I do not own any of the following characters
He thought about her. A lot. More than he should. He would lie awake at night, not able to sleep. He would pace the halls. No one questioned it; after all, this was war. They gave him his space; let him sit in the hall, staring absently. They assumed he was thinking about tactics, second-guessing the other side, running lists through his head. They would never guess she was thinking about her, scuffling about down stairs, washing the dishes, cleaning the common rooms, preparing meals to reheat when desired. She mended torn robes, dusted and scrubbed. After just a few months of her presence, the place was livable, almost cozy. She had started an herb garden in what used to be the solar. She worked alone, eyes averted if others passed. At first, he believed it to be poetic justice at his finest. She had been so horrible in school, walking the halls like a princess, upturned nose high in the air. Now here she was, a servant girl to the order. Most of the older members ignored her, hardly aware of her presence as she brought them clean washing and scrubbed stains out of the carpet. It was almost easy to forget she was even there; she lived in the attic and usually operated all night, into the first light of the dawn. She hardly even spoke.
They still had no idea about her mother. That had been her plea. "Please. She had cried. "Please find my mother. I just need to know if she is even alive. I will do anything, please. I promise I will not leave here. Just try to do this one thing. Please." She had been too tragic to refuse.
No one expected her to serve any purpose. They all, Hermione especially, had expected her to sit around crying to herself. Or maybe hide in the attic room they had allotted her. Of course, she was not to hear a word of the order's business. No one trusted her. However, no one had anticipated what came next either.
It had begun with the dishes. The large stack in the basin sink was found one morning, spotlessly clean and neatly organized in a cupboard. The trend spread throughout the kitchen, the tilted floors free of grime, the cobwebs gone from the corners. Soon, they found spotless halls, dusted off bookshelves, and windows that actually emitted light. Tonks was the first to vocalize what everyone was thinking.
"Well of course it's her." Said Mad Eye. "What do you think she does scuffling about all night?"
The couches gained new duvets, made from old velvet curtains. She cleaned off boots and scrubbed toilets. She did this all, hardly making a sound. He wondered how a person could operate so quietly, he could count on his hand the number of words she spoke during any given week. Was it because she was too proud to speak to them, or was she afraid of everyone? She must have felt so alone, orphaned and without a friend. She began to remind him of his own early years.
He began smiling at her. At first, her eyes would widen and she would quickly look away. They were green, her eyes. A lovely dark shade of green. Mirroring his own. She slowly began to smile back, a small smile, but a genuine and pretty one. Sometimes he would catch her humming to herself.
One night, he found she had put a silence charm on the kitchen, muffling music she was dancing too as she cleared the dishes. Muggle music. He knew the song well. And when you get the chance, you are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen, Dancing queen, feel the beat on the tambourine, oh yeah… He wondered how she knew it.
He asked Draco what she was like. Draco would only shrug, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Like I bloody know what is going through her head." He said, "I knew her as a child. We have all changed since school. She was mostly attention grubbing and bitchy, I think to make up for her complete lack of any talent in school. She's really not clever at all, everyone knows it."
Well, you are still an arrogant prat, he thought as Draco put out his cigarette on a newly polished end table. Nothing had changed with him. And after the war, they would go back to detesting each other without reservation, no common enemy to unite them.
She had appeared back in their lives so suddenly; it had left him little time to consider it. Their had been a raid, of course he wasn't allowed to participate, he was too important to loose in something like a rescue mission. Three ministry members, whom he had never met, all captured by the dark side for information. The mission had been more then a success, the retuned party entered yelling about how they had freed four. Everyone had crowded around to see a unconscious and bruised Pansy Parkinson, cradled in Lupin's arms.
"I'll ask you one more time, why were they holding you?" Moody had asked her.
"I didn't know where he was. I still don't" She finally spoke, not looking up from the floor. She was obviously shaken, the evidence of abuse all to clear in her damaged face and limp hair.
"Who?" asked Moody, "Malfoy?"
"No." she whispered. "My father. He left us. He ran. I didn't know where he was. They said I was a liar. A traitor like him. That's why they took me. I don't know where my family is."
She then looked up, fear consuming her face. "Please," she asked. "Find my mother."
Her face had healed since then. Healed all except a long slash mark, starting from the outer corner of her eye to her cheek.
"That mark will most likely be permanent." Molly Weasley had sighed. "It's too bad for a young thing to be left with such a scar."
Later, on the night of the raid, he found her in the kitchen, staring into a mug of steaming tea. He got one himself and sat across from her.
"Lupin says you were very brave. That you were found first, and told him where the others were. He said you didn't even try to run away."
"I like him." She had replied, not looking up. "He was a good teacher."
"I'm sorry," he said "about your family."
"Family." She muttered back. But then looked up and said,
"Do you remember Millicent Bulstrode?"
How could he forget.
"We are first cousins. Our mothers are sisters. But I cannot stand her, or her mother. They were always so horrible to me. All through school Millicent insisted on teasing and tormenting me."
"I have a cousin." He said. "A great bullying git. His mother was mine's sister as well. So much for family I guess."
She looked back into her cup and smiled slightly. "My mother told me something once, after our first year. When I told her you were in my year."
He looked at her intently.
"She told me her own mother had a sister. Rebellious girl, married a quidditch seeker who the family didn't approve of. In time, she had one son, who in turn had one son. You."
He stared at her, wide eyed.
"All purebloods are interrelated in some way. The Weasley's are distant cousins on my father's side. So is Draco. It's just, other than Millicent, you are my closest living relative."
"I never knew a lot about my father's family." He replied, looking down at his own tea. Just that he was a pureblood, and an only child. So your mother, the woman you want us to find, she's my father's first cousin?"
Pansy nodded.
"Well, well I…" he started
"So much for family I guess." She replied.
He didn't tell anyone about the conversation. Maybe they knew already, and it wasn't really their business anyway. He thought about the mirror from first year. Had he seen her in it, an unnoticed face in the family he so longed for?
But still this was war. And no one trusted her. She never said anything and hardly looked anyone in the eyes. But she stayed. His cousin. She stayed and the house became clean and he was left to brood. He thought about magic bloodlines, and ancestors that he never knew. Potter ancestors. Pansy's great aunt, his own grandmother. And, especially at night, he thought about her.
I have reposted this after a friend helped me fix the grammar. English grammar still tricks me sometimes but I like to get it right. Thanks! Much love.