy's too exhausted to really register anything she's saying. Whatever filter she would normally have is completely gone, lost somewhere between a gleaming, stark dining room and an antiseptic room in St. Mungo's. What she does register however, is how the hand that's running through her hair stills momentarily at her words. "I…I suppose I am taken," Hermione says in a quiet, almost regretful voice from above her. "But no, that wasn't my question," she adds, her tone shifting back to something more neutral as her hand resumes stroking Pansy's hair.
"Well, I'm quite good at answering questions. I had a lot of…a lot of…" Pansy yawns widely, then manages to finish, "a lot of practice at the Ministry."
"Oh?" Hermione asks, her voice warm and amused.
"Mhm. Do your worst."
"Right, then. Prepare yourself," Hermione teases. "What was it you were going to tell me before you left?"
Pansy tries to think about what Hermione's referring to as she burrows her face a bit deeper into Hermione's neck and gently grips at her hip. Her skin is so soft and she smells so bloody good. And she's so warm. Merlin, how is she so warm?
"Pansy?" Hermione asks, sounding breathless above her.
"Hm?" Pansy hums, her lips directly against Hermione's neck.
"Before you left. You were…" Hermione's breath hitches sharply as Pansy inhales deeply against her pulse point, drinking in her scent. "You were going to…to tell me something. What was it?"
Right. Hermione had asked a question. She scrunches her already-closed eyes up tightly as she tries to think back, but her short-term memory seems to have been reduced to nothing more than a soft, fuzzy blur. "I don't know. Was it something good?" she finally manages to murmur.