With one last twirl in front of the mirror, a twenty-one-year-old Pansy Parkinson nodded in satisfaction at her reflection. Not only was her hair perfect, her make-up was pristine and her dress hugged her body in all the right places. Moreover, she would look slightly better than Daphne Greengrass, who was poorer and couldn't afford the best things. And she always looked better than Tracey Davis, who was too tall and overweight. As for Millicent Bulstrode . . . she wasn't even on the list of possible threats to Pansy's superior attractiveness; her night was more likely to, once again, end with her shagging the first bloke who showed the slightest interest in the loo of the club they were going to.
Pansy shot one last glance at the mirror before picking up her purse and going down her night-out checklist. Wand: check. Emergency make-up: check. Contraceptive potion: definitely check. Money: one . . . two . . . three . . . four Galleons. "Damn," she muttered aloud. That would barely be enough to get her intoxicated, let alone noticed by anyone of any import. She would need at least twenty for that. It seemed almost a blessing that her father was downstairs in his home office instead of travelling for once. All she had to do was flash him a smile and appear bashful about asking and he would hand her the key to the family's Gringotts vault. He would easily part with twenty Galleons. No, she thought. Make that thirty.
Cognisant but uncaring that she was already twenty minutes late for the scheduled rendezvous with the rest of her party, Pansy trotted down the staircase to the ground floor. At the base of the steps, she situated her face to appear demure and tugged upward on the neckline of her dress to reduce the amount of forbidden flesh on display. She even practised a few token eye-bats for good measure before proceeding down the hall toward her father's office.
Surprise spoiled her efforts as Pansy caught the sound of voices wafted out of that very room. She couldn't quite make out what was being said, only that there were likely two and both were male. Careful of disturbing whatever was transpiring and risking a lesser allowance for the night, she crept toward the door and sat on the chaise near it as if she were waiting her turn. A decorative snake plant shielded her from view of the slightly-ajar door, but the dull rustling of its flicking, tongue-like leaves making it difficult for her to hear what was going on inside. With a bit of leaning and a lot of straining, Pansy was finally able to make out some phrases, albeit patchily.
". . . know I have no choice!" This hissed declaration had come from her father, Edward. ". . . watching me . . . give them something."
The second voice — definitely not her father's — was far clearer, and it was infinitely more chilling. "Do not play games with me, Parkinson. An idiot could see you're only testifying to curry favour with the Mudblood-lovers." The sneer in his tone was unmistakable.
"I would never!" Edward fired back. "They hardly matter. Business is business. Being investigated for financing Death Eater activities is not good business!" The abrupt screech of a chair being pulled out was sharp in contrast to the otherwise quiet conversation. "What are you doing?"
"Damage control," the unknown man said frostily.
Fear frothed in Pansy's stomach, especially when Edward's response never came. She crept from her seat and closer to the door, trying her best not to betray her presence. It was not until she was mere inches from the door that she heard it: a tell-tale gurgling sound, almost like drowning. Her blood ran cold. Of its own accord, her hand slipped into her purse to withdraw her wand, but she could barely keep a hold on it for the trembling. Casting any sort of spell seemed like a tall order at that moment.
However, even her gentle shaking ceased when there was a sickening snap, followed by the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Pansy's pulse pounded so loudly in her ears that she was sure it would give her presence away. She wanted to desperately to know who it was who had fallen and to qualm her fear that she had misconstrued the sounds within and that she was overreacting.
Several moments passed by before she started to smell smoke. Something was burning, and when a yellowish glow began to emanate from the small expanse of the slightly open door, Pansy knew that it was coming from inside the office. Panic began to assert itself, and her instinctual desire to run away became too potent to ignore. She began to back away from the door and further down the hall toward the kitchens, which had an exit. The house could burn down for all she cared; she knew what she needed to know. Her father never even allowed candles in his office for fear of setting his precious bookkeeping aflame.
Pansy stumbled as she cursed her footwear for being decorative rather than practical, wincing when the heel of her shoe clacked against the uncarpeted floorboards and echoed through the hall. Annoyed, she slipped them off and padded barefoot through the corridor. She occasionally turned to look behind her, hoping that whoever her father's hostile guest was didn't see her and decide that she'd seen too much.
The squeak of a door opening sent Pansy diving behind the nearest large object, which was a fortuitously placed sister to the snake plant she'd sat next to earlier. She could see the opened door sporadically through the leaves and, finally, who was exiting. A tall, black-haired man emerged and glanced back into the smouldering office before shutting the door and flicking his wand at the latch. Though he was a fair distance away, she could swear that he was smirking.
She was not a fool; there had been little chance of her father being the one who emerged from that room. But not even that knowledge could quell the bite of tears in the corner of her eyes as the intruder spun on his heel and strolled toward the foyer as if he owned the place. They tracked unchecked down her face for fear of alerting the killer of her presence.
And then he stopped walking, mere feet away from the exit. Turning slowly, the man stared down the hallway, not at her directly but seemingly past her. Pansy bit down hard on her lip to keep her breathing as quiet as possible, but she could not contain the huff of terror that managed to penetrate the barrier when his eyes finally settled on something — her shoes. She saw his head tilt as if considering them closely.
It took all her willpower not to jump when he flicked his wand, nearly expecting it to be a deadly, verdant flash. Instead, though, a silken blue plane of energy pulsed down the entire expanse of the hall and seemingly into every orifice of the house. Pansy hadn't been an excellent Charms student, but she definitely knew what that had been. Her hand clenched around her own wand in preparation for his attack, especially since he knew for certain that she was there and where she was.
Instead, even from afar, she could see the icy smile on his face as his wand slashed through the air once more. "Incendio."
Flames coursed from the tip of his wand, catching hold of everything it touched and soaking the carpeting with its ravenous embers. Pansy stood stock still, too afraid to give herself away yet feeling the heat steadily growing as it neared her. All she could do was gape as the fire marched closer and closer. She couldn't see the man anymore through the borderline inferno, and she could finally escape without being seen. That was, of course, if she could get her legs to move to escape from the Anti-Apparition Ward.
Then she remembered that there were no more wards, because her father had cast them and was now dead. A sick feeling curdled in her belly when she caught herself being thankful for this fact, but nonetheless, she squeezed her eyes shut and felt herself being squeezed into the blissfully cold darkness.
Cold stone greeted Pansy's bare feet as she landed on the Ministry of Magic's Apparition platform in the Atrium. Her limbs finally responding to her commands once again, she half-jogged, half-ran toward the lifts, all the while ignoring the security desk wizard shouting for her to stop and check in her wand. Once she reached the nearest unoccupied lift, she wheezed, "Level Two," at the automated voice's prompt.
Once she disembarked, she was greeted by a large placard that read 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement'. The only person in sight was a middle-aged witch sitting behind a desk with her face shoved into a book, seemingly incognisant that someone else was in the area.
"Hello!" Pansy said as the woman ignored her. "Hello!" she repeated, with no result. Angrily, she jabbed her wand at the book and Vanished it, which finally caught the receptionist's attention.
"You didn't have to do that," said the woman, whose nametag said Margaret Whitcock. "You're on the security screening list for failure to check in your wand. Someone will be with you shortly."
Almost on cue, three men in matching royal purple robes strode out from the doorway next to the reception desk. Two of them were seemingly engaged in a humorous conversation, but the third's mouth was set in a stern line the second he caught sight of her. She could see that he recognised her as quickly as she had known him.
One of the more jovial Aurors reined in his amusement and said, "Miss, if you could come with us."
Not in the mood to prod old wounds, Pansy simply nodded and allowed herself to be surrounded and led into a dim room. It was bereft of anything but a table, chairs, writing implements, and a water cooler. She was escorted to one of the seats and given a cup of water, which she only sipped due to the feeling that she could throw up at any moment. The light-hearted duo waited patiently for her to begin on her terms, but he was not as lenient.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked bluntly.
Pansy didn't have the energy to snap back at him. Whatever reserve of composure she'd used to get there was depleted, and all she wanted to do was sit on the floor and cry like a child. But that wasn't an option. Inhaling deeply, she willed her voice to sound stronger than she felt. "If you're not here to do your job, Potter, I would like to speak to someone else who is."
Harry opened his mouth as if to respond, but one of the other Aurors spoke before he got the chance. "Has something happened to your father, Miss Parkinson?"
This question caused Pansy to start. "How did you —"
"If you'll come with me, Miss —" the Auror said with a grunt, "— we will take your statement right away."
Sending Harry one last scathing glance, she followed the Auror to a conference room in the back of the department. But when he showed her to her seat, he merely stood next to the door and stared straight ahead, saying nothing. The lack of talking was beginning to aggravate Pansy; however, before she could openly complain or at least demand a beverage, another man came in and sat across from her. Where the first Auror had been in his thirties, the second was at least twice his age. A series of scars disfigured his countenance, and Pansy flinched when she saw that the man had an angry slash across his throat right underneath his chin.
"Gift of the trade, Miss Parkinson," he said, correctly guessing the source of her distaste. Over his shoulder, he called, "That'll be all, Dawlish." Without another word, Dawlish left the room. Once the door was closed, the older man removed his wand and cast a series of spells that she did not recognise. As soon as he was finished, he extended his hand and said, "The name's Eugene Proudfoot, Head of the Auror Department."
Relieved that she was finally speaking to someone qualified, Pansy said, "I need your help."
Nodding, Proudfoot said, "Of course. Tell me everything."
Pansy watched Proudfoot's facial expressions change as she recounted what she had seen and heard with a surprisingly level tone. When she was finished, she felt depleted and ready to leave, but the old Auror did not appear as if he was going to let her do that.
"Are you sure that's what you heard?" he asked in a chilled voice. Pansy nodded, and he muttered, "Damn."
Staring at him blankly, Pansy asked, "Can I go now?" Something in his face made her want to leave before he said something she didn't want to hear. Also, she wasn't sure how much longer the numbness to which she was currently clinging was going to last. Steeling herself, she said, "I need to find my mother and let her know what's happened."
Proudfoot shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Miss Parkinson. It's far too dangerous for you to be on your own."
Whatever she had feared he would tell her, Pansy was sure that he was about to do so. "And why is that?" she asked resignedly.
"You said he saw you. There's a strong possibility that he could come after you, as well."
The blood drained from her face as she shook her head vigorously. "No! My shoes! He saw my shoes!"
"You're an intelligent girl. How long do you suppose it'll take for him to figure out whose shoes they were?" Dropping his voice to a strangely sympathetic tone, he added, "Whoever is capable of this won't stop at hurting your father. With what's at stake, I don't think he'll have any problem with doing the same to you."
A shiver went through Pansy at the readiness with which Proudfoot said this, the no-nonsense statement that was more matter-of-fact than supposition. But what scared her the most was that she didn't know what to do. For the moment, her mother was out of town at cosmetics product conference in Geneva, but she would be returning in a few days. If whoever this bloke was wanted to make an example out of her father, he could very well go after her mother, as well.
"Wh-what about my mum?" Pansy asked. "She's in Geneva right now, and . . ."
Nodding, Proudfoot said, "We will be sending a message to the Swiss Ministry of Magic to hold your mother in the country in a safe environment until an envoy can collect her and keep her secure here. But for now, we need to worry about you first."
"What are you going to do?"
Proudfoot rubbed his chin in concentration before saying, "We'll have to set up a safe house in a place where they won't think to look for you. You'll have a personal guard at all times, and, if necessary, this person will fight to the death to keep you safe."
Pansy immediately warmed to the idea of her own personal bodyguard. She nodded slightly and said, "Fine. When do we go?"