A/N: This is not exactly an AU fic, but it does not follow canon either. There were some parts of DH that are incorporated in this story, but for the most part, the plot is my own. This fic will revolve around Pansy, as she is the main character, but the focus won't be on her alone.

Summary: When the Weasleys find Pansy Parkinson injured and almost dead, they do the only honorable thing they can, take her in. But who expected her to stay? Pansy ends up living with the Weasleys and the Order, showing them, rather than telling, exactly why Voldemort tortured her and turned her out. Pansy's quirky sense of humor clashed with Voldemort's... well, non-existant sense of humor, and the latter made sure that Pansy regretted all her derisive thoughts. Who would think that Pansy can match the Weasley twin's pranks? Like that one time when the twins ran away screaming after trying to sneak into the bathroom when Pansy was taking a shower? But Pansy is not just all fun and games. There is a darker side to her, and somehow, she knows more than she should. For one, how did she know that Rowena Ravenclaw's veil went missing in '82?

Ship: There is a lot of different ships in this story. Does not revolve around any particular one. Expect Ron/Hermione, Fleur/Bill and Tonks/Lupin to stay canon. As for the rest... well...

Disclaimer: Belongs to JKR... durr...

"...but why did you have to bring her here?" someone asked, obviously trying to keep her voice down. It was a her, or at least, she did sound feminine enough to be a her. Might have been a small man with a high voice, but it was more likely that the speaker was a woman.

"Where else?" another voice, whose owner did not seem to be bothered by the possibility of waking her up, questioned indignantly. It was a much deeper voice than the first one.

"Oh, I don't know," the first voice responded, exasperated. "But not here."

The owner of the second voice scoffed.

"Well, it's dangerous!" the first voice returned with full force to defend her cause. "What if she is a spy for You-Know-Who? Or if she has a portkey or something on her?"

"She is a teenage girl, for Merlin's sake," another voice, one she has not heard before, jumped in. It sounded somewhat male, but she was not too sure. "What harm can she do?"

"Malfoy was only a teenage boy, too, and look at what he did!" now, this voice, sounded a lot more familiar. She was sure she had heard it before. And the name, Malfoy, that, too, rang a bell. Malfoy...Draco Malfoy... Draco... a spinning image of a frightened blond boy groveling at the feet of a much taller, much larger man leaped from her memory. She drew in a sharp breath, and attempted to open her eyes. She accomplished as much as fluttering her eyelashes before she was overcome with fatigue.

Immediately, the room around her quieted down. She felt, more than she saw that everyone turned to her. They waited for a about a minute before proceeding in their conversation.

"I am just saying that our home is probably not the best place, Bill," the female continued to argue. "What about the Order Headquarters? Why didn't you take her there?"

"Wow, Ginny, that's a thinker," the one named Bill responded sarcastically. "Maybe because then the whole Order would be at risk?"

"So it's better us than the Order?" there was a dangerous edge in her voice.

"Merlin's beard, that's not what I am saying..."

"She might be dangerous. Do you want to slaughter your whole family, Bill? Just so your stupid Order may live?" the one named Ginny continued angrily.

"Ginny, that's quite enough!" Another female voice came in with authority and force. "Bill did the best he could in a bad situation. She is obviously hurt, and if you don't hand me those bandages over there, you might find yourself hurt too, young lady."

That seemed to make Ginny back off.

"But Mum," one of the voices, she was losing track of which was which, relentlessly argued. "Ginny is right. What if she is going to kill us all?"

"Ronald Weasley," he was quickly reprimanded. "I don't want to hear this from you. Just look at her. Does she look like she could hurt anyone? Even if she wanted to?"

Weasley? Either they were right and she was very, very hurt with no recollection of how she got to be at the Weasley residence or the voices in her head were the Weasleys. She was not quite sure which would be worse.

The voices were silent.

"Exactly," the motherly, authoritative voice reasserted itself. "Now, clear out. Ginny, stay and help me bandage her up, the rest of you shoo."

She heard some grumbling and groaning, creaking of the chairs or the door and then it was quiet again. Too quiet. Another memory resurfaced. Fog and more fog, footsteps of a cloaked figure and then... and then...

The second time she awoke, she was alone. This time, she was able to force her eyelids open a little bit. Not that it did her lot of good. It was dark in the room; it had to be night outside. How long since it happened? She was taken during the day and then the nights, those horrible nights in that room. And then the night. Too long to remember. Besides, she did not want to remember.

Instead she tried to wiggle around a bit to see how badly she was hurt. Remembering would simply take up that energy, and she was weak. Very weak. She could remember things later; just do one thing at a time for now. Okay, she succeeded in moving her hands. In her head, she did a victorious dance. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 0. She grinned. And almost yelped in pain. There was a deep, still sort of bleeding gash on her cheek as she found out when she touched her face with her (functional!) hand. Fine. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 1. Next she tried to sit up. Her rib cage felt like it was about penetrate her skin, jump out and start tap dancing. She coughed. Even breathing hurt. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 2. Whatever. She almost wished she would faint again. Sleep is the best healer, right? Pansy gave up on trying to sit up or move; she was satisfied with twinkling her toes. Then the pain overtook her and she fainted again. Her Wounds won.

"Are you mad? Why is she here?" a loud, angry voice brought her back to the painful world.

This time, Pansy succeeded in opening her eyes fully just to see the hot and angry face of Harry Potter pointing at her and yelling in the milky moonlight. She groaned. The loudness did not make her head hurt any less.

"Harry! Keep your voice down! You woke her up!" another voice reprimanded the first one in a harsh whisper. Pansy's eyes looked the owner of that one in darkness and discovered a Weasley, or so she thought as she recognized the voice from earlier. It was the one who was angry about her being here earlier; Ginny, was it? Funny how the tables have flipped. Sorta flipped. Not completely. No. She would not get into linguistic arguments with herself right now. Pansy groaned again.

"I don't care!" Harry Potter continued to yell, ignoring her. "She is probably Voldemort's spy. She will lead him here or something..."

"Bill brought her here, Harry," Ginny explained impatiently. "It's not like we invited her. You should know better than that."

"Gin- Well, I know you didn't invite her," Harry seemed to be taken back a little by her frowning face. "But still. She shouldn't be here! What was Bill thinking?"

"What was I supposed to do, Harry?" another voice (goddamn it!) spoke in the darkness. Annoyed, Pansy wondered if the Order had a vendetta against lights or something, for why else would they be standing around in darkness? At least LordsVolds was generous when it came to his usage of candles, torches, floating fires, chandeliers or burning inferni. Apparently, the Order was not the same way.

"Hmm? Leave her out in the cold to die?" the voice of her defender said accusingly.

Cold? Pansy thought it was the middle of June. The nights are not super-hot, but he was not exactly leaving her out in middle of a Himalayan avalanche.

Harry Potter was quiet. Ginny Weasley was quiet. But not for long.

"I told you before, Bill. You shouldn't have brought her here," Ginny seemed eager to take Harry's side in this conflict. Pansy scoffed inwardly. Imagining her own scoffing face reminded her of the gash on her cheek. She raised her hand to touch it softly. Yup. It was still there. Still bleeding. Terrific. The idea of a lifetime spent with a bleeding face came to her mind and she groaned, again.

"She is awake?" It was more of an asserted fact than it was a question. Bill was the father of this sound.

"I don't care," Harry said defensively.

"I don't know," Ginny commented.

"Oh, to hell with this!" the one named Bill swore. "Lumos!"

Oh, wonderful, Pansy thought, there might be a God after all.

With light streaming from Bill's wand, she could finally see where she was. It was a small room, with posters of the Chudley Cannons and dragons everywhere. Well, that was okay. The size of the room, not so much. But she didn't mind the dragons and she did not care enough about Quidditch to recognize the Chudley Cannons. As for the people that were standing in the room, she recognized Harry Holy Potter closest to her bed, then Ginny Weasley with the trademark orange Weasley hair stood in one of the corners, and then, by the door, was the one she assumed was named Bill, a tall, handsome man with long red hair, but a scarred face. From what she gathered so far, he was the one that found her and rescued her. Well, good. She approved of him.

"Hello Pansy," Bill smiled when he saw her face in the light of his wand. "I trust you slept well."

Pansy smiled back. However, her cheek was not all cool and down with that. It sprouted blood, spraying her face and a part of her pillow. Lovely, Pansy thought, just lovely.

"Ievlaptell," she told him. And then coughed. Her throat was too dry to speak, her lungs burned. Not to mention the feel of her ribs which, though a lot better, seemed severely bruised.

"I am sorry, I didn't catch that," Bill told her. "Ginny, why don't you get her some water?"

Ginny made a face at Harry before disappearing, but soon coming back with a glass of water.

"Help her drink it," Bill ordered her. "Some of her ribs were broken, right? She shouldn't move around too much."

Broken? Oh, right. That. Turns out that calling Big L.V., "Wonder Volder" is not a good decision. She must remember that for future reference.

"Well? How do you feel?" Bill asked her once she was done with the big glass of water.

Pansy coughed, "Better. A lot better. Thank you."

"Did you even bother her check for the Dark Mark?" Harry inquired, frowning.

"Uh..." Bill turned a bright shade of pink. "I don't think that Fleur would like it if I performed a body search on anyone other than--"

"Dear Merlin, shut up, Bill," Ginny snapped at him. "I don't want to know what you and Fleur get up to in your free time. And no, Harry, we didn't think of that."

"Perfect. Just perfect. Do you take all stray Death Eaters in, Bill? You know, maybe Snape is looking for a new master now too, you could go and keep a look out for him."

"Harry..." Bill growled warningly.

"I helped Mum heal her after he brought her in," Ginny quickly cut in. "I didn't see a Dark Mark."

"We can check, can't we?" Harry was next to her in a mere fraction of a second, lifting up her left arm and checking it for a DM.

Pansy smiled languidly at him.

"You could have just asked, you know," she purred. "But I understand if you wanted to do a full body search on me, Potter..."

Now it was Harry's turn to play a Las Vegas neon sign. He turned scarlet and then pink and then he ended in a white, throwing a frightened look at Ginny. Her face forecasted snowstorms with the possibility of lightening.

Also, Harry dropped Pansy's arm as if it was a snake.

"Satisfied?" Pansy smirked at him, her cheek sprouting more blood. She could feel it trickle down her neck. Bloody beautiful.

"I am not one for body ink anyway," she told him. "Besides, Morty doesn't have very good taste in tattoos anyway. I figured that if I was to get a tattoo, I would get something better than a skull with a snake. I mean, alone those two are not too bad. But together? Tacky!"

Bill looked like he wanted to burst out laughing. Harry looked scandalized. Ginny just looked angry. Pansy was enjoying it. She admitted she would enjoy it a lot more if she could breathe, but hey, you take what you can get, right?

"May I please get more water?" she broke the silence that ensued.

"Uh, yeah, sure, of course." Ginny scurried out of the room.

"What are you doing here, Parkinson?" Harry had recovered enough to growl questions at her.

"Um," Pansy paused, drinking some of the water which Ginny brought. "Laying in bed? Isn't that obvious or do you need new glasses?"

"Parkinson." Harry growled, giving her a searching look.

"Harry, leave her alone," Bill told him. "She is still half-way dead. You don't want to kill her with your questions just now."

"Wouldn't be so sure," Harry muttered, finally turning away from her. "We need to question her, though, Bill. She might know something about Voldemort."

"Yeah, Voldiekins and I are best friends, H-Potts. We paint each other nails, have pillow fights and all that good stuff. If you need any info on him, just lemme know. I can tell you what his favorite color is, what he likes for breakfast and why Mr. Snuggles is his most trusted advisor. But after I sleep, k? Pretty Pansy is getting tired." She yawned to prove her point, nudging Ginny away.

"I can see why she would need her beauty sleep," Ginny commented dryly, leaving the room. "Come on, let her sleep. She won't be any use to you, Harry."

"But..."

"Harry, not now." Bill told him.

"Do we have any Veritaserum on hand?"

"I don't know," Ginny was heard from the hallway.

"Let's go look for some, hm?" Bill took Harry's arm, practically dragging him out of the room.

"Bye-bye, Pot-pot." Pansy waved. "Bring me balloons next time. I especially like balloon giraffes. Extra brownie points if you make them yourself."

"How are you feeling, honey?" This time, Pansy woke up to someone redressing her wounds and murmuring to her softly. She remembered Idda, their old House-elf caring for her like that whenever she was sick. It was quiet nice. She sighed and that's when the woman finally turned to her.

"I think I feel better," Pansy told her, smiling. Oh, noes! The wound on her cheek opened. Betcha you didn't see that coming. Pansy certainly didn't. But then she went on a little tirade in her head about how she was supposed to see it coming, since the same damn thing happened last night whenever she moved that cheek. What exactly did Macnair do to her face? Or did she actually want to know?

"Aw, that horrible gash is bleeding again. Do you remember how you got it? I can't find anything that would close it permanently," Mrs. Weasley inquired, waving her wand over Pansy's face to stop the bleeding.

"Um," Pansy paused to think. "I think he used some sort of spell or something. I am not really sure."

"Do you know who did this?"

"I think the cheek was Macnair."

"Oh, good," Mrs. Weasley commented. "I mean, not good. But I was worried that it might have been a werewolf wound, and that would've been much worse."

"Undoubtedly," Pansy agreed quickly. "Voldemort's resident werewolf wasn't around when I was being tortured. At least, I don't think."

"Oh..."

"So, where am I?"

"You are with the Weasleys, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained. "My son, Bill, found you on his way from work near one of the apparation points."

"Thank you for fixing me up," Pansy thanked her. "I wouldn't want to be a bother to you. I should probably leave soon."

"Nonsense, dear," Mrs. Weasley disagreed quickly. "You can stay with us as long as you would like. Your uh, connections won't prevent us from helping you."

"That is very noble, Mrs." there she paused, "Weasley?"

"Yes, I am a Weasley," the matriarch told her with an undertone of pride.

"But I cannot accept your offer," Pansy told her, struggling to get up. "I think that I am well enough to travel. Death Eaters won't be looking for me now."

"I doubt that," a tall man was standing in the doorway. He looked a lot like Bill, except for the balding head and he also seemed thinner. "If I know the Dark Lord's followers at all, I am sure that they will follow you. If you escaped from their clutches once, they will look for you again."

"My family can protect me, really," Pansy tried to reason with him.

"You are a Parkinson, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, if I am correct, your father has fled the country," Mr. Weasley told her. Pansy did another victory dance in her head upon hearing that Papa got away. She thought he did, but she wasn't sure. Only if Daffy and herself had been that lucky. But it's too late to weep over milk gone sour. She had more important things to worry over now.

"I have other relatives," Pansy tried again.

"Most of which are closely affiliated with the Death Eaters," Mr. Weasley retorded. "Moreover, I don't believe that it would be wise for us to let you go once you've seen one of our provisional headquarters."

"So I am a prisoner?"

"Not exactly," Mrs. Weasley butted in. "We just think that it's better for our and your own safety to stay with us."

"But I can leave, right?" Pansy asked.

"The decision is ultimately yours," Mr. Weasley smiled reassuringly. "We don't force people to join us. Or to stay with us."

"But you don't have to decide now," Mrs. Weasley said hastily. "You still have quite some healing to do. We wouldn't make you go when you can barely move."

"I think I am fine," Pansy told her, stretching and swinging her legs off the bed. "I am feeling a lot better. And look, I can stand." Throwing the covers off, she stood up.

At that, Mr. Weasley, who quite appropriately felt out of place, left the room and closed the door.

"Pansy, you are not wearing a shirt," Mrs. Weasley said, looking away and handing her a shirt.

Pansy looked down. True, the bandages covered all the important stuff, but there was still a big chunk of her stomach and arms that wasn't covered. Wonderful, she thought, I just flashed Mr. Weasley. Well, the Death Eaters would be proud. Maybe. Or jealous. She wasn't really sure. And thinking about it made her feel icky on the inside, so she stopped. Instead, she preoccupied herself with putting on the shirt.

"I feel a lot better now," she told Mrs. Weasley again.

"I am glad to hear that," Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. "Now, let's get some food in you. I wouldn't expect you to heal just from the air, and you are too skinny anyway."

Pansy idly wondered what her definition of "skinny" really was, for she certainly wasn't skinny by her own standards. She wasn't a fattie, but she was as far from being a stick as a dementor was from successfully running a daycare center.

"You can either come down for breakfast, or I can send someone up with a tray," Mrs. Weasley told her.

"I think I will stay up here, " Pansy decided. "I want some time to think things over and such." She explained to her.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley patted her shoulder. "What do you like for breakfast?"

"Anything works really," Pansy grinned. Man, was she hungry. "I eat everything. That's why I look the way I do." She added, sheepishly.

Mrs. Weasley gave her an odd look.

"Well, then I will send up what I will make for everyone else."

"Sounds fantastic."

The Weasley kitchen was abuzz with the news of their guest.

"So, I think we better get to the most important issue here," George started when he and Fred apparated to their seats at the table.

"Is she hot?" Fred finished his twin's thought.

"Who?" Ron raised his eyebrows, much preoccupied digging into his waffles.

"Pansy Parkinson, you dweeb," George told him. "Seriously, Roniekins, do try to keep up."

"Ew, of course not. Don't you remember her from school? Pug-face?"

"Well, people change."

"I hear Bill here got a good look," Fred smiled, poking Bill in the side with his fork.

"Bill?" Fleur raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

"Ughm," Bill choked on the sip of pumpkin juice he just took. "She is okay. I mean, she does not look like a pug, or anything like that. But I wouldn't call her 'hot.' Anyway, I don't know what gave you the idea that I got a good look. I just levitated her here. So Mum could heal her."

Fleur didn't look convinced.

"I thought you carried her," Ron said, as usual, unaware of the finer subtleties of the conversation.

Fleur looked even less convinced. If there was a conviction scale, Fleur would have reached a new low. A very low, low. Lower than the melting point of most super cooled liquids. Or gases. In fact, if Fleur was a gas, she would be helium which does not freeze even when the temperature gets very close to absolute zero.

"I didn't carry her!" Bill defended himself. "Mum, tell him I levitated her here." He turned to his mother for help.

"Of course you did, honey," she responded absent-mindedly as she continued to make waffles to feed her numerous family.

Fleur said nothing.

"So she looked okay, huh, mate?" George continued on his original track of thought.

"George," Ron said with all seriousness he could muster. "Don't you remember her? The pug-faced Slytherin that always hang around Malfoy?"

"Malfoy's girlfriend?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry agreed, sitting down.

"I don't remember her being bad on the eyes," George sounded as if deep in thought as he tried to recall a clearer vision of Pansy.

"Yes, if you are attracted to pugs," Harry said dryly.

"Maybe she had a snotty nose, I honestly don't remember, but the body wasn't bad," Fred came to support his twin.

"And that's all that matters!"

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley who happened to catch the last bit of the conversation smacked George over the head with her cooking mitten. "I will not have you talk like this about our guest at the table!"

"So we can talk like that about our guest if we are on the sofa?" the twins apparated there. "Or in the bathroom?" They heard from the bathroom. "Or out in the yard?"

"No breakfast for you," Mrs. Weasley declared firmly.

"We are good," George said as the two apparated back into their seats.

"And not a word from us."

"We are like mice."

"Quiet mice."

"Quite the quiet mice."

"Quite the quiet mice of Quietown."

"Quit."

"Quitting quite the quiet mice of Quietown. Over and out." The food served in front of them turned out to be enough of a distraction for the said "mice."

"I really didn't touch her," Bill told Fleur who was still scowling. "Well, I might have carried her in parts, but I never even--"

"Oh, cut it, Bill," Fleur waved her hand dismissively. "I don't want to 'ear it."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley turned to the table, putting down one last plate full of waffles on the table and levitating a tray for Pansy with her wand. "I need someone to carry this tray up stairs."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks. The twins exchanged grins. Bill and Fleur exchanged nothing.

"I can take it up, Mrs. Weasley," Fleur offered, her eyes daring Bill, or anyone else, to try and stop her.

"Oh, would you?" Mrs. Weasley smiled at her daughter-in-law-to-be gratefully and handed her the tray. "Thank you, Fleur. She is in Charlie's old room."

"No problem, Mrs. Weasley," Fleur forced a smile and took the tray.

"Wonder how long she is gonna leech off us," Ron commented, watching Fleur disappear up the stairs. "Probably dried Malfoy's account and that's why she is here."

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "She was tortured! How can you accuse her of leeching off on us?"

"Might have been faked" Ron muttered, still too intimidated by his mother to face her head-on. "You never know with them, Death Eaters."

"Her injuries weren't faked, Ronald," Ginny agreed matter-of-factly. "As much as I don't like her, she is not lying about that."

"Whatever. I still say it's a bad decision to keep her here," Ron said. "When is she gonna leave, anyway? Charlie will want his room back when he comes for the wedding. And we will be hosting enough people as it is."

"Pansy is welcome to stay as long as she wants," Mr. Weasley joined them in the kitchen.

"What?" Ginny gaped at him.

"She is injured and chased by the Death Eaters. She can stay with us as long as she wants or needs," Mr. Weasley repeated. "I wouldn't give up anyone to the Death Eaters, and I would be very surprised if you did." He gave Ginny and Ron quite a stern look before sitting down.

"But Dad! We can't keep her!" Ron exclaimed, much less afraid of his father than his mother.

"Ron, don't refer to her as if she was a stray kneazle." His father scowled at him.

"She is a Death Eater! We can't keep the likes of her here. This is where the Order lives. Harry, help me." He shot Harry a look asking him for help.

"You don't know that she is a Death Eater, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley, instead of Harry, joined the conversation.

"But Mum! She is a Parkinson."

"I won't have you jumping to conclusions, Ronald Weasley. If she wants to stay with us here, she may. We are not going to turn her out to the Death Eaters so they may do Merlin knows what to her. She is lucky that she got away this time."

"She probably deserved all she got," Ron said nastily.

"Ronald!"

"I'm just saying that--"

"I won't hear another word, Ron, about this." Mr. Weasley told him firmly. "Pansy is going to stay with us if she wants. You are going to treat her as a friend. And that's that."

Ron gave him a dark look before going off to sulk upstairs.

"You know, Harry, she can't be all that bad," Mrs. Weasley told him, watching the retreating back of her youngest son.

"Trust me, Mrs. Weasley, Ron is right about her," Harry told her. "We don't know why she is here. For all we know, her wounds could be just decoy."

"She wouldn't serve someone who hurt her this bad!" Mrs. Weasley jumped to Pansy's defense.

"Voldemort is not exactly known for providing his employees with insurance or good retirement benefits..."

"Oh, Harry, how I wish you would stop saying his name."

"I better go check on Ron," Harry thus excused himself from the table and went upstairs.

Fine. So this was a vast improvement to what her living situation used to be. It seemed that in this house, getting randomly assaulted by a stranger would not go unnoticed. Neither there would be the possibility of Big L torturing her for his amusement. Nor there would be any run-ins with Bellatrix Lestrange, who was decidedly bisexual. It was decided so by Pansy that one time when Bella hit on her. It was most discomforting. Bella did not seem exactly like the type that would back of easily. So yes, this was an improvement. How permanent of an improvement, she was not sure.

After the door closed behind Mrs. Weasley, Pansy hopped off her bed to scrutinize her surroundings. There was not too much space to survey, as the room was not exactly roomy, another big difference to her previous living conditions. She was fairly sure that her least favorite House-Elf had a room bigger than this. She shrugged. It didn't matter. She liked comfort and pretty things, but she liked being alive a lot more than she liked those two put together. And alive she would remain, regardless of the cost.

Outside of the house matched in the inside. The lawn looked as if it and a lawn mower spells were mortal enemies. It was full of dwarfs running around and chasing the chickens. Hell, there was even one dwarf that was inventive enough to put some sort of a string around one of the chicken's necks and ride it around like a horse. Pansy amused herself by watching him until she heard a knock on her door.

"Enter!" she called, briefly wondering which one of the orange haired monsters would come to torture her this time. She hoped it was Bill, she took a liking to him. She didn't know the rest of them yet, and he was the only nice one. Well, except for the adults, but hey, they had to be. They were adults, right?

"I brought your breakfast," the girl announced and entered.

"You are not a Weasley," Pansy blurted out, taking in her appearance. No, certainly, the young witch that brought her breakfast up was not a Weasley. The hair color was totally off. So were the facial features, which were familiar for some reason.

"No, not yet," the witch agreed, studying her with displeasure.

"Not yet?" Pansy questioned, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you aspiring to be one or something?"

"Why, yes," Fleur said, raising her eyebrows at Pansy's tone. "I am Fleur Delacour, the fiancé of William Weazley."

"William?" Pansy muttered. "I don't remember that one. Wait, you mean Bill?"

"Yes, that iz what his family and friendz call 'im," Fleur told her, and the emphasis did not slip by Pansy.

"Ah, congratulations are then in order, I believe," Pansy smiled, extending her hand, despite being conscious of the dislike the other witch emitted. "I am Pansy Parkinson, by the way."

"Thank you," Fleur smiled politely, gratefulness not quite reaching her eyes.

"So when are you and Bill getting married, if you don't mind me asking?" Pansy inquired, still attempting to carry on the conversation in a friendly manner. She would not mind becoming friends with Bill's fiance, since he seemed so nice already. Besides, she sort of doubted that she would be all buddy-buddy with Granger or G-Weaz, and it wouldn't hurt to have a female ally on this side of the fence.

"In two weekz, actually," Fleur said. "We are very 'appy together. I cannot imagine what would 'appen eef anyone tried to ztop my wedding. Either way, eet would end very badly for her."

Pansy paused before responding as she processed the implied threat. Did Bill's fiancé really think that she, Pansy Parkinson, was out to get her man? Well, all is fair in love and war, right? And there was love and war, so Pansy figured that insane jealousy would fall under this rule, too. But seriously, she had no intention of wooing Bill, or anyone else at the moment. Bill was alright, she thought, but she would never date a Weasley, let alone marry one. She was careful to not let her incredulity show on her face before she responded to Fleur.

"Of course, but I cannot phantom why anyone would interfere with your wedding," she smiled at the frowning Fleur. "You and Bill seem perfect for each other, at least as far as I can judge from my limited knowledge."

Fleur said nothing, and so Pansy decided to go on.

"I am sure your wedding will be wonderful," she continued smiling, ignoring the bleeding gash on her cheek. The gauze was still there, preventing it from bleeding too much. She wasn't sure how the other witch would react to blood, but she seemed too Barbie-esque for a positive reaction.

"That is unless L-Volds considers making an appearance," Pansy joked in an effort to lighten the atmosphere.

"L-Volds?"

"You know, the infamous, the horrible, the evil, the ballerina Lord Voldemort the first!" Pansy's voice ascended to a high pitch as she pronounced those words.

"Uh," Fleur paused, more confused than bemused. "Why do you call 'im that?"

"Because he doesn't like it?"

"Well, are you not afraid?"

"He already scared my family out of the country and tortured, nearly killed me. What else can he do to me?" Pansy decided not to answer that question herself. She knew very well exactly what else he could do, but that was a problem for another time.

Fleur's expression indicated that she, too, could think of quite a few things that Lord Voldemort could do that would be worth respecting him.

"I would be terrified if he had done all zat to me," Fleur muttered, pointedly looking at Pansy's cheek.

"Ah, that?" Pansy put down her waffle and touched the aforementioned cheek with her finger. "That wasn't Lords Volds. That was Macnair. Despite the popular belief, they are not the same person. Neither are they secret lovers, as I found out from an unpleasant experience when I followed Macnair to the Dark Lord's bedroom. It was quite a disappointment. They just played checkers."

Now, Pansy wasn't making that up. Well, not completely. Once, she and Draco idly pondered the question of Voldemort's sexuality, as he never gave to the advances of Auntie Bella (as Draco affectionately called her), and they had certain doubts about Macnair. The man always seemed to want to prove his masculinity to someone, be it through killing dangerous creatures or dating complete bimbos. Some serious denial? Well, Pansy thought so. And so one night, when the big V called Macnair to his room, she followed him in a few minutes to bring them tea. And the men were playing checkers. She was most perplexed and she had trouble closing her mouth for about a minute after she made her excuses and exited the room, nearly spilling the tea on Voldemort's snake. The snake which was laying in Voldie's bed. That gave raise to a whole new theory, but that's for another time, kids.

"Still, I zink I would be scared," Fleur insisted, a little weirded out by the whole conversation. Not even Harry talked about You-Know-Who that way. True, Harry never had to room with Him or at least, live in the same house as the Dark One, but still. The girl had more gumption than Fleur would have originally thought, and Fleur wasn't sure if she liked it.

Pansy shrugged instead of responding and refocused on her waffles. She had to admit, Mrs. Weasley was not a bad cook. In fact, she was almost better than the Parkinson House-Elves. Almost.

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," Pansy said when the silence stretched on for too long. "I wasn't feeling too well this morning."

"No problem," Fleur nodded. "I 'eard zat you 'ad some broken ribs, or zomething like zat."

"Yeah, probably," Pansy agreed, tugging on her shirt. "But they fixed me up. Mrs. Weasley, I mean." She corrected herself before Fleur could jump to any conclusions.

"Yes," Fleur said. "Mrs. Weasley iz very... nice."

"She seems alright," Pansy shrugged again. "So is this house your Order Headquarters?"

Fleur frowned:

"I don't zink zat I am supposed to tell you these zings."

"Oh. Sorry that I asked."

"No problem," Fleur muttered.

"I think that I am done. Do they always give you this much food around here?" Pansy asked, pushing the plate away.

"Yes," Fleur answered, picking up the tray.

"Okay. Then tell me how do the Weasley boys remain skinny? If they eat this much at home, and then at Hogwarts, there are no restrictions on how much you eat..."

"I 'onestly don't know. I 'ave pondered that very same question myself every so often."

"And their sister? Ginny? She is not exactly a fatty either..."

"I don't know! I 'ave gained five pounds myzelf since I started living 'ere," Fleur seemed quite displeased with that fact.

"So Mrs. Weasley expects everyone to eat like a starved whale? And then look like one?" Pansy started to worry about her own body.

Fleur just gave her a terrified nod.

"Dear Merlin, it's going to be tough living here," Pansy sighed, and she could not be more right.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I don't really know how this fic is going to develop. I am open to suggestions though! Next chapter up within three days.