CHAPTER 7

PANSY'S heart pounded in her ears as she peered nervously over her shoulder in the hallway of the two lofts upstairs, following the end of her first shift at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, almost the moment she stepped outside, her lungs burning for fresh air that didn't smell as though a Dungbomb had gone off.

Which of course, a kid had decided it would be a good idea to set one-off during the last half hour of the day before close, though as she tried to inhale, it burned them with its purity. She could not recall the last time when she felt this bloody exhausted. She knew that her first day on the job, learning the ropes through Verity and George combined, when the wizard saw fit to emerge from his office, would surely be difficult.

But she could never have imagined in a million years the extent to which it left her emotions in tatters.

She'd expected her nerves would be on edge, being so close to George Weasley all day. What she had not anticipated was the turmoil of emotions that raged war within her mind as she had watched him during those brief interludes where he would come out of his office and take a break from his balancing the ledgers to check on her.

She'd seen it on his face, the awe and amazement at how well she was doing on the sales floor, interacting with the customers that came into the shop. She had thought, perhaps mistakenly, there was a glimmer of intrigue in George's eyes on more than one occasion. The same look Draco would get for her, though as soon as that thought flitting into her mind, she expelled it, shoving aside thoughts of Draco Malfoy for now.

Pansy's frown deepened as she wondered what on Merlin's green earth, if Weasley was beginning to harbor those types of thoughts for her in his mind, that he was thinking.

They could not possibly date, be a couple and work together. Things were already on edge enough with Won-Won storming out of the shop as he had done in a huff earlier today.

Even still, despite her mind's protests, as a part of her remained on guard against him trying anything that she would deem as inappropriate in her eyes, Pansy knew she could not ignore the overwhelming sense of peace with him, as if something within her was telling her that she could trust Ron Weasley's older brother and his motives.

Her job and proving her worth, that she was not a charity case, was everything to her, a fact that George seemed to respect and admire, letting her have her space her first day on the job. Though the wizard was practically insistent on taking her to lunch tomorrow, just the two of them over to The Leaky Cauldron, which he claimed Tuesdays were Tom's least busy days of the week. She was surprised to find herself looking forward to it.

Pansy exhaled slowly and let her mind drift away to thoughts of that man from earlier. She could not quite explain it, but something of that customer from much earlier stuck with her. When Verity had stepped outside after assisting the wizard with his purchase, he had informed Verity to please relay his thanks to her, which she did.

Though the man's words seemed kind, Pansy could not help but continue to feel put off by the whole scenario.

George had sensed her nervousness that existed throughout the remainder of the day, and more than a couple of times had asked after her well-being, to which she had responded to her new boss with a strained smile and curt answers, but she wasn't fine. She could not explain her skittishness. Every nerve on her body was on high alert.

Every drip of the creaky old pipes of the upstairs had her body standing on edge, every groan of the wooden floorboards beneath her shoes had her tense. She scowled and pursed her lips into a rigid thin line as she looked.

Now, as she gazed out into the dark hallway that led to George's flat on the opposite end of the corridor and the stairwell that took them down to the back door of the shop, she saw nothing, not a single witch or wizard in sight, but Pansy felt eyes on her.

It was dark, anyone could be hiding, waiting for her, watching her. She still remembered Ollie coming to inform her that Augustus Rookwood had escaped captivity somehow and had gotten one over on his department.

Pansy angrily shook her head and let out an aggravated breath.

"Get a grip, Pan," she whispered and opened the front door to step inside. She was behaving utterly foolishly.

This wasn't one of those cheap Muggle horror movies she secretly liked to indulge her during the weekends that she was watching. This was real life and shit like what she was imagining didn't bloody happen to her in real life.

She entered her loft and sighed, shrugging her purse off her shoulder, and unceremoniously throwing it onto the sofa. Though Pansy frowned as she noticed the light on the small wooden table by the sofa was on. She could have sworn she'd turned it off before she'd left the place this morning. The furrow of confusion between her brows deepened. She wondered if maybe Ollie or Norah had stopped by to visit and missed her while she was at work.

"Norah? Ollie? You in here?" she called out and frowned as she noticed the light was still on but didn't hear a single sound.

For a long moment, Pansy was frighteningly disoriented.

She looked for any sign of her cousin or her husband to the left and right, but the Brennan's were nowhere to be seen in her flat. There were a few moments of terrifying panic that seized hold of her heart, causing the feeble muscle to quiver painfully in her chest, her breaths coming to her in short, spurting gasps. She was greeted with nothing but silence. She swallowed and moved to the other side of the room, towards her kitchen.

Pansy had just stepped over the threshold of the kitchen that separated the cooking area from the rest of her spacious loft when she heard the sound of a floorboard creaking, to her left.

Suddenly, the witch's ears were burning, and her stomach was in knots, her heart pounding in her throat painfully. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and it felt like she was swallowing knives.

Calm down, Pan. You're being paranoid and easily freaking. It's an old building, and it makes noises, she told herself, letting out a shaky breath. She was about to turn on her heels and brandish her wand at what or whoever had made the noise, when she heard another creak coming from somewhere which she could not discern and whirled around, desperately searching for the source of the disturbance and couldn't find it.

"Norah, I swear to Merlin, if you're trying to scare me, it's bloody working and I'm going to kill you!" she hissed in a harsh whisper that was more of a shout. She licked her bottom lip and waited for the blonde witch to reveal herself.

She knew her husband possessed an Invisibility Cloak, but Ollie rarely needed it, the Slytherin that he was and having grown up from a family of Death Eaters, Norah's husband claimed he didn't need one to become invisible. She licked her bottom lip and waited.

"Norah? Ollie?" she called again in a shaking voice.

Pansy froze for a fraction of a second while she tried to determine what the best method to send a message to the Ministry was. Sending a Patronus and uttering the incantation would give away her position to whoever was in here with her, so she didn't. Before she could complete her turn however to head to the door, her shoulder collided with something hard and warm and Pansy stumbled backward. A scream left her throat as she looked up at the source, though the sound was instantly muffled by a rough and calloused hand clamping down on her mouth just then.

When her eyes first landed on known Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov, she at first could not manage to process the information and how and why he was here. Her mouth went dry, and her chest caved in terror.

Dolohov's body looked taller and stronger in his black robes than it ever did the few times she had seen the handsome wizard pay a house-call visit to her father a couple of times to discuss business dealings.

Reading the incident reports of his victims in The Daily Prophet, she had never been able to fully appreciate the sheer terror the wizard's victims must have felt before they died.

Now, Pansy thought she could.

When he took a step forward, she stumbled backward and nearly tripped over a gnarled tree root. He approached her slowly and calmly, his wand in hand. The man's actions were always controlled, he never rushed. She remembered reading that about the Death Eater in every newspaper article she had read on the wizard.

Antonin Dolohov could snap her in half like a twig-like he wanted, but something told her the man would much rather use his wand for it. Pansy felt tears touch her eyes as he came closer to her, and she waited for the inevitable attack she was sure would come. She knew her chances of escaping were slim to none.

Dolohov would likely catch her before she'd get two feet.

Pansy hesitated and curled her hands around the handle of her wand tightly until it hurt. She had no idea how she could bloody well talk herself out of this one, but she wasn't ready to lay down and accept surrender at the wand tip of Antonin, either. Pansy gripped the handle of her wand fast in her hand, ready to attempt to defend herself as she tried to think of something to say to keep the former Death Eater of Voldemort's listening rather than attacking.

"I…ah…didn't know you would be here, Dolohov," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly as she talked. Her attempt at stalling for time only resulted in the tall, handsome wizard bursting out into a fit of laughter. Maybe George would have heard that at least and could come to help her, though she'd not seen Weasley for an hour, at best. Her chance at having George hear the ruckus and come to her aid based on what might have been missed.

And she refused to call out and get George involved in this mess. Not with a clear conscience at least.

She figured maybe Rookwood had roped Dolohov into intimidating her somehow, was her best guess for his presence here. Though before Pansy could open her mouth to plead with the wizard to leave, Antonin's right arm rose over hers and Pansy instinctively put her hands up in hopes of shielding her face.

She supposed some would think it ironic that she was about to be murdered in cold blood by Antonin Dolohov, a man whom her father was always on good terms with and had once asked for her hand in marriage when she came of age at seventeen, though her father had repeatedly denied him, claiming that no other wizard was good for his 'little girl.'

To her, it still felt like some horrible betrayal.

She was no doubt to feel ridiculous to feel betrayed by the likes of Antonin Dolohov, the man who owed her nothing. But she had tried too hard to reach him the few times she had been forced to interact with him, to make him change into a man that she could respect, and now…he'd kill her, just like anyone else.

"Antonin!" she screamed when he suddenly jerked his hand down and the witch froze.

Pansy screwed her eyes shut and waited for the feeling of either the man's knife ripping into her chest or the flash of green light that would inevitably end her life. But it didn't come.

When she recovered some courage, she opened her eyes and looked up at her father's former acquaintance. His expression was blank, except for his dark eyes.

They had the look Pansy used to attribute to Dolohov trying to make up his mind on something.

"Dolohov?" she asked more softly, and to her utter amazement, the wizard dropped his wand-yielding hand to his side. Pansy's breath hitched in her throat as she looked up at him cautiously. She had no idea how to go about this. She flinched when the man slowly brought up his left hand and hovered his fingertips over her cheekbone.

She could feel Dolohov's fingertips on her face even though the wizard didn't lay a finger on her.

It was like an electrical charge that caused goosebumps to erupt all over her skin.

As Pansy curiously watched Antonin, she felt a swell of happiness flood her veins. The man wasn't going to kill her, then! Maybe, just maybe, she'd managed to reach him after all, and he'd formed some type of attachment to her during the few times she'd seen him sit at the dining room table back at home, always asking Father after her.

At that moment, Pansy felt as though everything she had done in her life up to now, was worth it.

She had done the utterly impossible.

But if only she could know just what sort of attachment Antonin Dolohov had managed to make… Her surge of triumph quickly faded, however, as she watched the wizard raise his wand again and aim squarely at her chest.

"Hello, Pan. It's good to see you again, Rookwood told me I might find you here. Too bad for you, but I'm rather delighted to see you again. Your daddy left a debt to be repaid in his death, Pansy," he growled through gritted teeth. "One you'll have to pay, witch."

Pansy swallowed as she felt the Death Eater's hands encircle her waist and drag her towards the hallway, towards her bedroom. As panicked as Pansy could feel herself becoming, she was too scared and utterly exhausted to even struggle and allowed herself to be led away.

"Just wait, sweetheart, and see what I and my boys will do to little old you, Pansy, love, you'll tell me who knows I'm out, I might let you go free. If the Aurors know you're here alone with me," the Death Eater threatened as he dragged the panicked and stricken witch further and further into the back of her loft, and away from the sight and earshot of George Weasley and anyone else in the corridor upstairs.

She had no idea if Dolohov knew that George was now her next-door neighbor, but a part of her hoped that he did. A good scare would do the arrogant prick some good if he knew Weasley would be after him.

But if he was aware of it, he made no mention of her patient as he continued.

"You're quiet now, Parkinson, but that's not going to last when I break every one of your fragile little bones in your body if you don't give me what your father owes me. I'll break your tiny body in more ways than you can imagine, witch. We'll see just how quiet you are then. I'll get you to talk, darling, don't worry, and it's going to be up to you just how much you want to suffer first..."

PANSY fought against the urge to cower away from the hulking brute of a former Death Eater that now stood in front of her. She could not see him, but she felt his presence. She had attempted to put on her usual mask of cold indifference, to appear stoic in front of the likes of Antonin Dolohov prior towards the bastard blindfolding her eyes, but she did not feel stoic or cold, or even brave.

In her heart, she felt a horrible cold, debilitating fear wash over her, knowing that Dolohov was apt to deliver on his threat. There was nothing that could stop him from carrying it out, after all.

Pansy was all but powerless, unarmed, and utterly alone. Antonin had taken her wand from her. No one knew she was even out here, that she knew of. George hadn't even likely noticed that she was in a bit of a bind, a polite way of putting her situation. No one could come to her aid if they couldn't find her or didn't know where to look.

The flustered and utterly terrified witch somehow managed to soak through the blindfold with her tears, and she was entirely too afraid to be disgusted with her conduct that would have earned her a broken nose from Father if the man could see her current behavior.

She had always pledged that she would never act the way she was doing right now in such a situation. She was a Parkinson, damn it. She would be proud, brave, strong, and smart enough to finagle her way out of anything.

Yet, she was cold and stuck to the bone with this horrible, debilitating fear that she used to get when only ever around her father. It was raw, cold, lonely terror, and Pansy couldn't even begin to start thinking straight.

She yanked hard at her bindings that Dolohov or one of the wizards under him had conjured and wound tightly around her wrists, but they only cut into the skin of her wrists and more tears came to the edges of her eyes.

She wanted to call for someone, anyone to help her, were that she could summon enough of her inner magic that she could pull off the rare feat of sending a nonverbal Patronus, she would, but she did not want Dolohov to come back. She waited with gritted teeth and continued in her vain attempts to try to free herself.

Assault and murder were not things she had any intention of hastening.

Instead, Pansy pulled hard on her bindings in an attempt to break through. She felt a warm trickle of sticky blood run down her wrists and seeping into her clothes as she sliced into the soft skin of her wrists. The cuts on her palm seemed to have stopped bleeding and the fresh blood dripped over the crusty blood from a few minutes ago.

She tensed when she heard the creaking of a floorboard and she, after an initial pause, began yanking hard, but it was already too late. She heard the door fly open, slamming into the wall at the side with a loud bang.

Pansy spluttered and nearly jumped out of her skin at the loud disturbance, yanking harder and harder, sure any moment whoever had entered the room was about to kill her. Heavy footsteps thudded towards her, and she yelped in fright as she felt a pair of strong hands close around her bleeding wrists. The hands held her firm, and she stopped struggling. Still, Pansy's body trembled violently, and she felt her lip begin to quiver.

"Shh…" Dolohov's hoarse, raspy voice rang in her pounding eardrums and one hand left her wrist so he could place a finger to her lips.

"Please, Antonin, don't," Pansy whispered back in a cracking voice that had her swallowing hard. The hand that left her lips proceeded to stroke her cheek instead now.

Only moments later, she felt the wizard's breath on her cheek and the distinct sound of Antonin Dolohov sniffing the top of her hair. For a moment, it reminded her of a wild dog but then the man's sniffing slowed, and he breathed in deeply and slowly, as though cherishing her scent.

She held her breath as he did and felt his hot breath ghost over her face as he breathed out.

A hand touched her hair, and she felt Dolohov's breath on her as he kept his face close to hers. His breath smelled almost like peppermints, and she had the ridiculous thought that a man, who did something so horrible like this, shouldn't have such nice-smelling breath.

What was he playing at? What was his endgame by taking her? What did he want with her, a Healer?

"W—why?" It was all she could ask, but before she could say anything further, one of Dolohov's hands latched itself onto her chin hard before another finger went down to press on her lips.

There was more force this time and the grip to her chin was almost painful. Pansy fell silent again and her heart pounded so damned audibly loud in her chest, she was afraid her assailant could hear it for himself. After a moment, Dolohov's hand went to her throat and her whole body went rigid and still. Even the trembling stopped.

There was a gentle squeeze, and the frightened witch took it for what it was: a warning that she stays quiet and calm. Or else. Still, despite the obvious threat, she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

Not when her life was at risk right now.

And George's, a voice from somewhere in the back of her mind chimed a warning bell.

"Please, don't do this, Antonin, please, I...I'll do whatever you want, j-just don't hurt me," she breathed, and his hand tightened. Fat, ugly tears dripped from her eyes and down her cheek and the blindfold fell away to the dusty floor. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she found herself in her room.

When he turned around to face her fully, her stomach dropped as she caught sight of the unmistakable gauze wrap in his hands, his wand resting on top of it, and she could see the glistening metal of a knife.

She looked up fearfully to his eyes, black and glowing, and Pansy slowly shook her head no. "Please don't," she whispered hoarsely, and he stepped closer. He raised his knife towards her, pressing the point of the cold steel to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she waited for the man to cut her, to make his threats, but nothing happened.

The knife slowly left her cheek and her eyelids fluttered open again to better look at Antonin Dolohov in his eyes.

The listless look in his eyes made it difficult for Pansy to gauge his reaction, but his lips curved upward into a tiny smile as his head tilted. Her stomach churned at the man's sickening smile and a chill ran through her so deeply that she began to violently tremble.

The fear was sickening. It was so bad that she was sure she was going to vomit, and she sharply turned her head to the side, just in case, to avoid vomiting all over her clothes. She breathed slowly and deeply through her nose, forcing all the bile back down that had crept its way up into her throat as she swallowed, hard.

Her throat hurt as she considered whether or not she should try to speak to her tormentor, but as Pansy considered whether or not she should even attempt to engage Antonin Dolohov in a conversation, she struggled to decide how she would go about it. Should she beg the man? Should she try to talk to him, make herself more human to him? Or should she simply be quiet and take whatever she was about to get? Maybe her words would do her some good.

Maybe Dolohov might take pity on her. But would a man capable of this give up and let her go? Was it not better to hold onto some dignity? Or should she try to preserve her life by whatever means were necessary?

The questions raced through her brain at an unbelievable speed and by the time Dolohov knelt directly in front of her, her lips were parting in an attempt to placate the wizard in whatever way she could, but nothing came out.

He still had that damned warped little smile on his face that sent a violent shudder down her back and there was a menacing look in his eyes.

She held her breath and went stock-still as he lifted his gaze to hers and addressed her, very quietly.

"Who knows I'm here, Parkinson, pet? Tell me."

She tried to shrink down, not enough to look scared, but enough to distance herself from the man's groping hands. She offered up no verbal reply to the wizard's inquiries about who she was with. She wasn't telling this one a damn thing, he could torture her all he wanted, and it would not be enough to get her to confess.

"Maybe…Weasley, Parkinson? I have a friend here in town who told me you're his little shop assistant now, would he have come along with you this morning, sweetheart?" Antonin guessed with a wicked smirk.

For a moment, Pansy's blood went cold, but she did not allow her fear to show on her face, or at least, she sincerely hoped that she didn't. How had he been able to figure it out? Had it been Dolohov who had visited her in disguise today? Was that it? She quickly realized that Dolohov knew just as much now as he had before.

Her questioner was simply ticking off possibilities, making wild guesses as to who she was with.

Antonin Dolohov did not know George was upstairs here and hopefully in his flat, as her neighbor.

She recognized the stance and tightness in his jaw, all characteristics her father would use to display right before he would lose his temper and then hit her. Pansy knew from experience in dealing with Father's abuse throughout the years growing up, that Antonin's whole business of gentle hands on her body wasn't going to last long.

He must have gotten the notion into his mind that treating his fragile little captive with pseudo-kindness would get her to talk, but Pansy wasn't stupid enough to fall for it, and her kidnapper was losing patience, fast.

An involuntary gasp left the back of her throat as Dolohov's hand shot out towards her, wrapping his long, thick fingers around the column of her throat, and pulling her closer. So close, that she could feel the man's hot breath on her face. She shivered and tried not to pull a face of disgust, knowing that such a look would only goad Antonin into anger that much faster. She thought she might pass out, she realized with a sickening feeling in her stomach as spots crept into her vision. Fear was likely the only thing keeping her from allowing herself to relax enough to faint.

"Do you realize, Parkinson, what I'm going to do to you if you refuse to give me what I want?" the Death Eater narrowed his cold, dark eyes as he pursed his lips stiffly at her. "All you've got to do is tell me who knows I'm here, whether it was Brennan or someone else, sweetheart, and tell me, how good are you at healing burns, Pansy? I know your mother was a Healer, witch."

Sensing her confusion as she looked at him with furrowed brows, Dolohov smirked.

He rolled up the left sleeve of his black robes to reveal his Dark Mark permanently branded into the skin of his left forearm. Pansy stared at it for a good long moment and then flicked her eyes back up towards Antonin's lined face. Dread seeped into her stomach as she realized what Dolohov intended to do.

He was going to try to burn his Dark Mark off to avoid capture by the Aurors when questioned.

"It won't work, Dolohov, that mark is a cursed wound. It will never come off, not even if you burn it or cut it off, and nothing I could do for you would heal that, you should know that. Your master was smart enough to cover all of his bases, wasn't he, Antonin? I can't help you, I'm sorry, b-but my mum never taught me much beyond basic care," Pansy whispered, her voice meek and little more than a scared rasp. She was honestly amazed she could even summon enough strength on her throat to manage an answer, with how terrified she was and how badly she shook.

She watched, horrified, as Dolohov's face drained of what little color was left in his complexion, to begin with, and he proceeded to put his hand against Pansy's cheek in a false gesture of gentleness.

"There are no use keeping secrets from me, honey," he whisper-hissed his words through gritted teeth. "You lie. Tell me the truth and don't think of lying to me, dove. Your mother was a witch of considerable skill, sweetheart. She must have taught you her ways."

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut and shrunk away, cowering in the corner, and pressing her back as far into the wall as she could manage. She did not care for the wizard's faux gentleness at all.

She was not this man's pet. She was not a child who would do anything for this man.

At least, if Dolohov got it in his mind to strike her or shove her, it was quick, his meaning clear enough.

But having the man's hands linger on her face for so long, and with a sense of such confusing gentleness scared Pansy, more than she cared to admit. It was much more intimate and much harder for her to make any sense of than a slap to the face or a harsh shove, or even the Cruciatus Curse. But Dolohov pulled her closer, grabbing the witch's chin in his huge hand and forcing Pansy to look into his eyes by squeezing hard.

"You lie," he growled. "I know you can mend it. If you don't do this for me, then maybe I won't be tempted to get my knife and ruin your pretty little face, witch. It would truly be such a shame to waste beauty such as yours…a beautiful little witch like you, reduced to the slag that we all knew your daddy saw you as, Little Pan."

Pansy felt her bottom lip quiver. How in the bloody hell was she going to manage to get out of this one? She realized she likely wasn't. She could not betray George and reveal that he was with her.

"You're trying my patience, Pan," Dolohov growled, reaching up a tender hand to brush a lock of her dark auburn hair away from her face. "And I've not got much of it left, Luv. You should learn your words, witch. Won't, not can't, because if you won't, then I will, and if I will, then you're not going to like what happens to you if you force my hand in this…"

She breathed in a steadying breath and shook her head.

"I—I'm not lying!" Pansy gasped out. "I—I can't mend it for you if you hurt yourself, and I—I'm telling you, it won't come off!" she cried, keeping her eyes tightly shut as she continued to tremble in the man's grasp.

"Fine," she heard Antonin growl in a heavy breath. Pansy blinked, certain she had misheard, as she stared up at him for a moment as the tall Death Eater rose to his full height. Was that it? Was this interrogation of his over? Was he going to kill her and leave her body here for George or someone else to find?

Pansy would have scooted backward if she weren't already pressed up against the furthermost corner of the room. She briefly entertained the idea of making a run for the door, but she knew even if she could manage to outrun Dolohov, he would catch her. He'd always been fast, the slippery shite that he was.

There was no way out of this for her. Pansy gasped as, without any warning, a heavy hand slammed down against the side of her head, knocking her completely to the floor.

The witch brought her hand up to her head as she scrambled as far back away from the wizard as she could, crawling until she was as far away from the former Death Eater as the cramped sitting room allowed Pansy to be.

Before Pansy could think over her next course of action and what she might be able to do to get out of this situation, she felt herself being roughly dragged up off the dusty floor.

Dolohov took no care this time in being gentle with her as his hand shot around her left wrist, her dominant wand hand, and squeezed, hard enough to break it. As she was hauled to her feet, a scream of pain left her lips as she swore she felt her shoulder pop out of its socket just then, hearing a sickening popping sound to accompany it, followed by a white-hot flaring jolt of agony that shot down her entire arm as Dolohov yanked her upward.

The scream of agony that was ripped from her lips before she could bite down on her tongue to stop it from escaping flooded the small room with sound.

"You'll get worse than that, witch, if you don't open your eyes. Open your eyes, Parkinson. I want to see your fear as you look at me and tell me you'll obey. Open them, now, or I break your other arm and then I start cutting fingers one by one, sweetheart," Dolohov ordered, his voice dangerously low and quiet as he squeezed onto Pansy's now injured left arm even harder.

She cried out a pained whimper and forced herself to open her eyes as she instinctively tried to tug her injured arm out of his grasp, which only caused the throbbing pain to burn.

She felt tears stinging her eyes but refused to let a man like Dolohov have the immense satisfaction of seeing her tears fall. Trembling from the pain and desperately trying to keep herself composed, she lifted her gaze to his.

Dolohov flashed her a disarmingly white smile that she supposed was meant to charm her, as her tear-filled eyes met her kidnapper's dark eyes.

"I—I can't help you, Dolohov, I'm sorry! I told you, the only way you're getting the Mark off your arm is if you cut your arm off, and I don't think you want that! If Mum were here, she'd tell you the same fucking thing!"

Pansy very nearly screamed it at him, desperate to make him understand that was the only way the Dark Mark would come off. She felt and heard in her trembling voice that she was on the brink of tears and mass hysteria, but she could not allow herself to feel it. The mere fact that she was smaller than him in terms of stature and height, and a relatively easy target for him seemed to amuse him.

If Pansy lost her composure now in front of Antonin, then his laughter would be utterly humiliating. She was not about to give them that satisfaction if she could at all help it.

"I—I can't," she whimpered, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout as she bit down on it. "I…" she began, and he turned his head to look at her face again, but Antonin only stared.

When he fumbled with the knife he held in his hands and raised it to her, she once again felt unexplainable terror seize her entire body.

"No…no, no, no, please," she begged as he ignored her pleas for mercy and raised the weapon. She continued to splutter until the flat side of the silver blade was gently placed to her lips.

She fell silent but trembled even more violently now.

"You don't have to do this," she blurted out, realizing just how bloody stupid her words were once she said them.

Of course, Dolohov didn't have to do this to her. He wanted to. He seemed to emphasize this by bringing the knife lower, grazing it over her throat and sliding the blade in between her breasts, and letting the cold weapon linger.

"Behave, dove, and I let you live, Parkinson. Consider this your father's debt repaid in full," Dolohov snarled as he pulled Pansy harshly upwards, hurting both her shoulder and her wrist in one fluid motion before she even fully realized what was happening to her.

She somehow managed to hold her tears in, by a miracle of Merlin himself, but couldn't help but cry out in pain at the man's harsh treatment of her already dislocated shoulder. Her wrist and shoulder utterly throbbed. Her whole left arm did now that she thought about it. The pain radiated through the limb with such intensity that she could hardly think and could scarcely place exactly where the pain even originated from.

"You don't need to hold back your tears from me, sweetheart. I'd love to see them," Antonin sighed contentedly. "But it's only further proof to me that you're weak, Parkinson, which is how I know you're going to talk to me. Can't even handle a little bit of pain when it's inflicted on you."

Now, Pansy was eye-level with her captor again, but not because her tormentor was stooping down to match her shorter height, but because she was held several feet off the ground and slammed against the wall, with the man's hand-wound around her throat like poison ivy snaked its way around an old pillar.

She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing all her efforts on keeping from crying.

A part of her wished that if he intended to snap her neck as her punishment for refusing to help him, then Dolohov would just do it and get it over with. Anything to spare her this further humiliation.

"One more chance, sweetheart," the Death Eater growled, baring his teeth at her, the edges of his lips curling up to reveal his pink gums. "Before I start hurting you, Parkinson. I'd rather not. Do I look like the sort of man who'd raise his hand against a woman if given no other choice, little dove, hmm?" Antonin scoffed, rhetorically, gesturing to himself with a slight jerk of his hand and a smirk as he glared at her with raised eyebrows, as though daring her to comment. "Help. Me, and then you're going to tell me who knows I'm here, or I cut your pretty little fingers, one by one, witch."

But she kept her lips clamped tightly shut though inwardly, she felt herself start to panic.

She was already in quite enough pain as it was, and certainly didn't think she was ready to endure whatever Dolohov had in mind for her. She blinked as she stared at the man in front of her as she was set down and lowered back on solid ground, but he didn't relinquish his iron hold of her throat.

She was starting to see spots in her vision and her chest felt hot and cold all at once, and she felt something warm and sticky trickling down above her right eyebrow. Pansy didn't even need to wipe it off to confirm it was blood. There was a cut on her browbone that would likely scar.

She was utterly terrified and wasn't sure how much longer she could take much more of this before she fainted. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. What in the hell was she supposed to do without her wand that he was guarding? She couldn't exactly talk her way out of this, as Dolohov's patience was worn down thin, and he seemed past the point of being able to be reasoned with. No, this man was smarter than most and much crueler than any other Death Eater she had met under the Dark Lord's command, save for perhaps Crouch, once.

"Are you foolish, Parkinson? You seem an intelligent young witch, I'd hate to consider you otherwise, Pansy," Antonin scowled as he moved his arm off her throat and let the stricken witch use the wall as a brace for her back to slide to the floor. "Do you want to suffer slowly before I kill you? Is that it, dove?"

"I—I can't help you, I already told you why!" Pansy felt herself shudder with angst and fear as the words left her lips, feeling as small as a child whenever she had done something wrong in Father's eyes.

How Dolohov's eyes had turned cold, however, made her chest tighten.

"Then you leave me no choice, sweetheart."

With it, her skin jumped as he pointed his wand towards the door that led to the hallway and down the stairs to the main level of the house, and she heard the heavy thud of the old oaken door, which only made her skin paler.

A vent of adrenaline flooded through her body and pushed Pansy towards that exit as she bolted for it, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her arm, but in a second, she felt the crack of Antonin's hand against her cheek.

She fell onto the floor with a pained cry, her hand resting on her now reddened jaw. The pain came rushing after. Before Pansy could crawl away, he was already hovering over her, grabbing her by the arm and flipping her onto her stomach, and pressing against her, the pressure greater on her hips. Pansy squirmed violently, horror burning in her eyes as Antonin Dolohov reached to lock both her hands in submission. Hot tears dripped from her eyes yet again.

"The less you fight me, the quicker this will be." Dolohov pressed his weight further down against her and numbness took over her body. She sniffled and nearly suffocated, hearing him fumble with his belt.

When all this was over, she would be known as the last surviving Parkinson who was claimed in her flat by Antonin Dolohov before she slit her throat.

When Pansy screwed her eyes shut at the mercy of time, she did not see any darkness.

There was, instead, the figure of George Weasley behind her closed lids, standing in front of his shop.

Slowly, the tall wizard turned towards her, offering his outstretched hand, that small smile that she supposed was as close to feeling happy herself these days as she could come, spreading across his face so warm she thought it could thaw the icebox that was her heart.

And suddenly, Pansy felt alive again.

Alive at the gush of air that flooded into her burning lungs and a kneejerk reaction that made her nab her wand resting on the surface of a nearby small wooden table and she swiped it across Antonin Dolohov's jaw. The man crashed onto the floor and Pansy could hear him writhe angrily as blood oozed from his wounded scalp.

Before the man's savage groaning could turn to vicious snarls and growls, Pansy scrambled to the door, snatching her wand off the top of the mantlepiece in the process, and fleeing out into the open and dark corridor.

Just get to the front door, she told herself. Get outside and run. Run like you're on fucking fire, Parkinson. Don't stop for anything.

She held her wand clumsily in her right hand, raised by her face and ready to aim a hex if need be if she encountered any of the others. She began running down the hall and for the front door, her wand still in her hand. She groped for the doorknob, not even thinking if one of Antonin's other friends if he'd brought backup, might have cursed it in a way that would hurt her if she touched it, it wouldn't have mattered.

One way or another, Pansy was going to open the door, damn it. And she did. And she almost made it, too.

Pansy reached out, ready to plant a foot into the hallway, on her elbow yank her backward.

She yelped as she was pulled backward and went flying into the floor.

The front door was slammed shut and she heard the sound of the locking mechanisms engaging. Pain shot through her limbs from the fall, and she felt the warmth of blood trickle down her brow yet again a second time.

Pansy looked up and her fear was so powerful that the witch could not even scream. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Antonin Dolohov stood there, recovered from the blow she'd dealt him, tall, looming, powerful, and totally in black, blood dripping down the side of his temple. His dark eyes almost seemed to glow black even in the dim light of the hallway as he cocked his head to the side. She began to scramble backward, forcing herself up onto her feet. He began looming forward and finally, Pansy managed to stand upright, though every muscle in her body hurt.

She shakily raised her wand as best she could in her right hand, clutching her injured left arm close to her breast, trying to prevent herself from jostling the broken bone too much. Her whole body began to tremble. He tilted his head to the side, and she barely managed to make out the sight of his lips curving upward into a sick, twisted smile.

"You shouldn't have done that," he snarled.

"I—I'll kill you, Dolohov, you—you pisscloak! Let. Me. Go!" she shouted as her temper welled within her churning stomach, inherited from her father over the years, but her voice cracked and broke as she realized how precarious her situation was.

There was no way out of whatever was about to happen to her unless help came for her.

He said nothing by way of response as he stepped calmly towards her, and she lashed out by sending a poorly-aimed Stunning Spell his way. Cursing herself for not being ambidextrous as she gritted her teeth, she tried again, over, and over, until he finally got close enough, she thought she could hit him.

Before she could send a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus at his chest, Dolohov grabbed her arm and twisted the appendage behind her back. The pain of her one good arm being twisted forced her to move her body around and as her wand fell from her grasp and collided with the floor, she was shoved up against the wall.

Tears began to come to her eyes as she felt him push her hard up against the wall with only one strong hand.

He grabbed onto her free wrist, the one covered in blood, and brought it up above her head and pinned her against the wall, not letting her even so much as squirm to try to break free.

She tried to wrench away but he was too strong. His free hand went to squeeze the back of her neck and she felt his hips press against her. She readied herself for whatever was to come.

Instead, she felt the hand leave the back of her neck and softly stroke its way through her hair.

"Shh…" he whispered. "Shhh…."

"Please," she cried through her tears, finally letting them fall despite her best efforts to quell them back and not let the man see it.

"Shh," he repeated, softer this time, and gently dragged his fingertips over her cheekbone.

She felt his hand slide back to her hair and grip onto her bun. Pansy did not have time to register the pain that engulfed her wholly as he yanked her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat.

In one swift movement, Antonin Dolohov shoved her head back towards the wall and her forehead slammed onto the wallpapered hard surface with a loud, sickening thud that was sure to leave one hell of a black eye later on.

She saw more spots blotting her vision and a tiny little cry left her lips.

"Please," she begged, but her plea fell on his deaf ears and was ignored.

"Shh…" he said again, and her hair was yanked back again as he tugged on her hair, and her head slammed against the wall for a second time.

This time, she felt no pain and heard no thud but saw only black as she fainted.

She was not awake or cognizant enough to see the front door fly open with a loud bang that nearly caused the walls to shake, to see the tall and somewhat intimidating figure of George Weasley standing looming in the doorway, a look of murder in the man's narrowed dark eyes. The escaped convict of Azkaban Prison who had taken her hostage and had captured her, Pansy's assailant was now completely and at the mercy of none other than George.

As George stalked into the hallway to meet the Dark Wizard Antonin Dolohov head-on, Pansy Parkinson's father's former colleague was forced to look into George Weasley's seething dark and narrowed brown eyes, the eyes of a man and wizard who had lost almost everything dear to him and thought at this rate, he had nothing left to lose.

The eyes of Death itself.