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Part Three | Burn with Me

42. Two Unlikely Events

It took a full night and most of the next day before Pansy was willing to leave the still unconscious Neville's bedside. After Daphne's gentle hinting and Draco's less than subtle suggesting, it eventually took Winky's downright shooing Pansy into a nearby bathroom, before she conceded to have a much-needed wash.

The pretence was simple: she hadn't wanted to leave Neville.

The reality, however, was…complex, even to Pansy who didn't fully understand her reluctance. Until, of course, she was faced with the task of undressing and forced to confront her own battered and bruised naked form, did she find herself breaking down again.

Sinking to the floor, Pansy prayed the silencing charm she'd placed on the bathroom was enough to hide the racked sobs that began to erupt from her. Pulling her knees to her chest, Pansy hugged her arms around them, unwilling to expose any more of her than was necessary to the walls that surrounded her. For the walls, and the mirror, and even the shower and bath she was currently neglecting, had eyes, Pansy found, far more penetrating than those possessed by her friends.

It took a monumental amount of the type of emotional strength that Pansy felt severely lacking in for her to bring herself to enter the bathtub. It seemed calmer than the shower, less intrusive, somehow. A bath offered a sense of hiding oneself away whereas a shower presented a level of exposure Pansy felt nauseated at the mere thought of. And yet it still felt too much, too soon…too…naked.

She washed herself as quickly as she was able, somehow able to find a kind of forced autopilot to do so. Going through the motions she tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep her thoughts blank as she washed the grime and blood and dirt from first her hair, and then her body, rubbing the areas she knew he had touched her more than necessary, far more than necessary, she knew, and yet the pain of scrubbing herself so hard – even over already existing bruising, was somehow a relief, as though pain caused by her own hand was somehow more tolerable - even when it was greater, than pain caused by him.

Emerging red and raw, in many ways cleansed but in many more bereft, Pansy wrapped a fluffy towel gratefully around her sore body and dried herself with a quick spell, too eager to clothe herself to even consider doing so without magic.

Winky – Merlin bless that elf, had ensured enough of Pansy's own clothes had arrived and so at least the materials that now covered her were familiar, a sensation she needed more than most.

What else she needed more than probably anything, was the one thing that was frustratingly impossible – an awake Neville. Pansy didn't have any clue how she'd tell him, well – anything, about what had occurred between her and Rabastan Lestrange, but she knew the fact that it being between the girl he loved and one of the men who had destroyed his life was a burden she knew she never wished to see flash across the blue of his eyes. And yet, selfishly, she needed to see it, because she needed him, and she hoped against hope that after learning what Rabastan had almost succeeded in doing, that he'd still need her too.

But wake, Neville had not. Winky continually assured Pansy that unconscious was the best state for him, given the extent of his injuries, but it didn't – as much as it possibly should, make it easier for Pansy to be without him, an awake him, anyway. And so, fitfully, she waited, refusing to leave his room unless to visit the bathroom, and refusing to let anyone that wasn't Winky, Daphne or Draco inside. Eating the bare minimum she could get away with without them becoming cross at her severe lack of anything resembling self-care, and sleeping only in short, nightmare-filled bursts when she positioned herself next to him, wishing that more than anything she'd feel one of his stationary arms snake itself around her and pull her into him and away from her problems. But in a cold irony, the only person she could ever imagine being able to stand the touch of ever again, with the exception of her House Elf, was unable to give her so much as a comforting pat on the arm.

After three days of this, Draco, it seemed, had had enough, much to Pansy's disdain.

"Pans," he began, and she knew that tone and what it meant. Narrowing her eyes from her position at Neville's bedside, Pansy looked up at Draco through narrowed eyes.

"No."

"There's no need to be stubborn, everyone's," he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully, "very worried about you and-"

"With all due respect Draco," Pansy swallowed, "I really don't care about anyone being worried about me."

"I know, but this is hardly healthy, you need to leave this room, for longer than it takes to have a piss."

Pansy wondered vaguely whether to point out how much Draco had zero right to lecture her on not being the picture of health when he had spent the last few months successfully transitioning himself into a functioning alcoholic. She decided against it. "No."

Clearly not intent with giving up so easily, Pansy watched through eyes that were heavy – too heavy with exhaustion, as Draco crossed the small room in a few strides and sat on a nearby chair. His expression, which had showed first concern, and then frustration, altogether softened into something else entirely. "Pans…"

"Don't," to her surprise, she choked on the word. "Don't do that."

"Say your name?"

"Say it with pity."

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as he regarded her in silence, obviously weighing up his next words carefully. "Fair enough."

For the first time since arriving, Pansy felt something akin to a sliver of amusement overcome her. "Most people would've just denied it."

Draco shrugged. "I'm not most people."

"I know," she replied honestly. "But I don't want your pity, Draco."

"I wouldn't say I do pity you."

Not sure she entirely believed his words, Pansy raised her eyebrows. "No?"

"I feel for you Pans, so fucking much, and I'm angry for you, but no, I don't pity you."

Not quite knowing how – or perhaps simply not having the energy to reply, Pansy turned her head to Neville's.

"No change?" she heard Draco ask from somewhere behind her.

"No change."

For a while neither spoke, but the silence, as it ever was with Pansy and Draco, was comfortable and it wasn't until she heard the legs of his chair scrape briefly across the bare wooden floor, did Pansy opt to speak to him again, forcing herself to bring forth the one desperate question that had been plaguing her mind since she'd taken up her unwavering position by Neville.

"How the hell can I face her?"

Draco didn't answer straight away, instead sighing deeply through his nose. "Honestly? I don't

know."

"Well that's great advice, thanks very much."

He snorted. "It's all I've got, but I will say this. She's a hell of a lot more scared to face you, than

you'll be to see her."

"Did she really help you get him here?"

Again, Draco took a second to compose his answer. "Pans, she's the reason I was able to get him here."

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat, Pansy listened to Draco explain, in somewhat lax detail she imagined, how Millicent had come to him and confessed all, and how Draco had raged and raged at her just as Pansy had. Utilising instructions from Winky, Draco and Millicent had navigated moving and apparating Neville, Millicent having to distract Severus Snape – the headteacher they rarely saw and who Pansy knew was a very accomplished Occlumens, in a very risky and dangerous move. "If she hadn't had the gumption to do that," Draco confessed, "he'd have found us, and Longbottom, a few seconds later."

"He'd never have hurt you."

"No," Draco agreed, "probably not. But," he nodded towards Neville's unconscious form, "I doubt he'd have thought twice about hurting him."

"No," Pansy cast her mind back to the note from the Carrows' office, which felt excruciatingly like a lifetime ago, and knew she had to concur with Draco's words. "You're right. He wouldn't have thought twice."

If she was honest, just as she had been during her own confrontation with Millicent, Pansy couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same, had Daphne suddenly got together with Weasley, she'd have sold the gormless ginger out quicker than she could say her own name if it meant there was a chance of saving her friends, and she told Draco, who nodded, just as much. "Only now," Pansy swallowed, "it's not just…" she tried oh so hard to quell the sobs, "it's not just her giving Neville's na-name…it's…"

"You now feel it's the reason why what happened, happened," Draco finished for her.

It took Pansy far longer than it should to get out anything that resembled English. "I-is that…wrong?"

He surveyed her for several seconds. "It's understandable, but ultimately yes, I suppose, if you want to be black and white about it, it is misplaced blame," he replied honestly. "And if you want my opinion, I don't think you could ever blame her more than she blames herself."

"Oh."

"She hates herself, Pans."

It took her longer than perhaps it should have to muster up the courage to say it, but eventually Pansy took a deep breath, and uttered, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Go get Millicent."

It was uncomfortable and strained; rushed and gradual all at once and was easily one of the hardest conversations Pansy – and she knew Millicent too - had ever had to endure. But it was necessary, and cathartic… and possibly healing. In many ways it hadn't felt real, not when she thought to all the ways in which she loved the girl, but in so many others it also felt it represented the stark reality of the world they lived in.

And that world was messy and cruel and was thrust upon all of them without instruction or rule book, and it held only one real goal: survive.

Neither Pansy nor Millicent had spoken for several minutes, not after Millicent's last tearful apology and Pansy's equally tearful acceptance, and they were filled with both girls staring gently at the unconscious body beside Pansy.

"Do y-you really love him? Really?"

Pansy didn't need to think to answer. "Yes."

"You still seem such an unlikely couple," Millicent admitted.

Pansy smiled gently. "I used to think that too."

"But now you don't?"

"Now I don't."

His face still showed the very evident signs of the Carrows' handiwork, his bruising causing a myriad of purple and yellowing shades over his features.

"Any idea when he'll wake up?"

Shaking her head sadly, Pansy replied, "No, Winky says it could be any day now, but could also be next week, or longer."

Millicent offered a supportive smile. "At least he's safe here, you know, to heal."

"Yeah, I suppose. I just wish I could talk to him, it's…he's…" she couldn't continue, instead clamping her palm tight across her mouth, her eyes burning with hot tears she didn't want to cry.

"Oh Pans, ca-can I hug you?"

The question surprised her, and was, she realised, very appreciated. Simply nodding, Pansy allowed Millicent to wrap her arms around her shoulders. "He's going to wake up really soon, I can feel it."

"I don't even know," Pansy began after several minutes of nothing but crashing sobs, "what I'll say when he does."

"You probably won't know that until you're facing it."

There was the strangest familiarity that resided with Millicent, Pansy realised. Millicent, in many ways, was far more like Pansy. Why Daphne had ever been sorted into Slytherin, none of them had ever known, but Millicent, just as Pansy was, was a snake through and through. When Daphne wore her kindness on her sleeves; open and obvious for the world to see, both Pansy and Millicent kept theirs by their hearts, locked behind the cage of their ribs, so close anyone would be forgiven for missing it. Where Daphne was outspoken and unapologetic truth, Millicent was whispered secrets and hushed lies and, in many ways, had always been the balance Pansy's life needed.

Pansy wasn't entirely sure how, exactly, Millicent had persuaded her, when even Draco had failed, but somehow, she found herself descending an unfamiliar staircase and onto the lower level of the cottage they were now staying in.

The hush that fell over the others as she and Millicent entered was, to Pansy, deafening. Everyone was situated, mostly sitting in various spots upon one of the two couches or three armchairs. Draco and Theo were standing near a far door which Pansy assumed led towards a kitchen.

It was Theo, unsurprisingly, who broke the awkward silence between the group, his eyes having widened altogether at the sight of the two friends. "Fucking hell, Mills is still I one piece."

"Hilarious," Pansy replied bluntly as she strode, somewhat tentatively, to the edge of one of the couches.

Ignoring Theo, Pansy locked eyes with the nearby Daphne – who was sitting on one of the couches, her legs strewn over Blaise's, and allowed her best friend the briefest hint of a smile.

"Are you two…" Daphne's voice was unusually quiet, and she trailed off with a vague gesture of her hands, looking as though she wasn't entirely sure she should have asked anything.

Pansy knew Millicent was waiting on Pansy to answer, and although Pansy was unsure whether the two would ever be what they once were, in the same vein that if truth be told she didn't know whether any of them would ever be the same after this year, she nodded. "Yeah, we're okay."

She heard a low whistle sound from somewhere in Theo and Draco's general direction, and somehow, with the truly shit, but somehow lifesaving hand the friends had been dealt, they managed, collectively, to retain something of their camaraderie that the six hadn't shared in what felt – to Pansy – for a long, long time.

The evening eventually rolled into night and Pansy felt herself develop an odd numbness that didn't take her pain away, exactly, but enabled her to forget just enough to laugh at jokes and join in with anecdotes. Perhaps it was the people she loved the most – even if she was missing one most important one, or possibly the most logical explanation was the wine Daphne had placed into her hands earlier in the evening, but Pansy managed to have something that vaguely resembled a good time. It wasn't until they were deep into a game of truth or dare when two unlikely events occurred.

The first came in a stark and unexpected knocking upon the front door.

In unison, six wands were gripped, and six bodies rose to standing, every one on guard. Pansy's eyes darted between the door that led to the front landing, and Draco. The latter was the first to move as he, Theo and Blaise made their way towards the front of the cottage. None had spoken, but Pansy knew, even without having been told, that someone finding them simply shouldn't have been possible, she knew Daphne, Blaise and Theo would have protected the place as best they could, and between them, Pansy knew they would have made it untraceable to anyone – Muggle or magical.

The prospect, however, of someone doing just that, was unnerving at best, and downright terrifying at most. One hasty look at Daphne's wide-eyed expression told Pansy the blonde shared the same concerns.

The girls waited, Pansy barely daring to breath as they listened to what they could hear of the others in the hallway and found herself able to breath when the collective relief of Draco, Theo and Blaise could be heard in their voices. They heard the door open and at first nothing, and then a very familiar – but entirely unexpected voice rang out through the night.

"Your protective wards are very impressive!"

Pansy would know the voice anywhere, and yet still wasn't prepared to see the face it belonged to stride through the door in front of her, and she was even less prepared for the stride towards her, or the grasp of two firm hands on her shoulders. "Oh, Pansy!"

Somehow, she managed a watery smile. "I'm okay."

The reply was sincere. "I'm so sorry."

"Is it safe for you to be here?" Pansy heard Draco's voice echo from somewhere to her left. "If he-"

"He, is concerned with other issues, at present."

Draco's voice cracked, and the hands left Pansy's shoulders, instead busying themselves to the same action on Draco's upper arms. "Mother, I-"

Narcissa, once again, cut her son off, and for the first time Pansy noticed the very un-Narcissa-like lines that were now present upon Draco's mother's forehead, and the way she gripped her fingers to Draco's arms, in what was such a simple gesture but done only as a mother could to her son – a son she was no doubt terrified for every day. "It's okay, Draco. For a short while."

Pansy didn't have the chance to see or hear Draco's response, for the second unlikely event made itself known at that very moment, the news of which was delivered by a breathless looking Winky entering the living room.

"Miss Pansy!" the small elf squeaked, her tennis ball eyes wider than usual, "Mr Neville has awoken!"

All thought of Narcissa's arrival and the situation of her friends was suddenly gone as she made her way across the living room. She passed the others in silence as Pansy, with only one thing, and one thing alone to focus on as adrenaline coursed through her and Thank Merlin, thank Merlin, thank Merlin repeated itself over and over within her mind.