CHAPTER 10

TENSION met George almost immediately upon entering the kitchen for supper, a bowl of hot steaming onion soup and a small plate of buttered bread on top of his placemat. His parents, as usual, seemed happy to see him.

It was his brother, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry that he now had to worry about, all of whom hadn't touched a single bite of their food and were looking at him in shock and disbelief.

George slid into his seat and noticed Ron shoot him a withering look that was almost reminiscent of their mother.

"Whatever you're thinking, Ronnie, put it out of your head, now. Pansy is staying here for however long it takes for her to be safe. If that means she stays here the rest of summer, then so be it, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep our newest employee safe," George snapped, angrily shoveling a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

The soup was hot and flavorful and brought himself back a bit as he lifted his gaze and shot the same expectant glower to everyone else seated at the kitchen table, except for his parents.

Ron scowled, the edges of his lips pinching down into a frown. He thought that it wasn't bloody fair how every single thought showed as plain as day on his face for everyone to see. Not fair at all. Had his disgust for Parkinson been that obvious?

"I—I wasn't thinking anything," Ron denied in a low growl with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders as he ripped off a bite of bread with his teeth, dunking his loaf into the soup before taking a bite.

Merlin damn it, he couldn't even lie to them all convincingly.

But George wasn't fooled. Not even in the slightest. He sighed and set down his spoon, and with a run of his hand through his ginger hair, looked across the table at his brother and his friends.

"I know this is…hard, that you probably aren't pleased with this," he began hesitantly, not for the first time wishing Freddie was here. It seemed Fred always knew what to say to diffuse the tension in a room. "But causing trouble isn't going to help anyone." He paused for a moment and then said quietly, "especially not her."

George looked towards Harry and Ginny for confirmation. Harry's brows were furrowed in contemplative thought, while a rather placid expression was resting on his sister's fair features.

For a moment, George wished he were a Legilimens like Professor Snape had been, that he could have dipped into Ginny's mind, hell, the whole lot of everyone gathered here at this table and learned what they were thinking and how he could best help Pansy. Ginny lifted her gaze and hardened her expression, rendering it impossible for George to tell what she was thinking or feeling, though what she said next, not even he could have prepared for. A flicker of something darted through Ginny's normally sparkling and kind brown eyes as she gestured towards the room's exit, motioning towards the stairwell that led upstairs to his old room where Pansy was hopefully sleeping off her ailment.

"What do you want us to do, George?" she hissed lowly. "She wasn't exactly nice to us when we were in school, and now you expect us to believe that, what, you fancy Parkinson? Just like that? I'm willing to forgive her, so is Hermione, but our trust? She has to earn that, and even more than that if she thinks she can be friends with us, George," Ginny snapped, her cheeks flushing pink the more annoyed and angry his sister became at the conversation.

George angrily opened his mouth to retort, though before he could so much as utter a single word, that yes, that was exactly what he expected of everyone sitting at this table for as long as Pansy was a guest here, their father spoke up, interrupting Ginny in a stern tone.

Arthur turned a serious frown towards Ginny and Ron especially. George was grateful that at least Harry and Hermione seemed to be taking this better than he could have hoped for, but then, with everything those two had been through in the last year alone, he wasn't exactly surprised. He just wished that Ron could share his friends' sentiments.

"Ron, Ginny, I'm disappointed in you both. I'd hoped alongside your mother that you both would have accepted this decision with a bit more tact," he chastised, wearily pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and setting down his bowl of half-eaten soup. "I'm sure you can understand how painful this is for Miss Parkinson upstairs, and how much worse her situation is going to be if you both can't find it within yourselves to put aside whatever she might have done to you, whatever she might have said to you in the past and move on. George is right, you're both adults now and no longer in school. I was hoping that you'd behave a bit more…judiciously in your approach towards our new house guest. Our family isn't the only one who lost someone in this war."

His lips held a thin line that only deepened by the second as a shadow of regret clouded Arthur Weasley's lined, tired face.

"Miss Parkinson's parents upstairs were personally murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for daring to defy him, in case you weren't aware. Ollie and Norah are the only family she has left alive. Did none of you stop to think that during your encounters with Miss Parkinson upstairs, that maybe there was a reason all this time for how she behaved towards you?" Arthur replied sadly.

Ginny's already pale face drained of color as she processed her father's words and shared a glance with Harry, who shrugged, though his frown deepened somewhat.

Though she could see the same flicker of unease and guilt dart through her boyfriend's green eyes that she was sure passed through hers just now, and the same went for Hermione.

It was clear that neither of them had exactly taken the time to consider what Pansy might have lost in the fighting.

Ginny swallowed, though when she did it felt like she was swallowing knives as she exchanged a brief look with Hermione, who, by the looks of the stricken expression on her face, was wrestling too with the same inner turmoil that she was. Which wasn't much, but it gave her a small modicum of comfort, if nothing else.

Ginny slowly raised her eyes to his father, who was studying his daughter and the rest of the group intently over the rim of his glass of red house-elf made wine, a saddened expression on the man's careworn, tired face.

"Why…why tell us this, Dad? Does she know that we know?" she asked in a much more subdued voice than before, her voice escaping from the back of her throat as a hoarse, reedy little croak.

Mr. Weasley shook his head.

"I highly suspect that she doesn't. If it slips out, you did not hear it from me, but I told you all this because you need to know what Miss Parkinson is going through. Everyone processes grief and…other traumatic experiences, in different ways," he stammered, a look of anger flitting across his features as he remembered Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson, both Unspeakables in the Ministry of Magic.

He would run into Pansy's parents from time to time on the elevator and suspected the poor young witch suffered neglectful abuse, perhaps even physical, at the hands and tips of the wands of her parents.

He supposed it wouldn't come as a shock to learn that she buried her pain beneath a mask of anger and treated everyone around her so coldly because she could not bring herself to learn how to trust.

Arthur let out a haggard sigh. The cycle of abuse had to stop somewhere, and considering George was harboring a romantic interest in the Parkinson witch, Arthur supposed that this cycle might end with his children.

At this rate, he could only hope for it. They had fought against the war the Dark Lord waged on Great Britain and Europe so that their children and grandchildren would grow up in a better time and place than he and Molly, Remus, Sirius, James, Lily, Alice, Frank, all of them, had. The war was ended, times of peace now upon them all. Arthur hoped, as did Molly, that each of their children would find peace and happiness, and love, if that's what they wanted out of life.

Though it was admittedly something of a shock to see George take an interest in a young woman whom he had only heard stories of (mostly from Ginny and Hermione, and none of them pleasant!), he was proud of his son for being willing to look past her prior behaviors and see the untapped potential within their newest house guest upstairs.

"The chasm between her and you all aren't what your mother and I hope for while Miss Parkinson stays with us for the summer," Mr. Weasley continued, eager to make his point known and his children understand that he and Molly were not going to tolerate ill-treatment of George's new employee while she stayed with them. "There are always reasons for everything, perhaps in time, if you show Miss Parkinson that she can trust you, she'll open up, and while she's here with us, she will be treated with respect and kindness, do you hear me?" he added, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically stern tone as Arthur leaned forward in his chair and scowled.

"Yes," Harry, Ginny, and Hermione murmured in unison.

"I...we had no idea," Ginny whispered, horrified, clamping a hand over her mouth in shock and looking to Hermione, who nodded.

Ron was the only one who did not agree with his father's sentiment. Ron angrily rose from his chair, his bowl of soup now cold and untouched, and stalked out of the kitchen. The sound of the front door slamming so damned audibly loud the doorpost rattled in its rusted iron hinges could be heard reverberating throughout the lower level of the house.

Now, George was angry. He half rose from his chair intending to follow Ron and try to talk some sense into his little brother but was stopped by his mum, with Mrs. Weasley sadly shaking her head.

"Don't, George," she advised in a quiet voice that was almost a whisper, reaching across the table and resting her hand over the top of his. "You think that I don't feel the same?" Her face darkened, her tone tinted with just barely controlled anger. "I had hoped Ron would behave better than this, but I think it's best to give him some space."

"That's it, Mum?" George asked coolly, his eyes hardening as he stared at the empty chair that Ron had only just vacated. "I do nothing?"

"Sometimes, dear," Mrs. Weasley's sigh was long and drawn out as she pinched the bridge of her nose, her dark eyes crinkled at the edges and tight with exhaustion. "Doing nothing is what's best. Give it time. Miss Parkinson and Ron may yet come to amends."

"No." George shook his head in frustration and sat back down in his chair. "I don't think he will, Mum. I hate to say it."

Those who were still gathered at the table said nothing over dinner.

The silence stretched onward, filling the Burrow's kitchen, suffocating them with their frustration and guilt.

IT was the distinct smell of a hearty French onion soup wafting through the air that managed to finally wake Pansy from her sleep. Pansy, barely conscious and hardly able to form much coherent thought at all, rolled over and buried her head further under the patchwork quilt as waves of nausea rolled through her upset stomach.

She grumbled something inaudible as the good smells of whatever George's mum had made for dinner intensified, flooding her nostrils with the delectable scents that elicited a low rumbling growl from her stomach, reminding her that she'd not eaten anything since lunch when she'd gone to the Hopping Pot with Verity earlier. All she'd had for lunch was a meager sandwich.

Pansy slowly sat upright when the rumbling in her stomach grew almost too painful to bear, pressing a hand to her forehead as she felt her stomach take a turn for the worst. She tried to force air back into her lungs while trying to calm the dizzying feeling that was creeping its way from the back of her skull.

Dolohov had done a number on her, and what had happened to her, unfortunately, wasn't a dream like she'd hoped. She was here, in the twins' old bedroom in their house, not at her place, and there'd been no word from Norah or Ollie letting her know if Brennan had gotten one over on him.

Pansy hoped her cousin's husband killed Dolohov for what he'd done to her and Norah.

She didn't know all the details as Norah refused to talk about the alleged event and she'd heard it from Ollie one night over Sunday dinner when Norah had to work late that night at St. Mungo's.

Supposedly Dolohov, once refused by Pansy's father for her hand in marriage, turned his sights to the cute blonde Welcome Witch with the elfin-like features and when Norah had refused Antonin's unwanted advances, he'd cornered her outside an alleyway of the Leaky.

Pansy remembered Ollie's expression darkening as he recounted the tale of how he'd met Norah while nursing a glass of his house-elf's wine, and what he'd walked in on following hearing the sounds of Norah's screams. He'd saved her cousin from a fate worse than death that night, to which Norah had repaid him for with a well-deserved kiss, and the rest of their lives together was history. They'd dated not long after that and entered into a steady courtship for a few years before Ollie finally summoned up the courage to ask Norah to marry him after three years, which her cousin had happily accepted.

And now I'm their future kid's godmum, Pansy thought, a pit forming in her stomach at the notion.

She'd always enjoyed kids but had never really thought of herself as a mum. Or godmum, in this case.

The best she could pray to Merlin for was that nothing ever happened to Norah or Ollie, not that she wanted anything to, but the fact that those two trusted her enough to entrust her with the care of their child's life was almost laughable.

She could barely handle her own life going to hell, much less handle a newborn baby.

She shivered at the thought of anything happening and remembering how badly Norah had been hurt and suffered at Dolohov's hands, having to spend a couple of nights in St. Mungo's for observation once Ollie scared Antonin off that night.

She was lucky Dolohov hadn't had the same amount of time to try the same thing with her. Pansy knew she owed George—and everyone else involved who'd had to save her tonight, Ollie, Potter—her immense thanks. She wondered how she could even begin to make it up to them.

Once her breathing had evened out and her dizziness had subsided, for the most part, Pansy straightened and slid off the bed.

On the small wooden nightstand by her bed, there rested a care sheet left behind by Healer Jones, who, as it seemed given her otherwise empty room, couldn't be bothered to stick around and check on the welfare of his patient.

She shivered slightly as her bare feet hit the cold, hardwood floor, and she glanced around the room in search of her sandals, which someone, probably George, had kicked off her at some point when he'd carried her up here after she had passed out. She found them at the base of the bed and slipped on her shoes, taking a moment to smooth out the wrinkles in her simple long blue dress as she thought a change of clothes was in order. Dolohov had ripped her shirt in the skirmish anyways.

Once she had achieved some level of decency and overall satisfied with what she had to work with, which wasn't much, Pansy was drawn to the smell of what smelled like the most delicious batch of French onion and cheddar cheese soup she'd ever smelled, and the smell of warm baked barley bread melted with drizzled butter. Her stomach growled loudly in protest, demanding that she go in search of the delicious aroma and hope that whatever reception the rest of George's family would give her would be warm or at least courteous. Even still, a feeling of apprehension gave her pause.

What was going to be waiting for her once she opened that door and went downstairs and into the kitchen?

Won-Won in particular did not seem especially happy about this arrangement. She had a feeling or at least an inkling of hope in her chest that she could talk to Granger and Ginny at least and come to a mutual understanding with the girls but Won-Won was another matter entirely.

The way he'd looked at her outside when George had helped to get her here hadn't exactly been comforting.

She thought she'd have problems with Ron the most. And perhaps Harry too, though she hoped Potter would be willing to accept her apology for trying to sell him out. Or at least understand that her fear tended to manifest itself in the form of her mouth, something bound to get her in trouble one day and it almost had when she'd talked back to Dolohov.

Still, she tried to rationalize and tell herself, nothing was going to be accomplished if she held herself up here in George's room and flat-out refused to come out. No fear, she told herself, trying her best to be, or at least feel somewhat fearless. But there was a reason she'd been sorted into Slytherin House and not Gryffindor, the House of the brave Gryffindor lions and lionesses.

But this didn't mean that she was stupid, though. Before her courage and resolve could falter, Pansy snatched up her wand from the bedside table and slid it into its sheath that she always wore around her favorite brown leather belt, no matter if she were wearing pants, a skirt, or a dress, this was where she kept her wand when not in use, close to the body. Her hands shook as she secured it.

There was no bloody way she was facing Ronald Weasley and his vendetta against her without some form of protection from him if he decided to lash out.

Okay, Pan, you can do this. It's just a bunch of Weasleys, Potter, and Granger. And the whole lot of Death Eaters, whatever's left of them or at least Rookwood and Dolohov are after your arse, but you're going to be safe here. He promised. Nothing to worry about, Pan, right…..? Right. He told you so.

Pansy barely stifled a groan of despair and thumped her forehead against the door, once twice, three times. It didn't help. Why did she have to let her mind go there? No way. She wasn't going to think about navigating her way through this thick forest of problems, just a few trees standing in front. Just get past the trees, apologize to Potter and Won-Won.

Ron, she corrected herself internally, angrily, with gritted teeth. His name is Ron. Get used to saying it, she scolded herself. That was the first step. Apologize and go from there.

"Welcome to the Burrow, Pan, your new home," Pansy murmured incredulously, stepping forward and winding her slender fingers over the brass doorknob. "Ugh. I really am a stupid witch who never learns her place," she hissed through gritted teeth.

She took a sharp breath and before her nerves could falter and fail her, she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

GINNY pursed her lips into a thin line, her gaze constantly darting from her bowl of soup in front of her and to the empty chair sitting next to her that was supposed to be Parkinson's, assuming Draco's ex-girlfriend decided to come and join them.

She rolled her neck in the hopes of alleviating some of the tension there as her entire body had gone tense almost the moment Harry had surprised her and Hermione in the gardens where they were helping Mrs. Weasley de-gnome the vegetable patch again and had told her Parkinson was staying.

Just as she was rolling out her shoulders, a movement out of the corner of her eye drew the young redheaded witch's gaze. Standing in the kitchen doorway, unnoticed by Hermione or the rest of her family, save for George, was Parkinson herself. Her dark hair was severely disheveled from sleep and for a moment, Ginny was taken aback by how pretty she looked. Parkinson could have almost passed for a Lestrange with those long dark locks of hers, but unlike the witch Bellatrix, Pansy had always struck her as the type who took great care in her appearance and how she presented herself to the world.

But it's all just a front, Ginny thought, somewhat sadly, as she reflected on her father's words that he'd spoken to them. She thought she was beginning to understand why Parkinson had treated people not in Slytherin House and close to her so coldly throughout the years that they had all been in school together, she thought she could see why she kept people at bay.

Parkinson didn't want others to see that vulnerable side of herself. She pretended to be better than everyone else, or at least she had at one time, but internally, she was hurting, just like they all were.

Ginny sighed and shoveled a bite of soup in her mouth, cringing at the lukewarm taste, and took her time swallowing it as she tried to think of something to say to Pansy.

Ginny was at least pleased to see, if only for George's sake, that Parkinson was looking much better than she had earlier.

The dark circles underneath her eyes were becoming less pronounced, though there was no hiding the ugly splotches of purple and blue bruises littered along her collarbones, or her hell of a shiner of a black eye that Dolohov had given her, then. Ginny grimaced and tried to think of something to say, though she knew that no amount of makeup was going to cover that up.

Thankfully, her mum saved her the trouble of responding.

"Thank heavens, dearie, you're alright," Mrs. Weasley chirped up in a jovial and warm tone, waving her wand and conjuring another chair for Pansy to take her place at. "You must have slept rather nicely. Are you feeling any better at all, dear? Please, won't you come to sit down? You look like you could do with a good hot meal, and I've made a spot of tea when you're ready."

The witch stopped in mid-step as she took a step closer to the table, startled at being addressed by her mum, and nearly fell.

Mr. Weasley moved forward to help, but Pansy was able to straighten her gait just in time. Straightening herself, she shot Mr. Weasley a grateful expression and silently tried to thank her father with her eyes. It took her a moment to find her voice.

"Peachy," she snapped in a clipped one, her tone brisk, as she huffed in indignation and crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip to the side and tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I usually sleep great after nearly being assaulted and murdered," she growled in a low and rather sardonic voice.

Mum's smile fell almost instantly, and everyone gathered around the table instantly flinched in discomfort at her jab. Ginny could only watch as Mum bowed her head and looked away, shame marring its way onto Mum's lined and tired face.

Of course, she should have known it was going to take more than just a solid hour of sleep to make up for what had happened to her, the torment she'd suffered through Dolohov. An uncomfortable silence fell in the air and Ginny saw out of the corner of her lowered gaze both Harry and Hermione, even Dad, shoot Pansy severe looks of disapproval for how the witch had spoken to Mum just now.

"I—I'm sorry."

Ginny quickly looked up to see the witch gingerly rubbing the back of her neck nervously and toying with a lock of her hair.

"That was uncalled for." Pansy rubbed at her brow, her dark eyes narrowing in contemplative thought before she continued, a sheepish expression flitting its way across her face. "I guess I'm not really ah…back to my normal self just yet…I...I apologize."

"You always did have a mouth on you, Parkinson, you're worse than Norah when it comes to running it, Pan, but you're forgiven."

Ginny nearly jumped at the sheer proximity of the hoarse but cheerful voice that belonged to former Order member Ollie Brennan.

Turning around in her seat, she was admittedly shocked to find the handsome wizard standing in such proximity to her.

When did he get here? Ginny thought wildly to herself, wracking her brain and trying to remember, and coming up rather short. She wondered when Ollie and his wife, Norah, had gotten here, why she hadn't either the witch or wizard Apparate or come in, and what in the bloody hell had happened to Dolohov.

Tonks's former partner on the Auror task force looked like utter dragon shit.

The wizard's thick black hair was disheveled, matted, and tangled with dried and congealed blood. His face was pale, more so than usual, and he was sporting the last remnants of what looked like one nasty Stinging Jinx that looked to be loosening its hold over the poor wizard's skin above his brow.

The man's left arm suffered from a superficial gash that his wife continuously fussed over, as the gaping wound in his arm refused to stem its bleeding and no amount of gauze seemed to be able to quell it at all.

Ollie's bright blue eyes were soft and his expression kind as he looked around the room and shot a lopsided grin towards Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, with Molly rising to fetch Pansy's cousin more bandages and assist where she could, while Mr. Weasley hastily vacated his chair and bade the seasoned Auror to sit down, not liking how he swayed on his feet rather precariously, looking almost about to faint.

Norah, beside him, looking as always a vision of loveliness in her simple long green dress, was looking positively radiant, her normally pale skin harboring a slightly sun-kissed, almost amber look.

If Ginny squinted and looked closely enough, she thought she could see the hard little knot just above the area near Norah's naval that just barely gave away the early signs of the beautiful blonde Veela's pregnancy.

"Thanks," Ollie grunted painfully with a groan as he saw no other choice but to comply and took the now-vacant seat, Pansy doing the same.

Norah took the empty seat where Ron had previously been sitting, the blonde beautiful Veela brushing a wisp of her fringe out of her eyes and continued working, trying to create a tourniquet for his arm. "Something smells good, Molly. Onion soup?"

The dark-haired Legilmens and Auror turned hopefully towards the kitchen table, letting out a moan of satisfaction as Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and the pot of French onion cheddar soup warming on the cooker floated towards the table, hovering in mid-air just enough to allow Mrs. Weasley to pour both him and Norah a bowl of hot soup before the pot floated gracefully back to the table.

Pansy met her cousin's husband's gaze as he shoveled a bite of soup into his mouth, uncertainty clear in her dark eyes.

"Merlin's Beard, Ol, what happened?" she cried in despair, her voice shaking. "God, Ollie, you—you look like shit, he gave you one hell of a beating too?" Pansy moaned, her eyes making a quick scan of her cousin's husband, not sure she wanted to know the truth, but at the same time, she knew she had to find out. "Dolohov, Ollie, did you—did you catch him? Wh-where is he?" she asked nervously.

The wizard nodded through a mouthful of soup and bread, taking his time in chewing, and swallowing his bite of food before answering her.

"I did, though the vicious bastard didn't make it easy for me, as you can see," Ollie grunted as a dark shadow of rage flickered through his blue eyes as he gesticulated wildly to his various injuries with his free hand not currently being tended to by his pregnant wife.

Though his blue eyes took on a twinkling sheen as he looked to Norah and reached up and affectionately stroked his wife's cheek.

"Reckon I'm still good-looking enough for you to still keep me around though, aren't I, Mrs. Brennan?" he teased.

"Tch." Norah didn't fight the urge to roll her eyes. "You keep on telling yourself that, Ollie. You keep pressing your luck, hun, every time you come home like this, love," she snapped, her tone cold, though as she met her husband's gaze, as icy blue met crystalline blue waters, her expression softened.

Pansy instinctively stiffened as she thought she saw Brennan's eyes flick black, and her entire body went tense and rigid.

The man was an adult Obscurial, suffering from years of abuse at his wretched father's hand when he refused to follow in his father's footsteps and join the ranks of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters.

She sincerely hoped the man wasn't about to lose it and blow up the Burrow and them in it. Though thank Merlin Norah was here.

It seemed only her cousin's presence could, well, temper his temper, for lack of a better phrase. Only the gentle touch of the Veela's hand on his thigh and her other hand running through his black tresses seemed to calm him.

Just as quickly as the man's eyes flicked to black, his irises reverted to blue again, and the momentary danger had passed. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw George slump back in his seat, having half-risen from his chair once he saw it happen too.

Pansy exhaled a sigh of relief. She wondered if the news that he was going to become a father in the next seven months was slowly but surely mellowing him out, and he wasn't letting himself get so riled up to the point of losing control.

Ollie continued, either unaware of what had just happened or uncaring to mention it.

"He's back in a detention cell at the Ministry. I've got Runcorn looking out for him until pending a formal trial and competency hearing can be arranged by the Wizengamot. I'm hoping Runcorn can manage to get Dolohov to talk, to tell us where Rookwood is holed up like the snake that he is," Ollie quietly explained, his face grim. "It took six Imperius Curses for me to finally manage to subdue him." The thirty-four-year-old wizard slowly lifted his head and turned to study his wife's cousin methodically, the anger returning to his blue eyes once more. "Six," he whisper hissed as he clenched his teeth in anger and vexation.

Pansy slowly nodded her head at all of the information, though her mind felt as though it were reeling from everything.

"Will I have to attend his competency hearing?" she asked, feeling as though she already knew the answer.

She would most likely be compelled to and have to testify against him and give a recounting of Antonin's attack.

Ollie shot her an apologetic look and nodded. Pansy's heart clenched in fear and this time, George from across the table did rise.

"Is that really necessary, Mr. Brennan, sir?" he barked in incredulous disbelief and even rage, his face paling in anger and awe at this news as the wizard's brown eyes flicked from Ollie to Norah, though they lingered on the Auror's wife, as the Veela had more experience in dealing with the mentally unstable that came in through her doors of St. Mungo's and to her desk for treatment.

Norah grimaced, chewing on her bottom lip as she shot a pained and apologetic look towards Pansy first, and then returned her attention to George and hardened her expression in response to the younger red-haired wizard's sudden aggression.

The thirty-two-year-old responded curtly and tucked a wisp of her short blonde hair back behind the contour of her right ear.

"I'm afraid it is," she said in an apologetic tone, her expression grim as a graveyard. "The wizard physically attacked her, the Wizengamot needs Pan's memories to determine the appropriate sentence," she announced, slowly turning to look at her.

Pansy frowned as she thought over this news. She could not explain away the nagging feeling in her chest.

As she let herself collapse back against her chair, pushing her bowl of soup away, hot, and flavorful though it was delicious, she was no longer hungry. She wondered if she would be let in to see him if she asked her cousin's husband politely.

What she wanted was inappropriate perhaps but not illegal. Still, she was not his kin and there was a good chance that Minister Shacklebolt might be able to refuse her entry before the start of the trial if he did not want her to get in.

As she slowly lifted her gaze, she thought she saw Ollie stiffen, his posture straightening in his chair, a muscle in the handsome wizard's jaw tighten as he dunked his slice of bread in the cheddar French onion soup broth.

She flinched, hoping her discomfort wasn't obvious, though as a Legilimens, he'd probably read her mind whether he'd been meaning to or not, the natural he was.

"Could I ask you for a huge favor, Ol?" she told the Brennans, and both Norah and Ollie looked at her with weary expressions on their faces. "Before the trial, could I see him? I—I want to get into Dolohov's room, I need to talk to Antonin," she said.

Both Norah and Ollie looked at Pansy as though she had lost her bloody mind, so did the rest of the table for that matter, and for all Pansy knew, she probably had.

George frowned as his brows retreated to his hairline. "Are you serious?" he snapped, almost sounding angry with her.

"Yes," Pansy answered, her response clumsy and blunt. "I—I need to…to talk to him. I don't know when else I'll have the chance to. I need to know he…wants me so badly. I think there's more than what he told me in my flat when he...when he hit me," she finished lamely, biting down on her bottom lip and suddenly averting George's piercing gaze, though she felt his intense stare.

Norah looked more than pleased to help out her baby cousin, while her husband, Ollie, the brilliant wizard the man was, seemed to be in tune with Pansy's thoughts somehow, or maybe something more primal than that. Ollie's intense gaze made Pansy feel like the wizard was looking for a certain quality in his wife's cousin that she didn't happen to possess.

To be found lacking in whatever it was that he appeared to be searching her face for almost made Pansy want to look away in shame, but she held her ground.

"Alright," Ollie agreed after several long moments of contemplation as he ran a hand down along his face. "I trust you, Pan, but please don't make me regret this. You have no idea the sort of inquiry I could face with Kingsley if I get caught, and I'm not willing to lose my job over this, Pan, not even for you." He sighed, slumping his shoulders and leaning forward, resting his hand on the flat of his wife's still-mostly flat abdomen. "These days, I've got too much on the line, Pan. I'll get you in to see him. Five minutes is the best that I can do for you, will that be enough time to do..." he paused and gestured to her with his uninjured arm, "whatever it is that's going on in that brain of yours, Pansy?"

"Thank you, Ollie. I think five minutes is all that I'm going to be needing, mate." Pansy breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders loosening a little at all of the tension she'd been carrying there and not even realizing it. "Could we go tomorrow around six? I...I could Floo to your place if that's alright. I'll be off from work for a few days while my arm heals," she sighed, glancing down at her wrist that was heavily bandaged in both gauze and her arm in a bright blue sling that the Healer insisted she wore until it healed.

"That'll work," Norah replied brightly.

Ollie looked as though he continued to have his doubts, though before the Auror could say a word, George's voice cut through the air.

"Pansy, could I speak to you in the living room? Alone," he growled through gritted teeth, causing Pansy to look up at him in surprise.

She was sure that she looked shocked, but less so than she expected, and quickly nodded her head in agreement, rising to her chair, and made to follow George out of the kitchen and towards his parents' living room.

Though before she fully left the kitchen, she remembered her courtesies and paused, a hand on the open doorframe to steady herself. Pansy peeked back over her shoulder and eyed the group at the table. She spoke first to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Thank you, mum, and Mr. Weasley, sir, for your kindness in letting me stay here, and the dinner. If there's anything I can do to help out around here while I'm here, I hope that you'll keep that in mind and let me know." She smiled softly to herself as George's parents nodded eagerly. She hoped that she could find a way to make herself useful.

She breathed out a shuddering breath and spoke to Potter next.

"Harry. Er...I'm…sorry…for what happened in the Great Hall, Potter. My-my mouth runs away from me sometimes. I-it was my fear manifesting itself and caused me to say what I did, I…didn't mean it. For any of this. I'm sorry I was such a huge bitch to you lot in school. I know there's no excuse for my actions, how I behaved back then, but I'd like to put it behind us and start over if you lot will let me at least have a chance to try and prove myself."

Harry looked a little bit shocked but less so than he expected to be, thinking that this was similar to when his cousin Dudley had apologized or had come close to, by not calling him a waste of space.

It was as close to an apology as he would ever likely get from his cousin, and now, to hear Pansy Parkinson apologize to them, felt like a breath of fresh air. A hesitant smile crossed his features as he nodded.

"I forgive you."

Pansy then looked towards Hermione and Ginny. Hermione quietly nodded, and echoed Harry's sentiments, while Ginny curiously eyed Pansy out of the corner of one deep brown orb and pursed her lips.

It took Ginny several moments to find her voice. "I forgive you too. If only to stop you from hurting yourself, but if you hurt George if you break his heart, then I break your face," she threatened.

"Ginny! Apologize for that this instant! If I hear you talk like that one more time to Miss Parkinson, then I'll jinx your mouth shut," Mrs. Weasley warned from the stovetop as she was busy putting the finishing touches on a pan of chocolate brownies that had just come out, the scent making everyone's mouths water.

Pansy, much to everyone's surprise held up her hand.

"It's alright, Mrs. Weasley, I'm not offended," Pansy quietly murmured in what she hoped was a soothing voice and threw back her curly head and laughed, openly and boisterous, beginning to sound like her old self again. "I don't blame you for acting this way, Weasley, I know he's your brother. I hope you know that I don't want to hurt him."

Ginny's expression shifted only slightly, one of her eyes giving a spasmodic little twitch. She parted her lips to speak, but before she could say a word, George called for Pansy, sounding impatient and rather irate.

As Pansy began to pass by her spot, Ginny inexplicably felt the impulse to make up for all the trouble and bad history between them. She could tell out of the corner of her eyes Hermione felt the same.

There wasn't much she could do, really, but that had never stopped Ginny from trying to try. She rose from her chair.

"Wait!" The words were out of her mouth before Ginny even had the chance to consider them. "Wait for a second, Parkinson."

"Huh?" Pansy faltered in her steps and turned to look at Ginny, her expression suddenly puzzled and uncertain. Even wary. "What is it?"

She gaped as Ginny exchanged a knowing little smirk with Hermione, who dug into the main compartment of her little beaded bag at her hip and withdrew her hand, holding out a small ornate jeweled comb.

The perfect sort of comb for someone like Hermione who had thick curly hair. However, Pansy merely frowned at the offer that now rested idle and outstretched in the palm of Hermione's hand, making no move to take it. When she'd woken up and come downstairs, she didn't even realize that her hair was such a tangled miss. Hermione's smile only widened as she pointed to Pansy's hair.

She leaned forward and whispered to Pansy softly, "You forgot to comb out your hair, Parkinson. Trust me, I know all about it," she said, her tone holding only a slightly teasing mocking lilt to her voice.

Immediately, Pansy's face drained of color as her hand shot to her disheveled hair and upon finding it in wild disarray, flinched. Her face reddened in embarrassment, and she was quick to take the comb from Hermione.

"Er, thanks, ah…Hermione, I'd…forgotten," Pansy awkwardly stammered, her dry tongue suddenly feeling thick in her mouth.

Ginny was the one to shake her head, dismissing Parkinson's thanks, though she was secretly glad that her and Hermione's peace offering hadn't been rejected. Perhaps there was hope for Pansy yet.

"It's alright. But you don't wanna keep George waiting."

Pansy furrowed her brows into a thoughtful frown. "I'll try to remember that," Pansy murmured with a quick nod of her head.

Then she turned on her heels and made her way into the Weasleys' living room, hoping that George wasn't too angry with her...