My apologies for the length of this chapter. I had thought of splitting it up into 2 segments as it was getting kind of long, but neither section had the impact I wanted it to give. Thanks for bearing with me! Please excuse any typos, I tried to catch any that there were! :)
CHAPTER 8
GEORGE stared, unable to take his eyes off the gruesome scene in front of him, feeling sure at first that what he was seeing wasn't real. George gritted his teeth and tried to shake away the vision, but when he opened his eyes and nothing changed, he realized with a pit now forming in his stomach that this was real. His heart pounded hard in his chest, hard rhythmic drumming he heard in his eardrums. A burning rage coursed through his veins, burning hotter than Fiendfyre, leaving him with little to no time at all to process what was happening. Every nerve in his body was on high alert as he held his wand in his hand as best as he was able to, given his shaking.
The only thing he felt as his gaze flicked between Pansy Parkinson's seemingly lifeless body and then back up to meet Antonin Dolohov's near maniacal glare, all he felt was a burning uncontrollable rage burning in him, but he did not allow Dolohov to see it at all.
As Antonin moved towards the back of the room, near Pansy's fireplace, he did not seem angry at George and Ollie and Harry's arrival.
In fact, Dolohov seemed pleased as he stood stock still, evaluating his presence lingering in the doorway just as much as George was considering the taller, stockier wizard as the man's black eyes drifted downward to linger on the gleaming Auror badge on Ollie's robes.
Beside him, he heard Ollie let out a vicious growl from deep within his broad chest as the thirty-four-year-old Auror angrily flung out at an arm to shield Geoge from the Death Eater, preventing George from taking a step forward. Ollie's head angrily whiplashed to the left and the older man fixed George with a withering stare and dagger eyes, those icy blue irises of the wizard's rendering George feeling uneasy.
"Back, get the hell back and don't move, Weasley, it's...George right? Norah told me you were the one who visited Pan while she was in St. Mungo's, stay back and don't goddamn move," Ollie commanded in a dangerously threatening voice, still keeping his arm flung out in front of George, preventing the younger wizard from moving a single muscle. "Stay back. Dolohov is mine to work on, Weasley, not yours. I owe him one for trying to kill my wife more than once," he snarled, his lips curling up in a snarl. "You too, Potter, this isn't your fight, you hear me?" Ollie growled in a hoarse voice, sensing his young protege opening his mouth to vehemently protest. "Stay here with Pansy, you lot, make sure she wakes up and send a Patronus to Norah, she's waiting back at home for news and out of her mind with worry for her. Let me deal with this pathetic shite of a wizard," he growled, returning his full and undivided attention to the tall Death Eater still in the bedroom.
"Brennan," Dolohov sneered, completely ignoring Harry and George in favor of the older wizard now standing tall and proud in front of him. "I would say it's good to see you, but considering our circumstances, I'm afraid I cannot make that claim, my old friend," Antonin taunted in his silky smooth voice that never failed to make Auror Brennan cringe. "You came. I thought you would, Ollie. I sensed your pretty little wife's cousin's thoughts, you know, despite her best efforts to keep people out. I see then that the rumors are true, that you've sided with the likes of Albus Dumbledore all along. What were you this whole time, Brennan, the old man's pet?" Antonin breathed out in a taunting voice, the older man's voice was devoid of any fear. "Your father and brother would be ashamed of your choice."
Not even the darkening of the handsome Auror's burning bright blue eyes invoked a cringe.
Of course, Ollie smirked to himself, if a man like Dolohov feared something, he was not on the Death Eater's list, he knew that.
He forced himself to speak in a voice that was throttled with repelled fury, dangerously soft and quiet.
"You bastard! What have you done to my wife's cousin, Dolohov?" Ollie whisper hissed through clenched teeth, the slender fingers of his wand hand curling dangerous tight around the handle. Out of the corner of his gaze, still lying limply in the hallway against the floor, was his wife's cousin. She appeared to be unconscious and did not look unscathed. She had been injured.
In the fraction of a second Ollie had to observe the young witch, he noticed their future baby's future godmother had a fair amount of blood on her face and quite a bit more near her breasts.
She looked as though she'd been through one hell of a nasty beating, maybe even two to three, if judging by the black right eye she now suffered from and would for weeks while the nasty-looking bruise healed was any indication of what Dolohov had put his wife's cousin through. She wasn't moving at all. Ollie could not even detect any rise or fall of the witch's chest.
Antonin's hoarse baritone voice rent through the silence of the room, effectively tearing his gaze away from the witch to look back at him.
She remained unresponsive on the floor, staying so still and lifeless it made Ollie's blood run cold as he waged war against the dozens of conflicting emotions in his mind. His hands trembled with rage. He wanted to kill this bastard, again and again.
He wanted to bash Dolohov's stupid skull to the very floor, he wanted to hear the wizard's bones all crack. He wanted to watch the dusty rotten floorboards turn red with the wizard's blood. He wanted to see the brain matter paint the ground he now stood on.
At least a dozen black, putrid curses burned on the tip of Ollie's tongue, begging to be spat at Antonin Dolohov for what he had done. Except he wasn't going to say them. He was going to shout them at him with every ounce of breath his burning lungs could muster.
He wanted nothing more than to send the first assault towards Dolohov right here and now, attack him and dispatch him as quickly as he could, but taking on Antonin right here, where they were still in such proximity to Pansy's unconscious form would be too dangerous for Pansy's sake. Ollie knew he could not risk Pansy being stepped on, tripped over, or otherwise hurt, maybe even accidentally killed if the witch were to somehow get caught in the crossfire. He needed to get this pathetic, disgusting excuse for a wizard away from the witch so that Pansy was in no danger or any further injury, and time was not on his side. He needed to hurry if he wanted to save her life.
Ollie could only hope that he was not already too late. Enough blood had been spilled because of those whom he could not save, as he recalled telling Dumbledore once. So, he did the only thing he could.
He slowly took steps forward into the living room and Dolohov copied the Auror's cautious steps.
Antonin frowned. "Why, Brennan, did they send you, hmm? You've come to collect your precious little liability? She's a really pretty little witch, isn't she? Is that the reason? You Aurors did look after one of your own. It's almost admirable."
Ollie knew he owed no answer to Dolohov, and he did not wish to waste precious time arguing over his wife's cousin's worth.
With any luck, the former Death Eater would be dead in minutes. Ollie did not see the need to convince Antonin that Pansy Parkinson was so much more than a liability. It didn't matter what Antonin Dolohov thought of future baby Brennan's godmum. She was not his concern. Ollie nearly growled with the effort to restrain himself from striking prematurely as he continued talking.
"It would have been a lot easier on the witch if Pan would have just told me she'd called you, Brennan," Dolohov sighed, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment with a run of his hand through his dark curly hair. "I've no idea why she thought having you here was some big secret that she was trying to protect. Thanks to you, Brennan, I've got the answer I wanted, and she still suffered for it," Dolohov laughed. "Drop your wand or sheath it, Ollie, right now, don't make me say it again. You know I've always hated saying things a second time, to anyone, snake," he ordered, no semblance of humor or jest in his tone now. "And I just might let you tend your pretty little witch's wounds before the next duel," Dolohov drolled, lifting his chin and glaring at Auror Brennan with raised dark eyebrows.
Now it was Ollie's turn to raise his brows in incredulous disbelief in Antonin's direction. There was no way in hell he was sheathing or relinquishing his wand to the likes of him. He knew better than to think a man like Antonin was capable of anything but violence.
And of course, the offer the man had given, even if it were sincere, was not good enough. Ollie was not about to give Antonin the option to Disapparate and run off like the coward he knew Dolohov to be if he could at all help it. The man would die here and now for whatever he had done to Pansy Parkinson. As far as Ollie was concerned, Dolohov had dug his own grave with what he had done.
"Very well," Dolohov sighed with a light, nonchalant shrug of his shoulders as he rolled his neck to crack it. "I'm going to enjoy keeping your pretty little witch around once you're dealt with. The slag certainly is a fun little toy, Brennan. She tries so very hard not to cry, but she failed. There's only so much pain a witch like her can take before it breaks her, Ollie, but you know that almost better than any of us, don't you? You grew up with a man like Jack for a father and Dominic, your twin, was more of a man than you could ever hope to be…"
The pressure in Ollie's head finally exploded along with a low warning growl that emanated from the back of his throat, causing his chest to thrum with the force, and a gash on Dolohov's neck, though the spell was not enough to kill him.
The Auror lunged towards Dolohov, though the wizard immediately drew his wand and deflected Ollie's jinx he sent his way.
Ollie angrily slashed through the air a barrage of hexes, one right after the other, not allowing Dolohov a moment to catch his breath to give him the strength enough to utter the incantations needed to defend himself, much less think them.
He finally managed to slice a shallow, superficial gash in Antonin's right arm as he attempted to dodge a window that exploded as Ollie's Stunning Spell was meant for him, and it would have hit him too, had he not ducked at precisely the exact moment as it hit. Dolohov hissed in pain through gritted teeth and clutched at his now-bleeding arm, waving his wand, a merciless heavy firing of Professor Snape's invented curse, Sectumsempra, that only very narrowly missed the former Slytherin's right shoulder had Ollie not stepped aside.
If it would have made contact with his arm, he'd have lost it. Ollie gritted his teeth as he lashed out at Antonin again, but the man blocked his spell sent his way and turned on the heels of his boots, the loud, cracking noise of the man beginning to Disapparate filling the room.
Ollie darted forward with inhuman speed, the older man's handsome features twisting into an expression of feral rage as the wizard's burning blue eyes flicked to the unconscious form of his wife's young cousin laying sprawled on a heap on the floor, and Disapparated alongside Antonin Dolohov with the familiar loud crack that resonated through the halls, that never failed to make both George and Harry jump from just how loud the noise was. Now was no exception.
The threat temporarily abated as the flat was now abandoned save for the three of them and free of the threat of the Death Eater, for now, George rolled his neck to crack it and promptly lowered his wand. Harry darted forward and knelt into a crouch at Pansy's side.
Pansy had not moved and was sprawled onto the hardwood floor of her bedroom.
George stiffened, chewing on the wall of his mouth as he looked towards Pansy. He had made a damn bloody mistake. He knew that now.
It was Harry's face that tipped him off to the severity of the situation, just how bloody serious this all was now. The way Harry's mouth twitched slightly, and his green eyes narrowed at the sight before him. George's heart fluttered painfully as he realized with a sickening jolt his newest employee and former classmate did not look well at all. In the brief moment the wizard had to observe the young witch, he noticed Pansy had a small amount of blood on her face, courtesy of a cut above her browbone, and she looked to be scuffed up all over.
Her left eye was now blackened and already sporting one hell of a nasty mark that was beginning to bruise and turn black and purple at the edges from where Antonin Dolohov had clearly struck Pansy in a fit of rage.
She wasn't moving at all. George couldn't even detect any steady rising or falling of Pansy's chest. Anger swelled within his chest at the thought of the Dark wizard hurting her, and hoped Auror Brennan was able to capture him, fast.
The second he'd heard her pained screams coming from her loft, he hadn't hesitated to send a Patronus to the Ministry, hoping that someone would come quickly.
His insides had gone cold. It had sent him instinctively into action, a vent of adrenaline in his veins pushing him towards her loft, running into her living room as his mind lit up with electricity then.
30 seconds into her flat, less than that. Incapacitate the bastard making her scream like this, assess her wounds, get her to St. Mungo's if a Healer is needed, then have Ollie arrest and torture the arsehole responsible for this.
Simple. It had been so simple in George's mind. And then, he and Harry had found her in her bedroom. She looked almost…almost lifeless. Judging by the look that Harry was currently giving him, George was starting to regret that Pansy's family member had brought him.
Harry was continuing to blink owlishly from the girl on the floor and back up to George with such a mixture of shock and confusion plastered all over his face like a Permanent Sticking Charm, that George was sure that Harry had questions for him. Questions, he thought, he wasn't quite ready to answer. But he would deal with Harry (and anyone else who questioned his motives for helping Pansy) later.
For now, he had to help Pansy and see what could be done for her.
Pansy was lying flat on her back, with one arm limply draped over her stomach and the other at her side. The witch's eyes were closed, though occasionally, he caught the twitch of her eyes behind her closed lids, her eyebrows knitted together with worry and fear.
Her mouth, complete with a bleeding cut on her lower lip, was set in a slight pout and Pansy had gone pale, far too pale a sheen to be considered healthy. George's hands shook as he kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, careful to avoid the obvious bruises that were forming. Rage charged through him like an electrical current as the imagined images of the torment Pansy had suffered through at the tip of Dolohov's wand or even with his bare hands flitted through his mind like he was watching them in the Pensieve that existed in Professor Dumbledore's office, or these days, Professor McGonagall's.
By some miracle of Merlin, George managed to find his voice, though when he spoke, his voice was a hoarse rasp.
"She—she can't stay here, it's not safe for her anymore, Harry. Not if Rookwood and Dolohov are working together, they'll find her, just come after her again, now that those two know where she lives," he murmured, his brain already working two or three steps ahead as he thought of the best place to take her, and only one place where he knew that his newest employee would truly be safe came to his mind.
The Burrow. She could temporarily stay with Mum and Dad and the rest until Rookwood and Dolohov were caught.
The two Death Eaters obviously knew she lived here now, had likely been stalking Parkinson for Merlin only knew how long.
Filing a mental note to request an official guard be posted outside his shop at all times at his earliest opportunity, he turned towards Harry, who was waiting for George's reply.
"Can you go on ahead to the Burrow? Ask Mum and Dad to make up mine and Fred's old bedroom, Harry? Tell them to send for a Healer."
Harry looked a little bit shocked, perhaps thrown by the nature of the request and at the notion that Pansy was about to become a houseguest of the Weasley's, of all people, but less so than he expected to be. Wordlessly, he numbly nodded and shakily rose to his feet.
"Sure," he stammered. He looked as though he wanted to question George's decision but immediately thought better of it as he flinched under the scrutiny of the slightly older wizard's gaze as George frowned, wondering why it was that Harry hadn't left Pansy's flat yet.
Needing no further encouragement from Ron's brother, Harry promptly Disapparated to deliver George's requested message, though not before wondering how Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were going to take this news that the Burrow would yet be receiving another houseguest and an unwelcome one, at that.
Panic rushed over George in nauseating waves once Harry had Disapparated, his nerves frayed yet again from hearing the loud deafening crack! of Harry vanishing that filled his ears. Why him? Why now? He was currently the one who held Pansy's life in his hands yet saving the life of his newest employee and perhaps, in time, someone who could maybe even be a friend to him, was the last thing he was prepared for. But despite this, George knew he had to do something. He could not—would not—just leave Pansy here alone, injured.
His jaw clenched as he braced himself for the unpleasant task ahead. George knew he would need to physically touch her to examine the witch for any signs of physical injuries. He was going to have to touch her. There was no way around it.
George's hands shook as they moved up to her collarbones before, without even thinking, he brushed aside a lock of Pansy's dark brown hair and let his hand hover over one of the nasty-looking welts, just above her left browbone. Her already pale skin had lost so much color, standing out in stark contrast against the dark hue of her hair. Keeping his teeth clenched, he sharply turned his head to the side and conjured a blanket with his wand to cover her modesty, noticing that Dolohov had torn Pansy's shirt in the skirmish.
Draping it over her shoulders and around her front, he hoped it would be more than enough to provide some measure of warmth.
Yet, he knew he didn't need his eyes to detect and appreciate the witch's graceful curves, the smooth texture of her skin, which, he noticed with a jolt, was dangerously cold. Icy, even. Fortunately, the fire in the hearth that roared to life from the tip of his wand as he pointed it towards the fire in her loft provided just enough light for George to look over her injuries as he hauled the barely conscious witch to her feet and out into the living room, away from Pansy's bedroom and out into the open. He exhaled a tense breath as he first forced himself to look at her arm, her shoulder appeared to be dislocated, judging by the angle that he knew it should not be.
George sighed, frustrated, as he closed his eyes when his gaze drifted downward towards her arm. No matter what she might have been during her time as a student in school, not even Pansy deserved this treatment, not for an instant. Breathing in a steadying breath, George forced himself to resume his work. He hoped Ollie Brennan caught Dolohov and killed him. Pansy would want him to be calm now.
There was no use in him expending all of his injury being angry towards Dolohov at this exact moment.
He had to keep a clear head so he could properly treat the witch's injuries, though something inside of him told him that ifPansy were awake right now, she would likely insist, stubbornly, that she be allowed to heal herself, and he'd not let her do that.
George almost allowed a smirk to flit across his features, as the edges of his mouth tugged upward, but he fought it back, his expression as grim as a graveyard as he continued with his initial assessment of her physical injuries.
Her wrist appeared to be broken and her shoulder looked dislocated as he'd thought before. He would not have noticed it if he hadn't attempted to move her arm to examine it and nearly drew his hand away, shocked by the extreme heat that emanated from the delicate appendage, and when he carefully lifted her hand to place it over her middle, he noticed the break was in at least two places.
There was a part of him thought to mend her broken bones while she was still unconscious to save her the embarrassment and pain, though the more selfish aspect of his personality and mind told him that he wanted her awake for this, to see the gratitude in her eyes when she realized it was he who'd saved her. George could not help the dark swirling tempest of thoughts that were clouding his mind, as visions of enacting a swift death upon Antonin Dolohov for what he had done flitted through his mind.
He had known Dolohov was capable of brutality, of course, and Pansy was so delicate and fragile when compared to those who were likely the man's usual victims. A part of him was even a bit surprised his former colleague even knew how not to kill someone so delicate when Antonin was used to inflicting great pain without showing mercy.
Dolohov could have hurt Pansy so much worse, and he could not comprehend why Antonin had been holding back unless he had needed her for something. And if she refused to cooperate with his demands, then he would save his harshest torture towards the end.
George closed his eyes and let out a breath. The rage coursing through his bloodstream burned hot and bright and showed no signs of letting up at the thought of how close she had come. George continued his examination, careful to be as gentle and thorough as possible. He could not allow his anger to prevent him from saving his employee's life if it could be helped. He closed his eyes and concentrated, resting his hand over her chest and whispered a prayer, hoping she heard him and hoped that his prickly new shop assistant could hear him.
Come back to me, Pansy…come back…to me…
SHE thought she could hear him. Pansy thought she could hear George, speaking to her, low, and faint. To me… Pansy thought she could pick out his voice that was otherwise drowning in a blur, though George Weasley's voice sounded distant and muffled, as though the man were speaking to her underwater. Here…back to me, Pansy. It was cold. Merlin's Beard, it was so cold.
Tendrils of ice swelled in her veins, her throbbing heartbeat now reduced to a quivering corded mass of muscle in her chest felt like a glacier of ice. A horrible abstract of grey colors clouded her vision as her eyelids slowly fluttered open, haunting, and dreary.
Breathe…Pansy, breathe… come back… She felt a stiff groan caress her throat.
Surprisingly warm but rough hands steadied the sides of her face, the strong thumbs sweeping off strands of her hair from her cheeks that had come loose from her bun. And red. Red droplets of something sticky and garish trickling from his face down to hers.
The blur was fading now, as her vision slowly but surely cleared, and the giddiness danced away. And before her very eyes were glittering dark pools that belonged to George Weasley, those windows to his soul.
"Oh, Thank Merlin, Pansy, I thought you were... Come back…to me…breathe, slowly, you're going to be alright. You're alive."
George's voice was a fire that ignited her insides, the heat that flushed from her core and washed her away like an explosion within. Her chest started to heave, and Pansy parted her lips as her lungs heaved to cough, and she sucked in air as if she were a newborn baby. She coughed and inhaled as she groggily sat up as life flooded back into her system.
As she came to, she realized Weasley's hand was on her shoulder, staring at her with a placid expression on his face.
Pansy looked around and found herself sitting on the floor of her living room, with George crouching over her and their faces were barely inches from each other. He looked a right bloody mess, in a nutshell, his face had lost all its color. She blinked and moved her head, a tiny groan of pain escaping her lips. The back of her skull throbbed and hurt like hell.
It took a few moments for the fog of confusion she found herself in to dissipate. There was always this horrible debilitating fear.
It was not necessarily an experience of suddenly remembering her situation being consumed with fear after a sense of comfortable confusion. Instead, it was simply a realization of the cause of the sense of impending doom, unless George had taken care of it. and then the memory came flooding back to her. Dolohov. No holes were missing. None that she could remember anyway. She stiffened and gritted her teeth as everything within her body clenched in fear. She felt as though she were in some kind of trance, her heart racing so quickly she feared it might explode in her chest, her breathing shallow, and her ears filled with the rushing sound of the blood of her heart as it pounded. Pansy blearily lifted her gaze to George's and furrowed her brows, though even that hurt as the cut above her left eye stung and sent a swell of pain through the bone. He didn't seem as agitated as a normal human being should be given the circumstances, but there was something different in the wizard's face, a silent but seething rage beginning to set in, the likes of which she had never seen in him before.
The nightmare was over, she realized with widened eyes as George was now hovering over her, reaching his hand to help her stand. She had somehow managed to remain in one piece, and yet, even now, she did not feel saved.
Everything in her was still clenched in fear. She stared at his outstretched hand for a while, unsure whether or not her legs would even support her body weight if she were to try to stand upright, and she was unwilling to touch any man at the moment, not even her boss, who had just saved her life, she realized, as a pit began to form in her belly. George waited for a moment, and then changed his approach and lifted her on his own, his hands underneath her one good arm, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder.
Pansy shuddered at his touch and almost opposed it, though she was too exhausted physically and mentally to ask him to let go.
"You're safe now, Ollie Brennan went after Antonin, Pansy. He's going to be dealt with, I hope. You're going to be alright," he stated, speaking to Pansy in a low voice that she could only describe as a growl as he led her outside and down the stairs.
She stiffened at his arm around her waist. She did not want his touch right now, she did not want anything except for the world to leave her alone, to let her alone for once in her life.
"You're hurt, and don't even bother lying to me, Pansy. What happened to you?" he snapped through gritted teeth, his dark eyes making a quick scan of her battered and bruised appearance, taking note of how her equilibrium was off, and she could barely stand upright without his assistance.
She gazed at him briefly before the strength in her legs left her completely and she felt her knees buckle. She would have fallen to the ground had George not caught her fall and waved his wand to conjure a chair, in which he bade her sit, forcefully guiding her into the chair while being careful to be mindful of her wounds. The question sounded more foolish to her than anything ever before.
Pansy almost snapped at George before some reason came back to her mind.
Get a grip, she chided herself. Remember, he saved your life. You owe George.
"N-no…I'm...not hurt," she managed to gasp out as his rough fingertips brushed against the column of her throat, his brows raising at the sight of the blood that stained them as he pulled his hand away. "I'm not, George. N-not much. You and Ollie and anybody else that came with him…got here on time."
Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was lying through her teeth as she clenched her jaw as swells of white-hot flaring agony shot up and down her left dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist. Pansy clamped down on her tongue hard enough that she tasted the blood lingering there to keep from screaming as her injured wrist accidentally brushed against her shirt.
George merely looked at her in silence a moment, rubbing his blood-stained fingers against each other, frowning.
It was clear that he did not believe her, and even Pansy knew her words lacked the conviction to sell the argument that she realized to make, that she was fine when she wasn't.
Pansy attempted to put on some mask of gratitude or relief or force herself to thank George for saving her life, but she couldn't. Her body still violently shivered as she tried to curb her pained breathing, the horrors still too fresh and vivid in her mind. Luckily, her eyes were dry, thank Merlin for that much.
She did not want to have him witness her tears, either. It was bad enough Dolohov saw. George's narrowed dark eyes went down her injured arm that she clutched to her chest, stopping at her non-dominant wand hand, which was so badly shaking it was a wonder she could hold her wand at all.
"You're going to be alright. I'm taking you somewhere away from here, someplace safe. Someplace I trust," he somberly explained. "As for your wand, Pansy, you won't be needing that for a few days. Hand it over, you won't be able to use your magic for at least a couple of days, Pansy. Please make me ask again. I'm not in the mood to argue with you." He reached out his hand expectantly, his thin lips pursed into a narrow rigid line, quirking a brow at her.
With reluctance, Pansy handed her wand over to him, for a fleeting moment almost wishing to jinx him with it, hoping this wasn't another trick. George took Pansy's wand and hid it behind his belt. Pansy could only gaze blankly at her wand now resting on his hip for a while, unable to function, much less form a coherent thought in her mind. Finally, she swallowed all the bile that had crept its way up into her throat and looked up at her new boss, hoping to convey just the right amount of gratitude, relief, and horror. In a way, she knew she should be truly grateful, that he had been right. If he had not come with her here today, and if he had not barged in when he had…
She shuddered at the thought and licked her lips to moisten them, searching for her words. Finally, she found her voice again, and when she did speak, her voice was so hushed and faint, that her words were almost lost on the wind as a harsh blustery gale blew her hair which had come loose from its bun off her shoulders and out of her face.
"Thank you, George."
It was everything that she could utter at this exact moment, glancing fearfully over her shoulder once they were outside.
His motives for saving her life were likely egotistical in nature and nothing more, but he had saved her from things worse than death this morning either way, and she knew she owed him her thanks. Pansy took advantage of the sudden silence between them to study his face.
George's thick bangs were lightly pushed out of his face, and Pansy held the wizard's gaze, determined not to shy away from the piercing stare and the scar above his brow, the only evidence that he had taken part in the Battle of Hogwarts, that she knew had to hide a kind soul within that he'd never let her see a glimpse of when they had been in school together.
He acknowledged it with a small nod. "Dolohov and any left who are under him won't be bothering you anymore, I think your cousin's husband is going to see to that. And you won't be staying here anymore, so they won't be able to find you, Pansy, I swear it," he said, quietly observing her with furrowed brows.
"Wh—what happened to them? What did Ollie do? Merlin, my—my cousin's husband has a temper, George, a—a bad one," Her voice was quiet, slightly quivering, and her hold of her injured arm with her one good one tightened even more. She discovered that she still didn't have much control over her body, as it continued to shake, prepared for another violent assault. "Is-is he gone?" Pansy asked, very quietly. "D-did they leave? How did you find me?" she whispered, not sure if she wanted to know the answer, but at the same time, she had to get the question out as she informed him in a soft and trembling voice as she reached for the man's hand instinctively without her mind aware of what it was that she was doing.
George visibly startled as her hand slipped into his hand, almost effortlessly, as though they were two pieces of a missing Muggle jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly, looking down at their conjoined hands for a moment, then up to her, his mouth parted slightly in surprise, his expression impassive, but Pansy could see the intense hurt in his eyes, glistening behind those pools of dark brown that were the young wizard's haunted eyes.
"Dolohov managed to escape, but Auror Brennan went after him, and Harry went on ahead to inform my parents. You're going to be staying with them for a while if that's alright with you. You'll be safe at the Burrow, Pansy, and we aren't arguing about this," George quietly informed her after a moment, carefully holding onto his employee's hand, surprised at how cold and numb her palm was in his hand.
The tingling sensation burned him, but it was nice.
George shook his head to himself, trying to send away the horrible images his mind's eye was showing him of the torture she had suffered at Dolohov's hands. Though the details of how and why this had happened to Pansy were the least of his concerns at the moment, he still wondered how it was this prickly little witch had managed to get herself into this predicament without George hearing or seeing any sort of a struggle.
"Why didn't you call for help or send up red sparks with your wand? You could have sent a Patronus the moment you knew he was in your flat, Pansy," he hotly accused, unable to keep the wavering note of anger from seeping into his quiet tone.
The furrow of confusion and growing anger between his brows furrowed as he glared at her.
He could not understand why Pansy had purposefully put herself into danger like this. Surely, Pansy had to recognize that attempting to take on an experienced Death Eater by herself was an extremely dangerous and foolish endeavor.
So why had she done it? Was it her pride? Her vanity? Did she fear that asking for help would mean in her mind losing the respect that he had gained for her? He did not understand and hoped that the witch would elaborate as to her reasons why.
Her eyes stared into the distance over the shoulder, so hurt that her emotions would not break through the walls that she'd built around her heart. She felt dazed as the words left her lips.
"He wanted me to—to rid his arm of the Dark Mark, a-and he…attacked me when I told him the truth, that I could not help him," she whispered tearfully, raising her hand to her throat and running her shaking palm along the bruised skin there.
"Where are you hurt?" George asked, his eyes solemn and angered as he stared at Pansy carefully. "Tell me what Dolohov did to you, and where you're hurt, and be honest with me. I told Harry to have a Healer come take a look at you. Don't lie to me," he warned. "I'll know if you lie to me, Pansy, and I don't want you hiding anything from me for the sake of appearances," he pleaded.
She hesitated, chewing on her lip as she thought whether or not to tell him, but decided that she couldn't hide anything from him, as she could barely move her arm. "My—my wrist and shoulder are broken, I think, George," Pansy whispered in a warbling voice laced with tears and shame speckled her cheeks pink with color as she clumsily clutched her injured arm to her chest. "It hurts when I move it. Dolohov, he-he pulled me up by my arm hard. I think I even heard a popping noise, he-he probably dislocated it," she admitted with a half shrugging of her other arm, causing him to raise his brows at her.
She was speaking so calmly of her injuries, as though she were telling a story of what had happened to someone else, one of her other patients she might have cared for, once. George's frown deepened, the edges of his mouth pinching downward into a groove as he ran his fingers over the witch's wrist, as carefully as he could while assessing the damage.
"I can pop your shoulder back into place in a moment, one less thing for the Healer to do, I guess," he added as he finished running his fingers very carefully over her arm. "I don't think it's broken. Perhaps more swollen now than before, but not broken. You're lucky. I think we both know the kind of man Dolohov is, Pansy. You're smart enough to know. You're lucky Ollie was there to put a stop to it before he could do even worse to you," he added harshly to remind Pansy of what she'd narrowly escaped from, with her family member's help.
"He would have, probably, if given more time." Pansy heaved a frustrated and exhausted sigh as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against George's shoulder, surprising herself with her boldness. She felt him give a visible start at the surprisingly intimate gesture but was grateful he didn't pull away. "I—I'm more or less okay." Pansy shrugged nonchalantly as though the entire situation were no matter. "I'm just….tired, George and all I want is to sleep," she confessed, very softly. She then remembered what he said about offering her a new place to stay, that she'd be staying with the rest of his family, for however long it took for Ollie and his mates on the task force to bring Dolohov and Rookwood in. She shivered at the notion of spending time with the likes of Won-Won and even Ginny Weasley, Granger too, now that Won-Won was miraculously somehow dating Granger, but she thought she'd cross that bridge when she came to it, hopefully much later.
"You're—you're sure your parents and W—I—I mean Ron won't mind? Your sister, Granger, what about all of them? They won't…they won't mind if I stay with them for a while? I...I don't want to be a burden on anyone, George," she asked, suddenly timid and couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze as she immediately looked to the floor, grateful that George made no move to remove her head from his shoulder.
"Let me worry about them. They won't bother you, and you'll let me know if they try. I'll talk to them. You're staying at the Burrow, and I'm not taking no for an answer, Pansy, so drop any argument you have now," George answered firmly in a tone that was almost bordering on cold indifference that suggested that he was not in the mood to argue with his employee at all.
George stared incredulously at Pansy and could not help but shake his head slightly, feeling certain that he had misheard the witch's words just now.
Though the fact that she had just mentioned that her home was now the Burrow, was not lost on the man, he was too stricken to immediately form a coherent reply.
Did she even hear herself? Did she realize what Dolohov and those under him would have done to her had he not intervened?
Antonin Dolohov was a man who killed indiscriminately, but he was also known to keep his chosen victims alive and take delight in torturing them when it was convenient for him, and him keeping a defenseless witch around for weeks, or even months, would have hardly been an inconvenience to Dolohov.
Pansy was lucky the man had only at best about fifteen minutes or so to do what he wanted with her. She had no idea of what the disgusting man was capable of, what she had narrowly escaped.
"Do you even hear yourself, do you even know what it is you're saying, Parkinson?" he hissed angrily, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at her. "You don't, do you?" George accused.
He wanted nothing more than to scream and yell at the witch, to tell her never to stray so far from his side again as long as she worked for him and remained in Dolohov and Rookwood's crosshairs, for whatever their reasons were.
He wanted to inform the prickly witch of what horrible things she had narrowly avoided this morning, and that she was only alive now because of his efforts to keep his word to her that she would be safe so that she would know how important it was not to allow herself to get into a situation like this ever again.
Pansy needed to understand that, but perhaps this conversation was saved for later.
Right now, the witch was looking positively miserable, and a lecture from him was not at all what she was needing.
Yet. He gritted his teeth as he willed his temper to cool a little before reaching for the witch's broken wrist and dislocated shoulder.
Pansy blinked owlishly and looked taken aback, her lips parted open slightly in shock, but she shook her head.
"Y-yes, I do know what it is I'm saying. I'm not...I'm not stupid. I know what could have happened to me. I'm just sorry you and Ollie and hell, even Potter, had to save me," she whispered. "I'm sorry, George, for everything," she admitted, downcasting her gaze and not looking at him.
George drew back and considered the witch and her apology for a moment before carefully resting his fingers on Pansy's hurt arm. Seething, he allowed his temper to cool before addressing her further. He motioned toward her dislocated shoulder and broken arm with a jerk of his head.
"We should pop this back into place, Pansy," George suggested in a dry voice, curling his fingers around her arm lightly. "Will you let me take a look? I…I have some experience with this kind of thing, as a Beater, I've dealt with a couple of rogue Bludgers in my time. I've had my shoulder popped out of place more than once," he remarked in a casual tone that almost made Pansy shiver with how he was trying to make such a horrible and painful injury seem like no big deal. He paused, frowning. "I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt."
Pansy sniffled, breathing fast as she commanded him and sharply turned her head away, "Just fix it, George," she said flatly.
"Pan—"
"Just fix it, Weasley, please!" Pansy snarled, in tears, her pain currently dominating her reason. When his mood darkened and a shadow of anger at her outburst against him clouded his face, it only darkened her ire. She sighed out of frustration and squeezed her eyes shut. "Please…I…I've been through worse."
She frowned as she noticed his brows knit together in confusion. George looked as though he wanted to ask what 'worse' meant for her, but had the intelligence enough to remain silent, for which she was grateful.
Pansy did not want him to know what 'worse' meant for her. As in Father breaking her arm and thumb and forefingers once as punishment for accidentally spilling paint all over a stack of the man's papers.
The lashing had hurt worse than her broken arm being reset by Father afterward.
Oh, she'd had worse than this alright.
Such as being bitten by a baby basilisk once on her left hand and she still had the scar on the knuckle of her index finger to prove it where the phoenix tears had not quite managed to heal it wholly—kind of worse. The only difference now was her immediate rescue, thanks to George, and Ollie, when she saw him again. And Harry too, her conscience painfully reminded her.
"You…You've done this before?" she asked, dreading what his answer would be, feeling she already knew it.
He let out a morose laugh, and Pansy was surprised to find the tiny spark of anxiety in his voice almost sounding, well…cute.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and she lazily turned her head to look at him.
"Nope. I haven't. Not quite like this, anyway," George shrugged as he watched a lump bob down the witch's slim, lovely neck.
"It's…it's easy enough, George, just…try to pop it back into place just, ngh…SLOWLY!" she screamed, feeling the man's hands quickly grab onto her shoulder and heard the crunch of broken bone snapping closed as her shoulder was popped back into place and her wrist relocated in two swift movements with the expert navigation of the man's hands. Her body shook and rattled in an explosive, mortifying paralyzing pain.
And George was forced to listen to the loudest, torture-stricken scream from a witch that he had ever heard. He dug her head beneath his jaw and suffered the muffled screams from the witch as Pansy clawed on his arms, leaving angry marks on his skin. If not for how injured and weak she was, and how she'd not be using her wand for a few days while her wand-dominant arm healed, she might have already jinxed him into the next decade, he thought with a wry smirk.
When her weight sagged and the violent, wracking convulsions died down to mere sniffles, George exhaled a frustrated sigh of relief. He peeked at her face as he pulled back to study the witch's flushed, tear-stained face and was met by a deep frown and a weak mutter.
"You arse—I wasn't ready! You could have warned me!" Pansy shouted hoarsely, her voice spent from how much screaming she'd done.
"Mhm. You're welcome, Pansy, for that," he drolled, almost tempted to ask for another proper 'thank you, his quip earning just a ghost of a smile from Pansy as she summoned enough strength to stand, with George's help and tried to pull away, leaving George to sigh, trying to catch fragments of the witch's warmth still idling in his chest. "Give it a couple more minutes to settle," he advised in a low murmur.
"George—" she started to say and tried to take a cautious step forward in the hopes of putting as much distance between herself and Weasley's shop as possible. But Pansy was forced to cut herself off from saying anything else further, clamping her lips shut the moment she heard the low frustrated groan rumble from deep in his chest and felt his hands rest on her shoulders. His fingers were gripping onto her shoulders tight enough to leave more bruises there, though whether or not Weasley was aware of it, remained to be seen. She gaped.
"You are insufferable, Pansy, did you know that about yourself? Can't you listen to me just for once? This is me talking, as a friend, Pansy, not even as your boss right now, but I will if you make me. You. Let. Yourself. Heal." George glowered at her until Pansy's lips fell in a tight straight line and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good," he growled and did not protest the feeling of her head against the crook of his shoulder. "Rest it for a few days, no magic, and your arm will be just fine fast enough, the Healer when you see him is probably going to tell you the same thing," George tiredly sighed.
He sharply turned his gaze away from her, though he felt Pansy's stare burn a hole through the side of his skull.
He hated seeing the witch so hurt and hated that Pansy had any need to heal such numerous injuries, but in a way, he was grateful at least, she seemed unaffected by the trauma that Dolohov had just put her through. He could not help but wonder with a sickening feeling in his stomach if she had grown so accustomed to unthinkable abuse growing up, that she was used to such horrible treatment from men.
It did worry him, however, that Pansy did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation.
How Dolohov always took an interest in beautiful witches, the prettier the better, which, unfortunately, made her a prime target for someone like Dolohov to want to keep around a while. She was behaving as though her injuries were nothing serious, not as though she had narrowly escaped weeks of vicious, unthinkable torture followed by a painful death.
George was nearly torn in two, between wanting to feel relieved that she seemed less affected by the situation than he probably should and feeling angry that perhaps Pansy did not understand just how dangerous the world around her could be.
"Come on, we should get you to my parents' place, the Healer's probably already there," he ordered her in a rough, hoarse voice that for a moment, reminded him of Sirius, and he began to tug on her uninjured arm with the intent of pulling her away from here and to the edge of the pavement, intending to head for his home and this time, she'd stay there.
George stared at her for a moment in silence, and Pansy somehow withstood his gaze, trying to keep her feelings repressed buried deep within and not let them reach her eyes.
"Wait, please," she pleaded, her hand-winding out and her fingers curling over the man's bicep. "I—I need to say something, George, and I don't know if I'll get a better time…"
George halted in his steps, taken aback by Pansy's sudden request to linger.
He grew puzzled when Pansy did not directly look into his eyes when she voiced her request to stay.
Her face threatened to crumple as he spoke, pressing against his temples with his thumb and forefinger, almost begrudgingly, stifling the urge to touch her, to feel the smooth coolness of her palm in his as she'd held his hand. It was a feeling he wanted to experience again, that he could bottle it in a vial and keep it for himself selfishly, then he would, so he would never forget what the feeling felt like.
"What is it?" he asked, quietly.
It took Pansy several moments to find her voice, and she had not realized that she was shaking, or that her hands were becoming clammy, something she had not anticipated.
"Thank you. For…for saving my life, George. I…I've treated you like total shite through the years, Weasley, you, your brothers, your—your sister. Your friends, and…even after all the trouble I've caused, you still saved my life tonight." Pansy felt her words catch in the back of her throat and fought against the urge to wring her hands out of a nervous habit, though she knew right now, with her injured shoulder still needing looking at, such a thing would be too much for her. She swallowed a lump in her throat and continued. "I—I don't deserve your kindness or your family's, but I'm…grateful for it. I just...I thought...that you should know..." She ducked her head and instead played with the cuticle of her thumb, feeling utterly exhausted, and her words were spent as the last drop of a tear left her sore and stinging eyes.
At the very least, she'd steered the ship of this particular conversation in the right direction. Now it would all depend on whether or not George would hear her words and accept her apology. Nothing more would be solved if he didn't want to talk.
"I…y-you're welcome, Pansy, I-I did what anyone else would have done. I couldn't just leave you," George let his voice trail off, sure that he looked shocked but less so than he expected to be as he stared at Pansy.
Somewhere, deep within him, there swelled a want to know if what he was doing now because of her, and for her, was right. That it wasn't stupid to save a witch from the nightmares that were sure to haunt her after being forced to spend even a single moment with the likes of Antonin Dolohov. It would be ugly for Pansy, he thought, and the rest of his family until they got used to her presence in the Burrow.
As the whiff of the bitter air and cold rain began to dampen his face, he felt vindicated and free at last. George looked around for something he wanted to see but was not sure of what that thing was, at first. But then, he found it. He knew he found it when Pansy lifted her face and regarded him with a sense of pride and dare he even think and hope for this next part, affection.
Merlin, but even in her anger over what Dolohov had done to her, there was no denying that this witch was beautiful. He did not even notice the raindrops that were beginning to settle on her shoulders. He wondered if Pansy even took notice of it at all.
Her dark hair glistened even in the grey skies above her, her skin turning amber and harboring a slightly healthier sheen to it, she was pleased to see, as Pansy nervously smiled at him, and some color returned to her cheeks as she blushed.
He felt a tug to his arm and was pulled out of his mind's musings as he looked down to find her arm resting over the top of his bicep.
She was tugging on the sleeves of his sweater and pulling him forward.
For once, Pansy Parkinson and George Weasley locked in a brief stare before she turned away, silently indicating without words she was ready to go, to let the wizard escort her to the Burrow, shyly eying him out of the corner of her lowered gaze as she interloped her arm with his.
She bit down on her bottom lip anxiously and tried to think of something to say. "I never really…had a chance to say thank you, for—for saving my life twice now," she mumbled, suddenly sheepish, as she reached up to tuck a wisp of her hair back behind the contour of her ear where it belonged. "Is there…anything that I can do?" she asked, unable to disguise the note of hope and wonder in her voice.
George let go of her arm, knowing that if he stood there any longer, standing so close to her as he was now, fighting against the trembling that threatened to betray him, that he would give away to Pansy Parkinson that he'd thought of Ron's words to him earlier, how he'd fancied the witch, all this time, and had spent the entirety of his day locked in his office when he realized that his brother was right.
That he did fancy Parkinson, as it happened. He was sure he could make her love him if only she would give him a chance.
Perhaps now was his chance to ask her the one question that was burning on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be asked.
George stiffened as he took a step back and watched the witch, who was cautiously eyeing him with a guarded expression. George thought he saw a flicker of affection dart through the young woman's dark eyes, some small light of feelings in her eyes as he stared at her.
He hoped it was not simply what he wanted to see.
George closed his eyes for a good long moment, summoning up every ounce of man and wizard that he was within, relying on his smooth-talking to have Pansy Parkinson give him the answer that he so desperately wanted at the question he was about to ask.
He hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of Norah and Ollie Brennan's beloved cousin.
He opened his eyes and dared to look into the witch's eyes, to see Pansy's expression. She was looking at him hopefully, a tiny smile nudging the edges of her mouth upwards, so that just had to be a good sign, didn't it? He breathed in a long slow exhale before finally summoning enough strength on his throat to ask Pansy a question he never thought he would ask the witch in his life.
George let himself become lost in her brown eyes for a moment, which was swimming as the slightly younger witch searched his face. He thought he could drown himself in them if she would let him.
Before his resolve could fail him, he asked her the only question he'd been itching to ask as his day had dragged on, alone in his office.
George slowly lifted his gaze and looked into Pansy Parkinson's dark brown eyes, not daring to look away.
"You could let me take you to dinner?"