The Rules of the House

~*~

In Which Pansy Has an Accident

Finally, the car pulled up in front of a run down, seedy looking house in the sketchiest part of London.

"Are we transferring cars?" Pansy asked.

"No, dear, this is where we'll be living this summer. Now hush until we get inside."

Well. That was just fine and dandy. This place was disgustingly filthy. Someone had written all over the walls with colored words, and she could hear distasteful music booming out of one of the houses. She, Pansy Glory Parkinson, forced to live in this dump? This was getting worse and worse.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and she whirled around to see Mad-Eye Moody glaring at her with both eyes. She blinked several times and gulped.

"Read this. Think about it. Eat it when you're done."

He held a small, grimy piece of paper to her. Pansy picked it up gingerly with the tips of her fingers, and read the small, loopy writing.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London.

Pansy gasped. The Order of the Phoenix? And what did he mean, think about it? She read the words again, and looked up. A house, just as ugly as the houses around it, was unfolding. Large numbers, followed by a hideous, gargoyle doorknocker, informed her that she was standing in front of number twelve. She could have sworn the doorknocker's eyes glowed red for a second.

"Eat it."

Pansy looked Mad-Eye, and then at the piece of paper in horror. It was smudged with dirty fingerprints, and knowing Mad-Eye Moody's reputation for secrecy that bordered on paranoia, it had been shoved somewhere hard to reach and close to the body... She shuddered at the thought.

"Erm... I'm not hungry."

Mad-Eye rolled his normal eye and set fire to the piece of paper, instead. Pansy yelped as it quickly flashed down to her fingers.

"Come along, come along. Constant Vigilance! Who knows who's watching the house as we speak!"

He hustled her up the front steps and into the doorway of the house. It was very dark and very cold. The walls were half covered in wallpaper roses that would be depressing in a funeral home, and half paneled in dark wood. A large clock with - were those human finger bones? - chimed the hour in melancholy, low tones.

She followed the Weasley girl down a set of stairs into a basement kitchen. A large fireplace stood at one end and the long table currently seated about seven people.

"Sit down, Pansy," said a familiar voice politely. Pansy turned around to see Professor Lupin closing the kitchen door. Great. The werewolf was here too. He'd probably rip her to shreds while she slept.

"I think I'll stand."

"Sit down!" Moody bellowed.

Pansy dropped into the closest chair, her hands shaking.

"Now," he began, both eyes watching her guardedly, "we have to lay down some rules. It is on your mother's word that we've allowed you into Headquarters, and things will become very unpleasant for you if you do not listen to what we say."

Pansy's Slytherin instinct for self-preservation kicked in and she nodded nervously.

"Firstly, Order business is Order business. Do not spy, and do not repeat any information you might overhear. You will not be allowed to send owls, and you may have one firechat every two weeks under the supervision of an Order member. Is that clear?" he barked.

"Yes - yes sir."

"Secondly, you will respect this house and the objects in it. Speak quietly in the halls. Don't touch anything that's not in your room or here in the kitchen.

"Thirdly, leave off with the attitude. You don't want to live here, we don't really want you living here, but this is the way it is. Your mother's relationship with Shacklebolt has created many dangers for your family, and it is out of the kindness of our hearts that you are here."

Well. That certainly laid it on the line.

"Ginny, Hermione, will you show Pansy to your room?" Molly Weasley frowned at Mad-Eye and smiled at Pansy. "Welcome to the house, dear. If you ever need anything, just let me know."

Pansy just blinked at her.

"Come on, then," said the Weaselette, rolling her eyes. She pushed her way past Potter and Lupin toward the doorway, and led the way up the stairs.

"You go first," Granger said in her know-it-all-voice. "I'm sure it's best if I follow you."

"Don't trust me, Granger?"

"No."

Pansy hmphed and made her way up the stairs. In the hallway, Weasley turned around, finger to her mouth.

"Why do we have to be quiet in the hallway?" Pansy asked in her normal tone of voice (which was rather squeaky and too loud for polite conversation.)

"FILTH! BLOOD TRAITORS! SCUM OF THE EARTH IN MY HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU? BLOOD FILTH WALKING IN THE HALLS OF OUR PUREBLOODED ANCESTORS!"

Pansy identified the shrieking's origin - a large painting, previously covered with a curtain, of a very ugly woman. She was grabbing her head, screaming.

"NOW YOU'VE BROUGHT A NEW ONE! MUDBLOOD! FILTH! SCUM!"

"I am NOT a Mudblood, you shrew!" Pansy shrieked. "I am a pureblood. I am a Parkinson, and I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!"

"YOU WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS? THIS IS MY HOME, THE MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK! YOU ARE A BLOODTRAITOR, FILTH!"

"What are you going to do to me? I live here now!"

The hall suddenly had quite an audience; the girls were now accompanied by Potter, Lupin, Mad-Eye, the woman - whose hair was turning from purple to pink to green- and the Weasleys.

"YOU WILL NOT! GET OUT! FILTH! SCUM! DISGUSTING, BLOOD TRAITOR! VILLAIN! SNEAK! GARBAGE! LOATHSOME CREATURE OF THE -"

"SHUT UP! SHUT IT YOU SHREW! I AM NOT A BLOOD TRAITOR!" Pansy lunged at the portrait, but was caught by one of the Weasley twins, who was trying to bite his lip with ill-concealed amusement.

"YOU WILL PAY! YOU WILL PAY FOR CROSSING THE THRESHOLD YOU DISGUSTING, DIRTY-BLOODED -"

Lupin and Mad-Eye tugged the curtain closed, temporarily silencing Mrs. Black.

"Ugh, that woman. I could just... just..."

"Shhh!" eleven voices silenced her, and the twin covered her mouth with his hand.

Mrs. Weasley nodded at the stairs and Ginny continued along the path toward the room. The Weasley twin (she didn't know which, the beastly things) grinned at her and set her down on the floor, releasing her mouth. Pansy gave him her coldest Slytherin glare and stalked after Ginny.

This was not going to be a fun summer.

~*~

That evening, Pansy dressed in her most comfortable clothes (a prim pair of black pants and a black sweater) and set off down the stairs. She reached the second landing, which looked over the entrance hall, and leaned over to look at the person who was arriving.

"Professor Snape!" Pansy yelled in a half-whisper. The blood traitor! What on earth was going on? She pulled herself back in disgust, seconds before a large black and red vase plummeted toward the floor from a landing above. It shattered, covering the hall with vase fragments and a substance Pansy (and Professor Snape) was disgusted to realize was human ashes.

"Miss Parkinson!" Professor Snape raised his voice over Mrs. Black. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"It wasn't me, Professor, I swear!" Pansy leaned over the railing again - that vase would have dropped right on her head! "That stupid pot almost killed me!" she screeched.

She looked up to see where it had come from and saw Potter and one of the Weasel twins staring down at her.

"YOU-"

"FILTH! SERVED YOU RIGHT! BREAKING ANTIQUES OF MY HOME! SCUM! CREATURE! VILE, DISGUSTING -"

"POTTER -"

"It wasn't-"

"I didn't -"

It was pandemonium.

The halls, staircases, and landings filled with children and Order members, all trying to find out what the kerfluffle was about.

"QUIET!" roared Professor Lupin. This was so out of character that even Mrs. Black shut up. For a second.

"FILTH! CREATURES OF LIGHT! BLIGHT ON THE FACE OF THE-" Mr. Weasley and Snape (who was covered in a light powdering of one of the Black ancestors) pulled her curtains shut again. Mr. Weasley turned to the assembled crowd, put his finger to his lips, and gestured at the door that led to the kitchen. One by one, the members of the house traipsed down to the basement.

"Now," Mr. Weasley began, when everyone was settled in, "what on earth is going on?"

"They threw a vase at me-"

"It wasn't us, I swear-"

"That miscreant boy-"

"ENOUGH!" Lupin coughed, and rubbed his temples. "Please, let's just hear this one at a time. Severus?"

"I-" Snape began, but his attempts to speak were thwarted by an enthusiastic Molly Weasley, who began to beat the ashes off of him with a brush. "For heaven's sake, Molly," he snapped. "I had just entered the front door of Grimmauld place, and Miss Parkinson called down to me. I glanced up at her and a second later a large vase came flying through the air, barely missing Miss Parkinson's head before smashing to the ground, waking up Mrs. Black, and covering me in human ashes." His voice got dangerously quiet and Fred, who he was glaring at, gulped slightly.

"Boys?" Mr. Weasley looked at Potter and one of the twins again. "Fred, Harry?" Aha, Fred, that was it! The one with the tiny freckle on his nose. No, wait, that was the other one. Oh crap.

"Dad, we swear, we didn't do it!"

"We didn't, Mr. Weasley. We had just come out of Ron's and my room when we heard the crash, and we looked over the railing to see what it was."

Mr. Weasley frowned at the boys for a moment, then nodded. "They're telling the truth, they didn't drop the vase. It was probably an accident of some sort."

"An accident? That vase was aimed for my head!" Pansy touched her head, as though reassuring herself that it was, indeed, still there. "You're not going to punish them? Lock them in the basement for a few days? Take away their dinner for a few weeks?"

"No, no, Pansy," said Mr. Weasley, giving her a strange look. "They didn't do anything wrong, and I can't blame them for the crime without any proof."

Pansy let out a high-pitched growl, slammed her hands on the table, and stalked up the stairs. "Bloody Gryffindors!" she yelled.

"FILTH! SCUM-"

"SHUT IT, YOU HAG!"

~*~

In Which Pansy Discovers Books and Birthmarks

Pansy could not stand one more second trapped in this... she couldn't even call it a house. She slammed through the halls and grimaced as she passed the house elf heads. She could have sworn one winked at her. When she reached the fourth landing, she paused for breath. She couldn't go back to her bedroom - chances were too great that Weaselette and the Mudblood would be returning there soon. She opened the closest door and was somewhat pleased to discover a library.

Libraries were very useful things. They often housed books about pureblooded families and geneology, monetary wealth and Wizarding inheritance laws, and, Pansy's favorite, books about revenge and the art of dealing with your enemies. Plus, this library was so full of dust she was sure no one in this wretched place would be able to find her for a few hours, at least.

She slammed the door after herself, and walked over to a couch. She sat on it, and large dust clouds rose up, choking her. Coughing, she fanned away some of the dust.

This was just great. Her mother left her father, was a blood traitor, was engaged to an Auror, and she had to live in this disgusting, dirty house with a bunch of dangerous hooligans. And people said that being a Death Eater was a tough life. The worst part was that she didn't see a way out of it.

Her housemates would be seriously displeased. Though her family wasn't written on the list of Death Eaters, the Parkinsons had always supported Voldemort and his ideals about the perfect society. If he wanted to create a better world for them, the superior life form, but had to stamp on a few irritating Muggles along the way, that was fine with the Parkinsons. Pansy shuddered when she thought of what Draco or Theodore would say. Their fathers had been captured in the Ministry a few days ago. Pansy was uncertain of the details - she had far more important things to worry about, like protecting the first and second years from Draco's wrath after he received the news. It was one thing to let Draco take it out on the Gryffindors; it was quite another to let him take it out on the children.

It could lose them their badges.

Come to think of it, she couldn't even remember seeing Draco when she got off the train. He, Vincent, and Gregory had never returned to their compartment. She hadn't paid attention at the time - she was too worried about meeting her mother's new boyfriend - but now she was staring to wonder. Had he already found out the truth? Was she already excluded from the only group of people she could ever stand? Was she destined to befriend Hufflepuffs and collect shiny objects?

Wallowing in self-pity, Pansy curled into the side of the couch she was sitting on. She sneezed as more dust flew up her nose. Closing her eyes, she sighed and listened to the quiet creaking of the old house. At least no one would bother her here - she hoped that Granger had enough books to feed herself for a while.

Creeeeak.

Creak. Creak.

Creeeeak.

Pansy sat up with a start. What on earth was that noise? It sounded like someone was walking on creaky floorboards, but... there was no one else in the room with her.

Thud.

Pansy shot to her feet. That noise was too loud and too close for her peace of mind. She peered to her right and saw that a book had fallen off a shelf. That wasn't so unusual, she supposed. Whoever had used it last must have put it too close to the edge of the shelf. She sighed with relief.

Thud thud thud thud. Oh, dear. Four more books had joined their brother on the floor. And there was no one there. Pansy whimpered slightly and slowly started moving toward the door.

Woosh! Thump! Pansy screamed. One of the books had just thrown itself at her head!

Woosh! Thud! Woosh! Thump!

The books threw themselves at her heartlessly. She screamed again and ran toward the door. She twisted and pulled the knob with all her might, but nothing worked. She screamed and screamed and screamed until...

"Pansy?"

Someone pulled the door open from the outside (of course it pushed, not pulled) and Pansy tumbled out into the hallway. It was one of the Weasley twins.

"You!" she screeched. "You were making all those books fly at me, weren't you?"

"What?" He put his hand on her arm. "Pansy, calm down. What books?"

"Don't you tell me to calm down! Those books! The books in the library! The ones that were throwing themselves off the shelves to get at me." She gestured dramatically at the library before throwing her hand to her forehead.

"Pansy," George said slowly, as though talking to a mental patient. "There are no books off the shelves."

Pansy's eyes shot open. "What?" She peered cautiously into the library again, making sure she stayed behind the Weasley twin - whichever one he was. "But where... where did they all go?" she whispered.

"Okay." George closed the library door and took her hand. "Come on, Pansy," he said, gently. "Come downstairs."

"But the books - the books were there! They were flying at me!" Pansy burbled, hands shaking. She followed George down the stairs.

"How do I know for sure it wasn't you doing it?" Pansy asked. Suddenly, an idea dawned. "You probably put those books right back! You want me to think I'm crazy! Well, Fred Weasley, you can think again, because-"

"George."

"-excuse me?"

"George. You called me Fred Weasley. I'm George."

"Oh. Well. How can anyone be expected to tell the difference between you two anyway?"

George grinned a grin identical to that of Fred. "Do you really want to know? I know you'll find it helpful."

"Yes." This could make life a little easier. She would have one advantage, at least.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. It tickled. "I have a birthmark on my..."

"Oh! Oh. Ohhh." Pansy looked at him with wide eyes. "But how is that going to help me when you're wearing clothes?"

"I didn't say it would."

"You said it would be helpful-" George silenced her, putting a finger to her lips.

"I said it would be helpful, but I never said anything about clothes."

Oh.

He grinned slyly at the look on her face, a grin she'd never seen before, and disappeared through a doorway to her left. "Goodnight, Pansy," he whispered. "Pleasant dreams."

~*~

Pansy slept very fitfully that night. Each time she closed her eyes she could hear the creaking of the floorboards, the thud of books, the evil voice of that horrid painting woman. She tossed and turned, knotting the sheets around her legs. Finally, she sat up, pulled her legs to her, and sat, staring at the two peacefully sleeping girls sharing the room with her. They, of course, weren't plagued by ridiculous book nightmares, and a few pleasant dreams about birthmarks... Pansy shook her head. No. Slytherins do not think about Gryffindor birthmarks anywhere. Especially not Weasley birthmarks. Especially not the very cute Weasley twins' birthmarks (or lack thereof). She sighed. Life was not nearly so complicated back at Hogwarts.

~*~

At nine o'clock, Pansy was shaken awake by Granger. Not a pleasant sight in the morning.

"Wake up, Parkinson."

Pansy sat up slowly and rubbed the sand out of her eyes. She had finally fallen asleep half an hour ago. Stretching, she groaned. "Why do we have to get up so early?"

"Because we have to help clean the house," Hermione said primly.

Pansy's eyes opened very wide before creaking shut. Stupid sunlight! Not that there was much of it - Grimmauld Place's windows were covered in such a thick layer of dirt that any plant life would have died instantly upon entering the house. Still, it was enough sunlight to bother a girl who slept in a dungeon for ten months out of the year. "Clean?"

"Yes, clean." Granger grabbed a pair of pants and a sweater and her shower kit. "You might want to get up quickly - you're going to have to wait in line for the shower like everyone else. And once the boys get up, it can take hours."

That got her moving.

After she had gathered up another outfit (this time black pants and a green sweater that her mother claimed brought out her eyes), pulled on her bathrobe and grabbed her shower kit, Pansy headed out into the hall and up a flight of stairs. What she found almost made her scream in frustration.

There was already a line for the bathroom. At the head was Lupin, who was talking to the purple-haired woman. Behind her was the Weasley girl, who was standing very close to Potter and giggling about something. Behind Potter was Granger, who had the foresight to bring a book with her, and behind the oblivious Granger was one of the Weasley twins, who was scratching his bum and yawning.

Yech. She hoped that one wasn't George. She got on line behind him and tried to surreptitiously stare at his bum. Maybe she'd see a birthmark through his pyjamas?

"You won't see anything down there," a voice whispered into her ear. Pansy shrieked and turned around. No one on line even looked at her.

"You startled me," she announced, patting her heart with her hand. She didn't function well on only a half-hour of sleep.

"Did I? Pity." George grinned at her again. "Looking good, Pansy. Those bags under your eyes match your bathrobe."

Pansy looked down at her fluffy purple bathrobe (the only thing she owned that wasn't green, black, or silver), and scowled at George. "Well, excuse me. I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night."

"Oh? Why is that?" George leaned against the wall behind them, crossing his legs.

"Getting comfortable? Think this story will take a while?" Pansy felt a bit offended. Her stories weren't that boring. Certainly not boring enough to require someone to prop themselves up so they could stay awake. Or be more comfortable sleeping.

"No - I think my oldest brother, Bill, is currently in there," he jabbed his thumb at the bathroom, which seemed many miles away, "so we're going to be here for a while." He grinned at her again. "He's got a long pony tail, and it takes him an hour just to condition it."

"Ooh, I like pony tails." For a second, Pansy forgot that she was standing on line with a group of Gryffindors. Weasley Gryffindors. "I mean... on regular people. Not Weasleys."

"Right." George frowned. "Right." He looked past her. "The line is moving."

"Oh. Right." Pansy frowned as well, and she turned and moved up a place in line. She glanced at the rainbow woman, whose nose was changing from long and hooked to large and tomato-like, and then to upturned and pointy. This place was becoming a bit much. She turned to say so to George - who was becoming tolerable, at least - but his back was toward her, and he was talking to the youngest Weasel boy.

Whatever. He was a blood traitor and not worth her time.

~*~