There were two wizarding cemeteries in London. On the hazy, misty, freezing morning of Halloween, Michael found himself trudging through the second, eyes on the ground. The grass had not been mowed in a long time; it grew wild and high, with straggly blades reaching his shins, and depositing beads of dew on his neatly-pressed pinstripe trousers. There was the odd dandelion and weed scattered about, and more than once, he saw a broken beer bottle shimmering in the strange early light of dawn. A fog had descended around the cemetery, making it difficult for Michael to see more than a few feet in front of him, but it hardly mattered. His feet traveled the well-worn path with certainty; he had come this way many times before.



The headstone was as gray and squat and ugly as the rest. Michael supposed he might have been grateful for a headstone at all, being that his sister had been buried in pauper's field, with the rest of the Death Eaters who didn't come from ancient lines with family plots. Her name--Meredith Joy Corner--was chiseled across the front sloppily; beneath her name were her dates (1977-1997), and beneath that, a serial number assigned to her body when it was collected on the battle field. D.E. #2845925.

Michael stood at the headstone for a long moment, holding the bunch of flowers in his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned a terrifying shade of white. At the foot of the stone lay a few seashells, worn smooth from the elements, and a hollow in the grass where Michael lay his bundle every year. He squatted, resting his elbows on his knees, and placed the new bouquet, tied with a kelly green ribbon, into its spot, and then stared unblinkingly in front of him at the letters--the wobbly Os in her middle and surname, the J of uneven thickness, the ugly little Es, and the dot of the I placed awkwardly just to the left of its stalk.

Michael heard, as if from a distance, a ragged sobbing sound, and realized with a start that it belonged to him.

Pansy gingerly stepped through the unkempt graveyard, her displeasure growing as she took in all the sights around her. Honestly, she thought. I know they were Death Eaters, but does no one take care of this place? She had visited her father's grave, and her foul mood was intensified by the poor landscaping of the cemetery. I wonder who I'll have to pay off to get the grass cut? she mused.

She kept on, toeing her way through the debris and headstones, when she heard muffled sounds. The mist was thick, and she wasn't sure what or who it was, but she wasn't in the mood for company. All she wanted to do was to visit Meredith and be off. Damn, she thought. I got up bloody early to avoid seeing anyone else.

Michael heard a sound to his left, and turned quickly, pulling his wand. Two years before he'd been interrupted by some drunken teenagers keen on vandalizing the Death Eater cemetery on Halloween; today, he expected no better. He was shocked into silence, therefore, by the presence of Pansy Parkinson, standing still, not ten feet from him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, withdrawing his wand only slightly, to indicate that he recognized her even if he didn't trust her.

Pansy held up one palm, in a gesture of surrender. The other hand held a bouquet of pink roses. "Please lower your wand," she requested evenly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I could throw these roses at you, but you look like the sort that might be able to handle a few thorn scratches." When he didn't answer, she continued, in a soothing voice, "Michael? It is Michael, isn't it? Are you listening to me?"

Michael was fixed on the pink roses, which outshone his pathetic bundle of wildflowers by a good deal. When she said his name, however, he came to attention, and lowered his wand instantly, though he still regarded her with suspicion.

"I'm Michael Corner, yeah, and I'm listening for an answer as to why you're here," he replied, the tension of grief tightening his shoulders and jaw, as he slipped his wand into his inside jacket pocket.

Pansy breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as he put away his wand. "I would imagine that I'm here for the same reason that you are. Although," she continued, lowering her voice, "and you should know that I don't say this to just everyone, I'm regretful if I've intruded on a private moment with your sister. I'll just leave these and go."

Michael watched with surprise as Pansy brushed by him and gracefully knelt down, placing her roses next to Michael's flowers. She paused, closing her eyes, and her body was completely still. Michael barely heard the whispered, "I really could have used your help lately, Merry," but he noticed that her face bore an expression of solemnity, sadness, and regret, that seemed to mirror his own.

After a moment, she stood and nodded toward him, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Michael," she murmured, and moved to leave.

The fog was lifting a bit as the day grew older, but the sense of isolation hadn't faded yet; it felt as though Michael and Pansy were the only two visitors in the cemetery, united in their grief before Merry's grave. Suddenly, Michael couldn't bear to be left there alone, even if he had intended to visit his sister's grave on his own. He reached out to touch Pansy's shoulder; the sudden contact seemed to startle her, but she was still as Michael murmured, "No, please, stay." He looked sadly upon the second bunch of flowers resting on his sister's grave, and added, "I'm not the only one Merry meant something to, clearly."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and something that tasted a bit like pride, as he continued, "I'm sorry if I was rude in any way. Merry would have been appalled if she knew I was disrespectful to any of her friends from Slytherin, especially on such an occasion. I apologize."

"Apology accepted," she replied, nodding regally. She peered at him as if looking to see if he could be trusted, and tentatively extended her hand. "I don't think we've spoken before. Pansy Parkinson."

"No, I don't think we have," Michael replied. He took her hand and shook it; it was small, and dry and smooth, and he noticed her nails were perfectly manicured. "Michael Corner," he added. "Obviously."

"So," said Michael quietly. "How did you know my sister?"

She looked at this man, so plainly in grief, whose blue eyes were almost identical to his sister's, and thought furiously about what to say to him, how much information to give, and what Merry would want him to know. It actually hurt to look at him, this man who resembled so closely the girl that had kept her safe at Hogwarts, the girl that had taught her what it took to be a Slytherin, and who had meant more to her than any of her blood relatives combined. He must know how I knew her, she thought. What does he want?

"Her dormitory was just down the corridor from mine in school." There. That's a safe answer.

"Well, I figured as much," said Michael evenly. "But Merry was a bit like me. She didn't have very many friends. So if she meant something to you, you must have meant something to her, and I was wondering what that was."

"You see," Michael went on, the pain etched across his face, "I don't know much about Merry's life after she went to Hogwarts. We had a bit of a falling out. And we never spoke again after my fourth year." He pressed his lips together; his face was drained of color, and his eyes stood out against the pale whiteness of his skin with strikingly blue intensity. "So you'll forgive me for intruding, but I try to pick up whatever scraps of knowledge I can. I--" He stopped, and looked Pansy over very carefully. It seemed unreal that he was standing there, pouring out his heart to a grown schoolmate he barely knew, but when it came to Merry, Michael had no one to turn to, and he seemed unable to stop the flow of words.

"I really miss her," he finished, and he scowled fiercely, screwing up his face to prevent tears from falling.

Pansy tried to stop her teeth from chattering in the cold morning air, and pulled her cloak close. "Merry was- Merry saved me from myself in school. She took care of me in a way that Slytherins usually don't." Pansy stopped abruptly. This is absurd, standing here in a bloody cold graveyard, chatting about Merry. "Actually, I think Merry would find this very amusing, making two people she loved very uncomfortable at such an early hour."

"Speak for yourself," said Michael abruptly. "She had very little love for me, I'm sorry to report." He looked at Merry's gravestone with a jealous lump in his throat. Merry had taken care of Pansy, had mentored her, clearly felt something for her. And Michael? She'd tormented him for being chosen as a Ravenclaw. She'd ignored him in the corridors if she was with certain people, not wanting to be associated with him. She'd tried to convince him to join the growing confederation of future Death Eaters amongst the students. And then, as a final attempt, had tried to persuade Michael to take some Slytherin girl to the Yule Ball--and when he'd refused, she'd stopped speaking to him.

Where was the justice? Michael thought angrily, kicking at a clod of dirt on the ground. What kind of world was it, where house ties meant more than blood? Where Pansy received sisterly treatment, and Michael was disowned?

"You're wrong," she said imperiously, pulling herself up to her full height. "She did love you. She loved you very much. Used to talk about you endlessly, telling stories about you when you were children. It annoyed me, because I always thought that if I'd been lucky enough to have a sister like her I would have done anything for her." Pansy's voice broke and she paused. "I would have done almost anything." She gazed at the grass brushing Merry's marker. "We had a slight falling out at the end. She was... disappointed in me."

"Yeah, well, join the club," said Michael bitterly. "That was her favorite line--'I'm so disappointed in you, Michael.' Or to our mum: 'I'm so disappointed you can't see things the right way. I'm just so disappointed in you, Mum.' All because we didn't happen to agree with her pureblood propaganda." He shook his head. "She was--I was lucky to have her as a sister. But not after she got caught up in that Slytherin Death Eater craze. After that...she broke my mother's heart, for starters. My father still refuses to acknowledge she ever existed. And I--" Michael sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I would have done anything for her, too--but not that. And look where it got me. Here I am standing at her fucking grave."

Pansy nodded and spoke quietly. "I think I may understand you a bit better than you might think, Michael." She sighed and took a step toward him, a frown marring her brow. "She was haughty and disdainful, even judgemental, yes, but she was also just a person. Flawed. She made bad decisions, but that doesn't mean that she loved you any less. You cannot forget the fact that there were awful circumstances surrounding her. She was caught up in the midst of something so much bigger than she was, Michael, and it destroyed her. It doesn't change her love. It didn't reshape the way she felt about you, or me, or your mother or father. Inside, she was the same Merry she was before that horror of a thing took over. Older and more experienced witches fell prey to him, as well. But I have to believe that she still regarded me as the Pansy that she cared for, even at the end, when she wouldn't speak to me. I have to believe that, or I might--" She closed her eyes. "You should believe it, too."

Michael watched Pansy intently. "You've thought about this a lot," he remarked, and he realized before the words were even out of his mouth that he was stating the obvious. A member of Slytherin House, Pansy must have had these thoughts churning in her mind constantly. Michael couldn't imagine what it was like to be Pansy--to have had entire groups of friends give themselves over to this cause. Michael had only lost Merry; Pansy, he was certain, just by casting his memory back over the names in the headlines, the other graves in this cemetery, had lost many more.

She glanced away and sighed. "Yes, well, I have a lot of free time."

"But thank you," said Michael hesitantly. "That--that means a lot more to me than you'd think. Especially...oddly enough, especially coming from you." He shot Pansy his only smile of the day. It was weak and slightly halfhearted, but faint spark lit his eyes for a moment, and Pansy could see it came from genuine emotion.

She mirrored his smile, the corner of her mouth turned up and her eyes crinkled the tiniest bit. "Against my better judgement, I'll break a long standing rule I have, and say that you're welcome, Michael Corner. It was my pleasure."

Michael nodded, casting his eyes for the final time at the flowers placed before Merry's headstone. He jammed his hands into his pockets, and held his breath, closing his eyes. Goodbye Merry, he thought to himself. I miss you. I love you. And thank you. He opened his eyes, released his breath and inhaled the sweet morning air, and glanced at Pansy Parkinson, standing beside him looking peaceful in the growing patch of sunlight, as the fog departed. Maybe this was meant to be.

"You wouldn't fancy getting breakfast with me, would you?" he asked softly, his voice jarring after the moment of silence. "There's a lovely French patisserie around the corner. The coffee is excellent." He paused, stricken by how vulnerable a position he'd just put himself in on this morning of all mornings, and added hastily, "Don't feel obligated, of course. I'm sure you have plenty to do today, and we do barely know each other, after all." He finished with a shrug, and inspected his shoes carefully, avoiding her gaze as he awaited her response.

She smiled, and raised an eyebrow as Michael very obviously braced himself for rejection. She shook her head and moved toward him, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, gently leading him to the cemetery's exit. "All right. Coffee. And I can tell you about the time Merry tied one of our classmates to a tree by the lake so that the Giant Squid could use him for Bludger practice. That particular boy was very cruel to me, you see. And there was the time that she hexed Millicent Bulstrode for spreading a nasty rumour about me." She bit her lip and giggled. "And then what we did to her was... well, perhaps not for mixed company, but I'll tell some stories about her that are." She looked up at his profile as they walked. "All right?"

Michael was smiling, and he nodded in response. He, too, glanced sideways at Pansy's profile. The sun had risen in full force, now; the dew and fog of dawn had dissipated, leaving them with bright sunbeams that did wonders for the gloomy cemetery, and for Pansy. The light shone on her face, giving it a warm glow, and it brought out the highlights in her dark hair. For a moment, Michael was struck by how much she reminded him of Merry, in her cheerful chatter and the way she wore her hair, and the soft feeling of her hand on his arm, and he led them out of the wrought iron gate and towards the patisserie with a warmth spreading in his heart that echoed the blossoming of the sun in the sky overhead, like a benediction.

{Summary: Michael discovers he and the unlikely person of Pansy Parkinson have someone in common.}