A/N: This is a little different to my usual stories, but I'm excited to share it with you here. The story was my entry to this year's InterHouse Fest on LiveJournal and is complete, with four parts and an epilogue, so I'll be uploading it as quickly as I can.

Here is my prompt from LJ user gjeangirl: War AU. Pansy/Fred. She's his contact during the war—a spy for the Order within the DE ranks.

Although this is an AU, most canon events have occurred but began later on and/or stretched out over a longer period of time. The Battle of Hogwarts never happened, although the Death Eaters have taken over the Ministry. Hopefully, further hints of the timeline and any other changes to canon will come through as you read it! Please do drop me a review to let me know what you think.

Rating: M for sexual themes, profanity and one brief scene of sexual assault (not gratuitous)


...


Pansy Parkinson paused, quill in hand, and eyed the closed door with concern.

Her boss, Corban Yaxley, was in a meeting with Lucius Malfoy and a few other lower-level Death Eaters. They were, she was disturbed to discover, discussing Andromeda Tonks and whether or not they needed to kill her.

Pansy knew this because she clearly had a death wish and had planted a Muggle listening device beneath his desk.

"She has gone too far this time." Yaxley's voice buzzed like an angry bluebottle in her ear. The man had a temper Pansy had witnessed all too many times before, and she could hear it bubbling beneath the surface now. "We must act."

"Much as I agree," came Lucius Malfoy's smoother, dulcet tones, "my sister-in-law is a generous benefactor…"

"She is harbouring fugitives!" Yaxley banged his hand on the desk, making Pansy flinch.

The wizard sat opposite gave her an odd look.

Spider, she mouthed sheepishly.

"Parkinson!" Yaxley snapped, and she jumped again. Her head jerked up to find him standing in the doorway, his blond hair scraped back in his customary braid, deep grooves in his forehead as he glared at her. "Get in here."

"Yes, sir," she murmured meekly, as she shuffled her papers into a pile and lifted a surreptitious hand to check her hair covered her earpiece.

Yaxley made an impatient sound.

"Now, Parkinson."

"Of course." She fluttered her eyelashes and followed him dutifully into the office. "What can I do for you?" she asked as he sat back at his desk.

His eyes raked lewdly over her body, lingering, as they always did, on her hips and breasts. Although she was almost entirely covered—her demure work robes ran from wrist to throat to ankle—Pansy suddenly felt horribly exposed.

Not that Yaxley ever did more than look. As a pure-blood witch and daughter of a high-ranking Ministry official, Pansy was off limits, and no man could lay a finger on her without her say so.

She lifted her chin.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she repeated. She didn't miss the way Yaxley's eyes gleamed at the appellation.

"Lots of things I'm sure," he drawled, "but for now, just one. Summon Greyback and his snatchers. We have a new target."


...


As soon as the clock in her office struck five, Pansy was out of the door. She hurried home—something that took much longer now Yaxley had ordered the disconnection of the entire Floo network, save for the most important people, naturally—then Apparated straight from her living room.

Her destination was an abandoned Muggle pub, deep in the Scottish Highlands. She supposed it had once been very picturesque, set as it was above a wild sea loch. Now, though, it was almost entirely derelict, its ancient wooden beams leaning precariously to the side, the wind whistling forlornly through its boarded windows and leaky roof.

As usual, Pansy sneezed several times on arrival. No matter how many times she scourgified the room, the grime seemed to double in volume by the time she returned.

"Merlin, I hate this place," she said grumpily, kicking a large pile of crumpled velvet curtains and almost immediately regretting it when plumes of dust engulfed her head. "Motherfu—"

"Language, Parkinson," a familiar voice teased from behind.

She should have realised he'd get here first. She'd activated her signal coin—a silver sickle linked by Protean charm to one of his—just before she left the Ministry, and, much to her ongoing disbelief, infamous prankster Fred Weasley had turned out to be one of the most exasperatingly punctual and reliable people she'd ever met.

He grinned at her from the shadows, hands shoved deep in his pockets, unruly red hair falling about his forehead.

She disentangled her foot from the curtains and shot him a withering glare.

"Didn't fancy cleaning up a bit?"

"Oh but I know you enjoy it so," he said, strolling across the room to meet her. Pansy glanced in disgust at the filthy fabric chairs, the cobweb-encrusted tables, the huge chunks of plaster dislodged from the ceiling.

"If I had my way," she said darkly, "I'd burn this place to the ground."

Fred chuckled and gestured to her face.

"You've got a little something… hang on." He licked his thumb and before she could stop him, swiped it across her chin. "Got it."

"Ugh." She wrenched herself away from him, scrubbing the back of her sleeve across her face and scowling up at him. "You arsehole!"

Fred let out a gust of laughter.

"Pansy, love, you wound me," he said. "Now, why did you summon me here like your personal genie, eh? I was just about to thrash Ron at Exploding Snap."

Pansy had drawn a breath, outraged, but then she remembered the reason she was here and her indignation melted away. Fred clearly realised it was serious, because the smile slipped from his face.

"What is it?" he asked, instantly no-nonsense.

"It's Andromeda," Pansy said. "She's in danger."


...


Fred didn't come back that evening. He'd listened tensely as Pansy filled him in on the snatchers' plan to infiltrate Andromeda's home in the dead of night—which night, she didn't know, but she had a pretty horrible feeling it'd be tonight—and murder the witch in her bed.

"The wards…" he had begun, but Pansy cut him off.

"Can be broken." She gave him a significant look. "You know that as well as I do."

He did. Before the Ministry fell to the Dark Lord, Pansy's job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been removing curses and other dangerous enchantments cast by criminal wizards. Now Yaxley used her to break into safe houses and intercept rebel communications.

She'd always been very good at wiling her way into things.

Armed with as much information as Pansy could give, Fred had Apparated away to organise Andromeda's escape. She just hoped he wasn't too late. Andromeda had been walking a dangerous line for a long time now, maintaining outward appearances of support for Voldemort—renouncing her murdered Muggle-born husband and their rebel daughter and son-in-law—while secretly providing money, supplies and emergency beds to the so-called Order of the Phoenix.

Pansy respected her enormously, mostly because it had been through Andromeda that she had made contact with said Order. The woman had convinced them to spirit her nephew, Draco, out of the country almost a year prior, although they had been less generous to Pansy.

"Draco lost the trust of the Death Eaters," Kingsley had explained when Pansy confronted him. "You, however, work for one of You-Know-Who's most trusted followers. You are privy to vital information…"

"Information I can give you now," she'd interrupted sharply, but the tall, dark-skinned wizard simply shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Pansy," he'd said gently but in a voice that brooked no argument. "It's not enough."

And that had been it. End of negotiations. If Pansy wanted to leave the Ministry, then she had to help topple it first.

Before he left, Fred promised to let her know Andromeda was safe. For a while, she sat on the doorstep to the pub, watching as the dying sun bathed the hills with blood-orange light. Eventually, though, when the sky grew dark and cold, and still with no word from Fred, she decided she'd better go home.

She didn't bother going to bed, simply curled up on an armchair in her living room, waiting, waiting, always waiting, for her enchanted coin to grow hot and rearrange its etchings so she'd know Fred and Andromeda had made it safely away.

It never did.


...


"Alright, darlin'?"

Pansy glanced up to see one of the better-known snatchers, Scabior, slouching over her desk. He looked particularly grubby today—smelly, too—his matted hair hanging like rats' tails around his shoulders. Tired and more worried than she felt she should be about Fred's conspicuous silence, Pansy found it difficult not to physically recoil.

"Can I help you?" she asked coolly, flicking through her papers.

"Here to see your boss, pet," he said. "He wants to congratulate me. On accounts of my work last night."

Last night. Pansy's head shot up. Scabior seemed to think she was impressed that Yaxley had called him in specially, because he puffed up like a peacock.

"Oh?" she asked, forcing herself to sound aloof, barely interested, although everything inside her was straining for answers. "And what did you do to deserve such an honour?"

The snatcher planted a hand on her desk and leant conspiratorially towards her.

"Well, doll," he said with a nasty grin. "I killed a Weasley, didn't I?"


...


Not Fred, not Fred, please Merlin, not Fred.

Pansy's hands shook as she summoned him from the Ministry bathrooms that evening. Despite clandestine enquiries, she hadn't been able to find out for sure which Weasley the snatchers had allegedly killed, or whether one had even been killed at all. The other Order members had Apparated him and Andromeda away before they could confirm it.

"I got him right in the head," Scabior had insisted. "There's no way he could survive."

Outside the office, Pansy's fingers had clenched round her quill, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe.

She heard a creak of Yaxley's chair. She could picture him leaning back in his seat, eyeing the snatcher with a faint sneer.

"But he escaped," he said, voice very calm and very low. It was a dangerous sign, that voice of his, and Scabior proved himself not entirely stupid in recognising it. There was a pause, before he admitted nervously that yes, yes he had, but…

"And so did Andromeda Tonks."

Pansy imagined the snatcher sinking down in his chair.

"Yes," he said weakly. She felt almost sorry for him. Almost. If he truly had killed a Weasley, then he deserved a hex or two.

Yaxley gave him three.

The rest of the day had passed agonisingly slowly. For the second night in a row, Pansy escaped home as quickly as she could and Apparated straight to the pub.

"Fred?" She glanced wildly around the empty room, then raced into the next, and the next, swatting away cobwebs and hanging wires. "Fred? Fred?!"

Nothing. He was always here first. Why wasn't he here first?

Her wild search had thrown up clouds of dust that clogged in her throat and made her eyes water. Desperate for air, she stumbled through the door, out into the open scrubland. She was trembling, breathless.

Fred couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

"Looking for something?" a voice asked drily.

She whirled round to see him slouched on a bench, arms folded, hair glowing red in the crisp autumnal sunshine. He knew exactly why she was so frantic; it was written plainly across his smug face.

"You"—she stared at him—"you bastard!"

"You were really worried, weren't you, love?" he teased, patting the space beside him. "Come here. You look like you need to sit down."

She remained stubbornly standing, arms folded across her chest.

"I thought you were dead."

"Clearly," he said. "You were screaming my name like a banshee."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. So he'd heard her, had he? Had it not occurred to him to put her out of her misery? No, the arrogant git had simply sat back and enjoyed it.

"I was not screaming," she said, because she hadn't been. Really.

"You were, but I knew I'd get you doing it eventually," he quipped, making her flush and scowl even harder. "Come here," he said again, cupping his eyes against the sun.

She went, although she made sure to stomp so he knew she wasn't happy about it.

"You're a despicable human being," she said as she sat. "I wish you really had gotten hexed."

"Me too," he said blithely, "but my blasted brother knocked me out of the way." Pansy looked at him, startled, but he simply held out a cellophane wrapper. "Edible Dark Mark?"

Pansy stared at the multi-coloured jelly sweets, then back up at him. His expression was casual enough—almost too casual—but there was something hard about his eyes.

"No… thanks," she said, having learnt early on not to accept anything Fred claimed to be edible. He shrugged and pocketed them.

"Suit yourself."

She eyed him carefully. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and now she noticed it, a nasty scrape along his stubbly jaw. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink last night either.

"Scabior was telling the truth, wasn't he?" she asked softly. "Someone did get hit."

"George," Fred said. "Bloody idiot. Should have let me take it."

Merlin, his twin.

"Is he—is he okay?"

He gave a half-shrug.

"Yeah," he said, and although he spoke gruffly, Pansy could hear the pain in his voice. "Curse missed his head, thank Merlin, but took his ear clean off."

"Shit," Pansy breathed, eyes wide. Fred evidently approved of her assessment, because he flashed her a humourless smile.

"It's pretty bad," he agreed, "but he's alive. Been lapping up the attention too, the sod."

Pansy raised her eyebrows.

"As if you wouldn't do the same."

Fred snorted, turning his face up to the sun.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'd rather not find out if you don't mind."

"If it makes you feel any better," Pansy said, eyeing his freckled profile, "Yaxley hexed the living daylights out of the snatchers for letting you get away."

"Oh yeah?" Fred cracked open an eye.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "He was hopping mad all day. Casting curses left, right and centre."

He looked at her properly then.

"Not at you, I hope," he said, eyes running over her as if checking for injury.

"Of course not," she said. It was hard to keep a trace of bitterness from creeping into her voice. "I'm his favourite."

Fred's gaze jerked sharply back up to hers, shoulders tensing.

"Parkinson," he said, voice dangerously quiet, "tell me he hasn't…"

"No," she said. He knew about her… uncomfortable relationship with her boss, and she saw his mind go to the darkest place. "He would if he could, I think," she added. "But I'm a pure-blood and a supporter of the Dark Lord. They haven't quite sunk to preying on their own just yet."

Fred seemed to relax a little, but the deadly look in his eyes hadn't entirely dissipated.

"If he ever touches you, I swear I'll…"

It sent a little thrill through her to hear Fred threaten Yaxley with bodily harm, but she was, of course, a fierce and competent witch, entirely capable of protecting herself should it come to it.

She ran a finger up her wand.

"Believe you me," she said, "if that fucking man lays so much as a finger on me, I'll hex his bollocks off and feed them to Nagini."

Fred stared at her, mouth open, eyes wide.

"Feed them… feed them to…"

"Nagini," she repeated helpfully. "I'll feed his bollocks to Nagini."

A moment as this sunk in, then perhaps the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard as Fred Weasley threw back his head and laughed like she'd never heard before.


...


"Andromeda sends her thanks," he said as they stood, eventually, to Apparate their separate ways.

Pansy glanced down, embarrassed. The gratitude in his gaze was deep, and it was doing odd things to her chest.

"Tell her I'm just glad she's safe," she said.

He touched her hand then—gently, the barest brush of warm fingers against hers. Her head lifted in surprise to find him closer than she expected, a little smile tugging at his lips.

"You did good, Parkinson," he said, then with a brief squeeze of her hand and a muted crack of Disapparition, he was gone.


...


A/N: Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review to let me know what you thought.