Sticks & Stones

The moment Neville stumbled into the kitchen for lunch, the conversation stopped. Harry felt guilty about it, even though he’d been defending Neville to the others.

Apparently there’d been an altercation between Neville, Pansy and Susan that afternoon—really an altercation between Pansy and Susan, about Neville. Susan was still furious and upset with Neville, and had shut herself up in her room since the incident. It sounds like something out of a soppy romance novel, Harry thought.

It might not have spread so quickly, except that Hannah Abbott, Susan’s closest friend, hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut. She’d angrily—and loudly, without care to who would hear—decried Neville for not simply dumping Pansy for Susan. Word was still spreading, but Harry doubted if anyone within the D.A. wouldn’t know by the end of the day.

One thing that was universal was how happy everyone was to have Neville back; he truly had been missed. Fred had already started taking bets on how long it would take Neville to tame the dangerous Last Rites plant that had gone almost feral in their greenhouse—the bet for the shortest time was fifteen minutes.

But reactions to Neville and Pansy dating was mixed to say the least, especially when people heard that Neville had refused to break off with Pansy for Susan—it implied that he was quite serious about pursuing a relationship. With Pansy. That had resulted in Harry—as well as Ginny, who was with him—defending Neville and Pansy. “She’s not the cruel backstabbing bitch you think she is,” they’d said, over and over. “If they want to make a go of it it’s their right, so leave them alone!”

Neville obviously realized that he’d been the topic of discussion, because the tired smile he’d been wearing slid away quickly. “Hi,” he muttered, plodding over to the table.

Before he could sit down, though, Parvati jumped up from her seat, ran around the table and threw her arms around him. “Welcome back, Neville,” she said fervently.

“Uh… thanks,” Neville replied, sounding surprised. He was even more shocked when everyone else who’d just learned he had come back got up to greet him as well. It was a bit awkward—understandable considering the circumstances—but the outpouring was sincere, and Neville clearly understood and was touched by it.

Just as everyone was returning to their seats, Pansy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. The stares returned, but there was definitely an appraising, almost hostile feel to them. Pansy, Harry noticed, responded much differently than Neville: although she didn’t say anything, she returned the less than welcoming stares with a challenging glare of her own that no one seemed ready to match—and when she seemed satisfied that no one was going to actually challenge her, Pansy strode right over to the table and sat down between Neville and Ginny. Her hand disappeared under the table, and Neville jerked a bit and flushed, focusing intently on his food.

Conversation resumed gradually, and no one mentioned the situation again, much to Harry’s relief—he was exhausted after the previous day and night: first fighting Death Eaters, then transporting Neville back to the House of Black, arguing with other members of the D.A., waking Neville, and staying up well past two in the morning arguing more with Ginny, Hermione and Ron before finally striking a compromise on how to deal with Snape. He had managed to get several hours of sleep but had woken aching and still quite tired.

While everyone was eating, Fred and Lee arrived on their lunch break from Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. “Here,” Fred said to Harry, tossing a rolled-up parchment across the table as he sat down. “Give that to Hermione, would you? It’s her copy of The Daily Prophet.”

“But the Prophet came this morning,” Ginny said, taking the parchment and unfurling it. Her eyes widened. “It’s about yesterday—it’s a special edition announcing the capture of the Death Eaters who attacked Neville!”

Everyone was curious, and insisted that Ginny read the article aloud. Since she’d finished eating Ginny complied, although she ended up adding her own caustic comments in response to some of the assumptions made by the reporter. Officially, the Ministry was claiming credit for the capture, although no one believed it since the unconscious Death Eaters had appeared in the lobby of the Ministry in full view of a dozen witnesses.

“Harry, Scrimgeour is going to interrogate the Death Eaters about their capture, and he’ll find out you had something to do with it,” Ginny pointed out. “He’ll consider that more proof that you’re undermining his authority by working against Voldemort without Ministry approval. You’d better avoid going out in public from now on.”

Harry didn’t like it, but he was forced to admit Ginny was right. The last thing he needed was to be arrested—he might be murdered by one of Voldemort’s spies before he ever had the chance to prove his innocence. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Pansy said blithely, surprising everyone. “They’ll all be dead soon enough.”

It was true that many of the Death Eaters who had been taken into Ministry custody had ended up dead—sometimes by assassination from one of Voldemort’s spies, and sometimes by their own hands. But the Ministry had managed to protect a few of them. “We can’t count on them not talking first,” Harry pointed out. “And now that the Ministry’s already lost a lot of the Death Eaters, they’ll probably be more careful to keep them alive.” Pansy hesitated, then shrugged and returned to her food.

Ginny read to the end of the article, which really didn’t have much substance to it anyway. “That’s it,” she said finally. “It’s just got a list of names of the captured Death Eaters at the end: Reginald Wilkes, Terrence Burkes the Fourth—he must be the other half of Borgin & Burkes—Nigel Yaxley, Aloysius Parkins—”

Ginny’s recitation froze, but everyone had noticed. Pansy turned slowly and gaped at Ginny, who was still staring with wide eyes at the parchment. Pansy stood up, snatched the paper from Ginny’s unresisting hands, and scanned it, her expression going stony. Finally she looked up and glared at Harry, incensed. “You couldn’t be bothered to tell me, could you?” she asked coldly. “You didn’t think I’d care that my own father tried to deliver Neville to Voldemort?”

“I didn’t know, Pansy, I swear it,” Harry insisted quickly. “None of them looked familiar, and it happened really fast, so…” he trailed off nervously.

“I thought you didn’t like him, anyway,” Lee offered tentatively, as though worried he was going to get another hexing. “You said yourself that your dad was a supporter of You-Know-Who, so do you really care that—”

“I care,” Pansy interrupted furiously, “because he was my father and he’s dead by now! If the Dark Lord’s spies haven’t killed him yet then he’s found a way to do it himself, so he won’t betray any secrets! He’s more clever and more of a zealot than the rest of the Death Eaters—he will have already found a way to kill himself. And it means—” Her voice actually cracked a bit. “It means that mother is dead as well!”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. “But she wasn’t—”

“She’ll have done herself,” Pansy said thickly. “It’s what all good little wives of Death Eaters are supposed to do, before they can betray the Dark Lord. The Killing Curse, most likely, although knowing Mother she probably thought of something more dramatic, like a stabbing or throwing herself into a pit of vipers…”

“But—but Narcissa Malfoy didn’t kill herself when Lucius Malfoy was captured,” Ginny pointed out.

“She was too much of a coward, then,” Pansy replied nastily. “That, or she chose Draco over the Dark Lord, which would be the one good thing I’d ever say about her!” She blinked rapidly. “They—they’re both dead by now, you see,” she said quietly. “And that means…” She gasped. “I have to go to the Ministry,” she said, turning towards the fireplace.

“What? Wait a second!” Harry shouted, leaping up and grabbing Pansy’s arm. “You can’t just waltz into the Ministry! Voldemort would love to get his hands on you!”

“You don’t get it, Potter!” Pansy snapped, yanking her arm free. “No matter how much I may have disgusted my parents, I’m still their daughter! And unless they altered their wills—which I doubt, they were probably expecting me to see the error of my ways or something equally inane—it means that I’m the heir to the Parkinson name, the entire estate! But I have to give the Ministry complete access to the mansion, the vaults, everything, and let them confiscate everything related to the Dark Arts, to prove I’m not supporting the Dark Lord—if I don’t they can just seize it all and I get nothing!”

Harry stared in shock. “Is that really how it works?” he asked dumbly.

Pansy nodded shortly. “I’ll have to talk to my solicitors to confirm it,” she said. Then she grimaced. “Or rather, I’ll have to talk to some other solicitor, since I’m sure the ones who worked for my parents were well aware of my parents’ allegiance. But I’ll find a decent one and hire him. I don’t have a lot of time,” she added quickly, turning back to the fireplace.

“Pansy, wait!” Pansy stopped again and looked back at Neville, who’d spoken. “Er… my family’s solicitor is really good,” he said. “He’s been the solicitor for my parents since before I was born. I think if I talk to him he’ll help you.”

Pansy, to most everyone’s surprise, actually blushed a bit. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go, then.”

“Right now?” Neville asked in surprise.

“Did you not just hear what I said about not having a lot of time?” Pansy retorted.

“Er, right,” Neville said, biting his lip. “Um, then I have to go to my room—I think I have his address up there.”

“Right,” Pansy said, turning away from the fireplace. Neville joined her, and they disappeared up the stairs.

Harry gaped at Ginny for a second. “I’ve got to talk to them before they leave,” he said.

“Go on, then,” Ginny replied amusedly, jerking her head towards the stairs. “What are you waiting for?”

Harry caught up to Pansy and Neville on the second floor, before they could get to the bedroom floors. “Wait a minute!” he said quickly. “Come on, to the conference room—”

“I don’t have time for your Gryffindor angst!” Pansy snapped.

“This will only take a few minutes,” Harry replied sharply. “I’m not asking! Now come on!”

Pansy stormed into the conference room; Neville followed her more calmly, smiling apologetically to Harry. “What?” Pansy shouted the second Harry closed the door. “What’s so bloody important—”

“Shut up!” Harry interrupted. “Look, you two are to stick together, understand? You’re not to leave each other’s sight! You’re two of the biggest targets in the D.A. aside from me right now, so if you’re going out you have to watch each other’s backs!” Pansy looked surprised that Harry wasn’t protesting them leaving. Harry opened the magical chest they kept in the conference room and pulled out two of the D.A.’s five Invisibility Cloaks. “Here,” he said, handing one each to Neville and Pansy. “Just in case: keep them on you no matter what. Do you both still have your Galleons to bring you back here in an emergency?”

Neville nodded, but Pansy shook her head. “Mine’s in my room,” she said, greatly subdued—clearly she hadn’t expected Harry to care so much about her safety.

“Well, go get it—you’re not to leave without it, understand?” Harry said, and Pansy nodded. “Good. That’s all I have to say,” he added. “I just wanted to remind you to keep safe and aware. I hope you do get to take control of the Parkinson estate, Pansy. I’m really sorry about your parents.”

“Don’t be,” Pansy replied bluntly. “They were evil, vicious people—they’d have handed any of us to the Dark Lord without even thinking about it, and that includes me. You, of all people, shouldn’t be sorry they’re dead.”

“I’m not sorry for them,” Harry told her. “I’m sorry for you.”

Harry watched Neville and Pansy head up the stairs to their rooms, Neville to find his solicitor’s address, and Pansy to find her D.A. Galleon/Portkey. Ron passed them on his way down, and raised his eyes at Harry. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said vaguely. “At least, I think so.” He sighed. “Ron, do me a favor?”

“Sure, what?”

“Go send a message to Tonks. Ask her to use her contacts, and her authority in the Ministry, to confirm the deaths of Aloysius and—” He paused, realizing he didn’t know Pansy’s mother’s name.

“Volitia,” Ginny said, walking up to them and putting her arm around Harry. “That’s her name. Or was.”

“Thanks. Ask Tonks to confirm the deaths of Aloysius and Volitia Parkinson. Aloysius either by suicide or assassination while in Ministry custody, and Volitia by suicide, most likely at the Parkinson mansion.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “You mean—?” he started. “But...”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “How about I go and explain to him and Hermione?” she suggested to Harry.

“Good idea,” Harry agreed. “I’ll come find you all in a while, and we can decide who’s going with us to Godric’s Hollow in a few days.” He kissed Ginny’s her forehead. “Thanks.” Ginny smiled shyly and took Ron’s elbow, steering him back towards the stairs.

Harry wandered back to the stairs and headed down to the kitchen to finish his dinner. But he was so deep in thought that by the time he reached the kitchen all thoughts of food had been driven from his mind. He found himself staring unseeing at the table for a long moment until someone finally noticed; “Harry?” Parvati said with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “Yeah, I am. But I think that you all have to stop eating for a minute and listen up—I’ll need you to spread this around to everyone in the D.A. who’s not here right now.”

Everyone put down their silverware and goblets and looked around at Harry. He could tell from some of the sullen, defiant expressions that a few of them, at least, were expecting a reprimand for treating Pansy badly. But Harry believed that Pansy was fully capable of dealing with such behavior, especially with Neville’s help and support. He was actually impressed that she seemed to have forgotten about Draco completely (although he was sure she hadn’t really). Harry was more concerned for Susan.

“We’re going to start training harder,” he said instead. “Starting right now, and I mean right now. There’s going to be more fighting soon, like we had last night protecting Neville—very soon. We all kind of thought we’d have plenty of time to practice, because we wouldn’t be having to go wand-to-wand with Death Eaters right off—well, we were completely wrong about that. Who here doesn’t have work today, or is done with their shift?” Four people raised their hands. “Right. You four, finish up in five minutes and meet me in the first training room. We’re going to practice Patronuses. The rest of you, spread the word: we’re all going to be working on spell casting every moment that we have some free time, from now on. In fact, I want everyone to bring their work schedules to Hermione, and we’ll arrange for everyone to have practice time in the training rooms.”

“So much for sleep,” Fred muttered.

“Sleep when you’re dead,” Harry retorted with a smirk. “For now, practice so you can live.”