Charlie could feel the full grin on his face.

It didn't matter that he was in Azkaban next to someone who'd done some, well, questionable stuff (but seemed pretty nice when you got chatting to him) or was still feeling woozy from the stint in St Mungo's. Pansy was going to be here soon. They'd received a bedraggled owl a few hours ago to let them know she was going to be discharged and escorted straight to them - straight into Charlie's hastily put together, and legally convoluted, plan.

Charlie hadn't been the one to unknot the loopholes and rules of Azkaban visits, but he had employed his reassuring nature and a lifetime's worth of favours. In future, he'd stick to the logistics of dragons. Much simpler, though in this case, less satisfying.

"Any moment," Charlie reassured Pellinore, while pacing the outline of the cell, sometimes not quite missing the piles of books and drawings that Pell had gathered over his detention.

"She'll be here any moment."

"I know. You said the same thing five minutes ago. I'm perfectly practiced at waiting, believe me. Why don't you sit before you trample the few things I have in here."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Charlie balanced his bulk on a small stool, which quickly looked at risk of breaking as he vibrated his legs with impatience. Pell looked at him with a calm, if critical eye. Charlie could tell he was not entirely convinced this wasn't a trick and gave him another anxious smile in reassurance.

"I think you need to take a breath," Pellinore said.

"Okay. Sure." Charlie gave a big, theatrical puff that didn't reach the bottom of his lungs or make him feel better. There was only one thing that could and it was somewhere, tantalisingly, excruciatingly, between here and St Mungo's.

The likeness between Pansy and Pellinore was more hidden than the red hair and freckles generously distributed amongst his siblings. But there was something there - Pell, too, possessed the aristocratic air (or a certain House Elf brattishness) that Charlie recognised from the brief and confusing interactions with Blaise and Draco. Although deemed guilty by the Wizengamot, he did not give off a sense of regret or awkwardness, but of studied informality as if he were hosting Charlie, his slightly awkward acquaintance, or chatting to him over breakfast in the Great Hall. While Pell was classically good looking, he lacked Pansy's magnetic attraction, that gravitational force unto herself that was difficult to look or be away from.

Charlie in comparison, though filled with excitement, felt guilty just being in Azkaban. He was pretty sure he hadn't done anything illegal in his life, bar some questionable lines between dragon rescue and smuggling. And yet coming here, through his own machinations, gave him a shameful sense of dread.

Merlin, Charlie wished he could remember a bit more of Pellinore from school. What year had he been in? He was, obviously, a Slytherin. Beyond that Charlie had no guess about who this wizard was beyond him being so dear to the person dear to Charlie.

This out of place anxiety was mixed up with intense fear for Pansy. All of it felt connected, circular, swirling. He worried Pansy wouldn't get here, wouldn't wake up, wouldn't like him anymore, wouldn't be safe. It had been right to do this, but this plan, so messy to pull together, felt fragile.

"Any moment," Charlie muttered again. "Any moment."

How long could it possibly take to escorted someone by Floo? They should have been here minutes ago.

Pell gave a little laugh.

"You could be underestimating dear Pansy's ability to get in the way. She can be very contrary. Mama once kindly suggested she stop revising so late and Pansy didn't speak to her for six weeks. Though admittedly, I think that was because she snipped that Pansy was getting premature wrinkles…"

Charlie shook his head. "She's desperate to see you. She wouldn't wait."

Pell's eyes tightened. "Let's not raise our hopes, Charles."

Sound is muffled in Azkaban. Not gently, but like a noise you can only hear the suggestion of - as if caught between the wind and a word. Like a hand suffocating a scream. It gives you that feeling of being watched, a flickering paranoia about what could and couldn't be there.

The sound of Pansy and the Aurors didn't solidify itself until they were right outside the door, opening it with a swing and pushing a wobbly figure through.

Charlie's heart felt like it could burst. It took everything not to run to her.

There was her furious stare and displeased lip, her neck striking upward imperiously. Her black eyes were wide and full of fear.

He'd expected her loud smile, but at the sight of him her pallor turned green and she -

Collapsed.

"Pansy!" He shouted, just as the Auror she'd collapsed onto yelped (she was quite a tall woman, and the Auror, quite a short man).

The Auror, luckily, broke her fall and Charlie helped manoeuvre the man out and settle Pansy gently on the ground. Noting the hardness and dirt, he took off his jumper and carefully raised her neck to place it underneath.

He could see the thin skin of her eyelids moving as she came back to consciousness.

"There you are," Charlie whispered under his breath.

For a moment, he forgot they were in her brother's cell. He was looking at that familiar crease between her eyebrows and the storm of hair around her. When she inhaled, he felt like he could breath a little freer.

"Here I am," Pansy said, her eyes still closed. "And where would that be?"

Charlie was unable to place the strange, detached tone. He looked up at Hermione who was standing back from the door, something like disgust or (well, and) displeasure on her face. She was dressed much smarter than usual and there was a high colour in her cheeks.

Something wasn't quite right - which is an understatement when you find yourself in the sole prison in wizarding Britain.

"Azkaban. Are you feeling okay? You fainted-"

"Am. I. Okay?" Pansy's eyes remained shut tight and her lips thinned to an almost invisible line. "No. I'm about as far from okay as you can be and still speak in sentences."

Her eyes opened and Charlie almost reeled back at the sharp anger and hurt they shot at him.

"I thought it was Slytherins who were known for betrayal and entrapment, not you Charlie Weasley. And no, I've never fainted in my life."

Charlie's eyebrows rose in confusion and he glanced at the others in the room in askance.

"Huh?" He said articulately, not so subtly checking if she'd hit her head on the way down.

"You. And. Hermione. And these Aurors - who are clearly breaking the law as I have not been charged - have brought me here to Azkaban. I assume to imprison me illegally."

Pansy stopped herself before she sounded too Slytherin with words like when my lawyers hear about this and I will have my revenge.

Charlie looked stunned for a moment as if he'd walked straight into a Protego charm.

"Did Draco not tell you?" He asked, twin flames of heat rising to his cheeks.

"Tell me what?" Pansy shouted back, wondering in what universe those two would have a conversation. "That you're arresting me?"

"No," Charlie replied, looking embarrassed and worried. It was as if he'd done something wrong, but wasn't sure what that thing was. "I'm so sorry. No one is arresting you. Damn him, that-" Charlie stopped himself from calling Draco a word he definitely deserved.

"I thought you might want to talk to see your family when you woke up. We've brought you here to see your brother… that is, if you'd like to?"

Pansy's eyes remained wide and suspicious as she sat up, eyes darting to Charlie, Hermione, the Aurors and - lastly - Pell.

"Is this true?" She asked him, not quite believing she was with him. In Azkaban - yes, she could imagine that. But not here, with Pell. Safe? Her mind felt fractured. All the sorrows of the past few days, of a lifetime of hurt and hurting, felt like they were pressing in.

"It… seems so," Pell replied, moving his gaze to Hermione. "Thank you for arranging her to visit. It can't have been easy."

Hermione, who'd pulled off much of the legal grunt work, lacked any noticeable satisfaction at her success. She looked coolly at Charlie, avoiding the gaze of Pansy and Pellinore.

"You have forty-five minutes," she said, turned heel and left.

Charlie helped Pansy off the floor, his eyes wide and full of unspoken words. He cast a look over her again, checking she was fine - as fine as she could be - though she still looked like an animal caught in a trap. Desperate, scared, ready to bite.

He squeezed her hand. "I'll be outside when you're ready. Nice meeting you, Pell."

Pellinor gave her a skewed smile. He had the slight, elegant features of their parents - at least Pansy's official parents. Their colouring was from Tamsin - dark hair and eyes - and Pansy's big-boned, snub-nose must be from her Muggle father. There was none of that in Pell, who looked the utmost Pureblooded gentleman.

He wore the jumper Pansy had bought for Christmas - and it might have been this, or his presence, or the awful amalgamation of the past week that made Pansy burst into tears.

Pell leapt into action drawing her to him, his chest even slighter than when she'd last seen him. "Oh Pans, is this anyway to say hello? Come, come, no more blubbering. What a sight for sore eyes you are!"

"Even like this?" Pansy spluttered, eyes red but suddenly a smile bursting through.

It was him, he was here safe, if imprisoned. And Charlie… he'd managed to make this all happen. It was by far the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

"Especially like this. No one has been this pleased to see me since… well, ever."

Pell was thinner, though looking healthy. His cell was plain - a bed, table and chair, a small pile of books. Pansy scanned her eye around looking for anything that would count against the Wizarding Rights Act and was pleased to find her look wanting.

"Now, we can't waste our visit weeping," Pell said, holding her arms and searching her face."Sounds like you've had a time of it. Now sit down. Want to play Whose Got it Worse?"

"I hate that gam-"

"I'll go first. It's a far quicker way to get each other up to date. Despite whiling away my incarcerated hours in a broadly innocent manner, we were attacked by a Selma - you know, the big horrible sea serpents - from our very secure, if grubby, fortress. It was almost as bad a Christmas present as the Quidditch season tickets from Pa. Your turn."

"Well… I spent a week in a coma after being poisoned by a manticore."

"Much fluffier than a Selma, which myself and the other inmates had to fight without wands."

"Draco and I were engaged for a hot second, before he fell in love at first sight with Astoria Greengrass."

"And he broke up with you? That's a relief."

"Absolutely not. I broke up with him after a coinciding realisation that we were horrible for each other and that I… really, really liked someone else - who is likely inappropriate for me in a whole different way." She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean it's a relief?"

"His replacement is the excitable himbo outside? Interesting. That Charlie Weasley could be the most appropriate boy you've brought home… or, well, prison. Handsome, chatty, no overt father issues."

"Not that you know of," she said feeling both slightly put out, but pleased Pell liked him. Maybe she wasn't concussed after all. "Seriously, no further comment on Draco? You used chatter endlessly about living in the East Wing of the Manor if we got married."

"We're in a different world and I'd rather not give that boy or his ferrety family any more oxygen. My turn, thank you - I'm worried about you and Mother and I can't do anything about it in here."

Pansy rolled her eyes so hard she almost gave herself vertigo.

"Merlin, what nonsense. I'm more worried about my grades than that - and we have much bigger issues than dear, distant, delusional Mama." She gritted her teeth. "Slytherins are being targeted. Theo is dead. Milly blames me."

"Ah."

Pell leaned back and took out a cigarette wrapped in back and gold. "You win. He was a sweet boy. Poor Milly."

"I win," Pansy agreed, voice flat, noting Pell lit his cigarette without a wand. Ah. He and the inmates had fought the Selma with wandless magic. That was a development. "Though you could have gone a little harder on your lack of freedom, smelly in-mates, bad food."

He shrugged. "It's not so bad. The lack of Dementors makes a big difference. It's not pleasant, by any means. But you really only ever 'do' two days - the day they shut the cell door and the day you leave."

"So, you're half way through your sentence, then?"

Pell smiled. "That's how I like to think it."

In truth, Pell was far from half way through. The days stretched on in Pansy's mind - a long and lonely corridor without him.

"We haven't got long," he said, smoke elegantly drifting from his hand. "How can I be of best use to you while you're here, given this situation?"

Pansy felt a small, tightly strung coil of herself almost start to unwind. There was a reason he was her best brother and most brilliant ally.

She took a breath, and started from the beginning - the Dementor attack in Romania, the threats to the Slytherins, the manticore, the masked wizards and the murders.

"The thing I haven't got my head round, and can't quite trust the Famous Three to do… is work out who, why, and how do we stay safe?"

Pell leaned back. "So what do we know about them. Firstly, the target?"

"All Slytherins. We've all had threats. Even those who didn't take part."

"Interesting, which leads us to their means…"

"Well, their means… The manticore, the dementors…."

"And the Selma. Fantastic beasts - all with big claws and nasty natures. Designed to cause chaos. So, what's the motive?"

Pell had been endlessly good at Arithmancy, loving the If/then logic of it, and was always good at diagnosing a problem... hopefully, even if the problem was murder. Pansy took a breath.

"It's more about doing damage, wildly, than a targeted attack. But they also want us to be scared - to know that they're coming."

Pell took a long pull of his cigarette, looking calm despite the shake in his fingers.

"Yes... and that draws us messily towards the why. It reminds me of how ... He Who… Got Us Into This Mess killed for power and fear. Much like many of my fellows in here. That horrid feeling of Pureblood superiority they feel is a born right." Pell sneered, flicking ash away. "But there's one difference between the choices Voldemort made to gain power and the mistakes we made in following him. Family."

Pansy looked at him, this pencil-drawn shadow of her brother. He'd lost much of his joy and laughter, and gained something. It felt like he wielded an edge of truth that cut both ways, as if the clarity he'd gained wasn't just true, but painful and revealing.

"Many of the characters in here are disgusting, one-dimensional monsters. But there are many reasons to follow a madman, and one is to look after your own family."

Her mind almost short-circuited - because she was that reason he was here, a debt that she could never begin to repay. She tried to say something, a whispered apology, but her throat betrayed her.

"Hush, my sweet. My decisions are my own and many are particularly stupid, but I don't regret protecting you and Mother. At some point, people would start looking for half-bloods within our own ranks - how else can you maintain the fear and therefore the order? It was the only thing I could think to do, if only to make up for Perseus' sins and slow them down where I could. My hands are still red."

Pansy's nails bit into her palms, tears stinging into her eyes. Since she was a child, she wished to cut that half out of her - that half that wasn't magical, that was dangerous, that put people at risk. The half that was other and horrid and monstrous. If she had been half of herself, Pell wouldn't be in here and Perseus wouldn't have hated her. The world would have been better with a little bit less of her.

"We shouldn't have hidden you." Pellinore said gently, knowing what that look in her face meant. "My biggest regret, and believe me, I've had the time to rake through them and weigh each carefully, is that we weren't brave enough to tell the truth about you to the world. I should have been open and proud of my brilliant, brave half-muggle sister."

Pansy swallowed. The last thing Pell deserved was having to comfort a sister who he went to Azkaban for. "I'm so sorry. You should't be in here for me."

He gave a slow, sad smile. "I think we all made some bad decisions when Father died. Our friends were telling us He'd rise again and finally finish the 'muggle problem.' It was like living through a nightmare hearing that and thinking what might happen to you and Mother. And all those friends laughing about it, parroting the politics of their parents. Please don't feel bad. I'm paying rightly. I didn't know that other avenues would be open to me. I believed Dumbledore would never welcome a family of our reputation. And maybe he wouldn't have… but I don't regret protecting you and managing it without murder. Remember that."

Pansy forced herself to nod, but the emotion was strung out in her throat, the muscles and tendons thick with hurt.

"I'm in here because of me, Pansy, for making stupid decisions and picking the wrong side. I bet on those who I thought would win, not those who I thought were right." Out of nowhere he gave a bark of laughter. "I remember when you offhandedly told us all at breakfast that you're friends all knew you were a half-blood. I remember thinking that was the bravest thing I'd ever heard (also, that Mother might cough up a hairball from stress) - and that I'd make sure no one would ever hurt you for it. Not if I had something to say about it."

"It wasn't brave. Draco had invited me over for the summer and if I hadn't told him, the manor would have cursed me six times to Sunday. It's a miracle they kept speaking to me."

"Don't squabble. It was brave. And you are in danger, so let me finish the excellent point I was trying to make about family…"

Pansy's exhaustion suddenly turned into wild frustration. "No, forget family. Bad Mothers and dead brothers don't have anything to do with this. We still haven't worked out who they are and why they're doing this. They seem to be targeting everyone - all Slytherins, even those who left the Battle of Hogwarts are receiving threats. Why even bother sending a Selma to attack those already locked up?"

"Oh, sweet P… Incarceration isn't retribution. You know as well as I that there are people here who deserve to be in the ground."

"Not you."

"Perhaps not technically. Justice and laws of the heart are two very different things."

"They're going to keep trying to kill us, aren't they?" Pansy felt coldness seep into her bones. "Even those who didn't do anything? Those who fought on their side?"

"Have you been reading the papers? Lots of very interesting pieces digging up that old chorus: there's not a witch nor wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. Many wondering why have the house system, why keep in Slytherins if that truly is our nature, why teach them magic. It's a different world; one many of us helped to make."

"Theo didn't. Or Daphne. Milly -"

"Which brings me to my point about family, which you keep rudely interrupting. Give your brother a chance to monologue, please." Pansy bit her tongue. This visit had been nothing but one of his characteristic monologues. "There's old magic that luckily is not often seen… when a parent dies in protection of their child. That child is wrapped in ancient, protective magic based on no spoken spell - just love. The drive to protect your children is so strong it passes through the veil… What do you think happens to that feeling, that love and protection, if you weren't there to give your life for your child? What if the worst happened and you weren't there to protect them?"

Pansy swallowed with difficulty, unsure of the answer.

"It's a wild and murderous love. And it's looking for an exchange for what it lost… but there is no exchange great enough. No revenge can match what they lost. That's why there's no nuance for whom these masked figures target."

Pansy looked down at her hands, her throat raw. Emotions sunk like a rock inside her - fear and grief and helplessness. There were so many people who lost loved ones. A hundred, hundred broken hearts seeking revenge. Could she give up herself to them?

"It could be any of them. Any of them could be trying to… Maybe Draco's right," she whispered. Pell raised an eyebrow. "When I woke up… we exchanged a lot of cruel words. But he said that we needed to go to ground, close ranks, that we can't… we can't trust anyone. We don't know who's attacking us, everyone is a sympathiser-"

Pell took her wrist her wrist in a cool, but strong grip.

"You think that boy outside is a threat?"

She couldn't raise her eyes to him. What was she meant to say? She knew deeply that Charlie would put himself between her and physical harm - between anyone and physical harm. But she couldn't say he wasn't a threat. Nor that she deserved his protection.

Charlie's kindness consumed her. Even at the Manor, even when trying to set him up with Mona, he'd been in her thoughts constantly - what she'd say when she next saw him, how she was planning to make him laugh or mock him, how he'd react and laugh and play.

The existence of Charlie had swayed and changed her in someway - or he'd been witness to that change. She'd made decisions that the old Pansy would never had the bravery to make and somehow, unknowingly, Charlie's existence had planned seeds of rebellion against Draco.

She now knew Draco wasn't a god prince, that her love would never redeem him. He was just a moon she gazed at, distant and cold and changeable, only seen in the dark. He would only ever be overshadowed by the sweet humanity of Charlie, a star who could easily burn her.

"There's not a perfect answer to that. "