Chapter Seventeen: Grand Coalition

Tulse Hill, South London
20th December 2009, 9.53pm

So far today, she had made three batches of biscuits, as well as two trays of Christmas muffins, and a large and very sticky apple cake, topped with mincemeat crumble.

Now, Pansy pressed her knuckles into the panettone dough, leaning hard so that her fists sank through and hit the cool porcelain of the bowl. She inhaled deeply, focusing on the feeling, her eyes flicking back to the recipe she had copied from Sahra's compu-thingammy.

Knead vigorously for fifteen minutes until the dough passes the windowpane test.

She frowned down at the bowl again. It had a while to go yet before it reached that point, and Pansy pummelled the mixture hard, trying to lose herself in the physical sensation as she worked it.

The more her shoulders ached, the more the muscles at the back of her arms began to burn, the more she could pretend that she couldn't hear the little voice at the back of her mind. The quiet, reasonable tone. The impression of a head tipped to one side in polite enquiry.

Pansy.

She gritted her teeth until she could hear white noise in her ears, turning the dough in her hands and slapping the flats of her palms against it.

Pansy.

"No," she hissed, stretching the dough between her fingers, and then reaching for the butter.

Where are you?

Along her spine she felt a prickle of magic that wasn't her own. Around her throat, the sensation of hands closing. Down her arms, a sizzling flare of power, and lines webbed across the porcelain of the bowl before it shattered, dough oozing out onto the counter.

"What's going on?"

Pansy jumped at the sound of Dudley's voice behind her. She hadn't heard him come in, and as she turned round she struggled to summon her usual teasing smile. "I got a little… over-zealous," she said blithely, waving casually at the bowl.

Too late, she realised her hand was shaking, and she saw the moment Dudley spotted it.

"Stop lying," he said, taking a step towards her. Pansy backed up, her tailbone bumping against the counter.

"Lying?" she said, but her voice came out too high; too brittle; and Dudley shook his head slowly.

"Stop it," he repeated, moving closer again. His jaw was set, his gaze steady on her own, and for a moment Pansy found herself distracted by the brute handsomeness of his features.

Adulthood had worked quite a feat upon Dudley Dursley's face, if the old pictures of him and his mother were anything to go by. The brief flicker of surprise that Pansy saw on Harry's face every time Dudley responded to one of his jokes, or said something kind or self-deprecating, told her that it had probably worked a feat on his personality, too.

"The baking helps, doesn't it?" Dudley said now, and Pansy could have laughed that of all the people to see through her new-found obsession it would be this - this Muggle. Theo was going to laugh until he made himself sick. As it was, she was too preoccupied trying to hold herself completely rigid against an incoming wave of compulsive force.

Tell me where you are.

Her vision split; doubled; and suddenly she could see the black-gloved hands reaching for her, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the tail of the snake tattoo emerging from the sleeve to curl around a forearm. Pansy spasmed, bending at the waist, her breath coming in a harsh gasp. Under her skin, her magic twisted in a grip that wasn't her own, and pain blossomed, bright and true.

Pansy!

"Whoa there." Dudley went to brace her shoulders, but Pansy threw up an arm and he recoiled as though he had been burned.

"Don't touch me," she whimpered. "Don't - don't -"

"What can I do?" he asked. "Can I - should I call Harry?"

"No." She managed to force the word out between her clenched teeth. "The magic - it won't -"

Dudley's eyes left her briefly to look at the stacks of cooking equipment. "Less magic," he said, "not more, right?"

Pansy nodded, the movement not much more than a jerk of her chin. She could feel witchlight dancing up her spine, could feel the nerves jumping and twitching under her skin, threatening to tear her apart, before -

"What are you doing?" she sobbed, as Dudley's arms folded around her, holding her tight against him even though she knew the power coursing through her must be burning him too.

"Less magic," Dudley growled. "You can't get less magic than me."

She wanted to argue with him, wanted to push him away, prevent another person getting hurt because of her, but instead Pansy found herself burying her face in his shoulder, gripping so tightly against his back that she would have drawn blood had it not been for his winter-weight suit.

He was a big man, broad-shouldered and solidly built, and Pansy imagined herself swallowed in Dudley's grip, hidden from view behind his reassuring bulk. As she did so, she could feel the compulsion waning, the hold of the hostile magic loosening. Behind it, there was a final lick of frustration, accompanied by a slow shake of the head at the other end of the tether.

You can't hide forever.

There were still tremors running up and down her arms, but the tension had dissolved, and Pansy allowed herself to slump against Dudley, harsh breaths catching in her throat.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered, once she could speak without gasping. Dudley leaned away, looking surprised.

He looked even more surprised when Pansy balled up her fist and punched him in the shoulder.

"You stupid fucker!" she yelled, as he stumbled backwards.

"What was that for?" Dudley demanded.

"You could have been killed!" Pansy cried, aiming a kick at his knee that Dudley somehow managed to dodge. "I could have killed you."

"But you didn't!" he protested, holding up his hands against the barrage of blows Pansy tried to land against his chest. "You didn't - it worked - it -"

"You didn't know it would work," she screamed, her own fury taking her by surprise. "You're as bad as your idiot of a cousin, act first and ask questions later and look where that got him."

"Like you're one to talk about stupid decisions," Dudley shot back, and Pansy's eyes narrowed into fierce slits.

"Oh fuck you, Detective Inspector," she spat, going to thump him again.

This time Dudley caught her fist, twisting so that she had to follow the movement or risk letting him break her arm, ending up with her back to his chest as he yanked her against him.

"Could you just stop being such an impossible bitch for five - ow !"

Pansy's heel drove down on his instep with punishing force, and Dudley's hold loosened enough that she was able to twist in his arms.

His eyes widened slightly as she brought the shard of broken bowl that she had lifted from the counter to meet the vulnerable stretch of skin on the underside of his jaw. Dudley went very still, and Pansy swallowed hard as his gaze held hers, steady and patient.

"Make me," she breathed.

He stayed silent long enough to make her wonder, and then he moved with a dueller's speed, knocking the hand that held the porcelain fragment aside and covering her mouth with his.