CHAPTER 25
TRUE to form, just as she had hoped would be the outcome, George hung Fred's portrait up on the wall near the mezzanine landing of the stairs, taking his girlfriend's suggestion, so that his brother's portrait would be one of the first things their customers and investors saw when they walked into the shop.
It had taken several conversations in private with Fred's likeness to get George's twin to come to terms with the fact that Pansy Parkinson was not the witch they both thought she was when they were still in Hogwarts, that she was much changed, and he was with her now.
Though once his portrait was hung in the shop and Fred's portrait could see for itself just how much Pansy seemed to care for George, the affectionate little glances she shot him behind his back when she thought he wasn't looking, to George, spoke volumes, and he relented.
The week passed the two of them quickly, with them taking turns in staying in the other's flat during the evenings. Friday came in a blur, after the two of them, had closed up shop and said their goodbyes to Verity. Verity had been escorted out of the shop by none other than Charlie.
Verity was leaving to start her internship in the Ministry, though the Seer promised she'd visit soon, for the party Mrs. Weasley was hosting for her next week.
Pansy and George were due to meet Norah and Ollie at their place for dinner, so Pansy could finally see for herself just how the bloody hell her cousin's husband had become such a monster at such a young age.
A part of her wasn't sure she was ready to witness such a thing but steeled herself as she stepped out of the front door of the shop, having changed her clothes after work and ran a brush through her hair. She was bolstered by a fair amount of courage as George slipped his hand through hers, and she almost smiled to herself at the thought of some of Weasley's famous Gryffindor courage seeping into her.
She thought it amazing how, just by holding his hand, she felt as though she could do anything, be anything she wanted. Since the hanging up of Fred's portrait in the shop, she'd had three art connoisseurs ask after her talented abilities in painting and present her with their contact information, requesting portraits commissioned.
Fred only half-jokingly had commented over lunch earlier today that they should make up some business cards for her that she could keep up by the front register to hand out, that she would be able to afford a better place in no time.
Now, George stared up at the ancestral manor that had belonged to the Brennan family for generations. The daunting home with its towers and buttresses exuded a sort of intimidating aura as he and Pan approached the greyed stone structure.
He thought it strange how, in the fading cool hues of the evening, the home the Brennan's had made for themselves could look so formidable. He looked towards Pansy.
One look was more than enough. Although she had visited Ollie and Norah in their family's manor several times, seeing it again, this time with George by her side, holding her hand, was breathtaking. A gate around the property had been erected, iron-wrought, likely to keep out intruders.
Pansy had a terrifying thought of children trying to break in on a prank or a dare, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Obscurial who'd survived to adulthood and managed to control his magic enough to learn how to harness a wand at the late age of sixteen.
George sighed. He did not even need to ask to see the nervousness in her eyes. He knew she was dreading whatever it was in Norah's memory that her cousin wanted to show her.
As Pansy stepped through the gate with ease, the protective enchantments around the Brennan's property letting them pass, as the spell was able to recognize select individuals the Brennan's permitted entry into their home, George tried to ignore the ache now settling in his stomach.
He hoped whatever Norah wanted to show Pansy would not scar her, nor taint her opinion of the man whom her cousin had married.
George tried his best not to stare at anything in particular as he allowed Pansy to lead the way into the Brennan's home, his eyes squinting at the darkness in the corridor as she swiftly led the way towards the kitchen.
From the sounds of it, Ollie was lightly arguing with his house-elf over something or other that was apparently on their dinner menu for tonight. His eyes slid instinctively towards Pansy, who caught him looking. She stiffened, her shoulders rising slightly before she quickly cleared her throat and looked away, furrowing her brows in the process as she kept her gaze straight ahead. George blinked before he realized he'd been staring at her as she led the way for longer than was perhaps appropriate.
It was hard not to, he had not spoken of his nerves about having dinner alone with just Ollie and Norah present without the rest of his family present, or the Order for that matter, as Ollie and Norah were both former Order members. Though Pansy was always bright and healthy, he noted she was looking tired and hadn't slept as well as she'd said she had last night.
As they entered the kitchen, George grew even more alarmed to find himself also under inspection. Ollie's back was paraded towards them as the Auror stood in front of the cooker in their surprisingly simple kitchen, while their family's house-elf Vimly, made clucking noises like a chicken as she tried to disobey her master's order to stay out of whatever it was that he appeared to be in charge of making for supper.
The delectable aroma of a mouth-watering beef stew floated through the air and George's flaring nostrils, reminding him of just how hungry he was. He took advantage of the temporary silence to look around. The Brennan's kitchen was simple, with minimal furnishings and decorations.
Probably a side effect of Ollie's Obscurus in the event the wizard ever had an outburst, it was likely that Norah didn't want all of their belongings to break during his fit.
But it was Pan's cousin his gaze was drawn to. Seeing Norah Brennan seated at the kitchen table, her hands wound around a steaming mug of what looked like tea, and staring at him so critically, George felt, for the first time in a long time, a desire to be approved of by Pansy's family members. For once in his life, his appearance and reputation were everything, and much to his dismay, he found himself instinctively running his free hand not wound around Pansy's hand through his hair and then drifting down to straighten his sweater, trying to convince himself that he neither looked nor smelled funny.
"Perfect timing, you lot," Ollie called from over his shoulder, though he made no move to step away from the cooker. "We're just about ready to eat. I hope you like beef stew and biscuits, though Pan, I think Norah wanted to speak to you alone for a couple of minutes, before dinner, if that's alright."
Pansy nodded, exchanging a knowing glance with Norah. The blonde said nothing, but a muscle in her jaw twitched. "That's...fine," she whispered, suddenly timid and could not bear to look Ollie in the eyes.
She could tell with just a look in Norah's burning blue eyes that his wife had made no mention to her husband of the memory she would be showing him.
Suddenly, she felt as though she were intruding upon a private moment in the wizard's life that she had no right to bear witness to, but the tiny shake of her head Norah shot her just then warned her not to speak about it.
George felt himself grow alarmed, though tried not to let his discomfort at being left alone with the Obscurial show in his face. He swallowed down hard past a lump in his throat and looked towards Pansy, who shot him a soft little smile.
"May I help? Would you like me to set the table or...or put ice in the glasses?" he blurted out, speaking more towards Ollie than Norah at the moment.
He could not explain away just why it was that he was so desperate for anything to break the silence that lingered between them as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the short-haired blonde's penetrating and piercing icy blue eyes.
Much to his and Pansy's amusement, the couple's house-elf, who was now perched on Ollie's shoulder and scrutinizing every inch of her master's cooking with a crinkled nose, turned towards George, and shot Pansy's boyfriend a reproachful look, scrunching up her snout.
"That is what Vimly is for, Young Master Weasley, sir, you's is kind to offer, but I is helping Master Oliver just fine!" she squeaked in a shrill and high-pitched voice, before turning back around just in time to watch Ollie add a pinch of a spice she disapproved of into the vegetable stew he was making. The house-elf almost sounded offended that he had offered.
George grimaced and nodded, seeing no other choice but to turn back towards Norah, who'd risen from her spot at their kitchen table and was heading towards Pansy, an odd expression in her eyes.
He knew that look all too well, having seen it a time or two now in Pansy's eyes. The women both wore equal expressions of determination on their faces, and it was clear that Norah was of a mind to show Pan the memory in her possession before they all sat down to dinner. Though before the Veela could lead Pan out of the kitchen, George caught Pan by the arm and leaned forward, and whispered in the shell of her ear.
"Do you want me there, Pan?" he asked her, quietly, hopefully. However, much to his disappointment, she shook her head.
"No, it's something I should do alone," she confessed, flicking her gaze towards Ollie.
The man thankfully didn't notice them lingering, as his attention was focused solely on making sure Vimly didn't attempt to interfere with his homemade pot of vegetable stew, barking orders at her not to dare touch his masterpiece while he checked on the croissants in the oven.
Pansy chuckled wryly to herself, though the smile didn't reach her eyes as she returned her gaze to George and tried to reassure the man.
"Stay here and chat with Ollie for a bit, make sure he doesn't burn down the whole bloody kitchen," she teased, and without a word, she left, allowing her cousin to take her by the arm and drag her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and towards the stairwell that led up to the second floor of their home and presumably, to a more private room.
George respectfully hung back in the kitchens, much to his growing unease of being left alone with the Obscurial and their family's little house-elf. As kind as Ollie was, there was a part of him that was intimidated by the Obscurial, knowing at any given moment, something could set him off.
But before he could say a word, Ollie turned and wiped his hands on the dishtowel that Vimly handed him.
"I hear we have Pan to thank for Slughorn's contact putting in a good word for me. He alongside Mr. Lupin is intended to come first thing in the morning to meet with Norah and me to discuss this procedure they want to attempt to get rid of this damned spook I have. The procedure's being backed by Slughorn himself as a show of good faith. He hopes I'll survive it," Ollie grunted, his blue eyes darkening, turning almost cerulean as he spoke. "I should have guessed she would have risked everything to try to help me, if not for me, then for Norah's sake. She cares for us. Just like she cares for you, George," Ollie announced in a slightly judgmental tone as George stared at the black-haired Legilimens, unsure of what exactly to say to the Auror. He studied Ollie, restlessly.
George was quick to decide he did not like the narrowing of the wizard's icy blue eyes. Did the Legilimens know that he and Pan had slept together now, not just once, but multiple times?
But the man gave him no time to mull it over.
"You love her. Pan." Ollie's question was more of a statement of fact, rather than an inquiry. He turned around to fully face George as he moved to take a seat at the kitchen table while Vimly oversaw the final preparations of dinner, motioning for George to join him. George could only comply.
George flinched as Ollie Brennan regarded him with a superior glare.
Not even when George had stood alongside Fred beneath the formidable scrutiny of their mother whenever Mum had been furiously angry with them both for something or other, had he felt so small and inconsequential as he did now. He inhaled deeply and straightened his posture.
"I am, Mr. Brennan, sir, I wouldn't have given her the key to my flat otherwise," he answered, not budging an inch, his tone laced to the brim with determined conviction.
"The night I pulled her out from underneath that rubble," George recounted. He sensed that Ollie was now warming up to him a bit. He hoped it simply wasn't what his eyes wanted to see.
His eyes went soft as he remembered waiting for Pan to wake up in St. Mungo's, how vulnerable she looked, broken, looking like she was barely taped together at the seams, and in need of someone to comfort her.
"She was….she still is, the most beautiful thing."
Though Pan wasn't here by his side now, George could still feel Pansy Parkinson's presence and wished he could bottle this feeling in a tiny glass vial and keep it close to his heart.
"Beautiful?" Ollie immediately questioned, having the audacity to quirk a brow his way as he studied him over the rim of his glass as he took a long swallow of butterbeer and held it in his mouth for a moment before finally swallowing. "Not many have found Norah's cousin to be so pretty." He shook his head regretfully, a look of anger forming on his face.
George nodded his understanding. His mind again could see the tears in Pansy's eyes the night of their date when she told him of how her father had always called her 'beautiful' but it had meant nothing to the wizard.
"She's been surrounded by wankers and idiots for most of her life, Mr. Brennan, sir, no offense, Ollie," he spoke, the note of bitterness in his tone evident.
"She has," Ollie affirmed solemnly. There was a part of him that was relieved that his wife's cousin had finally found someone else to see Pan's true value, just how enchanting she was.
Ollie smiled softly, the edges of his mouth curling upwards, to which George shot back a relieved smile of his own, grateful that he seemed to have the man's blessing for his and Pan's relationship. As far as Ollie was concerned, Weasley had just assured his place in Pan's life.
If they were further along in their time together in dating and George was of a mind to one day marry Pan, he would have given Weasley his blessing then and there if George had asked...
PANSY and Norah were silent for a few moments as Pansy gingerly closed the door shut behind her, while her cousin worked to pull the Pensive Jack Brennan had owned out of the storage closet on the far sidewall. Pansy watched as the basin floated lazily in mid-air until it came to rest on top of the polished oak surface of the desk here in the office she presumed was Ollie's home office.
She watched, stricken, as Norah held her wand to her hair and extracted the silvery strand that contained her and Ollie's shared memory and let the strand float lazily into the waiting Pensieve.
Pansy watched as the familiar silvery light began to emanate from the contents of the bowl, like the wind if the gusts of air were ever to take on a solid form.
"Are you sure about this? I...I understand if you don't want me to watch it, it's your life, Nor, I...don't want to feel like I'm intruding...?" Pansy hesitantly asked, chewing on her lip, and cautiously stepping forward.
"Positive." Norah nodded, her jaw clenched like steel, her icy-blue eyes glistening with a fierce determination that Pansy could not recall seeing before. "It will help you to understand why we have to get it out of him, no matter the cost, and considering everything you've done for us, Pan, going to Slughorn, giving me the contact of his man in the Ministry, you've saved Ollie from losing his job, Pan. You've saved his life. I'm taking him to a secure ward in St. Mungo's tomorrow, away from the other patients. Lyall and several of the institute's most experienced Healers need the space to do what they can for him to get the Obscurus out of him," she quietly explained, offering a morose little chuckle at the excitement on Pansy's face. "You seeing his memory that he showed me is the least I can do, and don't worry about Ollie, mate, if he finds out, this one is on me. You won't get in trouble," she whispered, her hand drifting to the flat of her belly. "And...try not to think too badly of him. Neither of us... know the truth of what happened, though he suspects."
Pansy exhaled slowly at hearing her cousin's words, deciding that she needed no further encouragement. She closed her eyes as she lowered her head into the silver swirling liquid in the basin, feeling as though the memory were pulling her in, and a strange gush of wind blew her hair away from her face as she felt herself being dragged downward. Not wanting to look, Pansy kept her eyes squeezed shut as there was another violent whoosh of air, and then darkness.
And then, she was falling, but the sickening sensation did not last. Whatever she landed on, it was hard, and her body hurt like hell. Pansy rose to her feet with a pained groan, squinting her eyes through the darkness and trying to discern where she was. Everything was laced with the biting feeling of cold.
It took her a moment to recognize that she was in the front entryway of the Brennan's home. She almost didn't recognize it, with how sparse and dimly lit the entryway was. She was about to try to determine which way to go when there came the sound of a loud resounding knock at the Brennan's front door.
Pansy gave a start as a younger version of her cousin came scurrying down the hall to open the door for whoever it was that was calling on her and Ollie. Pansy was startled to see how much younger her cousin looked here. She wondered how old this memory of Ollie's was and what she was about to watch.
If she had to hazard a guess, she pinpointed Norah at around twenty or so here, which would have put her and Ollie into the first few years of their dating, and this must have been shortly after Norah had officially agreed to date him and had moved in with the wizard following his asking her.
Her cousin was a vision this morning in a simple blue dress, not a wisp of her short blonde hair out of place, and Pansy could only watch as Norah reached up and nervously tucked back a wisp of her hair back behind the shell of her ear as she opened the door to reveal who was on the other side.
Pansy let out a reflexive gasp of disgust at the witch now standing on the other side of the entryway to the Brennan's house, just waiting for Norah to step back and let her in. What met Pansy's questioning eyes was probably the furthest thing from a living, breathing, human being she had ever seen.
A shriveled and bent-over old witch stood on the other side of the threshold of the door.
Her housedress was simple in design, a faded brown color, her grey hair was roughly sliced to shoulder length, Pansy noted, as she crept closer, silent as an owl and unnoticed in Ollie's memory, for a closer look.
In the dim light, the woman's skin appeared yellowed in some places and others, green. She smiled at Norah with an unsettling smile.
"Miss Jameson," she announced in a warbling voice that shook slightly as she shuffled the little handbag she clutched in her hands tight to her chest. "I was told that your partner wishes to speak to me?" she asked, moving over the threshold of the door as Norah opened the door wider a crack to let the witch inside.
"Yes, mum," Norah murmured in a polite voice. "He's just inside. Please, come in, you'll catch your ruddy death out here in the cold like this."
Pansy furrowed her brows, thinking this old hag that her cousin was inviting into Ollie's home looked familiar, though was having trouble placing her face. She wondered where she had seen her before.
Though Pansy was given no time to ponder it as Norah gingerly closed the front door shut behind her and began to lead the shriveled and hunched over old witch towards what appeared to be their living room.
The room seemed as though it were on the other side of the world as Pansy quietly followed like the specter and shadow that she had become, though she grew more and more restless with each footstep.
She had questions about Ollie's memory, more than she had any right to.
Who this witch was if she had played any sort of part in what had happened to her cousin's husband when he was a young boy, and why the bloody hell was she here? What did she want?
The Brennan's living room looked different than Pansy could remember, even when she'd visited as a little girl.
She frowned and looked around at the differences, wondering if how the living room looked today in its simple and tasteful décor had been Norah's doing when the witch had moved in with Ollie, but now, it looked vastly different.
The place was lavishly decorated with the types of worldly treasures that she was sure had been collected over the years by his father, Jack, she was sure of it.
Imported French silks draped over the windows of the room as their curtains, and fine goblin-made swords sat in their holders above the mantle of the fireplace. Jack Brennan's private collection was bathed in the warm light of the fire whose mantle was fashioned from what appeared to be the bones of dragons. It was truly a grand room and one that had been fashioned by a soul who wished to travel the world. Ollie stood in the room, his interest too fixated on the flames roaring in the hearth, his back to his girlfriend and the old woman who tottered along behind the beautiful blonde Veela.
Pansy strode quickly to the far side of the room, the corner, where she would be able to observe everyone's faces and gauge their reactions to whatever sort of conversation was about to take place.
A thick silence lingered in the lavish living room, and it was a long moment before the old witch was the one, not Ollie or Norah, to break the silence.
"You've called me here to speak with me, haven't you?" she questioned, a note of curiosity coupled with impatience in the witch's warbling voice.
Norah graced Ollie with a sweet and encouraging nod as the blonde situated herself in the armchair that was close to the fireplace, curling her legs up underneath her and adjusting the skirts of her dress.
Pansy had to let herself smile, as just the blonde's sweet smile that she seemed to reserve for Ollie alone seemed to give the man the courage to turn around and face the witch who now sat on his sofa.
"Yes, mum." Ollie swallowed nervously. At last, Ollie turned around and regarded the old woman now seated on his sofa with a sort of superior glare that Pansy knew immediately she did not like.
She'd known her cousin's husband had a rough past and was ashamed of several things he'd done in his life, the Obscurus attached to his soul harboring the most resentment in his heart, but she had never seen the wizard behave so coldly towards someone before.
But the old woman, to her credit, seemed unwilling to show even an ounce of timidity in the Death Eater's son's presence as she straightened her posture and plopped her little handbag at her feet.
"What is it that I can do for you, Mr….?" she asked, her yellow eyes making a quick scan of Ollie's broad and muscular form that the wizard often tried to downplay and hide underneath his thick black turtleneck sweaters Pansy knew he loved so much.
"Jones," he blurted out, much to her surprise. She looked and then cursed herself, remembering that neither Ollie nor Norah nor this witch could see it.
Here, she was nothing more than a shade, a silent observer. She clamped her lips shut and waited.
"Hmm." The old woman made a noise of dissent that sounded like a haughty sniff through her nose and folded her gnarled hands that looked more like arthritic claws as neatly as she could into her lap. "And what is it, pray to tell, Mr….Jones, that you could require my services for? I am a historian, sir."
"Ms. Bagshot, please, we thought…perhaps… before you relocated to Godric's Hollow, you and your husband once lived near this home, yes? We were hoping you might…er…know of its history, what happened here to the—the previous owners. My partner and I only just moved in and we were told by the goblin who sold us this home through Gringotts that it has…a reputation. We, ah, want to ensure the place isn't…cursed if you get my meaning. We, ah, were hoping that you could tell us anything you could about the...the Brennan family, and what happened to them, Ms. Bagshot," Norah spoke up defensively, sensing Ollie's growing discomfort as the dark-haired wizard pulled a face and stepped forward.
She made no move to get up out of her chair, but Norah was looking directly at the witch as she spoke, and it was as Norah was speaking that Pansy realized who this witch was, and immediately felt as though she had been hit by a Stunning Spell and froze.
This witch currently seated on Ollie's sofa was the noted magical historian, Bathilda Bagshot.
And her face was familiar as Pansy had not only seen the witch's author photograph on the back of her copy of one of her old history books for her former History of Magic classes but also, she owned Bathilda Bagshot's Chocolate Frog card back home in her binder that contained the Frog cards she'd collected over the years.
The old witch bristled as though it personally offended her that Norah was mentioning Ollie's family surname.
Pansy wondered just what the two hoped to achieve exactly by lying to the noted old historian.
A part of her wondered if Bathilda Bagshot suspected anything, though just one look at the hag's face told her the academic historian was either skilled at Legilimency, for her face was blank, or she did not care.
It was hard for Pansy to discern which was which. Out of the corner of her eye where Ollie stood stiff and rigid as a board in front of the fireplace, she and Norah saw Bathilda Bagshot lower her head a bit.
"I am…well acquainted with the subject, though I have not spoken of it for several years. I try not to, with baggage such as that which traumatic history tends to carry with it," she agreed, not disputing it. "But then, dear thing, so are you, pretty little dove," the old hag all but cackled in Norah's direction, causing the Veela to squirm and shrink back into her chair out of unease. "You have moved into the Brennan's home, it would seem, and have made it a home for yourselves. What more could you possibly hope to learn from me if I were to recant the truly dreadful events of that blood-soaked dawn? Hmm?" she challenged lightly, almost mockingly. "The youngest Brennan boy was said to have killed his twin brother and mother during a skirmish, the bodies mauled beyond recognition, it took six Healers to identify their faces post-mortem. What attached itself to that kid was a monster, plain and simple, my dears," the historian announced, her tone matter-of-factly. "What more could I divulge? There's nothing more to it than that. That family has become over time, your typical ghost story..."
"What. Happened, Ms. Bagshot. Please be honest with my girlfriend and me, we've made this appointment with you to learn your account of…this place, that night. I would like to hear the recant of events, please, seeing as how you took my Galleons and owe us your account, mum," Ollie barked in a hoarse voice that rent through the air, making Pansy jump, though she knew none of them could see it. He almost sounded angry with old Bathilda.
Bathilda Bagshot proceeded to shoot Ollie a rueful look, eyeing Ollie with no small measure of scrutiny in her narrowed yellowed eyes as her expression hardened, almost becoming cold.
For a moment, Pansy thought the historian wasn't going to answer him, but then she sat back against the sofa's cushions and spoke.
"For a time, my husband and I, Merlin bless his soul, lived adjacent to this home, as you know. You two seem to have…done your research on this home when you bought the place from Gringotts, I take it," she murmured, a thoughtful expression plastered all over her face as she studied Norah and Ollie with an odd look Pansy wasn't sure what to make of, but before she could try to identify the look, Bathilda Bagshot continued her recanting of events. "Mr. and Mrs. Brennan struck me as…odd folks. Evil folks, or at least the patriarch of the family. Jack, his name was."
Bathilda scrunched her nose and pulled a face of disgust.
"He wasn't at all warm or welcoming when I arrived the day Mr. Brennan moved in with his then-pregnant wife. Now, the wife, I enjoyed. Quite a delight, so it struck me as odd such a witch with untapped potential chose to tie her life to a monster like him."
She paused, thinking she had seen Norah flinch at the use of the word monster, but she ignored it and carried on.
"The boys, I didn't see much of, though they seemed like bright young wizards in the making. Tragic, what happened to that family." She clucked her tongue in disappointment and then proceeded to shake her head. "I was in the backyard the day it happened. I heard shouting, I had thought Jack had gotten all riled up again over something or other, and then..." The aging old historian shuddered as a violent tremor wafted its way up and down her slightly twisted vertebrae as she fixed Ollie with a pointed look that even invisible, made Pansy flinch, and Pansy was sure that Ollie felt the scrutiny of Bathilda's gaze. "A horrible explosion. By the time the Aurors arrived, the oldest boy an' the mother were both dead, though I caught the youngest boy fleeing the scene, running off into the woods behind this house, his eyes black like the Devil himself had possessed him. I've never seen a kid so scared and try to outrun the devil-like that boy did that night. There's no doubt in my mind, that something happened, probably Jack said or did something against his wife and it caused the darkness within the boy's heart to erupt and manifest itself in the form of an Obscurus. I'm sure the boy didn't mean it, at least...one could only hope, though no one knows the truth except the dead twin and mother, and they're clearly in no condition to tell us six feet under the ground. Now..." Bathilda Bagshot let her voice trail off for a moment as the old historian's expression hardened as she rose to her feet and grabbed her handbag.
It was clear the witch wished to get on about her day and put such an unpleasant topic of discussion behind her, ready to leave, but before she did, she looked like she had one final question to ask, though what she could have asked next, neither Pansy was prepared for, and Norah and Ollie weren't.
"Oliver Brennan, did you kill your brother and your mother?" Bathilda asked in a blunt and harsh tone.
Ollie felt the blood drain from his face as Pansy watched her cousin's then-boyfriend shoot Norah a worried little look, shocked that Bathilda Bagshot appeared to have seen right through the lies.
"How—?" he started to ask, though Bagshot interrupted him and cut the wizard off as he asked her.
"Your eyes, boy. I'd know them anywhere. Jack's eyes. But do not make me ask again. Did you?" Bathilda asked in a much harsher than she had before.
He hesitated. It was clear to Ollie that he could not deny the obvious. Bathilda had seen right through his lies and the false name he had given her when he had sent a letter via owl post to her home requesting an appointment.
She knew who he was. At this rate, he could only do his best to lessen the damage that he was sure he'd had a hand in when it came to his family's ruined reputation, and perhaps one day, to Norah, if she ever married him.
He lowered his head, unable to meet Bathilda Bagshot's eyes.
"I don't know," he confessed, giving the older witch a pained look as he slowly lifted his head and flicked his gaze to hers. "But I probably did," he admitted softly.
From somewhere, outside of her awareness, Pansy heard the familiar hoarse voice of her cousin's husband, coming from above her head, speaking to her.
"I think it's time you came back home, Pan. You've seen more than enough."
For a moment, as Pansy was pulled out of the memory and back into the study where Norah kept Jack Brennan's Pensieve, she was struck speechless as she lifted her gaze and found herself face-to-face with Ollie. The man's lips were pursed, nearly white, and tight with anger.
"O-Ollie," she whispered, her voice scratchy. She was sure the wizard was furious with both her and his wife for delving into a hidden memory that he wished for nothing more than to forget. "I'm sorry, mate, b-but I had to know, please don't be angry with me, and don't you dare take it out on your wife, mate, punish me, hit me, jinx me if you have to, but it was my idea, not Norah's. I'm the one that pressured her into showing me the memory, she had bloody nothing to do with this, it all me," she asked, her voice cracking and tears coming to her eyes.
From the corner of her peripherals, she saw Norah hovering by the door, George peeking over her shoulder, looking as though he was more than ready to jump to Pansy's aid and defend her if need be, but a curt shake from the blonde witch told him without words that it would be an ill-advised move.
Ollie turned his profile to the side and scrubbed at his face hard with his hand.
Still, he did not approach Pansy any closer but nor did he take a step back.
She could practically see the energy pulsating through the Obscurial, no outlet available to him, or at least, no outlet that Ollie wanted. She did not know if saying she was sorry again would ease his anger or remind him of every reason he likely had to hate her, though she hoped she didn't.
Either way, her words could be the death of her depending on how she spoke. She knew she had to say something. Ollie might not act, but Pansy knew that something had to be said to diffuse his ire.
"I—I wanted to know why you refused to talk about all these years," she whispered, and Ollie turned to look at her. "You both owed me a solid, considering I risked a lot for you by going to see Slughorn and I ran into Umbridge, too. Does it help that it doesn't matter if you...if it...did it?" she quietly corrected herself, giving her head a little curt shake to clear her mind. "Does it help you to let this go if I tell you that I side with Norah on this, mate? That whatever happened, it was an accident, and you need to let this go because if you keep hanging onto it like this, then you're just feeding that thing the energy it wants from your body to survive and thrive. It's killing you because you're letting it, mate!" she cried.
"Not for long, Pan," Ollie finally replied after a moment of silence as his blue eyes burned with anguish and anger as he looked at her. "Thanks to your…way with words, I'm sure, not just a paintbrush, Horace's contact within the Ministry was able to vouch for me. Norah got in touch with him this morning and went over there to speak with him. She didn't let me go, she, ah, thought my presence in the Ministry would invoke a panic, considering what happened, so I stayed here with Vimley and we worked on the baby's nursery for a bit," he added as he gingerly rubbed at the back of his neck and entangled a finger in his black hair, and tousled his hair in a fit of anxiousness. "She was gone for at least three hours, but she came back and I'm more or less free. I'm on paid leave from my job while all this gets sorted out, and I'm not allowed to return until this parasite gets removed," he added in a dark voice, though there was relief in the wizard's eyes as well as he looked at her.
Much to Pansy's relief, he cracked a smile. She exhaled a shaking breath and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as they sagged. She had been more than ready for another one of the wizard's outbursts if the Obscurial decided to surface. She was glad that wasn't the case, and one look over at George and Norah told them her boyfriend and her cousin felt the same.
"I'm happy to hear that, mate, really," she added in a genuine voice and shot him a little smile as the group collectively turned as they heard Vimley hollering in a squeaking and shrill voice that her Master's dinner was getting cold.
Ollie rolled his eyes to the ceiling at their house-elf's clinginess and sighed dramatically, motioning with a wave of his arm for George and Pansy to follow them as he headed out of his office, draping his arm around Norah's middle as he did and pulling his wife close against his body.
Norah immediately launched into a teasing tirade to her husband about his cooking skills, if he'd managed to burn the water for the stew and Ollie pretended to feign hurt feelings.
Pansy was glad to see her cousin so happy with a good man who had learned to look past the surface exterior of the Veela's bewitching physical beauty and see the good heart and kind soul underneath. And she was glad that it had happened to her too, for she felt she did not deserve the wizard currently holding on to her hand.
She sighed and paused, causing George to halt in his tracks in the middle of the Brennan's hallway as he turned to look at Pansy curiously.
He looked down at her, his brown eyes confused.
She was no Legilimens and could not tell what it was that Weasley was thinking, but it was more than enough to see the affection and love he held for her brimming in his brown eyes, and it warmed Pansy several times over. He was so different from that first day he had walked into her hospital room. Both of them had come so far.
"I'm glad I'm here with you, George," she whispered very softly. She was unsure if the wizard had even heard her. "Very happy."
But then as a soft shy smile caused the edges of his mouth to turn up in a little smile, Pansy knew that her boyfriend heard every word.
She pressed her head against his chest and stared down the hallway, where both of them chuckled as Vimly's tiny silhouette appeared at the end, the house-elf growing increasingly impatient for Master's Special Guests to join them.
"Disturbingly happy…" she whispered and then damped her lips against his in a gentle kiss.
He held her more tightly as they finally broke apart, and George squeezed her to him. She closed her eyes, sighed, and wished that she could suspend this moment in Time itself, that she could stay like this forever, with George at her side.
A future like that, she thought, wouldn't be so bad…