Ronald Weasley had just left his brothers vibrant Joke Shop and stepped out into Diagon Alley. The air was humid, the sun baking as he walked down the street with the intention of getting some ice cream before he returned to the Auror Department. He was almost to the door of Florean Fortescue when he heard a commotion.
"Death Eater whore, how dare you show your face here," a voice sounded a short distance from where he stood, the sentence was followed by the undeniable sound of flesh hitting flesh, Ron spun on his heels in time to watch a dark-haired witch fall to her knees, from the force of the blow an older wizard had hit her with.
"Should be in Azkaban with your parents, wasn't it you that wanted to hand Potter over to You Know Who," the man spoke venomously, and he spat in the woman's face, Pansy Parkinson's face, Ron realised with a shake of his head as he began to approach her and the wizard.
"Get your hands off my sister," an outraged voice yelled and as a tiny witch stormed past him dragging an even smaller boy behind her.
"More Death Eater spawn," the man growled, raising his hand towards the young pair.
"I'd stop right now if I was you," Ron spoke, his voice full of authority. The man's eyes flicked up to meet his and widened in recognition.
"Mr Weasley, pleasure to meet you, I was just telling them that they weren't welcome in Diagon Alley, the man boasted as though Ron would be proud of him.
"Why wouldn't they be welcome in the Alley," Ron asked, his eye's scanning Pansy's face, her right eye was bruised and beginning to swell while the other watered with unshed tears. Parkinson's shoulders were slumped, and Ron could see that she was biting her lip so hard she had drawn blood, her hands were clenched in tight fists, Ron was certain she'd have crescent marks from her nails.
"She's a Death Eater's whore, her father was a Death Eater, she tried to hand Potter over to You Know Who, the whole lot of them should be in Azkaban" the man told him, sneering at the trio before them.
"How dare you," the little witch gasped as she steeped in front of her older sister, her hands on her hips as she glared up at the beefy wizard.
"Were you at the battle," Ron asked the man casually, his hands in the deep pockets of his Auror robes.
"No," the man replied.
"Lose anyone in the war," Ron asked conversationally.
"No," the man replied again.
"Did you attend any of the battles, go up against Death Eaters," Ron asked the man.
"No, I didn't," he replied.
"Then you have no bloody right judging the actions of someone that was at the Final Battle," Ron told him sternly.
"No right, she tried to hand over Potter," he gasped outraged.
"Do you happen to know Harry Potter," Ron sneered at the man.
"No," the man told him.
"Well, I do, and he doesn't condone vigilantes seeking justice on his behalf, especially to those that do not deserve it. Miss Parkinson was tried before the Wizengamot and proved innocent, I don't think you will be so lucky," Ron told the man, pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.
"Now hold on, I haven't done anything," the man growled.
"I've just watched you assault Miss Parkinson and then you raised your hand against two minors, you are under arrest Mr," Ron paused and stared expectantly at the man.
"Smith, Malcom, Smith," the man grunted.
"You are under arrest Mr Smith," Ron told the wizard as he attached the cuffs to the man's wrists before pulling a small badge out of his pocket which he attached to the Wizards robes, rising his wand to the centre of the badge, Ron activated the portkey which would take Mr Smith to the cells at the Ministry for processing.
"You didn't have to do that," a quiet voice told him defeatedly and Ron found his eyes once more on Parkinson who was scrambling to her feet with the aid of her siblings.
"Pans are you okay," the little boy asked, his hands wrapped around his sister's waist worriedly.
"I'm fine, Anabelle take Hector for some ice cream, I will join you in a minute," she told her siblings quietly, her fingers running affectionately through her brothers' dark curls.
Are you sure," Anabelle asked worriedly, Pansy nodded and reluctantly the pair made the short trek towards the ice cream parlour?
"Thank you for stepping in Weasley, Pansy told him quietly.
"What he said, he shouldn't have," Ron awkwardly ran his hand through his red hair.
"Not like any of it wasn't true," she whispered.
"We all did things during the war that we weren't proud of," he told the former Slytherin.
"Carrow, Amycus that is was a sadistic Bastard, had a thing for younger witches, much younger witches," she told him quietly.
"You don't have to tell me this, I attended your trial," he told her quietly.
"I'm proud of everything I did in the war Weasley, you weren't there that final year at school, where we were forced to torture other students, children. Anabelle was in first year, in Hufflepuff of all the bloody houses. I slept with that sick bastard to keep her safe, I tried to hand over Potter because I knew how dangerous it would be for her if a battle broke out at the school. I was raised by Death Eaters; my own father murdered my mother and is serving a life sentence for the atrocities he committed during the war. The only thing I care about are my siblings, I'd do everything again to keep them safe. I just wish people would let us live our life in peace, the war has been over for two years. Hector is eight, Anabelle thirteen, they had nothing to do with the war, yet strangers still attack them in the street," she told him angrily.
"This has happened before," he asked quietly as he raised his wand and cast a healing spell upon her eye.
"Let's just say, I try to avoid coming here," she told him with a shrug.
"That isn't right Parkinson, you have just as much right to be here as anyone else, that's the world I fought for," he told her feeling enraged.
"Not everyone feels that way, the war is too fresh," she told him quietly as she gathered her shopping bags together off the floor. Pansy smiled at him sadly and walked away towards the ice cream parlour, Ron watched her enter the store with a frown before turning on his heels and apparateing away, his own want of ice cream forgotten.
Ron paced backwards and forwards in front of his best mates' desk aggravatedly, his hands clenched together in tight fists.
"What do you mean she won't press charges," he asked angrily.
"Just that Ron, Pansy came in this morning and requested that we drop the case, doesn't want us to press charges," his friend told him quietly. It had been a week since his encounter with Parkinson, all week he'd been replaying it in his mind. Pansy had been so downtrodden, meek in the face of adversary. She had been so different to how she had behaved in Hogwarts. Ron hadn't been able to get her sad eyes out of his mind, or the nonchalance with which she spoke of the attack he had witnessed not been the first one
"She can't be serious, she's just scared," he told his friend.
"You know the rules, we can't press charges if the victim doesn't agree to it," Harry grimaced.
"Such a bullshit rule, I witnessed it, he hit Parkinson, spat at her. Harry, he tried to hit her siblings, they are children," Ron told his friend passionately.
"Unless Parkinson changes her mind there is nothing we can do," Harry told him quietly.
"I'll make her see sense," Ron told his friend quietly.
"Don't do anything stupid Ron," Harry warned, Ron nodded at his friend and exited his small office.
It hadn't taken Ron long to track down Parkinson's address, after all the Hall of Records held the address of every wix within Brittan. Ron had gone to the address, expecting it to be l large ancestral home, he hadn't been expecting a chocolate box cottage not even a mile from his own parents' home. Pansy Parkinson lived on the edge of Ottery St Catchpole, the muggle village over the hill from the Burrow. Ron stared up at the small cottage in shock, surly he'd gone to the wrong address. He carefully approached the house; its garden was like his mothers with vegetables growing in perfect lines on one side of the cobbled path that led to the cottages painted sage green door. On the other side of the path a small meadow of wildflowers bloomed beautifully in the midday sun.
Ron raised his fist and knocked three times; surly he had the wrong house he thought to himself. There was silence for a moment and then Ron heard footsteps approaching the door, Ron took a step back as the door was pulled open revealing Draco Malfoy.
"Whatever it is, Pansy didn't do it," Malfoy drawled, eying Ron's uniform warily.
"Is Parkinson here Malfoy," he asked civilly.
"Draco, who is it," the witch in question called from the depths of the cottage.
"There's a weasel at your door," the blonde replied.
"A weasel can we keep it," a small voice chirped from inside the residence and Hector came running to the door, his eyes searching for the animal in question.
"Sorry kid, I meant Weasley," Draco told the boy gesturing to Ron on the doorstep. Hector pouted at Draco sadly, but smiled brightly when Draco pulled a sweet out of his pocket and gave it to the eight-year-old.
"Thanks," the boy squealed happily.
"Hector, go help Anabelle set the table, lunch will be ready soon," Pansy spoke as she approached the door. Pansy was dressed in a figure-hugging blue sundress that reached her knees. Atop of the dress was a floral apron, which was covered in flour stains. Pansy's long black hair was swept over her shoulders, and she had forgone wearing any makeup. Pansy's feet were bare, and Ron could see that she had painted each of her toenails in the same shade of pastel pink that she wore on her fingernails. Ron stared at her shocked, when had Pansy Parkinson become so pretty.
"Weasley," Malfoy snapped, clicking his fingers in front of his face. Ron found himself blushing, Pansy was blushing too as she fidgeted where she stood in the doorway.
"Sorry, would it be possible for me to come in," he asked quietly.
"We were about to have lunch," Pansy spoke but she stepped aside allowing Ron entry into her home. She led him down a bright hallway lined with photographs of her siblings and friends into a small kitchen where Anabelle and Hector were sat at a circular table. The room smelt delicious, and Ron's stomach rumbled audibly.
"Take a seat," Pansy told him, gesturing to one of the empty seats. Ron took the seat and Draco who had followed them into the room took another. Pansy flicked her wand, and the food began to serve itself onto five plates which then floated across to each space at the table. Pansy then took her own spot at the table between himself and Malfoy.
"Parkinson, I need to speak to you," he told the woman quietly.
"Eat Weasley, it is lunch time," she told him quietly, her eyes boring into his own. Ron picked up his knife and fork and began to eat the meal before him; there was juicy chicken, with Yorkshire puddings, mash potatoes, vegetables, and gravy. It was delicious.
"This is amazing," he told the witch who blushed prettily.
"Thank you Weasley," she replied with a smile.