CHAPTER 20
FOR the second time in the short span of an hour, George found Pansy outside on his parent's front porch, her arms wound tightly around her middle. His new girlfriend seemed to be trying to shrink into her borrowed cardigan as much as she could for warmth, watching the horizon for any sign of her family's safe return, trying to collect her thoughts. George, as much as he wanted to approach, recognized that Pansy needed time, and respectfully stayed close, but at the same time, kept his distance.
George was barely aware of Ron coming up to stand beside him and speaking to him. His voice was faint.
"Here, mate, Mum thought you'd like a cup of something hot, she says it's hot apple cider, I guess," Ron muttered, holding out a steaming mug of tea for George to take.
George accepted it with a mumbled thanks under his breath, not bothering to take his gaze away from Pansy.
Her back was paraded to him, and she never tore her gaze away from the horizon, always watching, waiting, hoping that Ollie and Norah would return. His arms ached to hold her. He longed to go to her and gather the whole of the witch in his arms and not let her go, but George could tell by her stance that she wanted space.
Verity had been taken to St. Mungo's by their father via the Floo Network, who returned within twenty minutes to inform them that George's assistant would make a full recovery, though the Healers wished to keep her in the institution for a few days for observation. At their earliest convenience, Verity hoped to see Pansy and George.
Both of them promised they'd be there after she'd been allowed to rest. Mr. Weasley had assented to Pansy's request that he sent a Patronus back by way of reply, and then Pansy had then come out here to the porch, to wait, refusing to come inside. George remained outside, wanting to keep an eye on her.
But he was ripped from his thoughts of where their relationship was going when his brother spoke up.
"I don't think I've seen you like this before, George, mate," Ron acknowledged with a lopsided little grin, though to George, his brother's smile looked forced. Strained.
He could see Ron's cheeks' reluctance to be molded so falsely into a grin that he felt wasn't genuine. George was too preoccupied in his silent observations of his new girlfriend to take a sip of his piping hot cider.
"I've never…had a steady girl before," George answered softly without looking away.
Ron raised an eyebrow at him, the many witches that had fawned over him and Fred during their school days running through his mind.
George furrowed his brows as he noticed his younger brother's questioning posture. He knew Ron's thoughts that his expression betrayed.
"Not a real one, anyways, and not quite like this," he clarified, stumbling over his words a bit as he struggled to correct his words. George's dark eyes grew distant for a moment. "Freddie had Angelina starting in our fourth year, and I never…found someone else quite like he did when he started dating her," he lamented, lowering his voice so that only Ron heard.
Ron nodded, also remembering the memories he knew that George would rather not think about, and tried to steer the ship of their conversation in a new direction. Then George's eyes grew soft with a horrible bitterness that Ron secretly hoped never to see in his brother's eyes ever again, and his hopeful expression dimmed. He stood still and quiet for a long while, staring at Pansy, who was as still and unmoved as a statue, and silent as an owl.
When he finally found his voice again, the seriousness of George's voice chilled Ron to his very core.
"I should go back," George said in quite a plain tone.
"What? Why? Georgie, you can't, mate, do you even hear what you're saying? Let Ollie handle that bastard git, mate," Ron demanded, his face becoming crestfallen.
George looked up sternly at his younger brother, thinking that Ron was in no place to tell him what to do, and held Ron in his intense stare until Ron squirmed uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.
"You know why," he snapped back coldly. "If something's happened to her family, what's left of them, then Pan isn't safe. Not even here." He voiced what Ron and the rest of their family already feared, though no one would come outright and say it, so he knew it would be up to him.
Ron nodded deliberately, understanding.
"You'd, what, try to kill Lestrange if the bloke's still alive, or—or what? I don't understand what your plan is here, Georgie, so help me too," Ron softly acknowledged, begging him, still staring at George wide-eyed and in disbelief.
Ron was eyeing George warily, almost as if George had sprouted antlers or perhaps grown an extra head, in shock, and perhaps he had, or perhaps he was going mad, it was hard for George to say which was which, but he knew he had to.
If nothing else, he would go back to give Pansy peace of mind and to report back on whatever he found at Little Hangleton. He shook his head, remembering he owed Ron an answer.
George blew out a steadying breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and began to explain his reasoning.
"I have to at least try to find out what's happened to Norah and Ollie. They're the only family she's got left, Ron, remember? Think what that would do to her if she were to lose them tonight," he reiterated, hoping to make Ron understand why he had to leave soon.
Of all his family members who he had thought would be in his corner, it would have been Ron, considering he'd spent a year in more dangerous situations alongside Harry and Hermione while they had been hunting the Dark Lord's Horcruxes in the hopes of destroying them all and winning this damned bloody war that dragged on too long, causing them to lose too many people.
George's resolve was steadfast and surprisingly stern. For a moment, he was almost visibly startled, thinking he was starting to sound like Percy. He flinched and turned his attention back towards Ron, whose brows were furrowed in deep contemplative thought. George almost let himself smile somewhat, thinking Ron was thinking too hard.
The pair of brothers were silent for several long minutes, listening to the tempest that was raging war upon the outside elements that showed no sign of stopping soon until Ron spoke again.
"What about Parkinson, mate? Huh?" he asked chillingly with such a solemn seriousness that almost made George feel as though this wasn't his brother Ron speaking, but someone who had aged five years since this last year, the tone of someone wiser, hardened. "How is she going to feel about you leaving?"
"Hopefully relieved, if I can come back with good news," George snorted, already predicting his girlfriend's reaction.
"And…if you don't come back, then what, mate? You could do that to your girl, Georgie? To me, to Mum and Dad? And what about Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Ginny?" Ron angrily warned, his face draining off all colors as he ticked off their immediate family members on his fingers.
"Nothing's keeping me from coming back," George swore as if he and he alone controlled the outcome of his plan that was forming with the very best of intentions.
"Just going back to that bloody house is dangerous, mate," Ron protested, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "What if Lestrange hasn't left? What then? Huh? You think he'd spare your life if it meant his?"
"It's not going to come to that," George proclaimed, confidently. "You don't understand, Ron. I'm not going back there to try to kill him. I just want to find the Brennan's, mate, Ollie's been gone way too long, it's not like him to take so bloody long, with…er…what he is…" He fell silent. He thought if he had one more stressing or terrifying thought, then he would surely spontaneously combust into flames right here and now and that would be his end. "I'm just going back to check on them, Ron. That's all, I swear. I'll be there and back before you even know it."
"I hope you're right, mate. For all our sake," Ron grunted in an earnest tone, glowering at George as he took a hard swallow from his mug of hot cider as he turned to face Hermione and Ginny, who'd come out to join them.
George could feel a frustrated sigh forming in the back of his throat as the girls flanked either side of him, clearly in the mood to talk, when all he wanted was to go to Pansy.
Ginny was the first of the two to speak.
"Anything?" she asked worriedly, chewing on her bottom lip as she flicked her gaze to George and then looking to where Pansy stood.
"No." It was just one word, but his voice sounded hollow as George answered his sister, and he flinched as he, alongside the girls, heard the faint warbling note of fear that had seeped its way to the surface of his voice as the girls joined him and Pansy in watching the land's horizon.
Though thanks to the vicious storm that still showed no signs of letting up anytime soon and the rain, it was difficult to make out much of anything other than the dark.
George expected either Hermione or Ginny to say something that was supposed to be uplifting and encouraging, telling him not to worry, and true to form, Hermione was just the one to offer up her comfort.
"The Brennan's will be just fine," the witch said, though even George could hear Hermione's normally confident tone lacked the conviction to sell the argument she wanted to make. "Norah's tougher than we all give her credit for, and Ollie…can take care of himself," she finished lamely, casting her gaze to her arm, and awkwardly tracing the faint traces of the word 'Mudblood' that had scarred on her arm, given to her by Rodolphus Lestrange's wife. Hermione had refused the Essence of Dittany, wanting it to scar, to remember, and Hermione did not dare voice this next thought, but she hoped Norah would have no scars.
She gave a tiny laugh, but it couldn't mask the worry in her voice. George moved his lips into a fake little smile.
He ran a hand through his red hair, noting he would need a trim soon, wondering if Mum would trim it tonight.
George couldn't shake the feeling it would be a long night of waiting. Though before he could step towards Pan and ask that she come inside, that she'd surely catch a chill if she stayed out here in the cold like this, Harry spoke up.
"They'll be alright. I wouldn't worry about them, guys."
George spun on his heels to face an unusually quiet Harry. He was leaning on his heels on the post of the front door, staring out into the distance just like Pansy was, though George doubted that Harry could see anything, the scrawny specky git that he was. He was wearing the same expression that he often had when he looked at Ginny.
Harry seemed to hold the world in his eyes when he looked like he was looking now.
"How do you know, mate?" George could hear his voice breaking as he asked the one question he wasn't sure he wanted an answer from the future Auror, assuming Harry passed his skills and aptitude tests come a few more years.
Harry stared at George blankly for a moment. George thought he saw a flicker of sympathy flit through his green irises for a moment, causing George to flinch and smile a bit embarrassed.
It was as if Harry had heard the thoughts that were echoing through his mind, of telling Pan his plan. If he had heard, the younger wizard gave no sign of it.
"Just intuition," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders, turning away, and saying nothing more to George, proceeding to wind an arm around Ginny's shoulder and pull George's sister close and lead her back into the house.
Ron copied his best friend's movements and led Hermione inside too, sensing George needed a moment alone with Pansy. His leaving could not have been timed more conveniently, as Mrs. Weasley appeared at the door just then and asked for everyone except George to help her with preparing supper and for Ginny and Hermione to ensure the Healer would have what he or she needed when they arrived to treat either of the Brennan's wounds, should medical attention be required.
George waited to cautiously approach Pansy at the edge of the porch until the others had gone inside and his mum had closed the door behind her, but not before shooting her son a strangely sympathetic look and nodding her head. He exhaled a shaking breath.
Finally, the moment that George had dreaded had come. He didn't think he could wait around any longer.
Something horrible had to have happened, and to see Pansy wait on the edge of his parents' porch shattered his heart into a million fragments, never to be made whole again. He had to go, and soon.
"Pan? Could I talk to you? I…there's something I have to do," he asked his girlfriend solemnly, as he moved to stand beside her so close to her their shoulders touched.
As if she could sense her new boyfriend's apprehension, Pansy slowly turned to face him. "What is it?" she asked worriedly, his tone immediately bringing concern to her gaze as she had to crane her neck to look up at George.
George took her hand and stared deep into Pansy Parkinson's dark brown eyes for a moment, thinking he'd never seen eyes quite like hers before, that reminded him of rich dark chocolate. He stroked back a strand of dark hair that had fallen across her face.
Then, suddenly, George didn't think he could bear to look at the shining adoration he found as he held the young witch in his gaze. He turned to stare at some point into the darkness which he did not truly see, though he knew the grasslands were there.
"I should go back." His voice was a whisper.
Pansy stared, wide-eyed, feeling certain she had misheard. She felt her heart drop to the bottom of her stomach. All of the colors drained from her face, and as she staggered backward, she would have fallen down the steps, had George not shot out his arm to catch her and pull her close so that the witch was now splayed across his chest.
She swallowed the bitter acidic acid that was seeping its way up into her throat. "Back? To—to the Riddle House?" she squeaked, repeating George's words, unsure of what she'd heard. Surely, she heard Weasley wrong about this.
George lowered his gaze remorsefully. He swore he could almost hear Pansy's heart breaking. He nodded slowly, sorrowfully, unable to meet the witch's gaze, though he felt her penetrating stare burning a hole in him.
"Back to Lestrange." It wasn't even a question as it left Pansy's lips. She voiced her suspicion as if she were sure.
George cupped Pansy's chin in his hand as she began to look away, desperate to make the witch look at him now, something she seemed hellbent on avoiding doing, likely so he wouldn't see the tears now glittering in her eyes.
"To check on your family, Pan. They haven't come back. Something's wrong. I have to go," he quietly explained. He realized that Pansy's fingers were still clasped tightly in his own. He clung to her hands firmly, hoping to make his girlfriend understand that this was a welfare check, nothing more. If Lestrange was there, then he would flee.
"Why?" Pansy shook her head, trying to send George's words away. "Let someone in Ollie's department go look. We're safe here," she blurted out. "That—that bitch's husband is not your responsibility, George," she yelled, raising her voice, not caring if George's family heard her.
For a moment, there was only silence, with Pansy staring up at George uncomfortably as the tall wizard towered over her, and she silently resigned herself to the fact that she had no doubt lost the respect he'd held for her somehow just now, she was sure of that much, at least. She breathed out a shaking breath and willed her temper to cool a little before continuing.
"He's dangerous, George. You—you don't know what he's capable of!" she cried, as he began to walk down the steps to leave,
George felt his face fall. Pan was upset with him, but she was something else too. Pansy was staring at him in a way that he had never seen her before. She was angry. Of all the things George had been expecting as to how she would react when he told her he wanted to go back, this was not it. His mind went blank, unable to process what was happening. He could understand she'd be upset, cold, annoyed, even, but not angry. Anger would suggest that she truly genuinely loved him, and he didn't know how to react. He didn't know what he could say to her.
He could see the pain and fear plaguing Pan's mind. It broke his heart. He wanted her to be reassured that his temporary absence from her side wouldn't end like it had when Malfoy had left her, the git, but he did not know-how. Instead, George closed off the gap of space and leaned in towards the angle of her jaw, just below Pan's right ear. He had not even realized that it had quickly become one of his favorite places to kiss her.
He itched to press his lips against her creamy soft skin. But Pansy could barely look George in the eye. As her new boyfriend moved in to kiss her, she felt her anger take hold of her heart once more.
Perhaps it was because she was reminded of how Draco had left her alone, for 'a greater good,' he had said, and now, it felt to her as though she were experiencing a sense of déjà vu all over again.
She didn't want to gift George such affection if he was going to pull the same stunt Draco had.
It could have been she couldn't bear to think that this might very well be the last time she felt his lips against hers in a kiss if Rodolphus Lestrange were still alive.
Whatever her reasons, Pansy drew back and purposefully turned away from him, now letting him kiss her. She would be damned if she'd stand out here and watch another person she cared about Disapparate to their certain deaths, just as Ollie and Norah had.
George's heart fell as his girlfriend flat out refused his kiss. He stood there, rooted to his spot, and wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
He squeezed his eyes tight with regret as he realized this was surely how Pan had felt the day that Malfoy had ended their relationship. He thought he deserved every bit of her mistrust and her anger, and perhaps he had no right to think that Pan would see his leaving as anything but a betrayal. He could only stare, watching Pan parade her backside to him, humiliation plastered all over his face like Permanent Sticking Charm as he watched the witch that he thought he loved was beginning to walk away from him without another word, her stance rigid.
Though, before George could so much as turn on his heels and leave her alone, much like Draco, had once similarly left her, at that precise moment, the deafening crack rent the air, sounding like it came from several paces away.
The pair froze. Surely, it had to be Ollie and Norah. Her heart swelled with hope. She knew that sound, the sound of someone Apparating always sounded like a Muggle car engine backfiring or a firecracker going off. She could only hope and pray that it was Ollie and Norah having come back. The man had promised her, had given her his word.
But before Pansy could so much as take one step off the front porch of the Burrow, a shout came from nearby. Her blood curdled in her veins as she immediately recognized the lilt of Ollie's hoarse voice.
Her heart clenched in terror as she suddenly grew frantic and clung to George's arm.
"That was Ollie, George!" Pansy yelled over the thunder. Her tear-filled eyes desperately searched George's for an explanation, though she knew her boyfriend had none to give, it didn't stop her from asking the question anyway. "What's wrong with him?" she cried, her eyes wild with panic for the man that was as good as a brother to her.
But George didn't answer Pansy's frantic plea as he bolted off the front porch and towards the source of the noise.
George left Pansy just standing there, as she heard the sound of shuffling footsteps from behind her and realized that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had joined them.
George was halfway to the edge of his parents' property before a shocked Pansy could summon the will and strength to move again. Once the reality of the situation hit her hard and fast, she raced down the same path that George was heading, following the sound of Ollie's shouting, though she couldn't make out the man's words.
"George, wait!" Pansy screamed, trying again desperately, as if she thought her boyfriend could tell her news of her family that he was purposefully keeping from her, not wanting her to fret and worry over them both.
The words hadn't completely left her mouth when the air was filled with another shout from Ollie, this one more urgent than the last, as he called for someone, somewhere to their left. George still didn't answer her but quickened his gait by way of response, and Pansy could only follow right behind, half out of her mind with worry for her family, thinking that the very worst had already happened.
Fear wound its way around her heartstrings and squeezed all the breath from her lungs, leaving her feeling lightheaded and dizzy. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind at what could have gone wrong, each one was more terrible than the last.
Before even more worry and fear could solidify and take shape in Pansy's mind, she caught the familiar tall silhouette of Ollie coming forward, holding something in his arms, accompanied by an older wizard she didn't know and had never seen before in her life. Her breaths caught in her throat as she bounded forward.
Pansy knew immediately that something was wrong as her gaze flicked down to whatever it was that Ollie was holding. She stood for a moment, her mind trying to make sense of what the towering wizard now held in his arms bridal style.
Her gaze lingered on her cousin's unconscious form and then her eyes looked up, finding Ollie's distraught and tear-filled blue eyes now just paces away. Pansy felt as though her heart were ripped from her chest.
She wasn't aware of her knees weakening or her chest starting to tighten painfully as she hyperventilated, but she was aware of George's grip firmly holding her in place as he held her close to his chest and did not let her fall.
The world felt like it was closing in around her as George held her as Ollie approached, with her cousin's seemingly lifeless body in his arms, dried and fresh tear tracts running down the man's face, clearing a path from the blood that was all over his face. It looked as though the man had bathed in it and was a terrifying sight to behold.
"Ollie, wh-what….what….I don't…I never…Norah…?" she stammered, amazed she could even speak at all as bile rose in her throat the longer her gaze lingered on the blonde witch's body now limp in Ollie Brennan's arms.
Though before Ollie could say anything as he parted his lips to speak, the older middle-aged wizard standing alongside him darted forward and spoke up, ignoring Pansy and George and seeming to address Mr. and Mrs. Weasley directly, who'd followed closely behind Pansy and George the second they had heard Ollie Apparating onto their property.
"We need a Healer, Arthur, Molly," the older wizard barked in a hoarse voice. "Has one been called?" he asked George's parents in a clipped voice.
Mrs. Weasley nodded, the skin of her brow pulled tautly.
"A Healer from St. Mungo's should be waiting inside the house, Lyall," she announced, her tired and lined face showing nothing but worry, as she slipped her wand into the pocket of her housedress and turned on her heels to lead the way.
The witch led them back to the Burrow for what seemed like hours, all the while her cousin never stirred once in Ollie's grasp. As Mrs. Weasley made a beeline straight for the front door, Pansy's eyes made a quick scan of the Burrow's front porch, until her gaze landed on the welcome sight of a Healer, an older wizard, clad in the traditional lime green robes of a St. Mungo's Healer.
"Healer Jones!" Arthur beckoned, urgency in his tone.
The Healer looked up, startled upon hearing Arthur's voice, half expecting the wizard himself to be wounded, and praying it was not another venomous snake bite. But then, the Healer noticed Auror Brennan behind him, and his face nearly paled in fear of the temperamental Legilimens with the wretched parasite attached to his soul.
Jones started to blubber incoherently until Healer Jones noticed what it was that Auror Brennan held in his arms.
He was carrying their Welcome Witch, and she appeared wounded and bloodied by the looks of Norah.
"That's Norah," Healer Jones cried, barely stopping his momentum as he allowed Mrs. Weasley to take the lead, escorting him upstairs and to the third bedroom on the left, Charlie, and Bill's former bedroom when they were still living at home. "Merlin's Beard, man, what happened?" he barked, speaking directly to Ollie.
"She's been hurt, Jones, that's what, now do your job and fix my wife, Jones," Ollie snapped, his tone curt and the wizard almost sounded angry with the St. Mungo's Healer as he carefully laid his wife on the bed.
The moment Norah was laying on her back against the mattress, she shuddered as if in pain, but did not move again. Nor did she try to open her eyes as Ollie dropped into a crouch by her bedside and smoothed back stray wisps of his wife's hair out of her eyes. His face lined with worry, Ollie clung to her more to steady himself than even to comfort his wife.
Pansy was unsure if Ollie even knew she and George were here and held fast to the hope of his awareness. Pansy didn't even realize that her fingers were clinging tightly to George's arm, and thankfully, he made no move to relinquish her hold on his arm, which she was grateful for.
As Pansy fought to hold in her tears, the Healer strode towards the edge of the bed. The wizard gave a sharp rap of his wand and conjured a clean cloth upon the otherwise old and threadbare mattress.
Ollie came back to himself a bit enough to help the Healer by pulling Norah's arm up to her shoulder but did not release his grip on his wife, staring with dread at the knives, poultices, and other various instruments the Healer had conjured.
His gasp caught in his throat, imagining the purpose of the dreadful items that now lay in front of the Healer on the small wooden night table he'd conjured.
The Healer noticed the noise of dissent Ollie made in the back of his throat and looked towards the distraught husband.
"I will do my very best for your wife, Mr. Brennan," he remarked in a crisp and professional tone, sensing the Obscurial's fear and there was a faint warbling note of fear in his voice, though he tried not to showcase it.
The man's green eyes behind his glasses didn't leave his work.
"I won't let our Welcome Witch give up so easily…." As he turned towards his newest patient, Healer Jones could see the worry and fear on Ollie's face, and on the young brunette's too, who'd moved to stand by the Auror.
It was obvious to him that Norah Brennan meant much to the younger witch, and the question was ripped from his lips before Healer Jones could stop himself, his curiosity piqued.
"Are you immediate family, my dear?" he asked her kindly in an attempt to engage in a casual conversation in the hopes of lightening the mood now lingering in the air.
"I'm...I—I'm her cousin," Pansy confessed, her voice a hushed whisper as it trembled with emotion.
Without thinking, she laid a hand on Ollie's shoulder and immediately jerked it away as he instantly recoiled from her tender touch.
She drew her hand back as though the man had burned her. One look into Ollie's distraught blue eyes now brimming with tears and a look of utter helplessness was more than enough. His sole focus was ensuring his wife returned to full health, and he could not think of anything but Norah.
Healer Jones offered a curt nod but said nothing more, as waved his wand and began to cut away Norah's shirt, examining the blonde Veela's abdomen, and was appalled to see bruises and discolorations forming there.
The minute he lightly ran his fingertips over her stomach, Norah shuddered and groaned as if the act was causing her pain. Ollie stiffened, gnashing his teeth together as he shot the St. Mungo's Healer a threatening look.
Though before he could say a word, Vimly came scampering in through the open doorway, with Arthur having sent a message to the Brennan's residence, letting the family's house-elf know what had happened and had requested the creature's aid for her family.
Everyone in the room flinched as the little house-elf's shrill shriek flooded through the bedroom, filling the room with the sound, as the house-elf set eyes upon the bloodied face of her master.
Vimly's face was awash in a mess of psychological disturbance at the devil her Master Ollie had made of himself, to see Master's beloved wife who had always treated her well in such a horrible state, lying motionless on top of the bed.
Both Pansy and George clamped their hands over their ears as the little creature scampered forward and tried to clamber up onto the quilted bed, though was held back as Ollie seized a fistful of Vimly's pristine white tea cozy and held the elf back.
"Mistress Norah, Master Oliver, she is needing me, she is needing Vimly's help! That bad, bad man, Lestrange, he has hurt my poor mistress! Master Brennan, please tell Vimly you has taken care of the bad man, that you's has let the monster kill him!" The house-elf howled, nearly in tears and hysterical as she seized on tufts of her short dark hair and yanked them out, scratching and clawing at her face, her little arms and legs pumping in the air furiously as she fought her master to reach Norah's side.
Ollie's face reddened with anger, nearly shaking with wrath at just the mention of Rodolphus Lestrange's name from his elf.
"Dead, he won't be bothering anybody anymore, Vimly, you don't have to worry about him," was all he answered to his servant in a curt tone, though it wasn't quite enough to supplicate his house-elf, who was on the verge of fighting her master tooth and nail to reach her mistress's side. "Vimly, enough, stop hurting yourself, none of this was your fault, you hear me?" he barked in a hoarse voice, trying not to shout on Norah's behalf. "If you can't control yourself, then you will leave, do you understand me?" Ollie commanded sternly. He tore his gaze away from his still-struggling house-elf, who seemed at least a little reassured at the news that Rodolphus Lestrange had been killed, and looked to Pansy.
Pansy was moved by the stricken look in her cousin's husband's eyes and wanted to do anything she could to help. She chewed on her lip and wrung her hands together nervously.
"What can George or I do, mate? Merlin, but what even happened? You—you said Lestrange is dead?" she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the man, hardly able to believe it.
Ollie nodded, biting down on his lower lip, and averted Pansy's gaze. He clicked his tongue as he thought over his words, searching for the right thing to say. Ollie opened his mouth to speak, though before the Auror could say a word, the St. Mungo's Healer interrupted, his crisp tone sounding vexed.
"That is enough," the impatient Healer angrily commanded on his patient's behalf. "This witch on this bed is fighting for her life and I cannot attend to her medical needs as crowded as the room is becoming. Even in her unconscious state, she will sense the agitation and her body will become even more stressed and will impede the body's natural healing process. Anything that stands in the way of my patient's recovery, I cannot allow, so perhaps, Mr. Brennan, you should wait outside. It would be best if every last one of you waited outside until I finished with my work. You may see Mrs. Brennan afterward, and that is only if she's feeling up to visit," he lectured, unsure where this moment of bravery had come from to speak to the temperamental Auror this way.
Healer Jones steeled his nerves and braced himself for the onslaught and outburst he was sure the man would have.
Ollie slowly lifted his gaze, staring in almost arrogant contempt that anyone would have the nerve to speak to him in such a manner.
The Brennan's house-elf gasped that another wizard would dare speak to her master in such a condescending tone and Vimly ceased her struggles to break free, and it was only then that Ollie let go of his hold on her.
Vimly moved to stand defensively in front of her master, who remained crouched on his knees by Norah's bedside.
Everyone in the room drew in a sharp breath and held it as they all watched the Obscurial's deep blue eyes turn black once more.
Pansy did not protest as George pulled her flush against him, ready to Disapparate at the first sign of trouble.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Weasley remove her wand from the pocket of her housedress, and Mr. Weasley inch towards the door, ready to shout down the stairs to the others to leave at the first sign of the Obscurus about to explode forth.
Pansy stepped forward cautiously, lightly shrugging out of George's grasp, and moved forward, ignoring her boyfriend's quiet murmurings to stay by his side, that Ollie was dangerous.
"He's not, George, he would never hurt me. The Obscurus is what's dangerous," she whispered in a cracking voice, though she put emphasis on the words, hoping to dissuade that belief.
She was briefly aware of the wizard who had arrived alongside Ollie come to sandwich himself in the middle between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but she had eyes only for him.
If she could calm him down, it was a step in the right direction. Her expression was saddened as she locked eyes with him, and she reached out a hand and set it on his shoulder.
She hoped the gesture would be enough to calm him down. It always worked whenever Norah had done it, so maybe there was a chance. She knew she had to try. Pansy breathed out a steadying breath.
"Ollie, mate, stop," she began gently, her dark eyes apologetic. "I don't think we can stay. We need to let the Healer have this room."
"No," Ollie bristled and scowled a warning at both Pansy and the Healer from St. Mungo's, as Pansy, with the help of Vimly, began to tug on her master's pant leg and began to help Pansy and George pull the Obscurial from the bedroom.
Ollie fought them all the whole way, not ceasing his attempts to attack when the older wizard and Mr. Weasley even darted forward to help, barely managing to restrain him.
"I need to stay with her!" Ollie shouted, turning on Pansy.
"Your wife wouldn't want you to see her like this, Mr. Brennan. Trust us. She's in more than capable hands."
This time, it was the older wizard, Lyall, Pansy thought she'd heard Mr. Weasley call him, who intervened.
The wizard's kind hazel eyes were narrowed in incense, his hand around the handle of his wand, almost threateningly.
"And your Healer does not have the time to argue. Out." He pointed towards the bedroom door. "Now. I came at the Minister's request to see what I could do about your Obscurus, but I cannot help you if you will not even let me speak with you," he announced, much to Pansy's shock and surprise as she stared at him in disbelief.
"You—you can do that? Who are you?" Pansy exclaimed in a breathless voice.
She could hardly dare to believe it as she flicked her gaze from Ollie's stricken and furious expression, who still only had eyes for his wife and could not seem to think or acknowledge anything or anyone else, and then to George, and then finally, back to the tired-looking wizard.
Pansy was pulled from her thoughts as the older man spoke up gently.
"My name is Lyall, Miss Parkinson. I knew your parents well enough. My son taught at Hogwarts a few years ago, you might have taken his classes," the wizard answered in somewhat of a dismissive and cold tone that Pansy recognized well enough.
It was the same voice she used whenever the topic of her parents came into the conversation and she wanted to put it behind her.
She studied the older wizard for a moment, and then it hit her squarely in the chest as though she'd been hit by Knockback Jinx.
"You're...Professor Lupin's father? But...aren't you an expert on-" she started to ask, but once more, she was interrupted.
"On Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions, yes, my dear, yes, I am. I believe that there might be a chance I could help Mr. Brennan with the extraction of the Obscurus from his body, but it will be a difficult and dangerous procedure, and only with his consent would I even dare attempt the procedure," Mr. Lupin answered in a cautious sounding voice as he looked towards Ollie, who shook his head vehemently in protest, already refusing Lyall's offer of aid.
"I appreciate the offer, Lyall, sir, but my wife is all I can think about right now, I will give you an answer after I know my wife and child are alright and not a second before," he growled, hissing his words through gritted teeth as he still fought Mr. Weasley and George in the effort to ignore the Healer's demands that he leave the room. "I need to stay with her!" he shouted hoarsely, raising his voice.
The Healer did not even turn back to look at Ollie, clearly unfazed by the intimidating wizard's little outburst.
"Out, Mr. Brennan, do not make me ask again, but your house-elf may remain, there is a chance I might need an extra set of hands," he barked in a clipped tone and gestured with a flourishing wave of his arm for Mr. Weasley and the others to escort his patient's distraught husband out of the room.
The others did not need to be told by Jones again. Vimly's expression become one of set determination as she turned away and began to follow the Healer's orders that he barked at her without any complaint whatsoever.
Sensing that Norah was in good hands with the Healer from St. Mungo's, and the family's own house-elf, Pansy stepped forward and tugged on Ollie's sweater sleeve.
Every fiber in her body screamed and protested, wanting to throw a fit just like Ollie was doing now at the thought of being asked to leave, wanting to stay by Norah's side.
A cold wave of fear washed over her. She knew she didn't want to leave Norah. Not like this. What if something happened and she wasn't here when her cousin needed her? What if she….? If she died, she and the baby…? And she and her husband weren't by her side to say goodbye?
But as quickly as the thoughts entered her mind, she was interrupted and pulled back to the present situation at hand by the sound of the Healer impatiently clearing his throat.
She frowned and heaved a frustrated sigh of reluctance, coming to terms with the fact their presence was hindering the experienced Healer's work. She knew then they needed to leave.
"C'mon, Ol, there's nothing any of us can do for Norah right now. What we can do is go downstairs and let the Healer work. Mrs. Weasley made your favorite, mate. She made smoked haddock and corn chowder soup," she protested softly, her voice trembling with emotion.
Ollie frowned, rounding on Pansy, looking from his wife's cousin to his wife's unconscious form on the bed, and down to his family's house-elf that had served the Brennan's for years. The indecision was eating away at him, but they needed to go.
The Healer was right, Pansy noticed. Norah would not be able to heal to her fullest capacity if her body sensed the stress.
Pansy bit the wall of her cheek and tried again. "Please, mate?" she asked, this time in a much softer tone than before. "I know what you're feeling right now. I really do, but the best thing we can do for her is let her rest, let the Healer do his work."
Without giving Ollie a chance to fight her on this, she, alongside Mr. Weasley, George, and Vimly, pulled him the rest of the way out of the bedroom and into the hall, albeit with great difficulty, as the adrenaline in his veins gave him the strength of at least three wizards as he fought the whole way.
Understanding the man's hostility, once they were out in the hallway and the door to the bedroom shut behind them, Pansy did her best to calm Ollie down.
"We need to let him work…" she pleaded desperately.
"Let go of me, Pan! I want her to know I'm here," Ollie growled, though there was a faint note of pleading to his voice, his face pained, as he roughly wrenched his arm out of Pansy's grasp.
"She—she knows, mate," George tried to comfort him.
But George's answer was not good enough for the Auror.
With no way of watching over his wife and no one upon which to unleash his anger now that Lestrange was dead, Ollie turned away from Pansy and let loose the rest of his mounting fury upon the battered wooden wall of the hall.
Clenching his fist and letting out a long furious yell and ignoring Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's startled exclamations, he slammed his knuckles over and over against the unmoving wood. His skin shredded against the wall.
However, he felt no pain, his mind so focused on Norah and their baby, and his wife's ordeal, what she was going through.
His injuries were nothing compared to how she suffered. Pansy and George prudently stood back and gave him this release, cautioning George's parents to reluctantly do the same.
No one made any attempt to go near Ollie until the worst of the Auror's tempest had run its course.
Ollie fell to his knees as the strength in his legs gave out on him, his face in his hands, and wailed as if the force of his sheer will could open the damn bloody door and he'd be let back in. He felt the exhausting rasp of his lungs when the air finally failed him.
The taste of blood surged into his mouth from his raw throat. He sat on the floor, gasping for breath.
Ollie collapsed against the wall outside of the bedroom, exhausted, and still terrified.
Slowly, Pansy slid down the wall and sat awkwardly beside her cousin's husband, George doing the same.
"She—she's in good hands, Ol," Pansy quietly tried to encourage him as Ollie eyed her wearily. She continued, encouraged a bit that he had calmed down. "If anyone can see her through this, the Healer inside can."
Ollie frowned, looking towards the closed bedroom door he was temporarily barred from entering. A light blue haze emanating from around the door's frame indicated the Healer had put up a Shield Charm around it, preventing anyone from entering until he opened the door and came outside to fetch them. He wouldn't be getting in anytime soon. For a moment, it felt as though all time stopped.
Nothing existed but his wife. And yet it was time, the Auror realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as his heart leaped up into his throat, that his wife had to fight against.
It was a battle Norah had to fight. On her own. Even with Pansy tugging on his arm, and Mrs. Weasley quietly informing the group that she had a spot of supper ready on the table, his stomach lurched at the thought of eating anything and Ollie couldn't move.
His eardrums roared with the sound of his own blood, yet he knew there was none, save for the sound of the others going down the stairwell, the sign that life outside of the bedroom of his wife was proof that the outside world still carried on around them.
As Ollie stared numbly at the door, feeling Pansy continuing to feebly tug on the sleeve of his sweater, trying to pull him towards the stairwell to convince him to eat a small something with the rest of them, he wondered how it had bloody fucking come to this moment.
How all that he ever gave a damn about in a world that was otherwise harsh and cruel to a wretch like him was about to be torn away from him if the Healer could not save his pregnant wife? Norah didn't deserve this. She shouldn't have ever felt such pain.
She deserved a life of peace and comfort, of love and kindness, yet all she'd ever known by marrying him was a life of constant stress, worry, and fear.
She always was wondering if that day would be the day when he didn't come home, when she got an owl or Patronus from the Ministry of Magic, saying he'd been killed while on assignment tracking down a particularly violent Dark wizard. Or if each morning was was the day when the Obscurus within him finally lost control and he wound up killing her and destroying their family's home in the process.
Knowing who and what Ollie was, by daring to fall in love with him, had caused this.
He'd done this. This was all his fault. He truly was a monster, in every sense of the word. He'd almost caused the person he loved more than anything to die tonight.
She still may, he thought bitterly to himself, and it was at that moment, that Ollie realized, he hated himself.
He thought this as he reluctantly allowed Pansy to lead him down the stairs and into the Weasley's dining room that was connected to their kitchen, bitter tears streaming down his face.
He thought he had no strength left within him anymore as Pansy gingerly guided him towards one of the dining room chairs, everyone else gathered around the table to eat, though the mood was hardly festive.
Everyone ate in silence. Dinner seemed to drag on in awkward silence that never seemed to lift.
The others gathered around the table quickly dismissed themselves from the kitchen table and went upstairs, wanting to be nowhere near the temperamental Auror while Ollie Brennan was in a vexed and agitated state.
Only Mrs. Weasley, Pansy, and George remained in the dining room. Mr. Weasley and Lyall Lupin ventured out onto the back porch and towards his shed to discuss the procedure that Mr. Lupin had in mind for ridding Ollie of the Obscurus that had bonded to the wizard's soul since he was young.
Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny went upstairs to play a few rounds of Exploding Snap and Gobstones for something to do while they waited for news, and Pansy flat out refused to head back to her own flat tonight. Not while her cousin was a floor above her, fighting for her life, and quietly asked Mrs. Weasley if she could kip on their living room sofa for the night.
George's mum crinkled her nose and almost looked offended at the thought that Pansy even had to ask.
"Of course, you may sleep here tonight, dear. You're welcome to take Charlie and Bill's old room if you like. I'll not see anyone turned away if I can help it," she said kindly, pursing her lips and flicking her gaze downward to rest on Ollie's untouched bowl of soup. "You should try to eat something, dear. You won't do poor Norah any favors if you pass out from exhaustion," she lightly scolded, furrowing her brows.
Ollie sanguinely lifted his head to regard Mrs. Weasley, staring at Molly as though just noticing her for the first time since Norah's ordeal began.
He blinked a couple of times until he came back to himself. Only when Pansy shot out an arm and rested it on his shoulder did he summon the strength to speak up.
"No thank you, Molly," he answered curtly, though he grimaced as he watched the older witch flinch away in both hurt and surprise. "I…you're sweet to worry about me, but I don't think I could keep any of it down," he stammered, running a hand through his jet black hair in anguish and propped his elbows up on the table as he turned to look towards Pansy. She immediately wished that Ollie had not.
The look in the wizard's deep blue eyes was almost hollow. When he spoke, his voice too, was even hollower still.
"You should go get some sleep, Pan. Something tells me it's going to be one hell of a long night," Ollie growled, a look of anger flitting through his irises. He sharply turned his head away. "I'll wake you both if there's news."
Pansy was about to protest, saying she wasn't going anywhere, though before she could say a word, a huge yawn interrupted what she wanted to say to Ollie. She wanted nothing more than to stay down here with him, to keep him company.
She was tempted to ask him after his Obscurus, how it had happened.
It was a story that Ollie had only ever told to Norah, but Norah had always remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped.
Whenever Pansy would ask after her cousin's husband, she would always bark at her and say it wasn't her business to tell, it was always Ollie's, and only if he wanted to share it.
Well, what better time than to share it right now? They could wait for news of Norah's condition together and while they waited, she would ask him, after all these years, and hopefully, she would finally learn the long-kept secretive truth.
But fate, it seemed, had other ideas in mind for her tonight. Mrs. Weasley's gaze hardened as she noticed her son's girlfriend failing to stifle her tired yawn with the heel of her hand and was quick to give the command.
"Bed. Now. It's getting late. No point in everyone losing sleep tonight over this. I'm sure Healer Jones will do his very best. Percy's room is made up, I put clean sheets on his bed just the other day, or you can return back to your own flat if you'd be more comfortable there, we'll call you if there's news on your cousin, dearie," she commented airily, motioning for Pansy and George to leave Ollie alone and gestured towards the stairwell.
Sensing Pansy's reluctance to leave her cousin's husband's side, her expression softened as Pansy saw no other choice but to follow Mrs. Weasley, with George trailing behind Pansy.
Pansy hesitated, halting in mid-step halfway up the stairwell, and peered over her shoulder at Mrs. Weasley, who remained at the bottom of the stairs, watching them go.
"You'll wake us if there's news?" she asked hesitantly, chewing on her bottom lip as Mrs. Weasely offered a tired nod of her head.
Pansy nodded numbly, and with the encouragement of George's hand resting on her shoulder, continued her ascent up the stairwell, quietly following George's directions until she came to stand in front of Percy's room.
As she opened the door as quietly as she could, she stepped inside. The soft clicking of her boot's heels honestly pained George to let him go.
His desperate want to follow his girlfriend inside caused a horrible ache to flare to life within his chest, making him swallow thickly. She faced him, the doorposts hung between them. They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither one of them able to find their voice.
George was the first one to regain control of his voice, awkwardly clearing his throat and taking her hands in his.
"I…er…goodnight, Pan. I'm… sorry…about everything," he apologized, a pained look on his face. "I'm sorry about your parents. Your cousin, what Norah and Ollie are going through, I know I can't fix any of those things, but I wish I could. But…" He hesitated and blew out a deep breath. "I could love you if you'd let me in. If you let me try."
Let me in…
He held his breath, watching Pansy's eyes glitter with shock and surprise. He flinched and almost turned on his heels and bolted the moment the words were out of his mouth, but her piercing stare kept him pinned in place, anxiously waiting to hear her answer.
Pansy glanced down at their joined hands. She flicked her gaze back up to his face and it was at that moment that she knew. Their date the other night, and all the little moments that had been happening since then, were a culmination of events that were leading to something bigger. Bigger than her doubt and fears. It would likely be the biggest and most monumental event of her life thus far.
George frowned, giving her hands a light little squeeze.
"Pan? You alright? You're looking a little pale," he blurted out, cringing at how horribly awkward this situation was.
He was beginning to fear that perhaps he'd overstepped.
Pansy blinked owlishly up at him and after a moment, recovered. "I—I'm fine," she stammered shyly, a light pink blush forming on her cheeks. "Just—just to be clear, you—you said you love me? Or—or you think that you do?" she asked.
She was looking at him incredulously, as if she couldn't believe he was confessing something so seriously, so soon.
"Yeah. If you'll let me, Pan," George confessed.
She nodded numbly, her mouth had gone bone dry. "That's what I thought you said," she managed to gasp out.
"So….what now?" George asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable, as a blush of his own started to snake its way along his cheeks, going all the way up to the tips of his ears. "Will you let me?" he asked, his words blunt.
Pansy opened her mouth to speak, but there was a lump forming in her throat. She looked down at their joined hands for a moment to collect her thoughts, marveling at how well the two of them seemed to fit together, like missing pieces of a Muggle jigsaw puzzle.
Almost as if they were…made for one another, really. Pansy gave a visible start at that thought but did not shy away from George Weasley's grip. To think that she had almost thrown all of this away, simply because she'd been so caught up in memories of her past time spent with Draco, and memories of how her mother and father had taught her that she could not trust men. Decent men.
Her instincts on George Weasley had been right all along. She'd almost failed to let the wizard in, and that would have been devastating. Somehow, in the turmoil since her parents' death and everything bad happening to her that had followed, Pansy had found something she hadn't even known was missing.
George Weasley had been the one to dig her out of the rubble that had almost taken her life the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been the first to visit her in St. Mungo's aside from that old bitch of a witch Umbridge, who only wanted to use her for information on Draco's parents' whereabouts.
George had offered her a job in his shop, let her have the spare flat above the shop, had given her a second chance when no one else would so much as give her the time of day. Maybe that was what she should have noticed about her boyfriend right off the bat. George had seen her in some of the worst moments of her life, and he had taken it all in stride. No condescension or judgment of any kind. Just pure affection and acceptance.
"Will you stay in your own room tonight?" She heard her small voice surface and could not stop the shy smile from tugging her lips upward, watching George's eyes alight in recognition. "I…I don't want to be alone. Stay with me tonight?"
George did not need to be asked again as he nodded without saying a word to Pansy, taking his girlfriend into her arms, his lips meeting hers with fervor, and locked the door behind them.
He ran his hands through her dark tresses and held her behind the neck, propelling her backward gently towards Percy's old bed, before pressing his weight on her further, until they lay on top of the mattress...