An ancient house elf with a shock of white hair on the top of his head and a dignified black tea towel pinned at his shoulder appeared with a soft pop in the Parkinson's entry hall.  He inclined his head in Greg's direction. "May I take Sir's coat, please," he said in the deepest voice Greg had ever come out of an elf.

Greg handed the elf his leather trench coat, shaking the rain from his hair.  He followed the creature down a familiar corridor to a room he hadn't seen in years.  The minute he crossed the threshold, he was immediately transported back to a simpler time, a time when they'd been children, before choices had been made for them and familial responsibilities had changed their lives forever.  His eyes rested on Pansy, curled up in a chair before the enormous fireplace.  She was staring into the crackling flames, completely motionless.  If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought she was sixteen again, a softer Pansy, before she'd had to harden herself in protection from life's brutal realities.  Her age of innocence had lasted longer than most everyone else they'd grown up with. She'd been the pampered princess, sheltered from the realities that Greg had been exposed to even as young as the summer before he'd left for Hogwarts.

The elf vanished, and he was left alone.  He moved toward the matching armchair and sat, startling Pansy out of her reverie. She smiled at him.  "I didn't hear you come in."

"I brought you something...though you may turn your nose up at it since it is American," he said lightly, teasingly.

 She felt a smile light up her face.  She seemed to do that a lot around Greg.  "Presents?"  She held out her hand expectantly.

Greg smiled softly as he handed over the long, slim box. He'd had two special pieces made by Raven's cousin before he left North Carolina the last time. One for his Maeve and one for Pansy. "Would I go away for so long and not bring you something, Pet?"

She sighed happily.  "Of course not."  She removed the wrapping and opened the box,  her eyes opening in surprise and delight.  "Oh, Greg.  It's beautiful."

Greg wanted to laugh aloud at her reaction. He could tell by the glint of happiness in her eyes that she truly liked the necklace. It was a simple design, a talisman against evil. The platinum chain had been his own addition, as he knew damn well that she wouldn't have worn the sinew cord that should have come with the pendant. He wasn't about to tell her that the pendant was bone, either.

She removed the necklace from the box and knelt down in front of him, holding the necklace out to him. "Would you?"  She turned and swept her hair off of her neck.   

Greg gaped. He hadn't expected her to wear it. Her actions touched him as very little did these days. With slightly shaking hands, though he would never admit to such a thing, he fiddled with the intricate clasp until he was certain it was secure. "You're going to wear it?" he whispered disbelievingly.

Once it was fastened, she turned, still on her knees before him, and fixed him with a curious stare.  "Of course I am.  Did you give me a gift in the hopes that I wouldn't wear it?"

Appalled, he dropped to his knees and looked her in the eyes. "I...no..." he sputtered, running a hand through his hair and knocking the leather thong he'd had it pulled back in free. "No, I had it made, there is all sorts of protective magic in it..."

"You had it made?  For me?"  She touched it lightly with her fingertips and felt the rush of magic.  She sighed with pleasure and smiled at him again.  "Thank you, Gregory.  I adore it."  She resisted the urge to hug him, as it would probably make both of them uncomfortable, and instead rose to her feet gracefully and extended a hand to him, helping him up.  "I'm sorry, I'm being a terrible hostess.  I've had an unusual day.  Been feeling kind of..." she trailed off.  "Have a seat.  Would you like a drink?"

Greg was still shocked, but got to his feet and brushed a light kiss on her brow. "You are a gem, Pet. I wouldn't mind whatever you have handy."

He watched her cross the room with that unconscious grace and poise that she seemed to have perfected about the same time as she learned to walk. He'd felt so uncoordinated and clumsy growing up, especially compared to Pansy and Maeve. He was a lucky, lucky man and it had taken five years of self-imposed exile to realize that. However, he had seen the faint lines of strain around her eyes and wanted to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. If Pansy hadn't covered them, then it had to be something that hurt her deeply.  That was going to be the hard part; Pansy liked to deny it, even to herself, when something involving emotional distress was at hand.  She opened the cabinet built into the wall and took out two crystal tumblers, filling them with ice and pouring the clear liquid into them.

"Soda or Tonic?  I can't remember."

"Tonic," he replied.

"With lemon.  Right."  She finished pouring and walked back across the room, handing him his drink before sitting down.  "Nothing too sweet.  It's all coming back to me now."  She took a sip and stared into the flames again.  It was several moments before she dragged her attention back to her guest, but she knew that silence didn't necessarily make Greg uncomfortable. 

"So," she began.  "What shall we do until dinner is ready?  Shall we solve the world's problems?"

Greg smiled widely and tipped his glass in her direction. "I don't know if I'm up for solving the world's problems, but would really like to hear about what you are really up to these days."

"Ah.  That's it.  You're here to find out all of my secrets.  I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not nearly as interesting as I once was.   I haven't hexed anyone in weeks, and I've actually smiled and meant it a couple of times lately," she continued, glancing at him. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.  "Pansy?  You sent an owl that said, "I'll cook."  I want to know what's going on."

Pansy was silent for several moments.  She put down her drink and stood up, turning her back on him and facing the fire. There was that incident earlier, but there was more than that.  "Can't you feel it, Greg?"

He was beginning to get concerned.  Pansy never turned her back on anyone.  "Feel what, Pet?  I don't think I know what you're talking about."

When she turned, she was silhouetted in the fire and he could barely make out her pale features contrasted by the brightness of the flames.  "Something is coming, Greg.  Just like last time. Just as it did when our parents were involved. I didn't know what was happening last time, though.  I was too young, but I remember the feeling.  There's something coming."  And I'm scared, she thought, unconsciously fingering the amulet she now wore around her neck. 

Greg jumped to his feet, that fierce need to protect those he held dear was rising as it hadn't in years. He didn't like the look on Pansy's face or the fear in her eyes, but it was the hint of insecurity in her voice that hit him hardest. Maybe now all the training he'd done with Raven would actually come in handy. He took Pansy's hands in his own. "Tell me exactly what it feels like, please."

She shook her head and forced a laugh; it sounded hollow even to her ears.  "Oh, I'm sure that I'm just being silly.  Come, let's see what the elves have for us.  Surely you've not been away long enough to think that when I said I'd 'cook' that I actually meant me, did you?"

Greg's eyes narrowed dangerously. He lifted one hand to cup her cheek so she couldn't look away. He towered over her and wasn't stupid enough not to use that to his advantage. "Pansy Delphine Parkinson, you will not play me like this. Who has looked after you since we were four? Who kept the bullies away from you? Who sneaked out to come and make sure you were okay when he didn't hear from you at least once a week during the summers while we were at Hogwarts?"

She touched his hand briefly and he let it fall.  "I don't think this rates the use of my middle name, Gregory."

"I say it does," he replied testily. "You're making me wish I had brought a bit of truth serum along..."

She frowned and stepped away.  "What do you want to know, Greg?"

He shot her an incredulous look. "Everything." 

When she spoke, the words gushed out like water from a faucet.  "I'm uneasy.  I'm not feeling completely in control, which is, for me, unusual.  I'm actually telling you about it, which is madness." I think my elf actually drugged me, earlier, and I don't remember half the day, she added silently.  Her voice rose to a higher pitch.  "What if it's going to be the same as before?  What if the bad things start to happen?  I don't have my parents, we're not in school where there are lots of people between all of the evil and us...  It's just me, here, alone and--"  She broke off and took a cleansing breath, silent for a moment more.  "Apologies.  I'm sure that was a little more 'hysterical girl' than you were bargaining for on a Sunday evening."  She sipped from her tumbler and smiled tightly.  "See?  There, all better."

"You have me," he said softly, soothingly. He took a step towards Pansy, reaching for her hand. "You aren't all better and I won't hear you call yourself a hysterical girl ever again."

"Yes, well, you're correct," she said regally.  "I'm absolutely not hysterical.  I'm Pansy Parkinson, and if anything, evil should fear me," she said firmly.  After a moment, she glanced at him.  "Right?"

Greg bit back a light laugh, her 'evil should fear me' had just struck him as a completely and utterly Pansy thing to say given the situation. "Never," he assured her as he led her towards the couch. "Sit down and tell me what is bothering you. You know you will feel better afterwards." When she didn't immediately start speaking, he pouted a bit. "Tell me."

"Tell me it will all be okay."

"I won't allow it to be any other way, Pet."

"Thank you."   She sat silent for a moment, willing her muscles to unclench.  She took a few deep breaths and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.  "You're starving, right?"

"No need," he whispered as he kissed her brow. "I have always taken care of you and always will. Trust me? And not starving, just a bit hungry...we've time enough to talk."

She giggled at the irrationality of it all.  "Trust you?  Implicitly, actually, Greg.  Without a doubt.  And you've been back all of two days?  It didn't take us long to fall into old patterns, eh?"

Greg relaxed slightly, feeling the tension that had been building at the base of his neck slowly fading away. He knew from experience that until he figured out what was making Pansy so nervous that a small ball of tension would remain. Hell, if something had shaken Pansy, then it must be bad. He was worried about Maeve as well. "I like our old patterns, Pet. Now stop trying to distract me and start talking."

They leaned back against the couch and Pansy put her head on his shoulder.  Calm down.  Relax. she thought.  Nothing is wrong; it's all in your head.   She cleared her throat.  "Do you think... it would be alright if you spoke for awhile?  I seem to be... out of words just now."  

Greg didn't like the panic he could feel radiating off of Pansy. His instinct was to jump up and set ward over ward until nothing could get through to Pansy and then rush off to do the same for Maeve. Pansy didn't panic, she just didn't. Something really evil was forming and he felt completely and utterly incompetent. If him talking would calm Pansy, then that was what he would do. "Did I tell you that I have developed a liking for Muggle movies?"

Pansy blinked and he went on, hoping to snap her out of this even a little bit. "I like the ones that poke fun at horror, what we all went through made it necessary for me to find a way to handle everything."

"Muggle movies?"  She looked at him incredulously.  "You need to explain yourself.  I think I know what a movie is; their idea of magical photography?  But they purposely use horrific events?"

Greg let loose a bark of laughter. "A dear friend once told me 'don't knock it 'til you try it'. For the most part they don't have any idea of what true horror is, and therefore it's more comedy than horror."

Pansy made a face that looked as if she smelled something foul.  "I don't think I'll ever understand Muggles.  They're so... "  She made a noise somewhere between a groan and vomiting.  She snuggled closer, closing her eyes, the potion from earlier still having not worn off.  Bloody Oscar.  "Tell me about Washington."

"I lived with Muggles there too, Pet," he said teasingly. "Have you actually gone out an been around them at all?" He chuckled when he realized just what he had asked. "Don't answer. Make a deal with me?"

She opened one eye.  "What's in it for me?"

Greg bit the inside of his cheek as not to show his amusement. "A day of shopping."

She closed her eye again and smiled softly.  "Done.  What's the deal?"

Greg desperately wanted to crow in triumph. "Shopping in the finest Muggle London shops. My treat as well."

She yawned, stifling it with the back of her hand.  "But what do I have to do?"

Greg shuffled her onto his lap. He had to wonder how much sleep she was getting. "Be open minded about the Muggles. Just give them a chance is all I ask." 

"Mmmhmm.  Okay," she answered sleepily.  "I'm very open minded.  Always have been.  Let Marcus Flint kiss me third year, and you know his teeth," she mumbled.

Greg just shook his head and waved off the house elf and pulled a cashmere throw off the back of the couch and tucked it around her. "Rest, Pet. I'll stay with you. I'll protect you."

He watched as she slipped off to sleep. He was extremely concerned about her. Her last comment just proved once again that he had hurt those closest to him by leaving and not returning for so long. What the hell was going on? What had he missed? Most important, what could he do to keep Maeve and Pansy safe?

{Summary} Greg and Pansy have dinner. A gift is given, fears are aired, and Pansy gets tricked.