There was a release of pressure – and suddenly the stuffy scents of the Burrow were gone, all replaced by the sharp tang of snow.
Malfoy Manor assailed her senses. It felt like a dream she could not wake up from.
The building was obscured by a high black gate. The slow drift of Draco's moving topiary blurred in front of Pansy's panicked gaze. For a mad moment, it felt like the building was a trapped like animal in a cage. She couldn't immediately identify what was wrong – her mind and heart were moving too quickly.
The Manor was the wrong shape. One of the towers looked bigger, greyer and bright. The air smelt heavy.
Her muscles seized and she leaped for the gate, dragging it open.
The house – the west tower - was aflame.
"Charlie-" she shouted, turning for him, wanting him to reassure her before she bolted down the drive.
She heard him gasp. He was on the floor shaking, lungs failing to gather air, hand grabbing aimlessly at his left arm. His blue eyes looked down furious as he tried to gain control of himself. Frustration and panic bore through him, and he couldn't seem to look at Pansy.
A flare of recognition and frustration flew up. It was a panic attack. She knew he avoided apparating, but she had not thought it this bad. Who knows what was happening to her friends – and yet – her heart was torn.
She knew what it felt like to have your body revert against you, convincing your mind it's dying over a few flutters of anxiety.
She steeled herself from the house. She needed Charlie. She needed his help to save her friends. But also she needed him, whole and healthy, if she were ever going to…
She drew her wand to help him, and stopped.
Pansy recognized the symptoms.
It didn't really feel like panic. It felt like an unpretty death; muscles and lungs rebelling against you, blood beating – no, blood drowning you out.
She'd only had one panic attack, just the one. She did exactly what they were all taught to do – use magic and wish it away.
It was in sixth year on a day when she was feeling especially smug. Hermione was simmering away in her textbook, following some maelstrom quibble with the pitiable ginger one. Pansy smirked. Her Transfiguration paper had come seventh in the year (and second in Slytherin) and her love life was going swimmingly compared to gruesome Granger. Her neat black nails drummed a jaunty tune as she grinned wholesomely at the room.
Everyone who was anyone knew her news. Malfoy and she had become… intimate. The pride felt searing. She – a Halfblood – with the darling of the Malfoys. It was better than any romance in Witches Weekly.
It was more than the satisfaction that others knew, it was the information she had become privy to. Her hands had traced the skull on Draco's arm – an ugly thing, but on him… there was something about his uptight, flawless angles that the muss of ink improved.
A second skull. Two men now branded. Two men who had promised to keep her safe. She remembered making her lips smile at them, pretending that she felt that way now – safe - pretending that all this was normal.
Of course, Draco received the Dark Mark not for herself but for his family. Yet it must mean something. This bond between them… for him to go against the Dark Lord's hatred of Mudbloods to be with her?
Not everyone knew her history. Enough suspected.
The smile tasted like Butterbeer on her lips, and it only widened when Draco entered the room. She should have played it cooler, given him a chilling, knowing glance, but the weeks had built up inside her. Weeks of intimacy and happiness and thrill. The love she had felt for him all these years was like dormant gasoline in her blood, ignited finally from his attention.
As always, Draco made an entrance. There was something in the way he paused just before he entered a room, lengthened he gate and made his cloak sweep slightly that made him hard to be ignored. You ended up wondering why your eyes always drifted to him. There was little about him that wasn't a performance.
Draco sat three seats away, sharing a desk with Daphne rather than herself.
This was fine. Normal. They didn't have to spend all their time together.
"Daphne, what are you doing this Saturday?" Draco drawled, not looking up as he began his notes.
"Heading to Hogsmeade, just like everyone else. Obviously." Daphne replied, too beautiful and too sharp to deal with most nonsense boys threw at her. However… Pansy was sure there was an extra light in her gaze, an interest to see where this was going.
"I was wondering if you'd be so kind to escort me to Madam Puddifoot's? I don't really feel like hanging out with the rabble this weekend. I'd rather spend time and attention on someone who interests me."
Only then did Draco look up. It was a practiced look – all grey eyes and pale angles. The boy was a clown most days but he could pierce you with an intensity that bordered on the profound.
"Um," relied Daphne, unsubtly shifting her gaze to Pansy.
Pansy kept her face frozen and facing forward. She wouldn't react until she needed to.
"I think you'd rather spend some time with our dear leader… especially as… you're together?" said Daphne in an undertone.
Pansy hated the question in her voice. It was a fact, a non-fiction, a truth irreversible.
Draco gave a dismissive shrug. "Pansy and I have an agreement. We've spoken and… we've had our fun. Time for something more serious." His features contorted into something lecherous, his hand reaching to push back his hair. It was a habitual movement; he had an odd pride in how flawless and large his forehead was. Potter-related narcissism.
For a moment, Pansy was sure her heart had stopped. It felt as immovable as her face. He had… for all intents and purposes broken up with her (broken her, broken them) in public. The safety of society meant that there was no way Pansy was going to go against him. There was no way. He had robbed her of her grief.
The effort to stay motionless became too much. Pansy felt her lungs quiver and suddenly knew what was happening. The Transfiguration notes began to swim on the page. The panic and awfulness gripping her heart.
Nulliqum, she said to herself silently, desperately. Nulliqum. Nulliqum.
Pansy had never been able to do wordless magic, but she suddenly the power flow through her in a wave. The word came to her, bubbling up from her memories….
Pellinore on the ground sobbing. But it was more than grief. His body was fighting him. Lungs working uselessly to draw in air. It was like he was trying to vomit, trying to expel the thing the Death Eaters had made him do this time.
With a shaking hand he had taken his wand to his throat and tried to say that word again and again up until the spell finally caught, and his lungs eased.
As with Pellinore, Pansy's panic suddenly dissipated. She felt… cloudy but clear. Looking around her nothing seemed to matter. If Draco had noticed her serenity… well, she couldn't even bring herself to mind. In fact, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.
The hour past slowly and she made her way out of the classroom. She didn't think anyone followed her. All she cared for was the increasing tightening in her chest and that distant warning Pellinore had given her about the spell. "Nulliqum is a life saver… in certain situations. Say you feel the attack coming on but you cannot be incapacitated at this time or show weakness, it can clog up that worry. Pansy, I hope you never have to use it. If you do, just know it lasts probably an hour and it only delays what is coming. Magic and emotion are uneasy bedfellows. The panic attack will happen. And it will be worse."
Pansy spent the rest of the day in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the panic expelling from her was exhausting and terrifying. She had vomited at least twice. She felt like she didn't exist. All she knew was the closed door of the cubicle and the weak, shaking of her arms on the walls as she tried not to collapse onto the damp floor. Myrtle's sarcastic comments didn't phase her. Pansy remembered thinking she might end up haunting the bathroom even longer than the insipient ghost. She didn't wish for Draco in those moments, only for the pain to stop.
Pansy looked at the wand in her hand. She could fix Charlie in a second.
Gentling herself, she settled by his side in the snow, her woolen tights getting soggy and damp.
"Hey, shush there, it's okay-"
"You," Charlie tried to gasp in the air. "You. Need. To go-"
She almost listened to him. Instead, Pansy gave a casual shrug, her mind dissolving in panic. If she couldn't help him in one hundred and twenty seconds, she'd run. She'd have to get them.
"Not without my partner in crime. Anyway, I'm sure the Scooby Gang will on their merry way in no time. Plus reinforcements."
Oh god. As if. They're too headstrong to go back to the Auror office and too full of bickering and panic to come straight here. They were doomed.
Pansy gave Charlie a serious look. She held his ankle for a second – to try to give him comfort without crowding him, and placed her other hand in front of his face.
"I need you to do something for me. It's very, very important."
Charlie nodded. "Anything."
"I need you, using the power of your lungs, to blow my hand away from your face."
He looked at her idiotically. Confusion and anger warring on his face as his lungs failed to get air. The way his body was formed, creased over with panic was exactly how she felt. Natural, really, for a body to reject apparition. What was more unnatural that suddenly being somewhere you weren't meant to be?
Bizarrely, he guffawed, a choking laugh clogging up his throat. He pursed his lips and blew.
Pansy pretended her hand was a weightless as a kite, and moved it back the length of a breath.
"Good," she said. "Again."
A few times more and his breath had returned to normal. He gulped in air as if he was quenching a thirst. Pansy looked away as he blinked away the wetness in his eye.
"I'm so sorry, Pans," Charlie said after a moment. Shame reddened his ears and there was an undertone of fury in his voice. "I… Merlin, I splinced once and-"
"Hush, it's fine. Do you want to stay here, or can you help me?"
"Help you. Always."
Pansy wasn't sure, but even in this state there was something so calming and capable about him. His blue gaze held hers, unrelenting. He wasn't going anywhere. If she trusted him around dragons, she should trust him with her friends.
She helped him up, and without a second look at the burning tower, they ran towards it.
Charlie got to the front door first and leapt through – she half expected him to stop, to say something to her or at least check to see where to go. The manor was a pretension of labyrinth corridors, and Charlie would have no idea where to head.
He didn't, he burst through without hesitation.
He was running to help her friends. In that moment her heart felt so full of him that she didn't realize why he didn't need directions.
All they had to do was follow the screams.
There was an explosion and flash from the top of the stairway. Pansy ducked away from it and followed Charlie straight into the drawing room.
Last Pansy had seen it the room had been brimming with friends and laughter.
Now –
- Three towering figures stood in the center of the room drawing spells and wards around them. Darkness and light danced in a shadow play of horror.
There were bodies on the floor (no, don't look). One person crouched behind a fallen cabinet on the closest side of the room, there were others further away. One was screaming. (No, don't listen, not now).
"Stupefy!" Charlie yelled at one of the figures. The flash of red missed, and was returned by a hideous jet of green.
Pansy threw herself on top of Charlie, forcing him to the ground. She needed to stop him cursing people without having something to hide behind. They landed tangled, almost on top of-
"Pansy," Blaise gasped. "You're here. You're alive. Fucking Merlin, Pans. They arrived out of nowhere."
Pansy clambered over Charlie, keeping her head below the edge of the upturned cabinet, and grabbed Blaise by the collar. She hugged him briefly. From the other side of the room, Marcus and Lucien relentlessly unfurled curse after curse at the intruders. Good.
"What's going on? Who are they?" she hissed.
"Who's this?" Blaire replied wildly, jabbing his wand hand at Charlie.
Charlie stuck his freckled hand out. "A Weasley. Obviously."
"Good Griffins," Blaise replied, looking uncharacteristically shocked. "What kind of stable boy fantasy have you been living in Romania, Parkinson? It's like looking at a virile Ron Weasley with muscle implants. Ron the Rugged."
"Petrificus Totalus!" Pansy yelled, aiming at the tallest figure who let out a groan as his body hit the ground, limbs bound about him. "Is this really the time? His name is Charlie. Charlie, forgive Blaise. He's ill-humoured in life and death situations. Wants to make sure his last line is a funny one."
Pansy leant her head out of the corner of the cabinet, trying to fathom the fallen attacker's face. The cloaks they were wearing looking as if they were made out of some kind of shifting shadow. It pooled about them like cloth knitted out of fog; a complex kind of obscuring charm.
His face… For a second, Pansy had the horrid feeling she was looking at a Death Eater. From beneath the fallen shadow a mask stared back at her, blank and white. It was angular and as pale as snow. It's only feature was two dark eyes and a grim, hard-lined mouth. The impassive face bore into her with blank-eyed judgment.
"I don't-I don't know who they are. But the messages. I think they must have sent the death threats. Are they Aurors?"
"No," replied Charlie, just as Pansy muttered "We don't know."
They gave each other a hard stare.
"The others are going to get the Aurors and come here, Pansy. I know it."
"When has Potter ever waited for back up in the past? It's a bad sign, Charlie. I'm not holding my breath. I can't imagine anyone more angry that we're walking about free than the Aurors."
Blaise grabbed her arm. "I'm not even going to ask how Potter's involved. Frankly, I don't think I care. We have them six to three now you're here. Well, five - Baddock's the screamer. Once they're down, is the way out clear? Can we make a run to the edge of the grounds to apparate?"
"What about the others? Aren't there more people here? Pansy said it was-" Charlie began, but Pansy didn't hear him. Blaise's eyes were wide with fear. He was never a fighter. They looked after each other, but they were never fighters.
"Yes, you can go," she said to him. From the corner of her eye, she could see Charlie leaning out to deliver another spell and her heart jolted in warning. She didn't want him to put himself in danger, and he was, for people he didn't even know.
Blaise… She wouldn't judge Blaise.
"Before you go –tell me where the others are. Millicent, Theo, Draco – has anyone escaped?"
"Yes, a few got out. Those lot – they're upstairs. Something else is happening up there. But I don't know what, Pansy. Wait, you're not… you're not staying?"
She didn't have a chance to answer. The last two attackers left standing threw a Reducto spell in their direction, blasting the cabinet to pieces and the three against the wall.
Her head thudded back, luckily into the drapery. Shit, shit, shit – she managed to get enough air into her lungs before realizing that the third intruder had been uncursed and was pointing his wand in her direction.
"That's her. That's one of them. Parkinson!"
"No, you fucking don't," muttered Blaise, debris falling from his neck as he raised his head. "Balbutio!"
The Babbling curse hit the attacker straight in the chest, causing him to yell "Unearthly Purses!" rather than the intended curse.
Blaise, the clever boy, used it as his signature move. There was many house debates where Blaise would interrupt a rival's wisely chosen words with the ridiculous sentences of the Babbling Curse.
Before the other two could move, Charlie threw a disarming curse towards the attacker, just as Marcus and Pansy had an unfortunate moment of synchronicity from opposite sides of the room.
"CONFRINGO," they both yelled.
The spells met in the middle and ripped the air with fire. It looked like the creation of a small star in the middle of the room. One of the attackers caught aflame in a horrifying plumage of fire and panic.
The river of fire raged from fireplace to window, dividing the Slytherin groups. Pansy searched wildly for Malcolm Baddock who had been prostrate on the ground. Lucien was tending to him, issuing a stream of water from his wand in preparation to move him. Pansy almost choked with fear. Seeing them behind the dancing flames was her worst nightmare. The Slytherins had faced danger but, mostly, had managed to dance away from it. The threat was always there, yet their maneuverings and cowardice had kept them at a physically safe distance. Now they were here. The danger was in their homes. Pansy knew they would not all escape this alive.
It was all the worse when their enemy was vindictive and intelligent.
One of the hooded figures ignored their flaming ally, instead reaching for the Floo Powder on the mantelpiece. Their hands wildly pushed the porcelain dish upon the flame, fanning them into a bright and lucid green.
"No, no-" screamed Pansy, realizing what was happening. The temperature in the room instantly dropped, the flames made safe by the Floo.
A woman's voice, a stranger, screeched over the noise, "67 Cat's Alley," and the three were gone.
"Malcolm," Pansy knelt next to Lucien, who was swiftly tending to the damage on Malcolm's arm.
She wanted to joke with her fallen friend, tease him that he'd probably have ended up in this state anyway with the amount of alcohol he had drunk the previous night. She wanted to remind him that this was a shallow wound compared to the way he had embarrassed himself in front of Astoria.
She couldn't. Malcolm's face was pale and his eyes were wide with panic. Where his arm used to be now lay a gory mess. Lucien's face was serious. He looked Pansy in the eye, unable to communicate anything more as his lips were busy holding Malcolm together with spell after spell.
Marcus was scrabbling on the floor, trying to find more Floo Powder. Swearing punctuated his breath.
"Flint, stop that. There's another fireplace across the corridor in the dining room. There will be more Floo there."
"There could be more of these bastards there for all we know. We should make a run for it and apparate-"
"Malcolm won't make it that far. I'm going to float his body while Lucien concentrates on the arm. You lot go ahead and make sure it's clear. It sounds," Pansy gulped. "It sounds like the fighting is further along the house."
Flint looked furious at the thought of waiting, but he did. Pansy cast a Locomotor charm on Malcolm, cringing as he whimpered in the air. If only she'd had time to make him a draught of something…
They escorted him to the next room, the shouts and bangs muffled between the walls and ceiling a reminder that they were still in danger, that their friends might be dying. As if sensing Flint's impatience, Charlie carefully positioned himself between him and the fireplace, ensuring that Malcolm and Lucien were the first to enter the emerald flames.
Lucien continued the endless stream of sing song spells that was keeping Malcolm together, his eyes wide with panic and concentration. Pansy squeezed his arm briefly before they went, not sure who she envied in this position – Lucien getting to escape first, but with the weight of Malcolm's life in is hands? Or them, doomed to stay and face more death?
Charlie kept his face impassive as Flint followed them through. She could feel the dislike and incomprehension radiate from him as Flint, able bodied, crouched in the fireplace.
Malcolm cast his Bludger-crumpled face towards her as he ducked into the chimney.
"Don't do anything reckless, Parkinson," he muttered, casting the Floo down, not waiting for a response.
Pansy passed the china box of powder to Blaise. "Hop in."
Blaise, his violet cravat wonky and woebegone, looked at her in askance and then shifted his gaze to Charlie. A self-conscious sneer fell upon his lip.
"Shouldn't you be giving this to him? It's not even his fight."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, looking insulted. A crash and a scream echoed from upstairs. The fear in Blaise's face distorted further.
"Surely the Malfoys have some kind of defense system, how could this –"
"Defense system?" Charlie replied, wildly. "This isn't Hogwarts."
"He made them dormant before the party," Pansy replied, her heart sinking. In fact, he made them dormant long before the party. He was very careful to get rid of anything that might react dangerously to her Muggle blood. Didn't want Mudblood on the carpet, he claimed.
"We need to go find them, save whoevers left," Pansy whispered. "Go, Blaise, quickly."
For a moment, Blaise looked tired. Utterly worn out. The fear he had been running from for so long in Europe had finally materialized. It was here killing his friends, murdering his darlings.
He sighed. "Not without you, Parkinson."