"She's tougher than me. More skilled with a wand. Could easily karate-chop my spine down the middle with her pinky finger. Eats nails for breakfast. But if I find her smoking again, I'm going to smash her face with my egg pan." - Pansy to Gerry as she painted glass.

Pansy rolled out of bed with a groan, clutching her head like it would fall off if given the chance. And why shouldn't it? When it felt twice as big as normal and throbbed with all the pain of every headache she ever had in her entire life twice over.

Was that a bit dramatic? Sure. Did she care? Nope.

Disoriented didn't accurately describe her current state.

She stumbled over to her bedroom door, pausing to lean against the frame for a second. "Mattie? Are you here?" she called, voice rough with grit. She didn't remember going to sleep.

"In the kitchen," came Mattie's voice. The only relief in this whole migraine.

Her stumble continued down the hallway toward Mattie's voice. "Please tell me there's coffee."

"Oh, there's plenty of coffee."

"I don't remember…" she groaned. "Ugh, I don't remember falling asleep. My head is killing me."

Pansy got to the kitchen doorway and paused, blinking several times. The bright morning light she usually loved nearly blinded her, but for certain, Harry Potter sat at her kitchen island. Along with Hermione Granger, Draco, Wayne, and Gerry.

She should have asked why all her bodyguards were here at the same time, when they usually rotated shifts. Why Draco and Hermione were together again. Why her head hurt so badly and if that had something to do with the fact that she couldn't remember last night very well.

Oh and why the hell Harry Potter was in her home.

And why, on her kitchen island, there sat an unopened, bloody package.

Instead, she turned around and promptly threw up her mostly empty stomach. Fear rattling her bones as she remembered last night. A shadow. Stella taking control. The fight.

But this package...? The intruder must have left it when he invaded her home.

Oh, honey, Stella whispered softly in her mind as the taste of acid filled her mouth. She sounded quite worried. You'll be just fine.

"I won't," she argued. It was happening. Word had gotten out about the kerfuffle in Diagon Alley.

I won't let anything to you, baby girl.

"You ARE happening to me, Stel..."

Well... besides that...

Pansy got the impression of a smile, full of charm and laughter. Of bouncing curls and sunshine.

Standing up, head feeling less achy after her vomiting, Pansy turned back around and stepped into the kitchen, head held high. After all, this was her home. Her uninvited guests would just have to put up with her throwing up and rinsing her mouth in the kitchen sink. Manners be damned.

After several minutes under the faucet, she dried her face with a kitchen towel and turned to face the music.

Or rather, the bloody package. And why did it have to be so bloody? Was blood always that red? It was unopened, but she knew Gerry had gone over it with everything he had, since he sat completely still at the furthest bar stool, wand on the counter top in front of him. His blue eyes were watching her like a hawk.

With a steady hand, she lifted the top flap of the package and peeked in.

What creeps! What kind of monster would do that!?

She pushed the package away, turning her head at the same time. "How did he get in? How did he bypass the wards?"

"They're broken," Draco said, his voice even. But she could tell even he was infuriated, being the one that recommended the man who put the wards up in the first place. Obviously, they weren't impenetrable as advertised.

"Can you please find someone to replace them for me? Money is not an issue," she reminded Draco. "Gerry, please take this off my property at once."

"Right away, boss," he stood without another word and took the package from the room. Along with it the horrendous smell of death and gore.

"And you," she finally turned to Harry. "It would be very beneficial to my health if no one else knew you were here."

"Hermione filled me in," he said softly, assessing the situation. He didn't seem hostile or mean-natured and Pansy realized her mental image of the man had been warped incorrectly by years of harassment. "The man who broke into your home is in my custody."

"I'm sure he's quite happy about it too," Mattie said in a snarky voice but Pansy would be lying if she said she hadn't thought the came thing.

"We can use Harry's fame to our favor in this case," Hermione told the room. "Everything I read about The Brotherhood of the Chosen says they see him as their deity, for lack of a better word."

"So," Mattie continued in a mean temper. "We ask them so nicely to stop trying to murder Ms. Parkinson. That seems like it'll work out well."

"Mattie," Pansy warned.

She's right baby doll, it doesn't matter what this Potter fellow does. Those people have a scent, they aren't going to back off just because daddy-o says so.

"What are they? Bloodhounds?" she mumbled under her breath.

Might as well be.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Pansy crossed her arms and turned to Wayne, who seemed far quieter than usual. "What happened last night? I can't seem to recall much detail."

Wayne's dark eyes turned down. "Your head hurts Ms. Pansy because I had to Blast you and Mr. Longbottom apart last night when it became obvious neither of you were in control of yourselves. I thought you were about to engage in… activities you would rather… not…"

Well, that's diplomatic of him. Sweet boy, he comes from my neck of the woods. His mama brought him up proper.

She walked over and kissed him on his cheek. "Thank you. Thank you very much, Wayne."

The idea of her body being used in such a way, having sex with a stranger while her consciousness was only in the background, terrified her in a way she didn't know she could be scared. Something Stella didn't seem to understand.

You're afraid of being hurt, she argued. Gus would never hurt us and you know what hon, neither would that stud my husband's wearing. He's good stuff, I can tell.

"Aren't you so lucky," Pansy snapped. Then winced at Wayne's confused reaction. "Not you."

Where is that stud, by the by?

She looked around for Neville, suddenly remembering seeing his face in the living room. Remembered the heart pounding feeling of standing so close...

"He's asleep," Mattie said, guessing at her thoughts. Her tone only slightly less hostile when aimed at Pansy. "I'm going outside."

"Uh uh," Pansy stomped over, suddenly angry and wanting to cry her eyes out. She reached into Mattie's back pocket and pulled out an unopened pack of cigarettes. "I catch you smoking even one of these and… and…"

"And what?" Mattie snapped, snatching the pack back. "You'll fire me? Good, then I can go after these bastards on my own."

Pansy took the pack and tore it into pieces before throwing it, rather violently, into the sink. "You smoke one cig, ONE, and... and... NO MORE JAM!"

Mattie screamed in frustration and stomped out the backdoor, "You're a bitch Parkinson. A dumb bitch! And I hate working for you-" The sliding door slammed shut and cut off the rest of her rant.

"This place is very strange," Hermione said to Harry.

"The jam is really that good," Draco told Hermione, then started when he realized exactly who he was talking to. He awkwardly turned away, cheeks turning pink.

"She's just upset she wasn't here," Wayne informed them. "Mattie takes this kinda stuff personally."

"I get the feeling you all do, in your own way," Harry commented looking from Wayne to Pansy. "You pay them to guard your home, but they would do it anyways, wouldn't they?"

"No," she shook her head, denying it immediately. "Of course not… Wayne, come on, you would not work for free, you have a wife and a child to support."

Wayne seemed to consider it for a moment, making Pansy feel even more antsy than she was previously feeling. His Latin dark eyes soft in the morning light. "I wouldn't be able to work as much, but if you couldn't afford to pay my salary, I'd find a way to work and help out."

"Wayne, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," Pansy yelled. The urge to cry was getting stronger, the image of that package burned deep. "Why would you work for nothing?"

"It's not nothing," he argued quietly. "You bought Elise's crib when she was born, you feed my family at least twice a week, and… well.. the jam."

"You would work for jam?" Pansy snapped, her throat growing thick, she just didn't know why she was being so emotional. "Jam. Wayne? Jam!"

"No," he argued, his cheeks going even darker. "I'd work for you, Ms. Pansy. So would Matt, so would Gerry. You're worth it, always."

Why are you upset with him? Your guards are loyal. That's a good thing.

"Because… because…" Pansy sucked in a hard breath. "They might target you, Wayne. Might target your family. This is different."

Now that the words were out, she realized exactly where her fear and anxiety were coming from. Why she choked up. The package had been stuffed with what had once been a cat, a black and white cat. Poor defenseless thing. "That package, it's disgusting, but it's not the usual fare. They broke into my home to drop it off, to mess with my head. I don't have family they can go after, Wayne. They're going to go after you!"

She ran to the back door, wrenched it open and shouted, "MATILDA GRACE PRENDERGAST GET INSIDE THIS HOUSE!"

Across the wooded yard, she caught sight of big hair with a bright yellow ribbon and an extremely rude hand gesture. "Get bent, Parkinson!"

"It's not safe!" she shouted.

"So come stay with me."

Pansy whirled around. Everyone else did too. To look at Neville as he stood in the doorway looking like he just woke up. In hell.

"You're the last person I can be alone with right now."

Yes, do it. Do it! Stella practically shouted the words.

"Look, this," Neville lifted his wrist, jingling the silver and gold linked bracelet in her direction. "I'm sure there's a solution for this, I dunno what it could be, but I know there's one out there. But The Brotherhood? Longbottom Keep is the second to last place they would ever look for you."

"Where's the last?" Draco asked with a hefty tone of suspicion.

"My house," Harry said, turning to look back at her. "Nev is right. Keep the guards here at your home to keep up pretenses while you go sort out this whole possession thing."

Pansy looked around from face to face, friend and foe, thinking of the cut up bits that had been shoved into that package and left on her kitchen counter as a threat. A warning. It didn't take much to nod in agreement, her throat closing up. Being alone with Longbottom, being possessed… it was scary and concerning to be sure. But if the Brotherhood got a hold of her?

She'd be deader than a doornail. Pansy tilted her head in question. What the hell did that even mean?