*Blinks awkwardly, well aware that it's been a long time since updating...*

...Er, surprise?

Currently on a 5 week break, so the next installment should not be too far away! (At least there is now AVP:SY to distract from my slow typing.)

Hope you're all well, and are fans of Pansy/Luna BFFs for life- I mean, what?

Pansy told Luna almost everything. The ruined Christmas, the terrible loss she felt for her brother Pellinore, the cruelty of Talitha. Professor Scamander walked a polite distance ahead in the snow, carefully juggling a number of strange looking contraptions in his thin arms. Luna listened quietly as Pansy gushed, her words escaping into the relenting snow faster than her mind had time to sort them.

"And then in the letter- the one she- well, she had the nerve- I mean she hates me- Pellinore should hate me, but Mama beat everyone to the punch with that one. But this… Taking Christmas, taking Pell! I just… I miss him so much."

"Do you have the letter on you?" asked Luna. "It's just, and I don't mean to be rude, but you're not making any sense."

If Luna Lovegood failed to understand her, then all was lost. This more than anything -more than the desire for comfort and sense- persuaded her hand to pass the letter to her unexpected friend.

For a few moments they walked wordlessly through the snow. Distantly, Pansy wondered how Scamander was dealing with his inconvenient crush on Luna. Then she recalled the damning grade on her essay, and decided that glaring murderously at his wobbling frame was a much more worthwhile thing to be doing.

"Oh," replied Luna concomitantly. "She's rather blunt, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is a c***."

"That's not what I said-"

"I know."

Luna folded the parchment carefully and handed it back to her. "There could be a reason for all this. Perhaps she couldn't get clearance for two people to visit, and just didn't know how to word it nicely? Sometimes people have trouble expressing things. I'm sure you'll spend Christmas Eve and Boxing Day with her. Really they're no different to Christmas. Sometimes my father and I have a whole week of Christmases just to ensure we do it right."

Pansy's smile cut her face. The naivety with which Luna had spoken almost made those words sound like a possibility.

"Talitha doesn't work like that. None of us do. She knows exactly what the subtext of that letter was: We don't want you. For Parkinson's there is no 'subtle' when it comes to making your point. Also, Malfo- I have friends whose families have managed to get group visitations." Not that all of them will make use of them, she thought bitterly.

"You can always spend Christmas with me," Luna said shyly. "It tends to only be my Father and I, but sometimes we visit some of the neighboring wizard families. It's usually great fun, especially now their kids no longer break my Christmas toys and try to use me as a sacrificial offering to Santa."

"Luna, that's really lovely," And exceedingly tragic. "But I think I should just spend it at home. It's safer that way." Much less like charity. It's much better to be alone, disgraced and unhappy, than let others know you are alone, disgraced and unhappy. Family motto #486. Why let embarrassment enter the equation as well? "And my usual holiday tradition is to drink too much and vomit on the Christmas decorations. You're rising to the ranks of tolerated colleague, so it might be mildly unacceptable to do such a thing."

"Friend, Pansy. I'm your friend."

"Same thing? Wait- what are you doing? Why are you strangling my body with your arms?"

Luna laughed, and released her from the hug. "You are funny."

She smiled. "Compliments and affection! By Merlin, you've deduced my weaknesses quickly. You're probably toeing the line between potential archrival and lukewarm comrade."

"Your weaknesses weren't that difficult to work out. You sent me a whole basket of Bulgarian meat just because I complimented the handwriting in one of your owls."

"False!" exclaimed Pansy, her wide mouth red and aghast. "It was a bribe! I don't even like Bulgarian meat! I just wanted to extract all your essay ideas! It was a cunning plot!"

"…You sent me a bribe, after the essay was handed in?" probed Luna. If Pansy didn't know better, she would have said the dreamy look in Luna's eye had become a touch sly.

"Quiet you. Or I'll feed you to a mountain goat."

The next few weeks were filled with pleasant distraction. Pansy selfishly hogged Luna to herself, afraid that she'd lose her one ally in this camp. Not that the wranglers were behaving any differently toward her (neither was Charlie- his austere civility remained as immovable as ever), but she was terrified that Charlie would list all the endless reasons she should be shunned. She was fond of the wranglers, but was grudgingly aware that their loyalty was not to her. These weren't her Slytherins whose friendship had been cemented with blood, desire and desperation. These were strangers, and the worth of their friendship depended on as little as the hilarity of a joke or a cross word from a wronged Weasley.

However her unhappiness and worry was somewhat saved by the arrival of snow, and the breeze of cool, relaxing madness in the form of Luna Lovegood. Snow always had this effect on Pansy, like icy catnip. Whether it was the picturesque beauty of everything silent and perfect, or the way the winter landscape complimented her harsh looks making her more ice queen than pug-nosed monstrosity (or merely because it meant there was always a nearby chilly weapon) she flourished in this weather. While the other wranglers grumbled about the cold as they tramped their way up slippery paths, Luna and she would go on vast hikes up mountain trails and have wandering conversations about Snidgets (real) and Tumblewumps (probably not real) and the wonders of Narwhals (definitely not real).

The Ravernclaw (having found that her allergy to Winged Horses meant that she broke out in fuzzy pink rashes, in addition to her throat closing up and earlobes swelling to the size of quaffles) had decided to devote her year to finding the Crumple Horned Snorkack. Sadly she'd had no luck in the south of France, nor on any of the Grecian Islands. The search in Quebec, Atlantis, and Estonia had been equally unfruitful.

"But we have great hopes about Romania!" announced Luna, managing to hide any surprise at Pansy's warm welcome. "From my calculations, and study of anecdotal sightings, this would be the perfect environment for them."

"Well, I'm sure that a mountainous, dragon-filled terrain would be the most likely spot to find them… whatever they are," agreed Pansy amiably. "And, why are you here, Professor?"

"Um, I wanted to check that your placement was going as planned, and of course, sort out your next situation- and Luna- well, her work with the Crumple Horned Snorkack, I believe, I going to be very, er…" stumbled Professor Scamander, his ears burning scarlet as he tripped over his feet. "Fertile. No, I mean, prosperous. "

"It sounds like you have a lot of faith in her," replied Pansy smugly. "What evidence have you found of this questing beast?"

"Snot!" announced Luna. "Invisible phlegm from this creature was spotted in Romania in the eighteenth century. Apparently a priest who had been surviving on nothing but a diet of berries and tree bark, wrote in his autobiography that he was having immense trouble with vast quantities of 'translucent sludge.' Apparently it was plaguing a town very close by. Daddy agrees with me that it could be nothing other than the elusive Crumple itself!"

"Obviously," agreed Pansy, a cruel part of her feeling much more secure about the wayward direction of her own research.

"But Pansy, how have you found things here? You're expectations were so low about this placement that it can't have been anything but wonderful," Luna trilled happily as Pansy showed the pair into the warmth of the library. They had decided to commandeer this little-used room for their seminars.

Pansy's smile froze slightly. Luna was, horrendously, correct. Apparently Draco was wrong- death and dragons were Pansy's style. As were the crude, jesting wranglers and clear, high skies of Romania. Ever since the atmosphere had cooled between Charlie and her had she realized how happy she had been beforehand. The research was interesting, the company good, and she could not remember being quite so content for so long a period.

Beyond the guilt over Charlie, and the fear that he would poison how the others thought of her, there was the greater affliction of Talitha stealing her one chance to visit Pellinore. But there was little to do about that except plot and send subtle hints for aid to her fellow Slytherins. Instead, she distracted herself with her new life here. A life filled with dragons, jokes, academic debate, unexpected friends… and unfortunate menial labour.

The mismatched pair spent most of their time seeking the best places for Luna to set up her environmentally-friendly traps. In fact, they were so environmentally-friendly that Pansy entirely doubted that they would work. Created out of a chimeric mix of orange wool and twigs, Luna claimed they would be the most inviting and harmless snare for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. The wranglers were bemused by these strange apparatuses, and even more so by Luna's dreamy ways and outlandish behaviour. Once, the conversation almost veered too close to mocking their new guest and Pansy was forced to levitate Baldrick by his ankles until he realized that pointing out that Luna's wasn't quite right in the head was unacceptable behaviour. Not that Pansy disagreed with this notion, but Luna was Her Friend, and therefore was to enjoy a certain level of eccentricity free from reproach. (Unless it was Pansy doing the criticizing, in which case it was fine.)

Such moments of critique were frequent during their tutor periods. On good days these times were enjoyably filled discussing Fantastic Beasts, the newest theories, and wildest debates. More often, it involved listening to Scamander trill boringly about bug-life and the correct way to cite papers and how "Statistics really is fascinating!" All the while the bashful professor tried to limit the number of times he gazed at Luna to five times a minute.

When discussions turned to their M.A.G.E projects, things tended to get heated and Scamander had some trouble with the alternating strangeness of his students. Pansy would often get over excited and overly involved in the debates, often siding with the scientist who had the most creative insults for his academic rivals. Scamander would do his best to staunch his confusion in the face of Luna's illogical notions of mythical beasts being a reality and Pansy's frequent sulking. Luna was perhaps the most troubling in these sessions, and would poke polite but brilliantly sharp holes in both Scamander's and Pansy's ideas that made them both doubt the nature of reality.

This was especially bruising one afternoon when Luna failed to listen to reason regarding the well-known fact that dragons do not breathe metaphorical fire. Even Scamander, enamoured as he was, found this diversion from reality distracting and tried his best not to pull his hair out as he pointed that there were a lot of wranglers with very real burns. Pansy had given up by this point and was distantly wishing the fresh burn on her forearm was metaphorical, when Luna perked up and exclaimed.

"Well, it may be the case that not all their fire is metaphorical-"

"What do you even mean by metaphorical? Not physical? Does it exist only in thought or verse?" Scamander sounded as if he was about to babble himself into an asylum. Pansy wished she had popcorn.

Luna let out a sigh- one that almost sounded annoyed. "You may be a renowned academic but you do not know everything, Professor. The world is full of more mysteries than you can ever conceive. And I hardly think someone who misspells Xenotopius Corragulatorious in published articles should inherently claim the last word on everything. It's frankly embarrassing for a man of your standing."

There was an ominous silence in the study room. A chill draft hissed through a cracked windowpane, as if the elements themselves had let out a gasp. Distantly, Pansy wondered if she had become a bad influence on Luna, just as Mona had warned her the day previously. A claim that she had boldly refuted. All she'd done in the two weeks of Luna's visit was persuade her to try some Firewhisky, taught her how to play (and cheat) at Poker, rambled about some of the more ahem refined points of male anatomy (and how Pansy had come to find out herself), and…. And maybe filled her little, clever head with some rather revolutionary thoughts.

Oh shit, thought Pansy leaning back on her chair. I've corrupted the incorruptible.

Scamander looked affronted. His quick blue eyes (pale, wise and grey- quite different to Charlie's, whose eyes were so blue they seemed to burn reminding you of summer days and cobalt seas…. Merlin, where did that comparison come from?) briefly became naked as he removed his silver spectacles to clean them, composing himself as he did so.

"Quite right, Miss Lovegood." And he burst into laughter. "But I am a man of science, and though my spelling is at fault, I cannot lend weight to such unsubstantiated claims. Your thoughts, Pansy?"

"I think Luna is delightfully mental. But if she argues for metaphorical fire, she's probably right somewhere."

Their class concluded, and Scamander ran off to discuss Health & Safety with Wynne. Luna began to collect her notes. She seemed to concentrate on her wandering hum more than she usually did.

"Luna…" Pansy began, mischief tickling at her voice. "I've never seen you annoyed with anyone before."

"Hmm? No? Well… he was being patronizing."

"You were being ridiculous."

Her pallid eyes widened, hurt.

"You are one of the cleverest people I know. You must see that some of your theories are… somewhat out there?"

"If you don't seek, you won't find. If you don't question, you won't learn."

"That's a quote from Scamander Junior's book."

"Is it?" A ghost of a flush lightened her cheeks.

"Yes," Pansy probed. Luna didn't get ruffled. This was new, and interesting. If this had been Daphne, or Millicent, or even Malfoy, Pansy would be teasing incessantly about crushing on their Professor.

Casting her black eyes to the snow-white world outside, she caught herself from speaking further. A red head appeared at the doorway. He was smiling, jovial, saying some joke to Marcus behind him. He had yet to notice Pansy in the room.

"The Cannons may actually win a match this season- oh, hey Luna, do you mind if we steal the room?" Charlie smiled easily, but his lip caught when he saw Pansy.

"We were just leaving." Pansy shouldered pass them, hearing a distant goad or joke from Marcus. She did not care enough to respond.

Her pale friend followed her out the door, her face the typical mask of wistful contentment. Two male laughs echoed down the hallway, their humor boisterous and isolating.

Luna had had a hard life of Hogwarts, even before the war. Friendless, full of harsh jokes and unshared pastimes. It would be so much easier to handle the jibes and the loneliness if you were too stupid to notice, wouldn't it? To ignore the ridicule and cruelty if you were more caught up in a dream world or fabricated stories?

Yet she wasn't stupid. Luna had a sharp mind, as well as a compassionate one. Pansy gazed at her pensive face, lost in thought. It was a kind of armour just like Pansy's fury, probably equally ineffective to other people's words and looks.

Teasing about Scamander… It would cripple any feeling Luna had for him before it ever grew, and would probably hurt her more than a few laughs were worth. Scamander was growing on Pansy. His tweedy nature was grating, but it was becoming more and more obvious how young he truly was- merely a breath older than them. He seemed to enjoy humoring their wild debates, and occasionally enthralled them with tales of his travels.

"Why don't I help you set up some Snorkack snares this afternoon?" she offered. Luna smiled with relief and surprise.

People aren't accepting of things they don't know, so why would I give them a chance to despise me? Pansy's words echoed around his skull.

How can you stand there, and tell me none of these factors would influence the way you thought about me, when they're the most important factors of all?

Either you're a liar or so secure in your pureblood and Gryffindor background that you don't see the truth.

Charlie's jaw clenched tight. The porch skirting round the hut usually held all of the wranglers at this time in the evening. As the moon rose they would joke and bicker over cards and lashings of Firewhisky. Pansy had melded into the group surprisingly easily for one so… different. The magizoologists were used to rough work, turning in early and waking with the dawn. She pestered them into staying up late, drinking too much and revealing stories about themselves, all the while keeping her own tales close to her chest. There was always an air of collectedness about her; the clean lines on her clothes matching the sharp features of her face. It was at odds with the muddy array of wranglers practically adorned in their waterproofs and well-worn gear.

Yet it was a self-conscious collectedness. Any one who had seen Pansy throw a tantrum, toss her head back with loud laughter until her face crinkled with delight, or spontaneously reach out to comfort someone would see this cold, immaculate air dissolve unreservedly. As much as she wanted to be aloof, there was part of Pansy that could not help but to throw her heart at you.

She didn't seem to have anything against Muggles or Muggle-born; Toothpick and she were as thick as thieves. Nor was there a Dark Mark on the smooth sword of skin on her arm. Yes, she did mock Charlie for being poor… but he wasn't. When he was younger, his parents had been comfortably middle-class, it was only later with the advent of numerous children did their purse strings begin to pull tight. Now, he had a comfortable wage- potentially the lowest of all the Weasleys, but more than enough for he and his limited interests. Also, before the discovery of the Slytherin secret, the joke had seemed characteristic of their friendship. The fact he became comfortable teasing her with "House Elf Brat," and she with her numerous retaliations would joke that he was ginger, typhoid-stricken and lived in a comfortable hole in the wall, made it seem like they were friends. Only good friends could tease each other like that, because it meant nothing. Back then he laughed it off, only now in the light of her revelation did it gain a tone of insidious animosity.

He had meant it when he promised nothing she could say would change how he thought of her. At least he hoped he meant it. If only he could translate his thoughts into actions. If only he could get the image of Fred being felled out of his mind so he could think clearly…

Charlie knew that she was probably sitting in the Sanctuary's library right now, pouring away over an essay. What he had previously perceived as intelligence and determination, was now coloured green with ambition and stubbornness.

"Hello!" called a clear voice. From the direction of the Fort, Mona strode towards him holding two cups. Despite the beckoning darkness, her smile was bright. For once, Charlie did not feel up for company. "I saw you sitting out here and thought you needed some tea. Why are you sitting out here all alone, anyway? It's a bit cold."

Charlie's skin seemed immune to the autumnal air, his dark thoughts kept his blood hot and agitated.

"Just wondering where everyone was," he lied, taking the tea as Mona sat down beside him. The view before them was breath-taking; the clean air cutting across the sweeping mountains as the sun dipped it's head.

"Think they've all taken the chance to turn in early while Pansy's occupied with the paper. Her constant late-night card games are getting a little relentless, and annoying. A bit like her really."

Charlie frowned and surveyed the chipped cup in his hand. Mona leant forward and touched him gently on the arm- she was always kind.

"Has something happened? You and she seem to be going to lengths to avoid being in the same room. Not that I blame you. Unlike the others, I don't exactly adore the new snob in our midst. She's kind of a bitch."

He turned to her, blue eyes contemplative. "Do you think that?"

Mona held his look for a moment, but found the steel in his gaze quelling. It was not that his gaze held any cruelty, but it lacked the kindness that all of his looks and actions were soften with. Instead, his serious expression was merely one of frankness. He sincerely wanted to know her opinion. Mona shifted uncomfortably.

"No… I did. But not any more. She's definitely not my favourite person ever. She's not consistently nice, funny or generous, but she isn't as bad as I thought. I gave her a bit of a hard time a few weeks ago," Mona laughed, her blond curls shaking in the breeze. "And the cow turns round and does me a giant favour. God, I hate being indebted to someone I dislike. What's your problem with her?"

The silence endured uncomfortably. "…I don't really have a problem with her. At least I don't want to have one. It's to do with the silly house system my school had- and it doesn't really bother me… the thing is… it just means that some of her friends, or people she was tied to, were involved in the Second Wizarding War. On the other side."

"Oh," said Mona, setting down her cup. She was one of the ones who had agreed to join Charlie in the Battle of Hogwarts. Many of their fellow wranglers had- they loved Charlie, and sincerely worried what such a dictator would mean internationally. She understood a little of the loss he felt. Seeing the carcasses of children, dead at their own school, was an experience she failed to scour from her mind.

"Was she… a Death Eater? A supporter of Thomas Riddle?"

Mona heard Charlie release a long, wavering breath. "I don't know- I mean, I don't think so. She would be in prison otherwise."

"And your only evidence is that she was in a certain house at school? What was it? Does Hogwarts divide it's students up between The Psychopaths, The Idiots, The Swots and The Incredulous?" Mona said, her voice reaching a high pitch. She had long known Hogwarts had some strange ideas, but this was ridiculous.

"You joke…" muttered Charlie darkly. "Gryffindors are the brave and the reckless. Hufflepuffs are the loyal and kind. Ravenclaws are the one offs and nerds. And then there's Slytherin; famed for ambition, loyalty to their own, and being pureblood."

"That's rather reductive," replied Mona, her eyes narrowing. "People are more complicated than that- and Slytherin can't possibly be completely pureblood. You know your history as well as I do- pureblood was just a term engineered during the formation of International Magical Secrecy. By that point every one had so many muggle marriages that the term pureblood was preposterous."

"I know," though really Charlie's grasp of history was a little tenuous. All he truly knew about the purebloods was their ever-reducing circle of possible marriages, their strange pride in their inbreeding, and the fact the Weasleys were listed among them. Weasley was an old-name, historically quite liberal in it's stance toward muggles. Yet Pansy's words about him being privileged continually reverberated through his skull. It seemed ridiculous that a family derided for their poverty would have privilege- though in this, he supposed, they were rather blessed. He had nothing against muggles, nor muggle-born. All the trouble he had with purebloods was because he stood for muggle rights openly. All the insults, violence, and entanglement in the war were because he chose to be a target. Muggle-born didn't choose, it was imposed on them. And even his family were uncomfortable with some topics… Their relation, the accountant- rumoured a sqib, was an individual rarely discussed, let alone someone they ever had any contact with.

By Merlin, lectures on equality by a Slytherin- what next? A seminar on anger management by Harry Potter?

"But my problem with her- with it- not that I have a problem-" stuttered Charlie, unsure where his thoughts were going. He was unsure of his agitation, it's source, where it was leading. He felt like for the past few days his life had been thrown off it's comfortable tracks and his mind was wheeling uncontrolled and unchecked in a dangerous direction.

"I think you do," muttered Mona, her expression tightening at the eyes. He had never seen Mona look like this, at least not toward him. It was as if she were completely reconsidering him. "You just don't have the courage to admit what it is."

Charlie blew an angry puff of air into the night sky. He felt embarrassed and angry. Why on earth was Mona being like this? It was hard enough Pansy changing- let alone Mona having a complete personality transplant.

"You won't understand. I don't even know how to explain it. Up until now, I thought Pansy was amazing. She was funny, and quick-witted, and bold. Tough as old boots. Different to anyone I've ever met- and now? Now I feel like I've been completely deceived."

Mona looked at him incredulously. "She's still the same obscene, narcissistic snob that she was when she first stepped off that blasted train. And in no way has she tried to hide it. By Merlin, Charlie, what an idiot you are sometimes. You've even got me defending her." She buried her head in her hands, and looked like she vastly regretted sitting down.

"It sounds to me," came a voice that sounded only half-conscious. "Like you've been rather unfair to Pansy."

The frustrated wranglers turned to what looked like a turquoise woolen rabbit with tufts of milk-white hair escaping. Luna drifted up the porch steps and sat cross-legged before them.

"Do forgive me for interrupting," she continued. "But I was wondering what had been the matter with Pansy- I was pretty sure it was you, Charlie, but I didn't really want to make any accusations."

"Me?"

"Yes. Sorry to bear are bad news," hummed Luna, opening a thick-spined book on her knees and making flowery notes in the margins. "She's spent the last couple of days gossiping to me about everyone here. Telling me about Kerov's shadowy past, Toothpick's secret talent of cracking three eggs at a time, and the dreamy way Marcus' hair glows gold in the sun. But about you, she's perfectly polite. Rather unnatural really."

Charlie blinked, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I don't think Charlie's been cruel to her. If anything it would be the opposite. I mean, Charlie's lovely. And she… isn't. Usually." Mona said, not sounding entirely convinced.

"You idealized her," continued Luna, her hand drifting to a gold charm on her necklace. It's large circumference glinted in the lamplight, like the golden eye of a galleon. For a second she looked terribly unhappy. "There's no greater harm you can do to some one than think they are more or less than human. What else can they do but disappoint you?"

Before Charlie could answer, a piercing warmth spread from the centre of his chest. His hand sought the silver chain at his neck and pulled the black dragon tooth out from beneath his shirt. The air around the deadly point shifted and blurred.

"Intruders," muttered Charlie. He leapt up, reaching for one of the brooms leaning on the edge of the porch. His stocky shape went from one of bow-legged brutality, to an elegant arrow disappearing wordlessly into the night sky.

"Muggles?" asked Luna, her voice calm but gaze watchful.

"Expecto Patronum," cast Mona, a lynx leaping out from the end of her wand. "Tell Wynne and the others," she instructed the ghostly shape, and it too bounded off into the darkness. "Can't be muggles, our distraction spells would make them so dizzy they'd pass out before they got with twenty miles of the place. But if it's wizards, then where's the…?"

The wrangler stood poised on the deck. Her muscles pulled taunt against this invisible attack. The air remained silent and immovable before them-

Until the door cracked open and a she-demon wailed, "This effing tooth is burning my skin off! What on earth is happening?"

Pansy's indignant face hardened further when she saw Mona's expression. "Really, what's happening?"

"Intruders- they have magic but our defense doesn't seem to be in the sky. It should be working," Mona growled, confused, eyes continually scanning the violet sky. "Charlie's already flown off, and I need to go meet the others. You two stay here."

"We could help," offered Luna.

"No, Luna, let the professionals do their job," retorted Pansy. But there was a catch in her throat. Her wranglers against an unknowable foe? People here to steal her dragons? Her M.A.G.E project? She didn't like it. Yet there was little she could do to help. She was never trained for this kind of thing. There was no three-headed dog or Triwizard Tournament to prepare her, just spotty Defense Against the Dark Arts training and a year pretending to learn unforgiveable curses. Her perfected jelly-legs jinx was unlikely to be of use against poachers.

"Actually Luna, that would be great. If you apparate to Wynne's office, they'll have work for you to do. See ya, Pans."

The two popped out of existence leaving her alone, bristling against the darkness. There was no plea for help, no guilt-trip against her cowardliness. They were too busy for that. They had a Sanctuary to protect. They knew what to do and what was needed of them.

You idiot, thought Pansy and prepared to apparate to Wynne's office too. The ire that someone was on her land, endangering her people and her dragons was just enough to rival her desire for self-preservation.

But her eyes landed on an object cast forgetfully next to two abandoned cups of tea. Her hand shook a little as she picked it up.

Twelve inches, ash, unicorn core, as unbending as her own. Charlie's wand. There was a slight dip near the wand's base, just above a knot in the wood, where his calloused thumb had worn it away.

But I'm not the only idiot here. Her stomach felt like it was falling from up high. She tried to breathe but it was as if there were stones in her lungs. Blood pumped in her ears, as she scrunched her eyes and thought furiously. He flew off, so he went to a dragon pen you can't apparate to.

Oh the idiot, idiot, idiot.

Think Pansy. Think.

Her eyes flew open. The Longhorns.

Without another worry or warning, she grabbed the last broom and chased the man who hated her into the dark and dangerous night.