Pansy was not unaware of the few heads that turned as she strode through the MLE’s inner atrium towards Harry’s offices. Whether it was because she was in the department of her own free will, or perhaps the scandalous open back of her blouse, she was unsure. It could even be the Quidditch rumors for all she knew. Her name had always been fodder for the papers; first for her father’s crimes as a Death Eater and then her own social habits had put her in the gossip columns, but now she was also plastered all over the sports pages.

Apparently being a female executive in the Quidditch league was something to talk about. Or perhaps it was that she was a young, untried, infamous daughter of a Death Eater female executive.

When her dark eyes landed on the occupant of the reception’s desk, she raised a brow. “Where’s Miss Montgomery?”

Aaron glanced up, expression pleasantly neutral. “She’s stepped out for lunch, but I’d be more than happy to assist you in her absence, Ms. …?”

“Parkinson. Pansy,” she replied as she clipped into the room. “I’ve an appointment to meet with Mr. Potter about a case concerning the Harpies.”

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson. You’re right on-time,” he said, offering her a polite smile before making a note to the calendar. After letting Harry know about his 3 o’clock, Aaron ushered Pansy into his office without further ceremony.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, and Pansy raised a brow at the perpetually-mussed man behind the desk. “May I speak?” It grated on her to ask such a question of Harry, but she was in enemy territory and if her life had taught her anything, it was caution. She would not speak freely until Harry indicated such was safe.

"If you're able to walk and speak at the same time. I had to fit you in between a meeting and a lunch date," Harry said, rising from his desk as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. Green eyes connected with Pansy's as he pointed towards spots on the walls. They'd been tricky, hiding the eavesdropping devices under charms which made them almost impossible to detect.

Harry was oblivious to most anything involving social etiquette, but he was not oblivious to changes in his immediate environment. He was still an Auror, despite having not been in the field for over a year, and he'd have been a shite Auror if he hadn't noticed that someone had tampered with his office.

Dark eyes flicked to where Harry had glanced, but there was nothing to be seen. There had to be something there, however - which meant she needed to formulate a response that wouldn't around suspicion. "I was assured an hour of your time to review the case and I expect an hour of your time," she said archly. "Uninterrupted."

"I'm very sorry, Parkinson, but you either talk quickly, or we reschedule," he said, gesturing towards the door. As soon as they were away from the Ministry, they'd be fine. He'd been very careful in his office, making sure that nothing he said could be used against him or the Order, and making it clear that he didn't particularly like Pansy Parkinson wasn't that much of a stretch. "Your choice."

Her eyes hardened. Despite the fact she knew they were 'acting' at the moment, she didn't like being spoken to like that, especially by Harry. "Let's not tell lies, Potter. Even little white ones. You're not sorry in the least," she said evenly. "However, my time is precious and I would like this matter behind me." She sniffed. "You may escort me to the Atrium."

Nodding, not sure how much of the venom in her voice had been acting and how much had been genuine ire, Harry started for the door, holding it open so she could move past him. His eyes widened slight as she did so, revealing the whole of the back as she clipped towards the outer office door and past Aaron.

"I'm going to my lunch meeting," Harry said, glancing towards his new assistant. When Aaron's eyebrows furrowed and cast downward towards the appointment book, the Auror waved his hand, catching the other man's attention. He was grateful when Aaron simply nodded, eyes sliding to look at Pansy quickly before back to Harry.

Frowning slightly, thinking it better that Aaron thought Harry and Pansy were off for an unplanned afternoon tryst instead of escaping to discuss nefarious undergroups with dastardly plots, he let it go and followed after the raven haired woman.

"You did say you'd be in touch," Harry said from the corner of his mouth as he fell in step beside her, "though I thought it might have been somewhere less public."

"You live here," she said under her breath, though her face and mien presented superiority tinted with irritation - which wasn't far from the truth of things. "How else was I to speak to you?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but realized there wasn't really anything to argue with. Mira had said it, more than enough, and if he were to be honest, he couldn't really remember the last time he spent more than five hours at Grimmauld Place at one time. He could tell Pansy that he was here all the time because he needed to get fit after sitting behind a desk for more than a year, but it wouldn't change anything.

"I don't know. I thought you might be a bit more creative," he murmured, reaching forward to press the button for the lifts.

"I did threaten getting myself arrested again," she pointed out softly. "I could have gotten quite creative." She'd practically grown up learning all manner of ways to be a deviant of the law. In all truth, it had crossed her mind to make a public scene because it would have irritated Harry, but she wasn't just responsible to herself anymore. If at all possible, she needed to maintain a clean public image as a representative of the Harpies - or at least as clean as she was capable of being.

"You should be thankful," she said as she stepped into the lift. It was empty, and when the doors slid shut, she let her eyes shift to meet Harry's. "I'm capable of much more pomp and circumstance should I put my mind to it. This? This is subtle."

Harry didn't keep the incredulous look off his face as he took a single step backward, his eyes casting another glance at the non-existent rear of her blouse. "Subtle? I think your definition of subtle and my definition are vastly different."

He felt the lift shift direction to the right, his hand reaching out to grip the railing. The lift workers had been demanding higher pay, a measly twelve extra nuts an hour, but had so far been denied. They'd taken to playing tricks on cars in reparations. "Did you really need an hour of my time, because I actually do have to fit in lunch at some point."

Pansy's grip on the railing was tight and slight furrow marred her brow. Another sudden change in direction in her sky high stilettos and things would go south, fast, for whomever was in charge of the lifts. "We can take tea at the Blue Owl. They've private tables and I know for fact they're discreet."

"Yes, and you being seen there with me wouldn't be suspicious at all," Harry said with a frown. Her estate was safe, and he knew Grimmauld Place was - he'd have been dead years ago if it weren't - but he wasn't particularly keen on the idea of taking Pansy Parkinson to his home.

It was true enough, but that it came from Harry made her irritable. "You know the coordinates to Beaumaris. We'll take separate floos. I can have the elves bring us tea." She didn't have to feed him, but it was petty not to. She liked to think she'd grown past that, especially as he was willing to protect her in a very roundabout way.

Tea wasn't exactly what his stomach was asking for, not with his metabolism running full time again, but the fact that she was offering him food at all was surprising enough that he didn't want to push the issue. "Alright."

His hand tightened on the railing as the car jerked in a different direction, this time finally towards the Atrium.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with this lift?" she hissed as she was practically tossed towards Harry.

"Disgruntled employees," Harry growled, a hand reflexively reaching up to lay on Pansy's shoulder to steady her. Her heels were liable to have her turning an ankle, and the last thing he needed were the doors to open to an injured Slytherin Princess with a broken bone and him standing over.

It was strange enough that he'd reached to assist her, but his fingers brushed her skin and she shot a glare towards him. It was unsettling. "That seems to be going around," she said, pulling away as the lift leveled out and began to slow.

"No, you were a disgruntled employer, not an employee," Harry said, hand dropping to his side. Next time, he'd let her fall and deal with the aftermath.

"The Ministry makes people cross, regardless of whom they are," she said airily as the doors slid open. Pansy didn't examine the part of her that was relieved they were no longer alone in the small compartment.

"I'm glad we got that settled, then," Harry said as he pushed past the people already attempting to get onto the lift, a shared sense of foreboding on their faces. He and Pansy were lucky they'd arrived at the Atrium at all, instead of the uniforms division, or the rubbish department. "You'll let me know if there are any more developments?"

"My secretary will owl yours. I'd thank you for your time, but I don't give a whit for it," she said before turning and striding away. Her heels clipped satisfyingly, and it pleased Pansy to a small degree that people moved out of her way as she moved through the crowds.

He waited until he'd seen Pansy vanish in the licks of green flame before turning towards the apparation point.

"Mr. Potter, we've got to do something about these lifts!"

Harry passed the man, clapping him on the shoulder quickly. "Talk to maintenance, Dennis, lifts aren't my area of expertise."

"If they were filled with criminals?"

"Then you can come ask me for help," Harry answered, corner of his mouth twitching upward as his fingers closed around his wand. A flick and swish later and the gentle roar of the Ministry atrium was replaced by the seeming quiet of Beaumaris. Tucking his wand away, Harry walked up the front steps, not bothering to knock. She knew he was coming.

She'd felt him come through the wards and it was no surprise when she heard the patter of tiny feet bringing him to her solarium. "There are refreshments at the table," she said to him, though she didn't turn around from the rose bush she was greeting. This particular breed was nearly sentient and it would not bloom for spite if she did not pay it proper amounts of attention.

Harry's eyes flicked to her almost loving touch of the flowers to the spread of small sandwiches and cakes on the table she'd indicated. After shrugging out of his jacket, he grabbed a small plate, probably worth more than the combined income of all the lift workers at the Ministry, and began to fill it. "I assume you had a reason for coming to see me?"

"You would think," she said as she turned around and padded towards the table, stilettos left where she'd slipped from them. Her gaze flicked from Harry's overflowing plate to the man himself, eyes narrowing slightly. He was ... different. Dark eyes studied him a moment, and then she noticed the subtle muscles at his forearms and neck as he moved to sit down.

She raised her brows slightly. What he was muscling up for, she could only wonder at. That she had noticed at all was some cause for concern, but easily dismissed. She snapped her fingers and an elf appeared. "Bring some meat pies and cheeses for our guest."

The elf disappeared with a 'pop', and at Harry's look, Pansy only raised a brow at him as she sat down. "You're hungry, are you not?"

"Yeah," Harry said, popping a cube of cheese in his mouth as he peered at her. "I don't always actually get lunch if I've got a lot of meeting to go to," he said as he chewed, ripping off a piece of croissant and eating that as well. "You've got something for me, then?"

"Mmm," she hummed in the affirmative as she watched him pick at the varied foods now available. "You do know Clint and Miranda Osbourne, yes?" At the small shake of Harry's head, Pansy's lips pursed slightly, but she continued. "Well you should. They've always been very involved in Ministry politics and have been known to toss their money at favored incumbents," she told him.

"They were friends of my parents and Miranda has been ... kind to me these past years," Pansy continued, voice going dry as she spoke of the older woman that had once been one of her mother's closer 'friends'. To say anyone was kind in the society her family name was still considered part was a long stretch of any truth that might be there. "She still invites me to a plethora of garden and dinner parties - what she believes a benevolence considering all that's happened to my family." Pansy waved a hand dismissively. "In any case, she's insipid and dim, though often a font of information. I do believe Clint tries to keep her as ignorant as possible, but only so much can be done."

Harry's eyes looked about ready to glaze over and she was strongly reminded of Draco in that moment who would have at least complained about the garden party politics by now. "I've nothing concrete for I cannot retrieve the ring on his finger that belongs to them, but I thought to warn you that they seem to be in a trade of some kind. Illegal, to be sure." Her gaze drifted to the window, and beyond that the grave site of her father. "Clint and my father got on well, but he would never take the mark. He is a purist, but Voldemort's ... it was messy politics." Her gaze came back to Harry's. "There are many who believed as my father did, but disliked the chaotic smear of Voldemort's ways. For men such as Clint Osbourne to align themselves with the Liberi - it is quiet, it is orderly and it is lucrative."

It didn't surprise Harry that money was a large factor in the Liberi, and an important part of their plan to lure people in. They had no problem stealing money from people they considered pure but refused to join their cause, they would have even less of a problem with dealing in illegal activities that brought more funds into the fold.

Having a name, though, was more than Harry could have hoped for. He would never be able to use Ministry resources to smoke Osbourne out, though. The Liberi held a large number of Ministry officials in their pockets. Besides, an investigation into the man's Gringotts vault and his source of income would probably come up clean. Those types of men were more than capable of taking care of things like that.

"We already know some of the areas they deal in. Slave labor and kidnapping. Are you saying it sounds like something different?"

Pansy hadn't known about the labor or kidnapping, and her eyes narrowed as thoughts ticked quickly to the new information presented and the bits and pieces she'd picked up the last several months from conversations with Miranda and others, and Clint's own condescending comments. He thought her as trite and shallow as his wife; for now, that benefited her.

"Slave labor does not lend itself to 'thoroughbreds', Potter. Now, the abduction of a person ..." Pansy's jaw clenched at her own thoughts, though she could not dismiss them entirely, especially as she recalled some of her father's own words. "... people are money. Some would be worth more than others, no? Used for other than slave labor? That would be particularly lucrative." She didn't want to say what they might be used for other than labor; it touched too close to things she'd done and had done to her.

Harry didn't like the direction her thoughts had turned, or that his followed right behind. It was a possibility that, despite knowing they'd do anything to exert their power over those they deemed less worthy, he would have never worked out on his own. He just didn't have it in him to think so little of a human life.

"It's a product that can be moved easily enough, used for whatever a person needed..." Harry trailed off, the ideas making his stomach turn. He set his plate of food aside, everything on it suddenly tasteless and disgusting. His eyes were hard, his teeth almost grinding together. This was something that hadn't even been considered in the Order, and if it were true, it changed everything. "We'd need proof of some kind."

"I only hear things because I am considered a type of cattle above what they traffic," Pansy said. It was something that just wasn't said in the circles she often traveled, but Harry had just as much disdain for those people as she did herself. He probably wouldn't believe they had such in common. "I'm already disliked by many for having opinions of my own, for turning down their offers. Miranda Osbourne ... perhaps she feels some kind of obligation to me because she was close to my mother, but do trust that others have made their displeasure known. I cannot be overt. Too many questions, too curious ..." Pansy shook her head. "You can only offer so much protection."

"You're already in dangerous territory, Pansy. I won't ask you to do anything that would put you even more on their radar." She looked sharply at him, dark eyes intent. He frowned. "Radar is... it's a Muggle technology that's able to detect people or vehicles around a stationary point. It's like a detection spell but more often casts over a wider area."

"You seem to grasp the precariousness of my position and what I've been doing then." She didn't quite understand the Muggle reference, but it was inconsequential. Pansy was more puzzled over the fact that Harry hadn't pushed for more.  Everyone she'd ever known would have done so. Every advantage would have been drained dry.

"I'm aware who's gunning for your loyalty and submission. They're the same people who are setting whispers around the Ministry about the MLE and how there's no way we can protect them from this new danger, that the best thing they can do it just go along with what they want because it's safer."

Harry stood from his chair, the angry energy at this new revelation of the Liberi's plans forcing his hands into fists at his sides as he glared at the lands on the other side of her windows. "Every time I think I've heard the worse thing a person could possibly do, I'm proven wrong."

"I am not unaware of what you have been through," she said, dark eyes intent on the angry man, "but I do believe you've been spared the worst of what the mind can conceive to debase and torment the soul." His eyes slid to hers and she held them, the weight of her own knowledge and experience filling her gaze.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, intensity leaking from his eyes a bit. "Do you ever wonder why I tend to stay alive when people keep trying to kill me? It's not because I've been spared the worst of what twisted minds can think up. I've seen horrible things, I've seen people die, seen the light fade from their eyes and know that I was responsible for it."

His thoughts ticked back to fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament. Kill the spare, Voldemort had said, and seconds later Cedric was flying through the air, body as limp as a ragdoll as he hit the ground, green light fading around his slackened face and open, unseeing eyes.

"I'm still here because despite the twisted things they can think up, they'll never understand compassion. They'll never understand the bravery that compels someone to jump in front of a hex, knowing it might kill them, because they would never do the same. They underestimate the power of self-sacrifice because they can't see past their own self-preservation. When all you count on is yourself, you leave yourself weakened against those who are united together. Selfishness might save you for a little while, but eventually you'll fall alone, because you've only given yourself that choice."

Pansy laughed, but it was mirthless. "You think I have not seen as you have seen? My father admired Bellatrix Lestrange's work, Harry. They were ..." Her lips thinned and she shook her head. "There are many things that are best not remembered."

She stood then and paced to her roses, past them to the windows. She was restless now, chafing at the skirt and blouse she had worn to the stadium earlier in the day. She wanted her denims, her father's button-up shirts she was slowly, but surely ruining with soil and honest to gods hard work; the gardens had always been maintained by a grounds crew, but she'd taken to overseeing it and doing the flowerbeds herself.

Turning around on the ball of her foot, she looked at Harry again. "You abhor selfishness," she stated as she weighed him. "You've little value of your own life - you risk it at every turn, for others so you say, but I think you're just as alone as I am," she told him. "You choose to be selfless, and yet you've lost who you are, haven't you?" she said, wondering at her own words even as she continued. "I choose to horde what little of me I have left and yet I do know you do not agree with the reasons I help you - my seeming selfish efforts to stay alive." She padded towards him and looked up, studying as if she might see something more. "You are so unlike every other person I have met," she said, more to herself than anything.

Harry looked down at her, weighing the answers to her questions. It would be easy to tell her that she was right, that he often found himself lonely, friends he'd fought beside able to move on but finding himself unable to do the same. Ron was getting married and Hermione was thriving in her academic pursuits. Ginny had two clinics open now and was a successful healer, as was Neville.

He understood why she might think he'd lost himself because of his selflessness, but he thought it quite the opposite; he'd found himself in being the hero, but just hadn't figured out what else he was supposed to be as well.

She was looking up at him as if she expected an answer, and despite it being easy to give her one, he just didn't want to. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice quiet as he spoke. "What good is staying alive if you've no one to share your life with?"

Her mind supplied her with images of Cormac and her lips parted as her breath left her. It'd been so long since he'd left her, since he'd fooled her into falling in love with him only to expose it all a lie and leave, and yet Harry's words made it fresh. She had thought she had someone to live for, to live with. That had all been a lie, and she knew better than to think such as Harry insinuated was out there for her, but some part of her must hope that there was. It was foolish - the same kind of foolishness that had exposed her to Cormac, that had found her trust misplaced in many before him.

Her gaze had drifted from his, but dark eyes ticked back up to Harry's. "One does wonder at my will to live," she said, voice soft. "Perhaps that is why I am here at all. I have very little reason but to try and make sure Draco doesn't destroy himself from the inside out."

"Then maybe your reasons aren't so selfish after all," Harry said, blinking at her behind his glasses.

"Nor are they so magnanimous as you would have them be," she said, voice more sure now. She did not like being so bare, especially in front of Harry of all people, and she pushed away at the vulnerability that had only been a bane to her current existence.

"I would never think you magnanimous," Harry said, small smile on his lips, and though it was meant to be light, there was genuine truth behind the statement as well. "And to anyone who asks, I'll be sure to tell them that I think you a vain, selfish woman only out to assure that she remain in the life of luxury she's found herself accustomed to."

Pansy eyed this smiling Harry suspiciously. "Appearances must be kept," she agreed, not even batting an eye at his assessment.

"Oh. Yeah. That too," he said, nodding to her before he turned and grabbed his jacket from the chair he'd draped it over. "I'll check the Ministry files to see if we have anything on Osbourne, but I doubt we'll have much. If you hear anything else, you know where to find me."

"At your offices. You never really leave," she said dryly. "As I can only arrange so many appointments with you, and I'd rather not have myself arrested if only to spare the Harpies the dislike law enforcement has of me, how would you prefer I contact you?"

Straightening his collar, Harry considered his answer. They couldn't keep meeting at the Ministry, that was true. He'd been to her home twice now. He was allowed in her wards, something it was obvious to him she did not grant lightly. He was being honest when he said he knew she was putting herself in danger giving him information, information that would most likely have her killed if it was discovered.

A silent sigh passed his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment and a pen. He could practically hear Hermione screaming that this was a very stupid thing to be doing, but as she'd been taking all the risks in their arrangement, it seemed rather unfair to leave that burden solely on her shoulders.

"This is an address. Memorize it. Destroy the piece of paper once you've read it. If I'm not at the Ministry, I'll be here." He held the piece of paper out towards her, pulling it just out of her grasp as her slender fingers reached for it, his voice serious as he continued. "This isn't just my home, Pansy. This house has meant more to many other people, and if you are the reason it's destroyed, I will make sure you're never safe again, do we understand each other?"

If she wasn't already relying on his protection, the threat would have been rather empty, but because of the things she was sharing with him, he knew that he held some piece of leverage in their dealings.

She raised a brow at him and anger brought color to her otherwise pale skin. "I haven't ever given you reason to distrust me. We mightn't have ever agreed on politics, but I have never betrayed you - I have even given you free access to my home, a privilege very, very few have." She glared at him. "I don't like being threatened, especially as I have extended the olive branch of trust first."

"I threaten you because this means that much to me," he countered. Grimmauld Place was the only place he felt truly safe anymore, and that he was giving its location to anyone outside the Order was a monumental display of trust, whether she realized that or not.

"And this means nothing to me?" she asked, temper pricking at her now. She shook her head. "You have more power over my life than anyone for all the things I have told you and yet you still suspect. I should wonder how difficult it must be for others who actually choose to spend their time with you. Constant vigilance, hmm? Even to those whose lives are entrusted to you?"

"Especially to those whose lives are entrusted to me," he said, voice somber as he looked at the angry pink high on her cheeks, "and because there are lives entrusted to me."

Her temper abated and Pansy really looked at him. This was why he was alone. He held the weight of lives in his hands - her life.

She plucked the tiny piece of parchment from his hand. "You're a good man. Now get out of my house."

He wasn't sure whether or not to say thank you, because while the words had been kind, the tone had been razor sharp and begrudged. He settled on a nod, following a weathered house-elf from the solarium and towards the front door.

Pansy felt the wards shift as he left and only then did she relax. She hadn't realized tension filled her so until she felt it begin to dissipate. It only caused her to frown and mutter obscenities at Harry as she padded back towards her roses. The address on the parchment was memorized, incinerated, and skirt and blouse were finally shed before she grabbed a pair of clippers and immersed herself in blooms and thorns.


SUMMARY: Pansy arranges a meeting with Harry to tell him about the information she's picked up. Between the two of them, they connect the dots on what else the Liberi has dirtied its hands with besides kidnapping and the slave trade. As always, they have a hard time understanding one another.