CHAPTER 11

PANSY tried her hardest not to shiver as she sat on the sofa in the Weasley's sitting room, feeling grateful, at least, if nothing else, the rest of the lot in the kitchen had the good sense to bugger off and do…whatever it is his family did in the evenings after supper. She did not want anyone listening in to their conversation. Not wanting to keep George waiting, she took a seat after seeing him motion with a curt wave of his arm towards the sofa, but only after he noticed in turn how it was still a struggle for her to remain standing as she was still very physically weak and suffering from Dolohov's attempted attack.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione and Ginny exchange somewhat worried glances with her before seeming at least a little bit satisfied that Pansy could handle George.

It was only when Pansy cocked her head to the side and tried to shoot the other witches a reassuring little smile that they took that as their cue to leave the kitchen and made to follow Harry outside. Presumably, it was to find Ron and try to talk some sense into him, as everyone knew he was behaving like a downright mental git, though no one would voice it at all.

She sighed once the girls filed out of the house, and Norah and Ollie helped Mr. and Mrs. Weasley clean up dinner, though she had to let herself smile as she already heard Mrs. Weasley fussing over Norah and her pregnancy, insisting that they take the leftover pot of soup and bread loaf home with them, of which Ollie was only too happy to oblige, living for Mrs. Weasley's cooking since Norah couldn't cook to save her life. Once the Brennan's left, escorted outside onto the front steps of the Burrow by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the loud reverberating crack of the couple Disapparating filling the air and Pansy knew her cousin and her husband were truly gone, did she feel comfortable enough to turn back to face George.

Despite the warmth of the flames now dancing lazily in the hearth as though the fire in the fireplace had been lit for hours, when in actuality, George had lit it with his wand not even two minutes ago, Pansy didn't feel warm at all. Or comfortable. Far from it. If anything, she felt…cold. She couldn't help but clutch at herself and tried her hardest not to shiver as she gritted her teeth, winding an Afghan blanket that was draped over the back cushions of the sofa over her shoulders for warmth.

Her hands were wound over that cup of tea that Mrs. Weasley had promised her, Chamomile laced with a Calming Draught that the Healer had prescribed to her.

It was clear from the uncharacteristically stern expression on George's face as he stood stiff in front of the hearth that he fully expected her to drink every last drop. His profile was turned to the side, making it impossible for Pansy to tell what it was he might be thinking.

But she could tell by the way he seemed to be averting his gaze, that there was something on his mind.

Something was gravely troubling him, angering him, even. He'd not spoken of his anger back in the kitchen in front of everyone else at the table, but the fact that he'd balked when Pansy had asked to be let in to see Dolohov once before he was transferred to Azkaban Prison, hopefully for the rest of his life, alongside Rookwood, when and if they found Augustus, spoke volumes to Pansy now.

She could see the anger brimming in his dark eyes, and it was enough to cause her to try not to shiver while waiting with gritted teeth for George to turn and face her.

Pansy wanted this, whatever 'this' was for her, to be over with, for her to take whatever it was George thought she needed to hear, before retreating up the stairwell and into the safety of the bedroom that was temporarily hers and stay there and sleep off how she felt.

Unable to stand how loud her thoughts were in the silence, she compromised by drinking the cup of tea George's mum had made for her instead. She was halfway through her cup of tea when she decided she could not take another drop of the sweetness. Honestly, it was a miracle of bloody Merlin Himself that she'd not somehow managed to attractively vomit it all back up. Pansy had always had a sweet tooth growing up, with a fondness for chocolate especially, but this sugar Mrs. Weasley must have slipped in her drink to disguise the potion was entirely too much for Pansy's stomach to take. She pulled a face of disgust and looked pleadingly up at George with questioning eyes, hoping he'd turn around.

"Merlin's Beard," she spluttered, trying not to cough as the thick beverage sloshed its way down her throat. "No offense to your mum, George, but how much sugar did she put in here, a full tin's worth?" she snapped, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight little pout.

Were this any other circumstance, George might have found adorable, and perhaps a part of him still did, but her little lip outs and batting those long eyelashes weren't enough to get him to let up on this.

He would not take any chances with her health, and he dreaded the conversation he knew they were about to have, but he could not abide by his newest employee making choices that were so self-destructive. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy take another sip unwillingly, flinching as the too-sweet liquid sloshed past her throat.

"I'm sorry, Pan," he apologized, though he flinched as he realized his tone did not exactly sound sorry at all, but instead, he sounded frustrated with her. Squeezing his eyes shut in regret, he breathed out a long and slow exhale through his nose, willing his anger with her to cool a little bit before he tried again. "I know it's probably not the best, but Mum and the Healer said it will help you." He turned to face her finally, from the corner of his lowered gaze, though he felt the witch's piercing dark brown eyes on him.

"If it helps, maybe you could think about how lucky you were that Harry, Ollie, and I found you before that—that bastard could do anything worse. After all, Umbridge told me that you've survived way harsher things than just a stupid cup of tea," George remarked.

He straightened his gait as he looked at her. He was unable to keep the edge from seeping its way unbidden to his voice's surface, but there was a part of him that did not want to hide it from her.

Not anymore. If she was going to allow him to take her to dinner on Friday and get to know her better as a person outside of work, then she was going to have to get used to seeing all of him.

Even when he was feeling in one of his worst moods.

Pansy frowned, feeling her shoulders slump in defeat.

Well. When Weasley puts it that way, he DOES have a point, damn him….

The notion still did not sit well with her that George had been one of the ones to come to her rescue made her cheeks flush in shame. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushions.

Pansy opened them after a moment of realizing he was still watching her, she felt the intensity of it and wasn't wrong. She found George eyeing her with a kernel of mistrust in his dark brown eyes, as though he doubted that she was going to finish her Calming Draught. Her blush darkened a shade further as she nodded, turning her head to the side, and coughing once to clear her throat.

"I—I'm going to finish it, George, b-but…it's the sweetness, whatever sugar your mum slipped in here, it's way too much." Pansy hesitated as she awkwardly traced the line of her neck, wincing at the bruises that she felt there. "The sugar is thickening my throat. I don't think I can drink it all in one go, but I'll finish it." She frowned seeing George nod his approval. "But I don't think you called me in here alone just to make sure I drink this," she sighed, setting her cup of tea down on its saucer on the coffee table.

"No, you're right. I—I wanted to talk to you," he admitted, his voice escaping him as a lowly little growl, disgruntlement in his tone.

Pansy waited with bated breath, nervously fidgeting with a lock of her hair as she took a curl in between her thumb and forefinger to twirl it, her eyes making a quick scan of the cluttered living room while she waited impatiently for George Weasley to collect his thoughts.

The place could use a good cleaning, she thought, the beginnings of an idea sparking in the back of her mind at how she could repay both his parents for their hospitality in letting her stay through the summer and George for the man's kindness, though she would need some help for the idea, a truly ingenious idea if she could pull it off, that was beginning to take root in her mind now.

She returned her attention to the more important matter at hand and tried to pay attention to George. It did not escape her intuitive attention that he was looking utterly exhausted, the pale skin underneath his eyes dark and sallow. This at least, he had in common with her if she learned they weren't sleeping, but he also wasn't the one sporting one hell of a black eye, either.

After several minutes of an excruciatingly uncomfortable silence that lingered in the living room, George finally, by some miracle of Merlin, managed to find his voice and spoke to her.

"Why?" he asked in a tone she could only describe as a growl.

She was not anticipating the question and it caught her off-guard.

"What?" Pansy exclaimed sourly, wishing George would just cut to the chase and get to the heart of whatever it was that bothered him. "Why what? I—I don't understand, so—so help me to," she begged.

George turned and regarded Pansy with such a quiet trepidation that it was all the brunette witch could do not to squirm in her seat. She was barely resisting the urge to dig her long fingernails into the skin of her palms as it was, though at this rate, with how Weasley was looking at her, she would welcome the pain.

"Why do you want to see Dolohov so badly, Pan, I…after what he did to you?" He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "You'd willingly and seriously put yourself through the torment of seeing him again, after…all of that? I want to know why," he told her, still watching Pansy warily as dread began to dawn on the witch's face.

His voice was strangely coarse and rough-sounding which, oddly enough, made Pansy feel a little bit more at ease about this new situation she now found herself in. It gave the wizard a tangible sense of vulnerability which up to this point in this very much one-sided conversation, he had been lacking. Realization hit her squarely in the gut as she realized that Weasley was worried about her well-being.

"I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," she shot back.

The agitation he was currently feeling had George's lips curling back from his teeth as he rolled his eyes and shook his head at his newest employee's antics.

"This—this isn't a negotiation, Parkinson, we're not at work. I need you to tell me why."

Steadily lifting her gaze and raising her chin defiantly at him, Pansy was not about to be swayed. "Questions for questions, George. Turnabout is fair play, Weasley, don't you think?" she challenged.

Though he didn't look at all happy about it, he nodded his agreement all the same. "Fine. Then you answer my question first. Why?" he repeated, spitting the word out through clenched teeth.

Pansy's expression shifted only slightly as she chewed on her bottom lip. She straightened her back and shakily rose to her feet, though she still clutched the blanket draped around her shoulders tightly around herself, as though it were a shawl, and took a hesitant step forward.

She looked away from George for a moment, as though embarrassed, though she was grateful he thought better of saying something when he clamped his lips shut.

Well, of course, he would ask that, what else had she been thinking that the wizard would say?

She knew she wanted closure, but no other answer would come up. Pansy thought for a moment and returned her gaze to the man in front of her. She blew out a shaking breath and began to explain the reason for her insistence, something she'd not even told Norah and Ollie, though as Ollie was an Auror, she suspected he knew, the man was smart enough not to broach the subject at all.

"Dolohov tortured my parents, George," she whispered, her voice cracking as she confessed the hard truth she had tried so hard to distance herself from since her parents' death. "The Dark Lord was there, so was Dolohov. He—he gave Dolohov the go-ahead to torture them and told him not to stop until he gave the order. He…obliged."

"I…" George trailed off, unable to look away from her penetrating gaze. Dolohov was the last person he wanted Pansy even remotely close to going forward, not after whatever hellish torture he'd inflicted on her. But as he continued to meet her gaze, her expression softened somewhat and was now set in a look of soft determination and her dark eyes held a pleading behind them that he'd never seen before.

George felt his heart tighten and constrict in a painful struggle, unwilling to give in for fear that Dolohov, even under guard tomorrow morning as he was bound to be, would still find a way to hurt her again.

His mind couldn't help but flit through the few possibilities, unlikely though they were, that could happen if he let Pansy go with an escort or not. Yet, even now, he did not think he could deny her what was within his ability to give, if only to see her smile.

He sighed and raked a hand through his thick tuft of fiery red hair and turned away for a moment.

"Fine. But I'm coming into the room with you. It's not up for debate. And as for earlier, since we're on the topic of Dolohov, why didn't you call for help?" He turned pleading eyes to Pansy.

Pansy grimaced and shot the wizard a guilty look, all the while not to squirm where she stood.

It wasn't exactly the turn she had expected their conversation to take quite just yet, and as a result, she was ill-prepared to offer a response.

"I…" Pansy stammered as her breaths caught in her throat as she looked at him. The shattered pieces of her already broken heart turned to dust in her chest as she saw the hurt and anger and a myriad of other emotions she could not identify now causing George Weasley's dark eyes to glisten.

She frowned at the intensity of his gaze, her eyes lingering on the scar that now snaked its way diagonally across the poor man's brow, that perhaps another few rounds of a poultice made from Dittany leaves would lessen the scarring, but nothing would take the marking away completely, and more to the point, George might not even want it to heal up all the way.

There was a chance he would choose to keep it as a physical reminder of what he'd gone through, to never forget what was important. But why did she feel the need to reach up and touch his scar, and kiss his forehead, to do something, anything, to thank him? He'd saved her life, and she knew she did not want to come across as ungrateful to him. She watched him withdraw his wand from around his waist and set it on the mantlepiece. For a moment, she was startled at how similar their wands looked.

And more to the point, almost how…right they would look, alongside one another if she were to take her wand and set it by his. The room was dark and lit only by the fire in the room. She felt him staring at her, his eyes burning brighter than flame, and remembered she owed him a reply.

"I'm sorry I didn't call for you. I thought I could handle it, I…didn't count on Antonin Dolohov being in my stupid fucking flat, George. He, uh…caught me by surprise, I—I guess. I panicked," she stammered quickly.

George stopped dead in his tracks, his stare threatening to rip a hole right through Pansy, making her squirm in sudden discomfort.

"Do you even realize what could have happened to you tonight? You need to alert someone the next time he or anybody else you think might hurt you shows up. I don't want to see you get hurt, and you being tracked by not one but two of those arseholes is way more serious of a threat than I think you're aware of, Pan," he sighed.

Pansy clenched her jaw and her fists and did not flinch. "Oh, I'm more than aware, Weasley, I don't need you to tell me what I almost didn't escape," she answered in a clipped tone. "I'm sorry that you and Ollie and Potter had to come and save me. It's not going to happen again since I don't plan to go anywhere alone going forward, and even if I wanted to, I don't think you'd let that happen." Her voice cracked, her words tasting bitter on her tongue. "I…shit, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, George, and all on my first day of work. Fuck, you—you must think I'm a right mental bint, don't you? A sad sack of shit who can't even handle one lousy fucking intruder in her own home," she hissed through gritted teeth, turning her head away and tightly squeezing her eyes shut. She was almost afraid to turn around and fully look Weasley in the eye, afraid to see the hurt and caring and affection she thought she saw brimming there. For she knew she did not deserve the wizard's affections. "I'm…grateful that you saved me, George. I won't forget it, and I…think I know of a good way to pay back the favor," she said.

She let her mind drift for a moment to the plan ruminating in her mind, a way to express her gratitude to the entire Wesley family for what they were giving her, but especially George. Out of the corner of her lowered gaze, she saw George vehemently shake his head, sending her words away.

"You don't owe me anything, Pansy, and I don't want anything from you, except to let me take you to dinner on Friday as I asked. And to not be afraid to ask for help."

He paused, clearly taken aback by her words.

Pansy let them hang in the air for a moment, before deciding that she couldn't take it anymore.

"My turn to ask a question, George," she blurted out before George could say anything.

She wearily closed her eyes, not even sure how to get the question out that was burning on the tip of her tongue. A part of her wasn't even sure she wanted to know the answer but knew she'd hate herself if she didn't learn the truth. She blew out a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes, lifting her chin and jutting it out slightly defiantly to look at him.

Here it goes, Pan. Play it safe or all in, it's now or never.

"Why do you want to go out with me?" she asked, her words clumsy and blunt, and in her current emotional state, they almost sounded accusatory and harsh. She flinched and softened her look.

George tried to hide his shock, but it was too late. Pansy could only watch as all the blood drained from his face. She'd caught the man off guard by the question she had just posed to him.

"I…uh…because…the…the alternative is unthinkable," he stammered, with another run of his hand through his thick hair, after a rather long pause as he thought over the right thing to say to Pansy.

Pansy drew in a sharp breath and held it. Whatever it was that she had been expecting him to say this was…admittedly not it.

A hesitant smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she let loose a crooked little half-grin.

"Okay," she grinned, her voice escaping her sounding rather breathless, and for a moment, she was.

George had always been the quieter of the twins, more reserved than Fred, but his words spoken to her just now was poetry. And to think, she had almost thrown all of it away, simply due to fear.

Encouraged, she continued.

"Our dinner date. What about Friday? If—if my manager lets me have it off," she stammered, suddenly shy, and lowered her gaze to the floorboards beneath her feet.

A twinkling sheen appeared in the mischievous wizard's dark brown eyes, a look Pansy decided right off the bat she liked more of and wanted to see again.

"Oh, he will," he reassured her, a mocking lilt to his tone that was meant in jest. "I have pull at your job, Parkinson, believe it or not. I'll put in a good word for you, your boss will be putty in my hands once he hears you've got a date, Pansy, though expect Verity to demand copious details over lunch on Monday."

Her smile widened, enjoying the banter and how more relaxed and at ease she was becoming.

It felt…natural, in a way that it never quite had with Draco. It felt surreal, almost in a way, to be sharing such a connection with him.

"Where should we go?" she asked, her mind reeling with a dozen different possibilities of where he could take her.

To her pleasant surprise, George shrugged his shoulders and shot her a lopsided white grin that sent her heart careening against her ribcage so damned audibly loud, for a moment, the witch was afraid the wizard heard.

But if he did, George gave no indication, for which she was grateful, saving her any further embarrassment.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked her bluntly. "I—I want you to have a good time on Friday, Pan, if I can call you that?" he asked, a note of hesitancy and doubt creeping its way into his voice.

Only when Pansy nodded and softly smiled at George did he continue speaking.

"I want you to be happy. I'd see you smile around me, just once. The world could do with a few more smiles, especially pretty ones from a beautiful witch like you," he admitted.

The blush that speckled her cheeks at hearing his words seared her cheeks hotter than any dragon fire could. The edges of her mouth tugged even wider into an amused smile, pleased that he was going to all this effort, and for someone the likes of her when she didn't deserve it. She leaned forward and had to lean up onto her tiptoes to whisper it in the shell of his right ear.

"I'm partial to Italian," she whispered, hardly daring to believe the words that were now coming out of both their mouths. Pansy took a few steps back away from George, albeit reluctantly so, and glanced at the Weasley family's clock.

She was a bit alarmed at seeing such a strange clock, with their various faces pointing at different fates for each. Though she shook off the worst of her surprise when she finally managed to notice the time and saw the hour. The smile George graced her with just then was genuine and it was a look that Pansy knew she would cherish.

"We agree then on more than what constitutes a good joke," he teased, though he saw where her gaze was drawn to and cocked his head, the furrow of concern between his brows deepening as he looked at her. "I think you should probably get some rest now. You're still healing, and if we're going to be waking up early to meet Ollie, then you should sleep, something tells me you need it," he blurted out, trying not to cringe as his gaze lingered on the bruises that littered the area of skin near her collarbones and neck and to say nothing of the hell of a black eye she was sporting. He was grateful Verity would be able to pick up the slack for the next couple of days while Pansy stayed here with Mum and Dad to heal.

There was no way she'd be able to greet customers like this. Not without people asking questions, if she was alright, questions he had an inkling in his heart that he knew Pansy would loathe.

Pansy stepped forward, surprised to find her legs still a bit wobbly. Her equilibrium still hadn't quite come back. The unexpected jolt to her senses caused her to stagger backward.

She groped for the armrest of the sofa she had previously situated herself in and would have fallen too, had George not moved forward with alarmingly fast speed that surprised even him, she could see it in the wizard's eyes, and his hand wound around her arm as he pulled her forward.

No longer thinking nor giving a damn how it looked, considering how his whole family knew of his interest in Parkinson, he took her hand and pulled her closer, so the witch was flush against his broad chest. He almost laughed quietly to himself as he thought he heard her squeak in surprise as she stumbled a bit but managed to refrain.

Pansy looked up at him and George was taken aback by the witch's arduous gaze.

Without any semblance of hesitation, he stared right back. Their gazes held each other for perhaps longer than should have been comfortable, but neither one wanted to break away as if looking away would steal something precious that they knew neither of them would ever have again.

Something far too precious for them to take so lightly.

Pansy felt her body lean further into him, surprising even herself with a former boldness she'd only ever exhibited around Draco. She wanted to feel his lips move in sync with hers in a kiss. She almost felt the man's hands begin to caress her body. She did not shy away in hesitation.

She wanted it. Wanted him. Her brain felt like it was reeling, trying to determine when it might have formed within her that she had begun to desire Weasley romantically like this.

Had it been earlier tonight when he'd saved her life? Maybe, there was a part of her that always had, though something, or rather someone, had always blinded her to the strange wistful looks George would shoot her during classes when Fred's twin mistakenly thought she wasn't looking. But she was.

She was sure she'd never felt so thrilled and terrified at the same time.

They'd gone their separate ways in school, he fawned over Angelina Johnson, though Johnson had always been Fred's, and she'd dated Draco. She choked back Malfoy's memory, not wanting to think of him. He didn't deserve to be in her memory with how badly he had hurt her that day that he ripped her heart from her chest when he'd ended things between them.

And now, here she was, with Weasley of all people, with him holding her hand, her other hand not engulfed in his now splayed across his chest and clutching at a fistful of his dark green sweater for support. For perhaps the first time, Pansy thought it might truly be possible to leave Draco Malfoy behind in the past. She wondered if there was a chance for her to be happy with George Weasley.

Now, she could give herself up to him freely. Pansy felt shocked by how much she wanted to do just that. At the same time, her heart fluttered with new and exciting possibilities, her mind screamed at her and appealed to her cautious nature. What on Merlin's green earth was she bloody thinking?

She'd given herself to Draco once, and he'd as good as killed her. Pansy wished she could tell herself what was wrong.

Even still, George Weasley was about as different from Draco Malfoy as daytime was to the nighttime, and she highly doubted George would ever hurt her the way that Draco had.

However, the thought of letting another wizard into her life terrified her. She already allowed herself to be too vulnerable. She didn't want to be made such a fool of again. As she came back to her senses, she shook her head to herself and let out a frustrated sigh, and ripped apart from George's embrace as she took a staggering step backward.

"I uh…I—it's getting late, and well….we should…get some sleep. Thank you, George, for—for agreeing to come with me and Ollie tomorrow. Having someone there with me will help. And…for dinner on Friday," she whispered shyly, wishing she didn't suddenly feel so conflicted about her growing feelings.

Maybe tomorrow, if she could get her mate alone, Ollie might have a few words of wisdom for her, considering he and Norah had been married Merlin knew how long and still going as strong as the day they met. Well over ten years, she knew. She sighed and looked towards George hesitantly.

He looked surprised at the shift in her attitude, but he did not protest nor try to hold on.

He thought she'd come to him when she was good and ready and he would not force her.

"You should sleep. I don't want to have to come into your room tomorrow and sic our family's ghoul on you," he teased. "He's still got the boils from when we transfigured him to look like Ron suffering from a bad case of Spattergroit when the Ministry sent a couple of wankers to the house to check on him, to see why he wasn't enrolled in school," George lightly joked.

Pansy laughed and turned her head away as she began to head towards the doorway, feeling exhaustion begin to take hold of her. She was almost surprised by how disappointed she felt in herself for not summoning up the courage to kiss him.

But not yet, she tried to tell herself. When the moment was right, she thought she would know it.

Soon, she promised herself. On Friday, assuming their dinner went well, then she'd collect that kiss.

"Goodnight, George. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Pan," he murmured in a soft, husky tone.

He did not see her smile to herself as she turned around and headed up the stairs to her room. She thought as she collapsed onto the mattress without bothering to change into her pyjamas that she'd be facing another long sleepless night.

But it came for her anyways and swept her off into a blissful state, her first in weeks. Perhaps even months. That night, she didn't dream of Mother and Father, or even seeing Dolohov's face or Draco's.

She dreamt of George.

UNKNOWN to Pansy, she was not the only one questioning both of actions even as she slept. George lingered in the upstairs hallway for Merlin only knew how long, watching her sleep peacefully. He was quickly realizing that the witch was so much more than her idiotic parents would have her think about herself and was too much for any witch or wizard in her life. But she was not too much for him.

A little coaxing and the witch would see it too, that he was the only one who possibly matched her. He was certain of it. He frowned as he stalked towards the kitchen, needing a glass of water to quench his sudden thirst. He reflected on their conversation before he asked her to dinner. He'd not liked being so harsh with his words, but Pansy needed to understand that he was not going to tolerate her attempting to play the part of a hero and getting herself into situations as she had done this evening.

Yes, he was angry with Pansy for what had happened, and not because he wanted to be, or because it was so easy to be when she would experience the occasional solar flare of her burning temper, likely inherited from her father growing up. Pansy did not deserve to have him angry with her, he knew that.

He wasn't stupid. He was upset because he had felt so much fear and uncertainty for the witch that he was honestly offended that Pansy did not seem to care about her well-being as much as he was starting to. It bothered him more than he could put into words.

George was ashamed to admit to himself that he had not thought much of the witch upon sitting through their first class together in his third year, but he saw her worth now, and he was not about to stand for Pansy making choices with her own life that were so self-destructive and stupid.

George had thought for a moment when he'd forced his way into the entryway of her bedroom in her loft, that Pansy may have been killed, that perhaps he had been too late to save yet another person in his life who had attempted to get close to him. George thought he was not soon to forget the horrible sickening feeling he had experienced when he'd first laid eyes on her.

That sinking, cold feeling that Pansy would never take another breath again, would never look at him with those dark brown eyes that held him ensnared, and the witch wasn't aware of the effect she was having on him. At least, not that he knew of.

It was a terrible, crushing, dreadful feeling, wondering if Parkinson, as prickly and damaged as she was, but kind-hearted and loyal almost to a fault, could have met such a violent end.

George was not angry with Pansy for any other reason for the fact that she'd scared him so much.

That was a fear he never wanted to face again and he thought that to save her, he could do anything...