Harry Potter belongs entirely to J.K. Rowling.
Charlie has to admit to himself, he greatly underestimated the source of Pansy's fear.
When they first side-alonged into Diagon Alley, Pansy practically disappeared into the alley wall, she tried so hard to keep out of sight. Charlie, vowing to act as normal as possible so as to perhaps get her to relax, chose not to comment and merely pulled her along the cobblestones with a polite smile plastered on his face.
The second they emerged into the sunlight, encircled by a crowd of weekday shoppers enjoying the warm weather, the noise in the alley seemed to undulate like an ocean wave. The wandering chatter sunk, all eyes drawn for a moment to the unfamiliar man in black Dragon hide and his Lady companion wearing robes far too short, and then immediately raised to an unsettling level. It was a hateful-sounding jabber, and it pricked over Pansy's skin like an army of spiders.
Whatever Charlie had anticipated, it was not this. The shoppers seem unsure of how to handle him, for now they must have seen his red hair and deduced his status as a Weasley, but they certainly seem comfortable glaring at Pansy.
To her credit, the moment the pair became visible, she forced all trepidation away and adopted a pretense of snobby superiority. If Charlie couldn't feel the way her nails are burrowing into his bicep, and the way she's breathing a little faster than normal, he would never have known her to be afraid.
But Charlie knows it now, can understand the stark truth of the matter; Pansy is terrified of this. These people are biding their time with threatening looks and pointed whispers, and he is an idiot for making her come here.
"Where do you suggest we head first, Miss Pansy?" Charlie speaks a little too loudly, making certain all eavesdroppers know she is not on his arm by accident.
"I suggest we visit Gringotts, Mr. Charlie, or do you expect to pay for everything with your virile allure?"
This comment draws an actual grin out of him, rather than the forced, bright expression he had been adopting for her sake.
"Right you are, my Lady." Charlie resists snickering, setting off in the direction of the gleaming marble bank with a little bit of a jaunt in his step. Pansy Parkinson, Queen of sexual innuendos. The thought buoys him enough to ignore the attention they are undoubtedly attracting.
The shoppers move out of the way as the Purebloods pass, but stare shamelessly in the couple's direction. While the Alley has mostly returned to daily business, it is clear that Pansy cannot travel through here without being watched.
"You shouldn't call me that, you oversized idiot." Pansy whispers once they've entered the cool lobby. "People will talk."
"They're already talking, Miss Pansy." Charlie sighs, clenching his jaw. "Has it always been this bad?"
Pansy adopts the look of a wide-eyed deer in headlights for a brief moment, before her careful, aristocratic expression is back on.
"It was worse." she informs him quietly. "Much worse than a few rude expressions. I'm pleasantly surprised wands weren't drawn."
Charlie's expression is thunderous, which perhaps explains why the Goblin waiting for the next customer in the queue looks mildly interested when they approach.
"Hello." Charlie manages a flat smile. "I would like to withdraw gold from the Prewett vault."
The Goblin's eyebrows actually rise at this statement.
"And you are?" he inquires, eyes flicking towards a cluster of Goblin Warriors stationed on the edge of the room.
"Not a thief." Charlie holds up his hands warily. "I just met with my account manager, Griphook, yesterday to… ah, sign the necessary documents."
If he's not mistaken, a young wizard being serviced at the desk to their left has gone still, and Charlie would rather not take the chance of being overheard speaking about something like this. The Goblin nods, evidently understanding his hesitance in revealing any detail in the lobby.
"Please follow me, Sir and Miss Parkinson." the Goblin strides toward a series of hallways branching off of the opulent lobby, in the opposite direction of the cart stations that carry patrons to their vaults.
"Thank you, Warvot." Pansy says, striding far more comfortably once they vanish from the view of the bank customers. Charlie has to remind himself that she works here- this is Pansy Parkinson territory. Of course she would feel comfortable.
"Wait here, please." Warvot responds, sliding through a door on their right and disappearing into a narrow room, which Charlie only manages a split-second glance of before the door is shut rudely in his face.
"It's the contact room." Pansy whispers. "There are telephones in there which extend to every office in the bank. Goblins can communicate much quicker this way than sending messengers."
"How do they get the electricity to work?" Charlie asks, baffled by the very idea.
She seems surprised at his inquiry, and bites her lip as she considers the question.
"The Goblins claim their magic is less- flamboyant than that of wizards, so it's far more compatible with Muggle inventions like the telephone." Pansy ponders.
Charlie notices that she scrunches up her lips when she's thinking deeply. It's a rather cute expression for a witch who has no hesitation in calling him an idiot. Ironically, this is the most relaxed that Charlie has ever seen her look. Perhaps mental stimulation is the path to distracting Pansy Parkinson from her sorrows.
"That's very interesting." Charlie murmurs. "I wonder what the implications of that are, if the Goblins are correct, and magic manifests differently depending on the species of creature."
Now, Pansy looks positively gobsmacked as she regards him.
"Contrary to your belief, I'm not hopeless." Charlie smiles at her indulgently. "I've always handled magical theory rather well. I was top of my house class when I graduated Hogwarts."
"It's less impressive when you remember that your competition was a bunch of Gryffindors." she retorts, smirking anyways. "But, yes, you are thinking along the same lines of Hermione and Draco. They've been studying creature-specific magic for months in an attempt to explain the Gringotts-telephone phenomenon."
"Which company are they working for?" Charlie asks. "I thought Hermione was going to forge her way into the Ministry."
"She is." Pansy answers tightly. "The Ministry figured they'd have a better chance at controlling those two masterminds if they employed them, so she and Draco are hidden away in the Department of Mysteries."
"I had no clue Hermione became an Unspeakable." Charlie marvels.
"Yes, well, that's the idea." The witch rolls her eyes dramatically, though she does not cross her arms, so Charlie considers this a marked improvement. "This way, the Ministry can take advantage of two of the most successful academics Hogwarts had ever seen without answering publicly to the masses for employing someone like Draco."
At that moment, Warvot reenters the hall, and Charlie offers him a pleasant expression.
The Goblin looks mildly disgusted. "Griphook confirmed your identity, Lord Prewett. I have permission to extend to you the Most Noble and Ancient House of Prewett crest, on behalf of Gringotts Bank."
Pansy grabs Charlie's arm, squeezing him pointedly, and he recognizes that whatever is happening here is important, and he is clueless on how to proceed.
"Thank you, Warvot." he answers eventually. Pansy has adopted a look of pure exasperation.
"I haven't gotten a chance to explain this particular ritual to the new Lord, so do excuse his ignorance, Warvot." Pansy offers in apology.
The Goblin bows respectfully in her direction. "Perfectly understandable, considering the unusual circumstances. If I may?"
Pansy nods, and the Goblin puffs up his chest.
"Lord Prewett," he begins imperiously, "The house crest is a traditional form of Goblin magic only available to our oldest patrons. When you wish to make a purchase at a magical vendor, you will present your crest so the seller may charge you the cost of his wares, which we will withdraw on their behalf from your vaults."
"That's quite nifty." Charlie chuckles. "It's definitely more efficient than hauling around a sack full of galleons."
"Dear Merlin." Pansy mutters, pinching her nose. "Mr. Charlie, you must say the words, 'I accept this crest on behalf of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Prewett'."
"Oh," Charlie mumbles. "Well, shit. I'm sorry, Warvot. Would you like to start again?"
"That will be unnecessary." Warvot replies in a tone that quite clearly conveys his opinion of wizard Lords and their ignorance. "The reciprocating words will be enough, Lord Prewett."
"I accept this crest on behalf of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Prewett."
Just like that, Warvot's hands are glowing with orange light, and then he is passing something black, about the size of an apple, into Charlie's open palms.
"So this is the crest." he mutters, holding the sculpture up to eye level.
"It's different than mine." Pansy comments, paling when Charlie raises an eyebrow in her direction. "Nevermind about that." she mumbles.
When Warvot had explained the purpose of the crest, Charlie imagined a piece of paper with a picture of the Prewett crest printed onto it. His father had never used anything besides coins to pay while shopping with the family, and the only time he'd ever laid eyes on the Weasley family crest was as a child, in a painting hanging in the home of one of his Uncles.
Charlie must've forgotten what the crest actually looked like, because this heavy handful of magical artistry could not have been done justice if painted onto a flat surface.
Made of some unidentifiable blackened metal, the statue consists of an imposing shield held by a pair of Romanian Longhorn Dragons, with a clear rune carved into the center. A detailed cluster of mountains rests at the top of the shield, encircled by vines of ivy which pool at the twin Dragons' feet. A formidable-looking creature, which Charlie recognizes as a Norwegian Ridgeback, guards the rear of the shield by baring its tiny teeth in warning.
"Does the rune translate to Prewett?" Charlie enquires.
"Yes." Pansy answers him quietly. "The rune never changes, though the guardians, haven and growth often do as it is passed down with each generation."
"What was the Prewett crest like before?" he asks beseechingly. "You know, when my Uncles had it."
Pansy shrugs. "They weren't on the Wizengamot, so I don't know much. But the Prewett House is known for having guardians to do with fire. I think your Grandfather's crest bore hellhounds, if that helps."
Charlie is staring at this witch, in her floaty purple robes that reveal the tanned skin above her knees, and listening to her spout off ancient British wizarding history, and he's thinking to himself that it's cruel to keep a woman like Pansy Parkinson hidden.
"I never focused much on the Prewett family when I was learning the Sacred Twenty-Eight, regretfully." she continues obliviously. "They became less popular amongst Pureblood society when they engaged in marriage with the Weasleys."
"Is there anywhere I can find out more about the Prewett's family history?" Charlie asks Pansy and Warvot both.
The Goblin clicks his tongue. "If I may, all records of the Most Noble and Ancient Houses are proudly protected by Gringotts. I daresay the Prewett ancestry would be available for perusing within your vaults, Lord Prewett."
"Thank you, Warvot." Charlie offers his left hand, internally marveling at how the dragons on his crest continue to shuffle and adjust against the skin of his right hand.
The Goblin shakes once, and then steps back with a lifted nose.
"Miss Parkinson, will you be able to lead Lord Prewett back to the lobby?" he asks imperiously.
"Of course. Overflowing prosperity, Warvot." Pansy bows respectfully.
"And to you, Miss Parkinson." the Goblin bows in turn.
"Come on, Mr. Charlie." Pansy whispers, tugging his arm insistently.
Charlie forces his attention away from the crest, sighing as he slides in into his pocket. The pockets of these robes hang rather low, since the style is tight around the chest and waist, and they only flare out enough to allow the possibility of pockets below the hips. There is no room for any baggage in the trouser pockets, unfortunately.
"Yes, Miss. Pansy." he ambles along, enjoying the way his companion soon begins huffing with frustration as she realizes she does not have the mass to physically pull Charlie up to her preferred speed.
"Merlin above, you are painfully annoying to be around." Pansy complains, frowning as she acquiesces and matches his relaxed pace.
"And you are just a delight, Miss Pansy." Charlie retorts, smiling as her cheeks flush with pink.
"Shut up, Mr. Charlie." she mutters, straightening her posture and throwing back her shoulders as they remerge into the brightly lit lobby.
One glance at his companion confirms what he suspected; she is again wearing a coldly superior expression, her nose high in the air and her eyes glinting with disinterest.
"Where would you like to go next?" he offers, squinting in the bright sun of the alley.
"Perhaps Ollivanders would be most prudent." Pansy answers quietly, dark eyes darting around the late afternoon patrons strolling past the Gringotts steps.
"I have no need for a wand." Charlie explains, struggling with his wrist holster but eventually revealing to her his tried and true Ivy-wood wand.
"Every Lord carries a spare, you dimwitted brute." Pansy sniffs. "Do you want my assistance, or not?"
He can't help but smile. "Lead the way, All Mighty Mentor of Mine."
Pansy huffs as she initiates their descent towards the cobblestone streets, but Charlie notes that she looks far less cold as she does so. In fact, one might say she looks rather pleased.
I came up with the crest idea on the fly as I wrote, so if anything's inconsistent, feel free to let me know! Ah, Charlie. He's so patient. Points to whoever figures out the little easter egg I hid in this chapter. I'll give you one clue: growth. I love little connections, which are rather hard to hide in a story like this one where I don't do any real revision. Oh well. The Charlie and Pansy saga continues…
-PBY