Several Miles from the Sun

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PANSY PARKINSON

He was dreaming again, Harry knew it. He was in a hallway, doors to all the sides, reminding him of the Department of Mysteries. Mist was crawling across the floor, adding to the eerie feeling that was so familiar to him in these dreams. He rolled his eyes, feeling tired. "Cedric, enough with the show, get out here!" he yelled.

There was no response. Harry wondered why he was here instead of in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Had someone else come to talk with him? It was not strange; he had received visitors before in his dreams, although most of the time it had been Cedric. He briefly wondered if it was Dumbledore who was trying to contact him, but it had never happened before.

"Cedric!" Harry yelled again, as the lights above him flickered.

A tall man was walking towards him, although he was hard to recognise in the lighting. Harry was able to make out the greyness of the man's hair, a small, neat moustache, and a cloak that looked like it had never seen a wrinkle. As the man came closer, Harry blinked, unbelieving.

"Mr--Mr Crouch?" he asked.

"Hello, Mr Potter," the man said cheerfully.

-!-

Despite the warm evening, there seemed to be an annoying chill in the air. Mrs Weasley had come to make sure that Chadwick was clean (that is, that Kreacher was doing his job) and had sent all its inhabitants to waste time in the library while she supervised the rest of the cleaning. This caused the library to become somewhat crowded in both the number of bodies and the number of ill thoughts towards each other.

Pansy had been delighted to find out that Regulus was a Death Eater and, because she did not know that "was" meant "quite a while ago", was trying to see if they had been to any functions together. Hermione, who was keeping a close watch on them from behind her book, So You Believed He Was Dead, kept scowling in their direction. Ron, who noticed what had caught Hermione's attention, kept scowling in her direction.

Remus tried to ignore them all, and kept himself busy with some paperwork. Professor Trelawney was playing with a deck of cards, mumbling about clouds, toads and deaths, even though it seemed quite clear to everyone else that she was playing solitaire and not predicting the future.

The room was about to cave in from the tension when Harry entered, pulling off his jumper and shaking his hair to rid it of some left-over rain. He scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as they came across Pansy.

"Parkinson, come with me," he ordered.

Pansy looked like she was about to tell him where he could shove a large, inanimate object, but thought better of it and followed him out of the library. Remus and Regulus got up and went after her, leaving Hermione to ask Ron where everyone was going and why they weren't invited.

-!-

Pansy took advantage of the brief walk to Dumbledore's Room to observe Harry. He had changed drastically since the last time she had seen him. It looked like he had aged ten years since then. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in a while, and the shadows under his eyes were evident. He also seemed to eradiate raw power. If she hadn't known any better, she would say he seemed worthy of being a king.

Unfortunately, he was just a bitter boy.

Harry offered Pansy a chair. "What a gentleman," she said, unable to hide the smirk.

A sudden wave of nervousness overcame her as Harry stared down at her. "Pansy, as I told you last night, you are not allowed to leave this house," he began. "Even though you did not come to me voluntarily, I will have to count you as one of my own." There was a slight pause that made Pansy tense up. "I need a guarantee that you will not betray me," Harry said.

Pansy could not stop the little scoff from escaping her lips. She sat up straight, trying to remind herself that she was not one of Potter's little followers. "Are you joking? I would most certainly betray you. It's not on my to-do list to join you," she said, secretly delighted that her voice did not waver.

"Pansy, why did you even join the Death Eaters?" Harry asked. "Because of Malfoy? Where do they have him, on a throne or in a dungeon?"

Pansy glared at him. She didn't know why people saw Potter as their saviour. Did those around him really believe that he could save them? Protect them and lead them to victory? Did they not notice he had the same menacing aura as the Dark Lord?

"I want you to perform an Unbreakable Vow with me," said Harry.

Pansy knew she had about five seconds to provide him with an answer. In those five seconds she would have to process what was worth an hour of thinking, evaluating and deciding. Contrary to popular belief, she was not a stupid girl, far from it. An Unbreakable Vow, she knew, would tie Harry to her as much as she was tied to her. It was the true quid pro quo. If she denied him, he would have her locked up somewhere, and only until a member of his little team decided to get rid of her. If she agreed, she would be confined to the house, but she would get something in return.

The thing about magical vows was that the wording had to be perfect. Everything had to be considered and nothing left as assumed. A slight opening could undo the vow. Pansy knew that, and she wondered if Potter was aware. She could attach herself to Potter. She'd just have to wait for a time when an opening showed itself. Potter wasn't particularly bright. It couldn't take too long.

"Yes," she answered. "Alright. But you have to agree to my terms, too."

The three men in the room looked surprised that she agreed so quickly.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

Revenge, Pansy knew, was the ultimate want. Grudge doubled it.

"I want you to vow you will never be directly responsible for Draco's death," she said. She enjoyed how Harry's nostrils flamed, how he practically spat fire. Draco's death was inevitable, but at least it would not be by Potter's hand, and that was enough to make him churn for the rest of his life--and beyond, if she was lucky.

Harry looked like he wanted to order to have Pansy's head chopped off, but he nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. He grabbed Pansy's hand, grinning somewhat sadistically, as she squeezed it in a small battle, and said, as Remus took out his wand, "I, Harry Potter, vow to provide Pansy Parkinson with full protection, guaranteeing that I will never be directly responsible for the death of Draco Malfoy."

Their hands were entwined with magic. Pansy exhaled sharply. She remembered reading how erotic people found the Unbreakable Vow, its wording close to the promises of a marriage. She took a deep breath and said, "I, Pansy Parkinson, vow to never betray Harry Potter."

She watched as the magic snaked up her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Her skin seemed to be overheating, and her legs were trembling slightly. If it weren't for the fact that she was already sitting, she was quite sure she would have collapsed. It was not painful, but delightful, and it reminded her of Draco tickling her skin with a feather. She did not fail to notice that Potter's breath was coming in low gasps, and his usually pale skin looked flushed. For a brief moment she felt physically attracted to him, and wondered if it was a side effect of the Vow.

They held hands for a few seconds before Remus dropped his wand. Pansy wondered why Harry wasn't letting go, and then she noticed a beautiful red phoenix appear out of nowhere. It flew towards her, and she screamed as it impaled her chest, exiting through her back, and leaving behind a single red feather on the floor.

Pansy gasped in pain, as a burning sensation prickled her skin. "You marked me?" she screeched.

"Those three who can cause my downfall must be signed to remember," Harry said sharply.

As he left, Pansy turned to Remus. "You think he's your hero?" she demanded. "You say that the Dark Lord marks us as cattle, eh? You're all hypocrites, you hear me? You insult my Lord, calling him insane and blood-thirsty and a tyrant. What do you think your precious little boy is? What would Dumbledore say about this?"

It frightened her that Remus didn't answer.

-!-

Regulus had never been an oversensitive person, but as he kissed Hermione he could swear that he could feel the magic pulsing in her. It was like being a vampire and finding young blood. The power called to him. He knew he was a wizard--only from the best blood--and as he kissed Hermione he felt as if generations of ascendants were yelling at him to come home. It was invigorating, like drinking from the fountain of youth.

"Regulus," gasped Hermione, pulling back. He had broken her lip.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. He had forgotten himself. It was happening a lot lately.

"Are you feeling well?" Hermione asked. She looked a bit pink. He liked that.

"Just a bit carried away," Regulus answered, winking for her benefit. He lied on the bed, stretching his arms. "So what's Pansy up to?"

Hermione frowned, and he immediately regretted asking. "I don't know," Hermione said tightly. "I think she's staying in her room. I wonder what happened with Harry. You were there. Why won't you tell me?"

"Not my place, princess." Regulus sat up and smiled. Deciding it was best to talk about other things, he added, "Potter knows."

"Knows what?" Hermione began to tidy her clothes, trying to avoid the wrinkles.

"About you and me. I think Weasley knows, too," Regulus explained.

Hermione's face suddenly twisted into an expression of complete misery. "They can't," she said. "If they did, I'd have heard it already."

Regulus shrugged. "Trust me, I've been under such a watch by Potter before. And Weasley's waiting to pounce, but he knows how to keep his temper in check."

"Ron, take care of his temper? He's never been able to keep calm before." Hermione frowned. "That's why he'd make such a rotten--"

Regulus grinned slyly. "Is the little princess jealous that she wasn't chosen as Secret-Keeper?" he teased.

"Don't be stupid," muttered Hermione. "Obviously Harry would choose Ron. They're best friends and--" She faltered as Regulus gave her a knowing look. "I thought it'd be Remus," she admitted. "Never Ron."

"I told you, Weasley's become quite a man since I've arrived. I think he can handle it," Regulus assured her. "And you, if I know anything about it, have become quite a lady."

Regulus grinned as he kissed Hermione. He liked the feel of magic.

-!-

Patience Longbottom once stated that the only reason why the Wizarding world managed to function properly was because nobody expected it to function in the first place. Magic, even though it had its laws, was confusing and unpredictable until some intelligent (intelligent meaning both mad and lucky) managed to work out the railroad on which magic ran--and that was only until the next train stop. Magic was not predictable, mostly because, like the history in which it floated, it had changed--weakened, strengthened, and then weakened again--constantly until it settled, hibernating until the following dozen centuries or so. This was why terms such as "ancient magic", "old magic", "really old magic", "modern magic" and "future magic" were constantly discussed in Magical Forums around the world, causing headaches until Firewhiskey was ordered.

Still, despite all of this, magic was quite clear on what it could do and what it could not do.

And, Hermione knew, magic could not bring back a person from the dead--

Except!

Voldemort had come back through Horcruxes.

Hester Addams, circa 1850, had been able to come back by some very complicated organ transplants and dark magic.

And, if you followed religion, Jesus Christ had decided to take a walk after he had been pronounced dead.

The last case aside, the history of magic clearly stated that one could not relive from death, but you could cheat death in the first place. So how had Regulus cheated death?

If he had even died in the first place.

This was something that troubled Hermione, and she was sure that it had occurred to some of the others. Had Regulus really been dead? It was clear that there was no funeral--at least not one with a body. There was no real proof that he had died, except a death certificate that could have been faked in a hundred ways.

But if he hadn't died, where had he been all this time? Why did he still look like a day hadn't passed since 1981?

Magic. Youth spells, potions, charms, it wasn't hard to do. But Regulus couldn't perform magic, that was fact. Tests had been done on him, and not a single bell went off when it came to his magical ability, as he so kindly moaned about night and day.

It could be a trick. A careful trap planned by Voldemort. Regulus might not even be Regulus, but someone else with a strong charm placed upon him. With the death of Sirius, Voldemort might have thought that sending Regulus would strike Harry's confidence.

Except they--stupid and young and angry--had summoned Regulus. Regulus had put that spell there.

"Who did he even expect to find it there?" Tonks had asked that night.

Kreacher, probably, thought Hermione. She still fought over the argument that a spell could not be recited like a poem, as though it were an enchantment, a riddle, a--

Riddle.

Hermione stopped breathing. Ancient magic, so powerful, so deceiving, almost extinct, and yet--

Voldemort, Dumbledore, Lily Potter; people had been able to perform it. Not to mention countless others who had the strength and determination. It wasn't easy, it could kill the weak and corrupt the strong, but it was still there, lying low, waiting until the mountain that was history would make it the main source and leave behind wands and single words that helped channel it.

Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.

Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.

Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.

Harry had muttered it so many times, awake, asleep, twitching, remembering. It had killed Cedric and almost killed Harry; it had brought Voldemort back to a corporeal form.

Ancient magic.

Recited, long, sadistically poetic.

Just like the note Regulus had left before his death.

Hermione stood up so fast she banged her knee on the table, tipping off a cup and saucer.

The words, the ingredients, it was ancient magic. The basis was there, and yet--

Life after death was not an option.

-!-

"I've told you already! The Death Eaters must go!" Bartemius Crouch screeched angrily.

"Former Death Eaters," Harry corrected. "And I've marked them. They can't betray me."

"They don't need to," hissed Crouch. "They just have to be there for it to happen."

"I gave them my word," Harry said. He was getting a headache. "I will not turn them out. It'd be dangerous."

Crouch laughed. It was cruel and seemed to echo off the walls. "I'm not telling you to turn them out, boy. They need to be taken care of."

Harry was left alone and the lights flickered off.

"Our secrets, Potter," said Crouch's voice, "come from our past. The thing is, we always think of our past as having happened a very long time ago when, in fact, it just happened a few minutes, a few days, a few weeks ago."