A Lean and Hungry Look (Part 2/6)
Chapter III
The sound of voices flowed about and around Pansy, settling like so much white noise, as she sketched by the warm glow of candlelight. It was early yet, just past the dinner hour, and although she had finished her meal some time ago, Pansy was loath to climb back upstairs to her empty room. Here at least, she could pretend that all was well, that she was just on holiday or something similar.
Her shadow, Bandage or Sandbag or whatever his name was sat several tables over, and had as promised, done nothing to approach her corner table or communicate with her in any way. His nose was alternately pressed into a book or a pint she’d noticed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Pansy rolled her eyes and went back to ignoring him.
In all honesty, no one had bothered her. A young man had come and taken her dinner order and brought it out shortly thereafter, but not a single other person had spoken to or so much as looked at her funny. She’d been expecting, well… something. Several Hufflepuffs she remembered from Hogwarts had shuffled through on their way to Diagon Ally, passing right by her without a look or word. Had she changed in appearance that much? Did no one recognize her, or did they just not care? True, she’d been absent from the Wizarding world for quite some time, but having people pass by her like she was a normal person was disconcerting.
The sheer egotism of her thoughts made Pansy’s fingers still and brought forth a half formed laugh. She shook her head. I really do think a lot of myself. Pansy went back to her notations, not fully relaxed, but no longer looking around for people staring daggers in her direction. When she looked up next, taking a moment to stretch back in her chair, she noticed that the pub was starting to fill up.
The table where her erstwhile protector had been sitting was now occupied by several older witches playing bridge, and Pansy felt a moment of panic stab through her chest. Someone cleared their throat, and she whipped her head around to see a man leaning against the stone wall next to her, partially concealed in shadow.
“Savage went home a while ago. Longbottom and Williamson are already on duty,” John Dawlish, the head of the Auror Department said in a low voice. “I’m just having a look around for myself.”
“Should I be honored or afraid?” Pansy said with a sneer, heart still beating far too quickly.
Dawlish gave an amused grunt. “Your verbal barbs are a bit rusty Ms. Parkinson. That one didn’t even leave a mark. Out of practice?”
Pansy glared at him a moment more, before turning back to the journal in front of her. “Did it ever occur to you that I simply might not find you worth the effort?”
Dawlish pushed off from the wall, coming out of the shadows and taking a seat next to Pansy. “Now that, my dear would truly wound me.”
“You are an exceedingly odd man. And still single. I can’t help but wonder how no woman has managed to snap you up. Or are the sheep at home still enough for you?”
A full grin split the grey haired man’s harsh face. “Better.” He leaned back in the chair. “We did a full sweep over the house and grounds. Nothing. No lingering magic, no hidden spells, no trace of anyone lurking about.”
Pansy’s dark eyes met his. “You didn’t disturb…”
Dawlish interrupted her. “Of course not.” His voice softened. “It’s quite admirable what you’re doing.”
“Not another word, or by Merlin I’ll…”
He waved her words away. “You’ll what? I didn’t disturb them in any way, and I was the only one who went inside.” He met her angry gaze. “You secret is safe with me, you know. I would think that I had proven that much to you over the years.”
Pansy narrowed her eyes just to show him that she didn’t appreciate his humor, but gave him an abrupt nod. She did recognize the truth when it was spoken, and as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she did trust him.
“Anyway, I thought you would want to know. I also left word with several of the house elves to contact me directly at the first hint of trouble.” He pushed back and rose from his seat, twitching his charcoal colored cloak straight. “Always a pleasure.”
Pansy watched him stroll across the pub. The man really was infuriating.
The noise level in the Leaky Cauldron was growing steadily with the additional patrons, making Pansy realize that she’d stayed downstairs far longer than she’d intended. All of the tables were now occupied, and many people were standing around the bar and in the aisle ways. She found herself not a little bit unnerved by the crush of witches and wizards. Wouldn’t it be relatively easy for a hit-wizard to walk right in, curse her, and then disappear into the crowd? Her head pounded suddenly, anxiety making her vision tunnel.
Pansy stood and looked around, desperately searching for Dawlish or Longbottom, only to find that fear had rendered everyone faceless. Spurred by panic, she stumbled away from the table, her only thought to get to the stairs, to safety.
She pushed her way through a group of wizards, the sturdy wooden staircase was just ahead, but in her hurry Pansy caught the edge of her foot on a chair and pitched forward, causing her to collide rather hard into the body in front of her.
The collision stunned Pansy enough to arrest her flight momentarily. The woman, for it had been a witch Pansy had nearly knocked to the ground, turned and gripped Pansy’s forearms, steadying both of them.
“Are you all right?” a familiar voice asked.
“I’m terribly sor…” Pansy looked up, into the woman’s face and the apology died on her lips. The hair was no longer quite as bushy, the full cheeks and know-it-all smirk had slimmed and smoothed out, but standing before her, face filled with concern, was Hermione Granger.
Pansy yanked her arms out of the other woman’s grip with lightening speed, all panic driven from her mind by the sight of her former adversary. “I’m quite fine Granger,” she bit off.
Realization dawned in the brown eyes. “Pansy? What on earth are you doing here?”
Of course it would be Granger. The one person who cared to question her presence here. “I don’t believe that is any of your concern.” Pansy’s voice was ice. “I could ask you the same question. Trolling for a new man Granger, now that Weasley’s moved on to greener and more verdant pastures?” She raked her gaze down Hermione’s body, her eyes communicating her understanding of how men would find it lacking.
Pansy took a small measure of satisfaction in the way Granger seemed to shrink a bit, before pursing her lips and opening her mouth in response.
“Why you petty, vindictive…”
“Ladies. Good evening. Pansy I believe you dropped this a moment ago.” Neville positioned himself between the two women, effectively cutting off Hermione’s words. He thrust the small black journal into Pansy’s hand. “You know I’ve always been curious about fashion. Did you know Pansy’s a designer Hermione? Hannah loved the robes you did last year. She thought the ones with the iridescent peacock lining particularly dashing.” Neville placed Pansy’s free hand through his arm and led her toward the stairs, away from an agitated and now confused Hermione.
Pansy allowed him to usher her up the stairs, but pulled her hand from him once they reached the landing. “You take your protection rather seriously, Longbottom. Granger may hate me, but a few meek insults from her would hardly do me in.”
Neville gave Pansy a cold look, but kept walking.
“What?” Pansy asked defensively. “The day Granger can’t take a comment from me is the day I wake up a Gryffindor.”
“Did it ever occur to you that making a scene is not your best course of action?” Neville hissed. “These aren’t exactly exciting times, and a confrontation between you and Hermione would be grist for the gossip mill.” He shook his head. “And whereas thinly veiled insults are a sporting event for you, anything she might have said to you would have kept her up half the night.”
Pansy stopped walking. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that Granger would lose sleep over insulting my character!”
Neville paused and faced her. “You really don’t know any of us.” It wasn’t an accusation. “Sometimes I forget that.” He resumed walking.
Pansy followed him the rest of the way down the hall in silence.
***
Hermione’s eyes tracked the odd coupling of Neville and Pansy Parkinson as they made their way up the staircase. What in the hell had just happened?
Dozens of possible scenarios flitted through Hermione’s mind, none of them making the least bit of sense. It had almost seemed as if Neville had been trying to save the Slytherin, and that was the most ridiculous thing of all. Pansy had never in her life needed saving from anyone.
The thought of following them upstairs briefly occurred to her, but she quickly waved it away. God, they had gone upstairs. Together. Hermione’s head turned, locating Hannah in seconds. There was no possible way that Neville and Pansy…She couldn’t even finish the thought, so horrid was the mere contemplation. The blonde owner gave her a smile and waved her over.
Hermione slid into a seat at the bar.
“I know that look,” Hannah said with a wink. “I can practically see the wheels turning in that head of yours.” The woman put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow.
“Do you know who I just ran into… literally?” Hermione tried to keep her voice down, but failed. The shock was wearing off, and anger was settling firmly in its place. How dare she bulldoze into her then insult her like that. Hermione felt like she could still feel Pansy’s cold black eyes roving over her body, marking each inadequacy.
Hannah straightened and leaned close to the other woman. “I can guess based on your reaction.”
“But she just went upstairs with Neville!” Hermione all but shrieked.
Hannah laughed. “You don’t really think that Neville would ever be interested in Pansy? Hermione. Come on.”
Hermione frowned. Hannah didn’t seem upset at all, and she’d obviously known about the other woman’s presence. “Is she staying here?”
Hannah nodded and reached out to pat Hermione’s arm. “Let it go. She’s not here to cause trouble, and I don’t expect you to cause her any either.” The blond went back to her customers, leaving Hermione thunderstruck once again.
First Neville, now Hannah. Both of them were acting like Pansy was some kind of delicate flower, and Hermione was an ogre out to trample her. What the hell?
As much as Hermione wanted to follow Hannah’s advice, to just let it go, she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. When something puzzled her she pursued it, she investigated, she researched until she figured it out. That’s what she’d always done, and it had served her very well. So although Hermione wanted to spend her time thinking about anything other than Pansy Parkinson, she found that the dark woman was firmly ensconced in her consciousness.
***
The sound and feel of an explosion had Hermione on her feet, wand in hand before her eyes were fully open. It took her normally quick brain several seconds to realize that she was in her room at the Leaky Cauldron and not in a tent on the run from Death Eaters, and that that particular noise had no business in this place. She hadn’t dreamed it. The smell of charred wood was thick in the air.
Not wasting another moment, Hermione crossed the room and yanked open the door. A quick glance down the hall confirmed that the room adjacent to hers was the source. The wooden door lay smoldering against the opposite wall blocking part of the corridor. Hermione took off at a run, skirting the wreckage to enter the room, wand at the ready.
A woman knelt upon the floor, and at the sight of Hermione, raised her wand in defense. Her dark eyes were wild and frightened, and she swayed for a moment as if she might pass out, but the wand pointed at Hermione’s chest was steady. Both of them stared, not moving.
A pale feather floated down and landed on the dark haired woman’s cheek. She blinked, and a spark of recognition shot through both women. For the second time that night when faced with her former enemy, Hermione had not known her at first. She watched Pansy’s wand hand fall to her side.
“Granger,” Pansy breathed, and in a shallow exhale of breath crumpled to the floor.
Hermione was already moving toward her. She assessed the other woman’s injuries with an efficiency that would have put Madam Pomfrey to shame. No broken bones, a few bruises and bumps, and a possible concussion, she determined. Moving dark hair aside Hermione felt a thready pulse on the woman’s neck.
Thundering footsteps sounded in the hall, and Hermione immediately raised her wand and positioned herself between the unconscious Pansy and the doorway. Neville hurdled the fallen door and burst into the room wand drawn.
Blue eyes blazed with barely repressed violence as the Auror scanned the room. He was a living weapon, ready for battle -- and attired in flowered pajama pants.
Williamson and Hannah entered a moment later, and Hermione felt safe enough to lower her wand. She turned back to Pansy, brushing a bit of owl feather from her face. Hannah knelt next to her, clucking her tongue at the injured woman.
“What a mess,” Williamson muttered.
Hermione left Pansy to Hannah and rose. It was only then that she noticed the feathers. They were everywhere; on the bed hangings, the wall, the floor, and on the doorframe a gooey dark substance dripped to the hardwood below. She gagged a little bit, putting together the feathers and the goo and concluded it was an exploding owl.
Neville and Williamson seemed to have come to the same conclusion, based on the way Williamson was toeing a particularly large pile of feathers with a disgusted look on his face.
“Hermione, what happened?” Neville asked. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. The explosion woke me up. When I got here it was already like this.” She waved her hand at the general disorder in the room. “Granted she was conscious when I arrived. Barely.”
Neville’s eyes widened for a moment. “You didn’t…”
Hermione pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at him. “Stun her? Yeah, right before I smacked her silly and pulled her hair.” She smacked him hard on the arm.
“Right, sorry.”
Hermione heaved a sigh. “Did you check for any more surprises?”
“All clear,” grunted Williamson. “Dawlish is going to want to know about this.”
Neville gave a sharp nod. “Go. I’ll stay with them.”
Hermione walked toward the rear of the room, assessing the damage. Luckily it seemed that the majority of the mess was confined to the front. Still, she pulled her wand back out and began tidying up. Once the bed was straightened and cleaned off, Hermione motioned to Hannah. She continued her work as Hannah levitated Pansy from the floor to bed. Hermione’s mind was racing, putting together the pieces before her. Almost unconsciously she found herself adding several defensive spells in with her cleaning, strengthening the protections already set on the room. By the time she reached the sitting area, Neville had mended the door and cleared the gore and feathers away.
She looked over her shoulder at the dark haired woman on the bed before meeting her friend’s eyes coolly. “Why is someone trying to kill Pansy?”
***
Somewhere men were arguing. Their voices were faint, far away, but still the sound caused Pansy’s head to ache. She brought a hand up to her face, somewhat surprised by how long her body took to complete the simple action. A gentle touch landed on her forehead.
“Pansy?”
She struggled to open her eyes. It took several tries, and even when she knew they were open, there was still and edge of black to her vision. Pansy forced her eyes to focus. Two figures stood at the foot of her bed. One she recognized easily. Dawlish. There was no mistaking his blocky frame. Currently it was towering over the taller man facing him as he leaned forward aggressively, shouting quietly.
The man being shouted at took her longer to identify. Perhaps because Pansy simply couldn’t imagine anyone being angry enough with him to do so, but there stood Neville Longbottom bearing the brunt of the head Auror’s temper.
The words between them were fiercely soft spoken, and straining to hear them only made more pain shoot through Pansy’s already splitting head. She allowed the sound of their conversation to flow over her without trying to decipher meaning. The hand on her head ceased it’s stroking, and she was reminded that someone was sitting next to her.
Turing her head slowly, Pansy caught sight of Hannah Abbott.
“Welcome back,” the blond whispered with a small smile.
Pansy blinked again, trying to remember what had happened, what could have led to all these people gathered around her.
“She’s coming around.”
Pansy heard the words from across the room. Both Dawlish and Longbottom quieted, and Hannah turned to the doorway. She knew that voice, but it was different, wrong. And then events came suddenly streaming back. Dark eyes closed, putting together her last conscious memory with the speaker. The voice was different yes, but not wrong. Pansy had simply never heard anything in Granger’s voice other than disdain before.
“It was the owl,” Pansy managed to croak, annoyed that her voice sounded so weak.
“As helpful as that insight might have been a while ago, we’d already divined that.” Dawlish dripped sarcasm. “A better answer might be how that owl got into this room.”
Pansy opened her eyes once again, not surprised to see Dawlish occupying the seat Hannah had sat in a moment ago. “The window. It came to the window and I let it in.” It sounded stupid even to herself in retrospect.
“It came to the window and you let it in.” Dawlish repeated. “Of course you did. I mean after all it isn’t as if someone was trying to kill you. Receiving your post should be your top concern.” The frustration in his voice was evident, but under that Pansy would have sworn she heard a trace of fear. That, more than anything that had happened, made her feel the need to explain her actions.
“It was one of my owls. I though it was a message from home.”
Dawlish was silent for a long moment. Pansy watched a great many emotions flicker across his face before his large hand reached out and touched her own fleetingly. “Do not be such an idiot again.” He heaved a large sigh and got to his feet. “Your post comes through the Ministry now. No exceptions.”
Pansy watched as he strode to the door, Longbottom in his wake. Only then did she finally see Granger standing off to the side of the bed. She tried to glare at the other woman, but knew she failed miserably. Her eyes were so heavy she just wanted to sleep again. Her last thoughts as she drifted off were of the fierce-eyed Gryffindor.
Chapter IV
When sleep finally came for Hermione it was restless and interrupted. Her body refused to relax, continually waiting for danger, for a second explosion. Exhaustion would overtake her, only to have panic snap her upright and awake a moment later. Her mind supplied her with an unending list of horrible thoughts and visions. The most disturbing aspect was the sight of a broken and unconscious Pansy. The longer she tried to rest, the worse the dark haired woman seemed to be injured. As if Hermione’s own thoughts were inflicting more and more damage upon her. Why this bothered her so much, Hermione couldn’t guess. Eventually, she simply gave up and prepared for work.
She arrived at the Ministry long before the Atrium fireplaces were ablaze with floo powder. Her thoughts were jumbled and frustrated. She still had no answers to the events from last night. Neville had quite literally been saved by the arrival of John Dawlish. And as much as Hermione had wanted to press the issue, she refrained. At this point all she could do was bury herself in work, and hope that eventually she’d stop thinking about everything.
By the time that lunch rolled around Hermione felt clearer, more in control, if still so very tired. Hermione pushed back from her desk. She had an Auror to interrogate, and she had been patient long enough.
The lift was crowded, but Hermione managed to squeeze on as she rode down to the second level. She was constantly amazed by the seeming disorder and general chaos that was the office of Aurors. Things were tacked onto every available surface. Bits of parchment, wanted posters, advertisements, calendars from twenty years ago, family pictures; cubical walls and desks were littered with them. Hermione had often wondered what the redoubtable Molly Weasley would do if she was ever allowed a bit of time alone in such a place.
Most of the Aurors seemed to be gone or hunkered down at their desks with a bit of lunch. She stalked through the maze of half-walls to the cubical practically bursting with green leafy plants and vegetation. Ensconced in this mini jungle sat Neville, quill in one hand partially eaten sandwich in the other.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding,” Hermione drawled, gratified to see the tall Auror dribbled ink across his parchment and hunched his shoulders slightly. “That would be ridiculous, though. Wouldn’t it?”
Neville blotted at the ink with no luck. He gave up quickly, and turned to face the brunette. “I’m not hiding.”
Hermione merely raised an eyebrow at him.
“I may be hiding a little.” He held up a hand, “But not for the reason you think.”
“What the hell is going on?” Hermione wasn’t in the mood to tread lightly on her friend’s emotional state. “Is Pansy testifying again?”
“Not so loud.” Neville looked around quickly.
“Do not shush me,” she said defiantly, but in a much quieter voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t tell you much. Yes, someone is trying to kill her. No, she’s not testifying. Hence we have no earthly clue as to why.”
“Other than the fact that she’s an unbelievable bitch.” Hermione said half under her breath, but not quietly enough, as Neville gave her a disappointed look. “Oh, don’t even start.”
Neville smoothed his features. “I didn’t say a word.”
Hermione heaved a frustrated sigh. She immediately felt guilty for her words, but refused to take them back. The image of Pansy lying unconscious on the floor, never far from her mind as of late, flitted once again through her thoughts. “So, she’s under protection?”
Neville closed his eyes and nodded. “Such as it is.”
Realization struck Hermione. “You think you failed? Oh for Merlin’s sake Neville. She let the damn thing in the window!”
“But I should have been there! It’s my job to stop…”
“You didn’t fail Neville,” she interrupted. “She’s still alive.” Her hand found his arm and squeezed it gently. “You, Williamson, I’m assuming Harry, since you two were whispering oh so subtly the other night, are all on protection. Dawlish is overseeing. Am I leaving anyone out?”
“A few, including Ron.”
Hermione fought not to roll her eyes. Ron was well suited to the blast your way in situations, but covert had never really been his forte. “Who’s investigating? Do you have no idea who’s behind this, what their motive is?”
“Not a one.” Neville winced at their lack of progress. “The first few attacks were all on her own lands. We thought having her at the Leaky would put an end to it, but apparently not.”
“It was a smart move, but at the same time it opens her up to more risk.” Hermione’s mind was already sorting through the problem areas, and making a mental notation to research possible persons who might have access to Pansy’s family home. The owl, she remembered Pansy saying, had been one of the woman’s own. “Do you at least have a list of possible suspects? Children and spouses of former Death Eaters? People looking for revenge.”
Neville shook his head and fought not to grin. He recognized the look in Hermione’s eyes. She was invested. He knew he should tell her right now to stop, that she had no business getting involved, but frankly he wanted to keep Pansy safe, and Hermione would help. Besides, no power in the world, be it Wizarding or Muggle, could tell Hermione not to do something once she’d put her mind to it. However, he couldn’t stop himself from pointing out the inconceivability of her wanting to help her former nemesis.
“Why do you care? I mean other than the fact the room next door to you almost blew up last night, you don’t need to get involved.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes and glared. “So I should just let her be blown to pieces and go on my merry way without a second thought? Yeah, that’s what Dumbledore spent so many years trying to teach us.”
She huffed out of her seat and headed back through the maze. Neville turned to watch her, grin still in place. “So I’ll see you later tonight?” He called after her.
Hermione turned at the lift and gave him a measured glare. “I’m helping you. Having Pansy in my debt is just an added benefit.”