Only a nuclear explosion could wake Pansy Parkinson from her deep slumber. Strewn across the bed in as many directions as her limbs could manage was her body. A half-stifled snore emerged from her lips and she shifted in her sleep. The movement disturbed a pile of magazines that displayed the current ‘in’ witch of the time, to topple off the corner of the bed and onto the equally cluttered floor.

A pile of worn clothes covered a chair situated not even a foot from the bed. The walls, which used to be light lavender, showed barely an inch of the true color. Posters covered the large room and numerous dressers covered the rest of the wall space. There was a light knock on the door, and when Pansy gave no reply, it opened.

An, apparently, old woman, wearing a large, deep blue colored robe, stepped into the room. Her wrinkled features grew only more lined when she noticed the mess of the room.

“Pansy Parkinson! Get up now!� That proved the nuclear explosion needed and Pansy groaned, sitting up slowly. The woman nodded, her job done and turned to leave, “Oh, and breakfast is ready. Your father and I have something we’d like to discuss with you.� Her lips pressed together, as if the topic she had to discuss with her daughter was most unpleasant. Pansy blinked at her from half closed eyes.

“Mother…its Saturday, though! Why do I have to get up?� Pansy drawled and tried to crawl back under the warm cocoon she’d created during the night.

“Breakfast, now! If I don’t see you downstairs, dressed, so help me…you’ll be in so much trouble…!� To keep from arguing more, she left the room, closing the door rather sharply behind her. Pansy looked at her door, still half asleep, than decided that it would be wise to follow her mother’s instructions this time.

Pansy pulled the nearest skirt and shirt, hoping they’d at least half match. With a last look into the full-length mirror tacked onto the back of the door, she patted her black hair down and left the room.

The hallways were easily manageable in her half asleep state, having lived in them for her whole life. Her room was on the top left corner, easily accessible by one of the two staircases that led to the top floor. With quick steps, Pansy took only a few moments to reach the dining room. She pushed the wood door open and slipped inside. Her Father looked up from the morning newspaper and her Mother didn’t even bother.

“Morning Da.� Pansy flashed a smile and sat gracefully across from her mother, and to the left of her father. He grunted in reply and muttered something about goblin rallies. Pansy simply grabbed a piece of toast from one of the plates in the center of the table and began buttering it.

“Pansy, do you remember your grandmother, MaryAnn?� Her mother spoke unexpectedly and Pansy looked up at her. Shaking her head no, she turned her attention back to the piece of toast that was now fully buttered and was ready for consumption.

“Well? What about her?� Pansy inquired, after her mother’s silence extended.

“Your father and I were just thinking that it would be very nice if you went and visited her. You know, since Hogwarts won’t be starting until December this year. I still don’t know why they can’t find a new headmaster…You never get to see any of your relatives anymore…� Pansy’s mother trailed off.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. Since when did her parents care whether she saw her relatives? Something was up and it was not a new attitude toward parenting. However, most likely it would not go well for her. Visiting some obscure relative…

“Why do we have to go? It’s not like she visited us,� Pansy whined. It was stupid, why did Grandmother MaryAnn not just come here? It was not as if they did not have enough room for visitors. Their house was notoriously large with enough room for five visitors to stay without her parent’s knowledge; an advantage that she had used often during the long break when her parents had been busy with work.

“Pansy, what have we told you about respecting your elders?� Her father spoke from behind the newspaper. Pansy shot a venomous glare toward him.

“Absolutely nothing,� she retorted quickly. Her mother gave a little ‘humph’ as if to reprimand Pansy of her tone, but did not exactly know how.

“You’re going and that is final. I’ll have the house elf pack for you while you eat.� Her tone was solid like steel and Pansy grudgingly admitted defeat. She slumped into the chair, sending death glares at her mother.

Of course, they would make her go; they just absolutely loved to ruin her life. Idiotic parents…Pansy attacked her piece of toast with new venom, imagining her mother’s wrinkled face as she bit into it. It was their determination to rid themselves of her that infuriated Pansy the most. They were lucky if they didn’t find a hex or two headed in their direction when she got back.

An hour of complaints from Pansy, frustrated comments from her mother and finally Pansy was propelled toward the front door. She glared at her mother, furious at the abrupt dismissal. The elder woman simply planted a swift kiss on Pansy’s cheek and her father even came to pat her on the head.

“Make the family proud,� he barked, before handing Pansy her rather small duffle bag. Sour eyes watched his slender form disappear back into the dinning room. Her mother stood at the door for a few seconds longer.

“The Knight Bus will come if you hold out your wand arm.� her mother added, hesitating for a moment, before turning back to close the door. Pansy’s stomach turned for unknown reasons and a mental picture of a large metal door slamming shut on the freedom of the summer invaded her mind.

“Wait,� Pansy put a hand to keep the door from closing. Her mother opened it again and her lined face was rich in an emotion Pansy had not seen often, “I don’t know where Grandmother MaryAnn lives.� Her mother’s face smiled slightly, lifting the wrinkles for a moment.

“Let me write it down for you.� Her mother disappeared for a moment, but than reemerged with a small corner of one of the napkins ripped off. A hastily written address covered the white paper and Pansy grasped it gently.

Pansy smiled slightly. It was just like her mother to try and cram something as important as an address on a tiny piece of paper. She glanced toward her mother. The door was already closed and by the darkness of the hallway, her mother had retreated into the backrooms of the house.

It was like a dream, an almost surreal atmosphere surrounding the large front porch. She never noticed how much the once vibrant green of the door had faded. Small flecks of the paint were gone around the knob and along the edges. It was imperfect, another flaw to be added to her family. And there was no way Pansy could possibly fix this one.

There is no way but up.

With little else to do, Pansy quickly stepped off the porch and stuck out her wand hand. There was a moment of silence, the birds not even daring to sing. Her breath caught in fear. What if… BANG! There was a roar and if Pansy had been another step forward, a large purple double-decker bus would have appeared on top of her. She was stunned for a moment, but than quickly composed herself, when a rather pockmarked man stepped down, peering at her in a very accusing way.

“’Ello,� he said, accent slurring his words. Pansy simply sniffed, turning up her nose. He was obviously poorer than her and was not a person of prestige.

“This is the Knight Bus?� she asked, more of a statement than an actual question. Her gaze fell through the window on to the top corners of what looked like comfy armchairs in soft floral patterns.

“Ye’h. Where ‘ju’ wanna go?� Pansy turned her attention back to the man who was now studying her house intently as if he’d never seen such a large place before. Pansy clenched her fist instinctively around the piece of paper in her hand. It crinkled reassuringly and she finally unclenched her hand and held it out to him. His look said it all, questions that he would never dare ask, gathered and than hid themselves as the man’s brow furrowed.

Pansy knew what the paper said. In her mother’s loopy writing the address simply read;

46667 Cavan Drive

“You wanna go t’Cavan Drive?� he asked skeptically, handing the piece of paper back toward Pansy. She nodded and shifted the duffle bag on her shoulder. The man’s unsteadiness with the name made her even more nervous to leave the relative comfort of her home.

“How much will it cost to…to go?� Pansy broke the silence of the moment and he sighed, probably reserving himself for a boring and quite long explanation of why Cavan Drive does not exist.

“A Galleon,� he sighed and Pansy smiled slightly. She dug through her pocket and produced the gold coin, pressing it into his waiting hand. With a small gesture from him, Pansy climbed the stairs, pushing easily past his thin form.

A rather pudgy man gazed accusingly at Pansy as she rounded the corner and into the bus. Large glasses only made his small eyes look more beady, and he quickly buried his face in the current issue of the Daily Prophet. So like her father…

She quickly took the nearest seat, almost three armchairs back from the door. Slinging the duffle bag onto the floor, Pansy collapsed into the chair. The armchair was more comfortable than she had given it credit for. It was almost more comfort than she deserved.

Pansy was distracted from her thoughts as she was lurched forward. Her house disappeared instantly, replaced by blurred trees.

Somehow, the bus had jumped from the familiar oak lined street to a narrow wooded road. She furrowed her brows, studying the road. Did her Grandmother live down this road? Perhaps she lived in a small little cottage, just on the side of a mountain.

She had not seen her Grandmother in many years. Not since Pansy had left to start her schooling at Hogwarts had she managed travel and spend Christmas with the Parkinson’s. Only a few words from her parents around the holiday time kept the reclusive woman from disappearing entirely from her life. A small mental picture of a thin, willowy woman bent over a book remained. Perhaps her Grandmother MaryAnn even forgot what her own granddaughter looked like.

Pansy could imagine clearly the event. The Knight Bus would drop her off at some shack in the middle of nowhere and she’d march up to the door. After knocking a few times, a bent old woman would answer and peer at her. ‘What do you want?’ she’d croak. Pansy would simply stand there, numb in shock. Her Grandmother would mutter something and slam the door shut in Pansy’s face. And for the second time that day, Pansy would be left staring at a shut door.

The bus lurched, jumping from the wooded street to a small town’s round-a-bout. A massive marble statue of some muggle commander decorated the center, and a row of thick hedges surrounded it. His white face was strangely blank, even with carved eyes and other facial features. Pansy exhaled a breath she didn’t know she had held when the bus swerved onto the nearby street. Bracing herself against the bus’s sickening swerving around cars and even houses, she noticed vaguely that the bus had jumped to another location.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse here. Fat drops of rain splashed against the windows, obscuring the view. Only blurs of color were able to been seen and Pansy sighed, slightly disappointed. Perhaps this was the town her Grandmother lived in. Maybe one of the blurred, gray things was a house. Perhaps- BANG!

If Pansy had not been clutching onto the seat for dear life, she would have been launched into the back of the chair in front of her. The man in the front who had been so suspicious and hesitant to let her ride, beckoned. She made a face as she pulled the duffle bag onto her shoulder. With a last longing look to the blurred windows and the comfy chair, Pansy strode forward.

“Y’ house is t’ blue one,� he said, and gestured toward the open door. Pansy inhaled sharply and pulled her gaunt features into a look of contempt. Without a backward look, she stepped of the ledge and into the rain, walking pointedly toward the blue house.

There is no way but up.

There was a bang as the Knight Bus disappeared. Pansy took no notice and steadied herself against the possibility of knocking on her forgotten grandmother’s door. She took a deep breath and stepped quickly down the path.

It was a complete mess of a front garden. Ivy had taken over the left side and had already started to climb the side of the house. A group of rather vicious thorn plants guarded the sides of the door. Pansy curled her lip in disgust and swept past them quickly to keep from catching her expensive shirt on them.

The door loomed in front of Pansy, its tall and peeling grey paint set off by the large blooms of morning glory. The flowers were closed, it being closer to supper, but the tightly furled blooms showed a hint of purple. Perhaps she could find some seeds…

In a quick motion she reached out and knocked on the door. Pansy let out a breath she didn’t know she had kept. The downpour kept her from hearing footsteps but a few heart wrenching seconds and a human shape approached. It hobbled slowly and surely until it could reach the door and open it a crack.

“Yes?� It was an old woman, her voice as rough as sandpaper across the tender underarm. Pansy shifted to see the eye peering out of the crack.

“Grandmother MaryAnn?� Pansy twisted her mouth into what she hoped looked like a warm smile. The woman was silent for a moment than opened the door wider. Pansy could now see her grandmother fully. The rather slender frame was slack from age and use. Gray hair was pulled easily into a bun that sat hidden behind a face lined with more worries than Pansy would ever know. A pair of attentive blue eyes studied her intently.

“Pansy…oh, come in!� Recognition shone and grandmother’s frame moved to the side. Another breath, Pansy entered.

Her grandmother smiled at her, the gesture lost on Pansy. The hall was small but had a strangely homey feel to it. Woven foot carpets covered old wood floors occasionally. A pair of double doors on the left, not even an arms length from Pansy, led to a formal parlor. Pansy let her bag slip from her shoulder, shedding water onto the front mat all the while.

“Pansy, dear, why did you come all the way to Ireland just to see me?� Grandmother peered at Pansy from a few feet down the hall. Her gaze said it all. Pansy scowled and whipped out her wand from inside her jacket, muttering a simple cleaning spell.

“Bloody parents sent me; gave me an idiotic story about a ‘vacation’. But I know that this is no vacation.� Pansy lifted her eyebrow, as if daring her grandmother to contradict her. There was a moment of silence before her grandmother sighed.

“Well there is no sense in just standing in the front hall. Leave your bag there and come into the kitchen. I was about to leave to listen to the choir practice…� Pansy followed quietly down the hall and into a small yellow kitchen. Grandmother busied herself with a pot of tea on the stove, finding tea leaves from the old hanging cabinets. A small table pushed under the back window was set for two. Several black candles were arranged with sprigs of evergreen strewn around them, the new green colour contrasting the black sharply. After a moment of deliberation, Pansy pulled the nearest chair out from the table and sat in it.

“Of course I was going to go over to the cathedral to help them set up for All Souls Day. Do you know about All Souls Day? Do they take you to church even?� Grandmother babbled on, barely pausing to let Pansy get a word in, “My Connor-bless his heart-needs to be taken care of also. But I suppose I could attend to that tomorrow. I think I will take you to the cathedral. Have you ever been inside a church before? Our choir is really amazing. I believe they’re practicing for the service tomorrow. You’ll get to here them. Do you like your tea with sugar or cream or both?� Grandmother moved toward Pansy, holding out a cup of the steaming liquid.

What, did her grandmother actually expect that Pansy would make her own tea? She rose an eyebrow and rested her chin gracefully on her hand.

“I like mine with two spoonfuls of sugar and just a tiny bit of cream; non-fat cream if you have it.� grandmother looked surprised but than hobbled back toward the counter to put the allotted amount of sugar into the tea. Pansy turned to gaze out the small window.

The back garden was in as much disarray as the front. Strange ivy was climbing steadily over the back porch poles. Neighbouring brick houses closed in on the small space as if they were ashamed of the overgrown garden. Pansy lifted the corner of her mouth in a sneer. How could her grandmother let it get into such a mess? Didn’t she realize that she was ruining the Parkinson name?

Grandmother placed the mug of tea in front of Pansy, wringing her hands slightly. She stifled the action as soon as Pansy turned to take the cup.

“Go ahead and drink that up as much as possible. We have to walk a few blocks to get to the church.� Pansy almost spit the mouthful of hot tea at her grandmother. Instead she swallowed it and gasped.

“What?� There was a pause, than, “I am not going to some dumb church. I will stay here.� Pansy eyed her grandmother who was slowly going red in the face. Apparently Pansy had hit a blow-up topic with her.

“So that is why…no, missy, you are coming with me to the cathedral whether you like it or not. I will not allow a hot headed demon into my house!� Grandmother pulled her apron off, almost tearing the light blue fabric. Pansy widened her eyes, almost daring her to try and make her leave. They stared at one other for a moment, eyes boring holes into each others faces. Beneath the layers of wrinkles, a will of iron kept grandmother strong.

“Fine, but I won’t like it at all.� Pansy snarled and placed the tea cup not so gently on the table. Grandmother smiled and began to hobble toward the front door.

“Go ahead and grab one of those umbrellas from the rack in the kitchen when you pass it,� Grandmother called from the front hall. Pansy muttered something under her breath but still grabbed a hideous purple coloured and green spotted umbrella.

Grandmother easily ushered Pansy into the light rain. The light was fading from the sky, turning the rain clouds into dark masses above the small town. Pansy scowled at the rain, as if a frown could deter the water.

Grandmother was right; it was only a short walk to the church. The few houses that stood between grandmother’s and the church, Pansy counted three, were light and full of what seemed like a happy family. She watched a mother teach a young girl with pigtails how to play the piano. In the next house the family was playing some kind of board game similar to wizard chess. Pansy felt her stomach ache and she turned away from the last house.

Stupid, it’s all stupid.

Pansy was pulled gently by grandmother into the small parking lot of the church. The church sat there looking like a prim old aunt that sniffed her nose every time someone was ‘improper’. Wooden siding was in the process of being repainted on the right side and the steeple was leaning a little to the left. Pansy was pulled into the double doors all the while making the most squinted and sour face possible.

Inside the doors though, her sour face melted. This unearthly beautiful sound was echoing from on this stage-like area in the front. A small group of children dressed all in white robes were singing. Pansy stared, barely feeling her being dragged into one of the benches.

“That is the angel choir. Aren’t they wonderful?� Grandmother whispered into Pansy’s ear. Pansy nodded slowly, “They’re practicing for All Soul’s Day, it's tomorrow you know, and I think they’ll blow everyone away.� The choir paused, listening to instructions given by the choir master on the side. Pansy glanced toward grandmother. Her wrinkled face was screwed up in an intense emotion and she was blinking rapidly. Pansy was puzzled for a moment, than decided that she’d rather not waste her time figuring out her reclusive grandmother’s emotions.

Pansy looked over to see grandmother bent over with her hands clasped together and murmuring softly.

“…give her strength and give me strength to deal…shed light on his memory…help me to heal and to forgive…� Pansy only heard small phrases, snatches that didn’t make sense. Strength to deal with what? Her attention was drawn away. From the choir, a new noise started. This noise was soft and gentle, like a lamb nudging you forward. If Pansy had been a cat, her ears would have perked forward in interest.

I stand to praise You,
But I fall to my knees.

A young girl with flame red hair that was already struggling at the numerous clips was singing. She was not much younger than Pansy, perhaps only a year or two. Her voice was smooth, rather like silk against a cheek and it slid softly through the sad notes.

My Spirit is hungry,
But my flesh is so weak.

This…this girl was wonderful. Pansy could have gasped aloud at the beauty of her voice. No human could sing so beautifully! She had to be an angel!

Light the fire,
In my soul,
Fan the flames,
Let my Spirit grow.
Lord you know,
Where I’ve been,
So light the fire in my heart again.

So a mudblood can be an angel now? The question came unbidden to Pansy’s mind and she was startled by the rage of it. Every word of it, though, was true. This…this girl is a mudblood and is not even worthy to be in Pansy’s pureblood presence.

I can feel Your arms around me,
As the power of your healing begins.

Pansy gripped the edge of the seat tightly. How could this mudblood even dare to sing! She was a demon! A wretched scum compared to Pansy! She was dirt!

You breathe new life into me,
Like a mighty rushing wind.

Pansy could take no more of this disgrace. She stood, sending hot glares toward the bent over form of grandmother.

“I’m leaving.� Pansy muttered through clenched teeth. After sending a glare towards the singer upfront, Pansy left, marching hotly out the doors and down the sidewalk.

How could that mudblood even dare to sing in Pansy’s presence! How could she??!!! How…could…she…!!!

Pansy slowed her stamping feet outside grandmother’s house. For the second time today she stood, staring forlorn at the darkened front windows. A big wet rain drop splashed on the bridge of her nose. Pansy yelped, startled, and pushed her way to the front door.

The door was locked and the rain only began to fall a little bit harder. Big droplets of water plopped noisily onto the just dried leaves of the dangerous looking vine growing nearby. Pansy took a breath to steady her before launching back into the growing downpour. She had to find a way in.

Perhaps grandmother had left the back door open! A new gleam in her eye, Pansy shot off toward the back door. The big droplets only grew more frequent and Pansy was getting slowly soaked. Large vines creped up the brick siding of the house while a small pine forest was slowly taking up the grass.

Pansy shouted and pushed herself toward the back door. Its rusted handle did little to comfort her fear of being locked out. The dark kitchen where perhaps a half an hour ago she had tea, looked gloomy and full of warning through the glass. She jiggled the handle; no luck. About ready to cry in desperation and getting progressively wetter by the minute, Pansy glanced around for some other way in.

“There has to be some other way in!� she shouted to the rain. As if someone had heard her, Pansy’s eye caught on one of the second story windows. The window was open! She squealed in joy and immediately began planning how to reach it. The drain could perhaps hold her weight…and it wasn’t a far reach after that…

Pansy glanced at the drain uneasily. If it didn’t hold her weight she’d be in for a fall. It only took a thunderclap from the clouds to send her scurrying toward the drain.

Every two feet or so a bracket attached the pole to the side of the house; it would be child’s play to use them to shimmy up slowly. Of course, that would be during midday while it wasn’t raining with an adult right beneath you to catch you. Pansy wiped her hands on her pants.

“I’m cold, I’m wet and I’m about to climb a drain pipe to get into a house.� She shook her head and began to climb, muttering curse words every time her hand slipped. For every bracket she passed, it seemed like there were fifty more waiting. And every time it thundered, she was reminded again why she hated storms. Pansy pulled herself up the last bracket, finally coming even with the open window.

Now the only thing to do was to climb into the window. Pansy gritted her teeth and reached out with her left foot toward the ledge. After an agonizing moment in which she was sure she’d fall, the tip of her shoe tapped against the ledge. Pansy smiled and secured her foot further. She slowly reached her left hand off the bracket and toward the edge of the window. Only the tiniest miscalculation would send her tumbling down to the back garden. She grasped the edge firmly and pulled the rest of her body across the gap. In one exhilarating moment she felt like she was flying.

Forward motion from her jump propelled Pansy into the room. She tumbled not so gently onto the floor, slamming her left arm against the wood.

“OWWW!� Pansy growled at her own carelessness and slowly picked herself up. Nothing was broken on her at least. Perhaps a few war wounds and a new story to tell at parties. The corner of her blue shirt was ruined. Thank goodness she’d changed into pants before leaving her own house, otherwise that skirt would have been shredded.

The room was dark; walls painted black around her. Even the furniture was black, as if someone had gone crazy and thrown a bucket of paint over everything. A large bed was shoved in the farthest corner with all kinds of junk stuck around it. Pansy’s foot kicked against a chest, unseen in the sea of black lumps. Another flash of lightning, throwing the white light across the room; it was filled with trunks. Only a miracle had caused her to not fall on one when she came through the window.

Pansy chuckled; what was in these trunks? Money? She reached down and felt for the handle of the nearest chest. Giving it an experimental tug, she grunted; it was heavy. Using both of her already sore hands, she managed to drag it towards the small amount of light that the open window allowed. A few scattered raindrops flew through the window as Pansy sat down, exhausted, next to the chest.

There was no lock and the handle was a simple black handlebar. Pansy simply pulled the top open, half expecting to find containers filled with galleons. Instead, rows of shoeboxes met her anxious eyes. Shoeboxes…? Pansy was clearly disappointed and reached in to pull the lid of the nearest one. The whole box was filled with discoloured photographs.

Pansy stifled a gasp and picked the box out of the chest. Here, a fading brown boy played with a dog, throwing a stick into the waves of an unknown ocean. The photograph behind was a young woman smiling serenely while dancing with a man in a suit. Her dress billowed gracefully as she was swung into a dip, laughing the whole way. After that was the same man, this time dancing with the same boy that was throwing a stick for the dog. The boy’s hair was combed back but already a few strands were straying. They were a family than, a happy one by their ecstatic expressions. Pansy’s stomach clenched again.

Stairs creaked and the door was opened. Pansy looked up, startled and tried to stuff the shoebox of photographs back into the chest. Grandmother’s figure stood in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Pansy Parkinson.� Pansy was not startled by the suddenness of grandmother’s appearance but by the tone of her voice. The usually cheery woman’s voice had gone low and accented the words like steel. Pansy stood and fidgeted a moment to get the chest closed.

“I just-“

“-you shouldn’t be in here,� Grandmother repeated. Pansy sheepishly turned to the window and shut it, “Now come with me and I’ll show you where you can sleep for tonight.� Just like that, grandmother’s voice changed back into the sweet old woman tone. Pansy took one last glance at the black room before grandmother shut the door firmly behind her.

Pansy Parkinson snored rather loudly from underneath a pile of blankets on the couch, her left foot sticking out of the cocoon. The next snore caught in her throat as Pansy woke slowly, shifting on the downstairs couch and almost falling off in the process. She opened one eye to peer at the living room, taking in the cluttered desk opposite of her and the pile of decorating objects in the corner.

Yawning largely, she pulled herself from the pile of blankets and patted her mussed hair down. The calming smell of coffee and bacon wafted down the front hall from the kitchen. Pansy glanced at the front hall, debating whether to approach her grandmother about last night or not, but in the end, her growling stomach forced her to tiptoe quietly across the carpet, down the hall, and into the yellow painted kitchen. Standing at the doorway for a moment, Pansy watched her grandmother hum happily, as she took some kind of bun out of the oven.

“Grandmother…� Pansy approached, remembering the sober and scary woman from the night before. Grandmother looked up, setting the pan on the stove and flashing Pansy a warm smile.

“I hope you’re hungry. We have a big day ahead of us! It’s All Soul’s Day, when you are supposed to pray for those who are lost at the church.� Grandmother glanced at Pansy’s day old travel clothes, “We’d better get you some clothes to wear to church, too. You might be able to fit into some of my old dresses…� Pansy opened her mouth to say that she would never in her life go back to that church but a warning glare from grandmother quickly shut her mouth. With a sugarcoated smile, her grandmother took a plate from a nearby drawer and scooped a few pieces of bacon onto it.

“Breakfast?� Grandmother asked innocently. Pansy scowled and took the plate, stuffing the bacon in her mouth. After a moment of silence in which Pansy chewed furiously, her grandmother ushered her back down the hall and through the living room. After bundling up Pansy’s used sheets, she then shepherded Pansy back toward the kitchen and opened a door that Pansy had not noticed before.

“Stay here.� Grandmother commanded before disappearing into the room. Pansy sighed and sat at the kitchen table. It would probably end up as horrid as yesterday had. Did her grandmother actually think that Pansy would stand for the dirty Mudbloods around her? If they could not stay away from her, she would have to curse them or something. What would her mother—

A tap on the window beside Pansy startled her out of the train of thought. Her mother’s grey owl fluttered outside the window with a note clutched in its large claws.

“Rasul?� Pansy asked the bird. He simply fluttered helplessly and Pansy sighed in impatience. She stood and moved toward the backdoor to unlock it. The lock took a lot of force to turn and Pansy had to jerk the door hard before it would open even the tiniest bit. Rasul fluttered just outside the door, expecting to be let in. The door opened a bit more before the owl could finally fit. He gave a thankful hoot as he flew into the kitchen and settled himself on the counter.

Pansy approached the owl, eyeing the note with anxiety. Perhaps her mother had changed her mind and was already on the way to pick her up? Or had the teachers of Hogwarts finally found a new headmaster and wanted to bring Pansy back to class? With half of the Gryffindor students gone to follow Potter in his stupid war against her father’s boss, Voldemort, it would be easy and interesting to be the rulers of the school again.

With that thought in mind, Pansy took the letter from Rasul. It was her mother’s handwriting, addressing it to her ‘darling daughter’. Pansy frowned. Since when was she the ‘darling’ daughter? She ripped the note open, now quite eager to see what caused it to be sent.

Darling Daughter Pansy,
Your father and I believe that we have made a mistake. I know that this is hard for you to understand, but your father and I have been foolish. We believed in our own powers and that the take-over of the Dark Lord would be inevitable. However, the Dark Lord has us both placed on an incredibly dangerous mission, and neither your father nor I know exactly what will happen in the battle. I believed that if we sent you away, perhaps you would not share the same fate as others. Last night Draco Malfoy was caught by the Order and we lost contact with a dozen death eaters.

The war is not going well, Pansy. This letter is only supposed to be sent if there is no other choice. But Pansy, whatever happens, stay strong.

Love,
Mummy and Daddy

Grandmother bustled back into the kitchen, mildly surprised to see an unfamiliar owl sitting on her counter top and the back door open. Pansy was staring at a piece of paper, clutching it so tightly on the edges that she was shocked it did not rip down the middle.

“Pansy darling, I found a dress.� Grandmother glanced down at the dark blue dress, not at all as horrid as some of the things she had looked at. Maybe Pansy would even like it…if she would only look up from the paper.

This letter is only supposed to be sent if there is no other choice.

Mummy…daddy…gone? Pansy gasped, biting her lip to keep tears from spilling over. She was a pureblood. Purebloods do not cry. She cannot cry. She cannot cry…

“Pansy what on earth is so riveting?� Grandmother laid the dress on the countertop, shooing the owl away from it. Pansy looked up, a hollow glance that showed none of her turbulent emotions.

“They…they…� She murmured, her hands that held the paper shaking, “They’re gone.� Pansy’s eyes misted and she turned her face away from grandmother. Grandmother frowned, not understanding.

“Dear, let’s get you dressed for church. I promise it’ll make everything better.� Grandmother slowly slipped the note from Pansy’s clutched hands and set it on the countertop. She was like a china doll as grandmother gently led her toward the bathroom and handed her the dress. Hollow blue eyes met her own, seeing but not caring as she was gently pushed into the bathroom.

Only a few minutes later, Pansy emerged in the dark blue dress. The belt around the middle and the knee length skirt accented her slender form. Grandmother smiled and pointed toward the couch Pansy had slept on.

“Just give me a moment to get ready then I’ll come brush your hair and we can leave.� Grandmother gave Pansy a soft push and than headed back toward her room, humming a church hymn.

This letter is only supposed to be sent if there is no other choice.

To think about her parents hurt. Pansy sat on the couch gently, not fully aware of her surroundings. They could not be gone. Her parents could not be dead. They could not. Pansy wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them close inside of the unfamiliar dress. The material was scratchy against her cheek and it seemed like forever ago she had just woken up. Had it really only been an hour?

Her grandmother’s hand on her shoulder caused Pansy to look up. There was concern in her blue eyes, closely followed by what seemed like pity. A hairbrush was in her hand and her grandmother tried to smile but failed.

“I read the letter.� Grandmother said quietly, only offering the small phrase before sitting beside Pansy. Pansy simply buried her head into her arms. She could not take this! She was supposed to be seventeen in a few days! How could her parents be at the birthday party if they were dead?

Grandmother lifted Pansy’s face slightly, enough to start to brush her black shoulder length hair. Things were going to change. She might have given up her wand a long time ago but she was certain of this. Grandmother talked quietly of her childhood in the Irish countryside.

“We had horses, a whole herd of them at the farm. I was rather good at riding this one little spirited thing named Dancer. He was a beauty…there…see? Your hair is all brushed, Pansy. It’s time to go to church.� Grandmother stood, old bones creaking, and was glad to see Pansy rising behind her. With a gentle glance every few feet, Grandmother and Pansy made the short walk to the church.

As soon as they turned into the parking lot of the church, Grandmother felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see Pansy clutching her sleeve.

“Why do you go to church with mudbloods?� Pansy’s eyes had lost their hollow look and now gazed at her grandmother in what appeared to be anger. Grandmother was silent for a moment.

“Why would I not go to church with these people?� Grandmother replied, a heavy reminder in the sentence. Her cheerful smile was still on her face, “My Connor knows these people.�

“But why do you not just apperate to a nonmudblood church? There are some of them, I know! It would be better than being choked with the stench of these…these mudbloods.�

“You watch your mouth Pansy Parkinson! I gave up magic a long time ago but I can still wash your mouth out with soap.�

“Why would you give up magic? You’d be just like these mudbloods, stupid and just like cattle!�

Pansy gazed calmly into her grandmother’s red face. Apparently, this was a hot button issue and as the old woman clenched her teeth and tried to calm herself, Pansy smiled slightly.

“I see my son has done a fine job of raising you,� Grandmother spat, sarcasm dripping from every word. Pansy was surprised for a moment but than quickly controlled it.

“My father is a wonderful man and one of Voldemort’s right hand men. He raised me perfectly. You have still not answered my question. Why do you not have a wand?�

“Because I gave up my magic when Connor was killed! There, are you happy?� They were both silent as more of the Muggles streamed into the church. Grandmother glanced at the open doors than clutched at her chest.

“Pansy, I am going to church. It is All Soul’s Day and I must pray for Connor’s soul. I do not care if you go in or not but do not go far. I don’t want you lost.� With that, Grandmother strode toward the doors, greeting the Muggles that welcomed her. Pansy stared after her.

“No wonder she’s not mentioned at family gatherings. She’s absolutely stark raving mad.� Pansy muttered, throwing a few strands of hair over her shoulder. Her haughty glare fell on anyone who happened to look toward her.

Just like ants scampering toward their home, the Muggles flowed into the church in droves. Pansy watched, slightly amused, from the side until the doors closed and there was no one left to send glares to. Her grandmother was inside and her parents were in a place that she could not reach. How could it have come to this? How could things have gone so wrong?

Pansy began to walk, not knowing where her feet led but welcoming deliverance from her poisonous thoughts. Did her father know about the mission when he patted her head to say goodbye? Did her mum even think about not seeing her daughter again? Did they regret it? Did they? With every step, her thoughts grew wilder and more distraught. Soon, she was half running down the sidewalk, past her grandmother’s overgrown front garden, past another street, past a laughing couple sitting on a park bench. Did they regret anything anymore? Did she?

Panting, Pansy leaned against a short wall. Well…at least she was completely lost, Pansy thought before letting out a hoarse chuckle. It felt good to laugh; she should do it more often.

It was almost as if a veil lifted. Perhaps she should laugh more often. Perhaps…perhaps…

Pansy slowly stopped panting, calming herself. The smell of moist earth met her nose and she glanced across the wall for the source. Her eyes widened in shock and then narrowed; it was a graveyard. There was no mistaking it and Pansy glanced at the nearest stone in slight interest, the low wall allowing her to scramble over in the dress without looking like a complete fool. She kneeled and brought a finger to flick away the soggy remnants of flowers that were laid on the grass. Who lay beneath the ground? Was it a father of many or a mother of one? A beloved uncle, perhaps?

Here lies Connor Parkinson,
Beloved husband, father, friend
R.I.P.