Archive of Our Own

A Very Cursed Christmas

“God rest ye merry hippogriff,” Pansy softly sang to herself as she placed ornaments on her tree.

Christmas was one of Pansy’s favorite holidays and this year she had the best gift of all – the entire Parkinson Estate all to herself.

Her parents had decided to move to France and left their only daughter with the family home she grew up in. Pansy certainly wasn’t complaining as she used her fortune to redecorate the home into something a little cozier than the cold, formal estate she grew up in. It was still very aristocratic, very clean and minimal, but with a pop of color here, a bit of decor over there, and the estate began looking more like hers.

The Christmas decorations really helped bring warmth into the home. The house elves had hung garland at all the entryways and Pansy put a tree in nearly every room of the estate. The last tree to decorate though was the large, fifteen foot tree in the foyer, and Pansy had turned it into a winterland creation, with white, silver, and gold baubles, ribbons, and fairy dust.

She could have hung the ornaments with magic, and she did with all the ones that needed to be hung above six feet, but she found something very calming in hanging the rest by hand. Placing each bauble, snowflake, and ribbon so perfectly on each branch.

Turning toward the box at her feet, Pansy pulled out a frosted bauble that looked like it was an heirloom. Upon inspecting the box, Pansy found a note next to where the bauble had sat.

To reflect on the past to guide you to the future.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Pansy asked aloud in the empty room. Shrugging her shoulders, she grabbed the frosted bauble and surveyed her tree, deciding the best place to hang it. Finding a lonely branch, Pansy placed the ornament on the tree and was immediately blinded by a white light.

She threw her hands over her face and backed away from the tree, tripping over her own feet and falling to the floor. She looked up to see the frost from the bauble spiraling out with icy tendrils, but before Pansy could react, they surged toward her and the world around her shattered.

Pansy blinked and found herself standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It wasn’t present day, but years ago during her Fourth Year. She only knew the timeframe because she knew what was happening – the Yule Ball.

The hall shimmered with enchanted snowflakes and students milled about, dressed in their finest robes. Pansy noticed her younger self standing off to the side with a group of Slytherins, sneering.

“Oh, look at that!” Pansy laughed. “Longbottom has a date for tonight! Who ever would have thought he’d find anyone desperate enough to go with him?”

The Slytherins laughed, but present-day Pansy froze as she noticed Neville Longbottom and his date for the evening, Ginny Weasley, walk by. Neville glanced in her direction and Pansy noticed his shoulders hunch and his previously excited expression fall.

Her younger self laughed cruelly and turned to lead her friends toward the Great Hall.

The scene before her faded and the frost returned, swirling around Pansy with its icy tendrils. A cold, whispering voice filled her ears.

“Cruel. Petty. Who would forgive you for this?”

Pansy crawled backward to try and escape the frost and the voice.

“I didn’t mean it!” She said, her heart racing in her chest. “I was just –”

The frost shot at her and circled her. “You hurt others to protect yourself. You hid your fear behind your cruelty. Everyone remembers, Pansy. They always remembered.”

Pansy clambered to her feet, but the frost continued to circle her and the scene before her faded again, but this time she found herself standing in the courtyard of Hogwarts.

Pansy knew this day well, it was one that will never leave her memories. It was the Battle of Hogwarts and her teenage self was running toward the Great Hall. The entire castle was chaos and by the time she reached the Hall, everyone had fallen silent as the Dark Lord spoke to them all.

Potter. He was asking for Potter and all would be forgiven. No more blood had to be spilled.

“He’s right there!” Her younger self shouted, pointing at Harry Potter. “What are you waiting for? He’s right there, just grab him!”

The memory cut sharply to the other students staring at her with disgust and McGonagall requesting that all the Slytherin students be led to the dungeons.

The world around her dissolved once more and Pansy stumbled back. She gasped for breath, clutching her chest as the frost receded back into the Christmas bauble. It hung on the tree, glowing slightly. Its frost covered surface now just reflected Pansy’s scared face, but distorted.

“What the fuck is that?” Pansy whispered, her voice shaking as she backed further away from the tree.

“This is only the beginning, Pansy Parkinson.” The insidious voice whispered in her ear.

The room felt about ten degrees colder and Pansy looked to see that the fire in the hearth had gone out. Frost began seeping out of the ornament again and Pansy watched as it crept along the walls. Pansy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt trapped, haunted by her past memories, and she had no idea how she was going to break free.

* * *

Pansy barely slept that night, her eyes scanning her room for the frosty tendrils that had encaptured her previously. She had slept fitfully for maybe a few hours and when she awoke, she was cold again, her breath showing in the air of her room

“Henri?” Pansy called to her personal house elf.

There was a pop and an older house elf appeared, bowing before Pansy at her bedside. “How can Henri be of service to Mistress Pansy this morning?”

“Henri, why is it so cold in here?” Pansy pulled the blankets tighter around herself.

“Well – the cold is – Erm –”

“Spit it out!” Pansy snapped. Henri often hated voicing matters he knew would upset her.

“It appears that the Christmas bauble won’t allow any of the fires to stay lit, Mistress. It has spread its frosty bits across the entire downstairs!” The elf’s eyes were wide as he explained to Pansy why it was so unbelievably fucking cold in her house.

“Fuck!” Pansy dragged a hand over her face and took a deep breath before smiling at Henri. “No worries about the fires, Henri. I’m going to go out for breakfast this morning. Stay warm, okay? I’ll hopefully have this fixed quickly.”

Henri nodded and bowed before disappearing with a pop. Pansy counted to three before throwing off her very warm duvet and stepping onto her ice cold floors. Fuck, it was freezing.

Large stone estates, even with her updates, did not make for warm, cozy homes without fucking fireplaces.

Pansy dressed quickly in a knit dress, tall boots, peacoat, and a hat and scarf for good measure. She barely felt warmer before she walked down to her Floo parlour and threw the powder into the flames.

“Malfoy Manor!”

She stepped into the emerald green flames and was immediately sent tumbling to her destination. Pansy stepped out into the marble Floo parlour, using her wand to clear away the soot on her clothing.

“Draco!” Pansy called out as she headed toward the dining room.

Walking into the room, she saw the breakfast spread on the table, but no Draco. She was about to go exploring when one of the Malfoy elves, Topsy, popped into view.

“Miss Pansy! Is you here for Master Draco?”

“Yes, please. It’s a rather emergency, too. Is he home?”

The little elf nodded, large ears flapping. “Yes, Master Draco is upstairs with –”

“I’m right here, Topsy,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the dining room. “What brings you here so bright and early, Pans?” He sat down at the head of the table and gestured for Pansy to sit, as well.

Pansy sat to his left and tapped her nails on the table. “Well, I have a problem.”

“Your manicure looks fine.”

Pansy didn’t even bother to look down at her nails. “Of course it does, but that’s not why I’m here. I need a curse-breaker.”

Draco simply raised an eyebrow as he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. When Pansy didn’t continue, he waved his hand at her. “For?”

Scowling, Pansy grabbed a pastry and set it on her plate. “For breaking a terrible curse. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Draco repeated.

“Are you going to give me more than one word answers?” Pansy snapped as she broke off a piece of her pastry and threw it at her friend’s chest.

Draco just looked bemused as he brushed the piece of pastry to the floor. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. Why do you need a curse-breaker, Pansy? Your house was cleared by the MInistry after the war. So unless you’ve acquired cursed items on your own, I suppose I’m curious as to how you’ve come across something.”

“It’s a Christmas bauble. I was putting it on my tree and it’s very clearly cursed, so I’d like you to get rid of it for me. Please,” she added, figuring it was the polite thing to do. Draco was her friend, after all.

“A cursed Christmas bauble, you say? How exactly do you know it’s cursed?” He took a bite out of his apple, crunching it.

“Um,” Pansy looked down at her hands and wrung them in her lap. “Well, it showed me things. And now the temperature of the estate is arctic. The fires won’t stay lit.”

Draco set his apple down and looked at her curiously. “What do you mean it showed you things? What kind of things, Pansy?”

“It showed me being horrible to Longbottom at school. It was like I was there, watching it all happen again, but then it changed and we were at Hogwarts during the battle. You remember when I, well, when I tried to give Potter to the Dark Lord? It showed me that, too. Then it told me this was only the beginning.” Pansy looked up at Draco and didn’t like the concerned look on his face. “Is this bad?”

Draco seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment before he responded. “Well, it’s most certainly not good. You said it spoke to you?”

Pansy nodded glumly. “In a sense. It was like it was speaking in my mind.”

“I want to consult Granger on this, if you don’t mind.”

Draco had been a curse-breaker for almost five years now and partnered with Hermione Granger for the last three. It was strange at first to hear him mention her without disdain dripping off his tongue, but it actually appeared that he enjoyed working with her. He’d even invited her to drinks a few different times over the years with the Slytherins.

“Yes, that’s fine. Should we owl her?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “Topsy?”

The elf scurried over from where she’d been standing by the entryway, clearly eavesdropping. Ever the curious creatures, house elves were. “Yes, Master Draco?”

“Would you be so kind as to tell Granger we have a visitor and ask if she’d please join us?”

Topsy nodded and disappeared with a pop, leaving Pansy to stare open mouthed at Draco. “I’m sorry. What?”

Draco simply shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no need to owl her if she’s upstairs.”

“Because she got too drunk last night and needed to sleep it off?” Pansy asked, already knowing that most definitely wasn’t the case, and not just because Granger didn’t seem like the type to get that drunk.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Draco sighed. “Granger and I have been seeing each other.”

“For how long?”

“A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“About six months.”

“Six months?” Pansy screeched. “You’ve been shagging Granger for six months and I didn’t know about it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco rolled his eyes and a small smirk curled on his lips. “Because I knew you’d take the news so well. Obviously.”

Pansy was still spluttering in a very undignified way when the reason for said spluttering came walking into the dining room. Her normally out of control curls were held in a knot on the top of her head with her wand (so unsafe), and she was wearing joggers and what appeared to be Draco’s old quidditch jersey.

“Hello, Pansy,” she said as she sat down. As if this wasn’t the most random fucking thing ever to happen on a Tuesday morning.

Draco reached over and grabbed Granger’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles, all while Pansy stared in abject horror.

“Good morning, love. Sorry for springing company on you so early. Pansy has never been one for being courteous of silly things such as appropriate calling hours.”

“It’s fine!” Granger said cheerily. “So, what’s going on? I’m assuming I was called down here for a reason other than having breakfast with you both?”

“I have a cursed Christmas bauble.” Pansy said, matter-of-factly. “It’s showing me shitty things I’ve done in the past, making my house freezing cold, and talking to me in my head.”

Hermione, bless her, just blinked twice as she took in the information Pansy all but threw at her. “Oh. Well, that’s not good.”

“No,” Pansy said dryly. “It’s not good. So, that’s why I came to Draco. I figured I’d need a curse-breaker to help me. A curse-breaker who apparently needs help.” She shot a look over at Draco who did not seem perturbed by her slight.

“There’s a reason we work so well together as partners,” Granger began as she buttered a scone. “Draco prefers working with things that can kill you, but I have a bit of an upper hand on items that tend to be, how do I say… alive. Not that those things can’t kill you, but they’re sort of my specialty.”

“Great. So can we go look at the bauble so we can get rid of it?”

“Can’t we finish our breakfast first?” Draco asked, staring longingly at a plate of bacon.

Pansy looked down at her pastry and heard her stomach growl. “Fine. We’ll stay for breakfast, but as soon as it’s done, we’ll go to the estate, yes?”

Everyone nodded in agreement before digging into the breakfast spread.

* * *

“Well?” Pansy asked, tapping her foot.

Draco and Granger had been staring at the bauble for a solid twenty minutes, sometimes whispering to each other, and Pansy was not only bored, but she was freezing. The walls of the estate were covered with a fine layer of frost and it would look like a beautiful winter wonderland if it was outside and not in her home.

“If you’re cold, just use a warming charm,” Draco sighed.

“I’m not cold.” Pansy grumbled as she discreetly cast another warming charm.

She’d already cast three, but they weren’t sticking for some reason. Probably due to the damn cursed bauble. Next year, Pansy was going to have the elves decorate the damned trees.

Draco was now performing a number of different spells on the bauble, most of which Pansy didn’t know, as she wasn’t a curse-breaker. He stopped and then Hermione took over, runes projecting from the bauble onto the stone walls.

“Well,” Hermione said finally, placing her hands on her hips and her wand back in her hair. “I think I know the origin of the curse. It’s definitely one placed by someone in the Parkinson line.”

“My own family cursed me?” Pansy cried out indignantly. “Those bastards!”

“Yes, but the problem,” Hermione continued, “Is that I’m still unsure exactly what to do with it to break it. It doesn’t appear that any spells will work on it. It needs something –”

“More involved,” Draco finished her sentence. “Exactly.”

Pansy wanted to puke at the look of adoration Granger gave to Draco.

Hermione’s face suddenly shifted to one of curiosity. “You know… there is someone else who might be able to help us out.”

“Great, get them in here! The more curse-breakers, the better I say,” Pansy said.

“You don’t mean?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I absolutely do,” Hermione nodded.

The fact that this coupling had been going on for six months was almost as annoying as the pair of them finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences. Of course, Draco was a Legilimens, so it was very possible he was actually reading her mind.

“Expecto Patronum!” A shot of silver mist flew out of Granger’s wand and corporealized as a rather cute otter. “Please come to the Parkinson Estate. Draco and I have an object we’d like you to take a look at.”

“I’ve never been able to do that,” Pansy said wistfully as she watched the otter float away. You needed strong, happy memories to produce a patronus and Pansy had happy memories, sure, but not any strong enough, apparently. Despite all of her efforts. “Who did you send that to?”

“Oh,” Hermione waved her hands. “Just a colleague who I think can help us.”

“A colleague?” Pansy asked, not liking the air of indifference in Granger’s tone.

“Yes. An old friend, if you will.”

“Smooth, Granger.” Draco gave a small laugh before settling his arm around the witch’s shoulders.

“Who is it?” Pansy demanded, damn near stamping her foot.

It was at that moment the fire in the Floo roared to life and out stepped a man in Auror robes with messy black hair, fixing the glasses on his face. “‘Mione?”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Pansy seethed upon seeing Harry Potter in her house.

“Nice to see you too, Parkinson,” the Chosen Git said dryly.

Pansy whirled on Draco and Hermione. “You sent the Chosen One to save me from this frostbitten hell?”

“I’m literally standing right here,” Harry sighed. “I’m highly certain you don't actually need saving Parkinson, but I can probably help.” He straightened his robes and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “What seems to be the problem?”

Hermione jumped forward, filling Harry in on everything Pansy had told them about the bauble, as well as their findings from the last half an hour. Pansy watched as his face shifted from one of annoyance to interest. He reached for the bauble, his fingers stretched out when Pansy instinctively grabbed his arm.

“Don’t!”

Harry pulled his arm back and Pansy blushed.

“What if it does the same thing to you?”

“I don’t think it will,” Draco offered up. “I think since you were the one who triggered the curse it’s only going to affect you.”

“You think?” Pansy asked, eyebrows raised. “What kind of curse-breaker are you?”

Draco smirked and examined his nails before looking up at her. “A very good one, I can assure you.”

“Well in the case that you’re wrong, I don’t think anyone should touch it. What if you see your past mistakes also?” Or worse, what if they saw hers?

Harry hummed and shoved his hands into his pockets as he observed the ornament. “Hermione said it spoke to you? In what way?”

Pansy shivered, remembering the way the silky, yet insidious voice sounded. “I couldn’t hear it out loud, it was like it was in my head. I felt it.”

“It kind of has that pulsing feeling like a Horcrux, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked softly.

Harry nodded at her. “It’s not exactly alive, I don’t think, but yes. It has some sort of life-like qualities. Parkinson?” He turned his head to look at Pansy. “Does your family have a history with dark artefacts? I feel like I remember reading reports of several items being cleared out after the war.”

“I mean, all old families have some dark artefacts, it’s not like it meant we were evil, though.”

“That’s true,” Malfoy agreed, nodding his head. “The Manor took months for the Aurors and curse breakers to comb through. We certainly had more dark artefacts than the Parkinson’s would have.”

“Besides,” Pansy sniffed. “The Parkinsons thrive on self-purification. My ancestors believed strongly in the importance of self-purification to cleanse the mind of weakness, guilt, and doubt. Those are all flaws that could be exploited by enemies, so if we didn’t have those traits, then we couldn’t be abused.” Pansy recited what had been instilled in her since birth.

Harry and Hermione looked at her dubiously while Draco merely looked bored.

“Do you think…” Harry trailed off for a moment, biting his bottom lip. “I want to go to the Ministry archives and look into some of the other items that were repossessed during reparations. I think you’re right to not touch the ornament for now. I’ll owl when I’m finished or if I find something.”

He turned to leave but Pansy called after him. “Hey! Potter, wait up! I want to come with you.”

Harry turned around with a dubious look on his face. “You want to… come with me? To dig around in the dusty old archives?”

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Potter, but it’s as cold as a witch’s tit in here and the sooner we figure this out, then the sooner I can warm back up. My nipples are practically cutting through my dress because it’s so cold in here.”

Harry’s eyes flicked down to her chest and then immediately back up when Pansy snapped her fingers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“Exactly my point. So, I’ll accompany you to look through all the fun reports on what the Ministry took from my ancestral home and then we can solve this sooner rather than later. Unless of course,” Pansy turned back to Draco and Hermione who were looking at each other with similarly sickening faces. “The two of you can just break the curse with a fancy spell of some sort?”

“Nope,” Hermione said, popping the p at the end of the word. “If we could have, we’d have done so. But that sounds good. You two research in the archives while Draco and I go speak to some of the other curse-breakers who worked on clearing out the estate. Perhaps one of them has some more insight for us.”

“Let’s go, Parkinson!” Harry called from over by the Floo.

Pansy wrapped her coat tighter around her body and hurried to join him.

* * *

To Pansy’s dismay, she was still sitting in the musty, dusty archives a week later. It seemed her family had far more dark artefacts than she’d been aware of, and she and Potter were combing through each of the items extremely carefully to see if any of them had any similarities to the bauble.

“This is ridiculous,” Pansy moaned, setting aside one report and reaching for another.

“I’ll be honest, Parks,” Harry said as he grabbed another as well. “If your family had this many dark artefacts, I can’t even imagine how many the Malfoys had.”

“Don’t call me Parks,” Pansy snapped.

“Okay, Parks.”

Pansy grit her teeth and hissed, but didn’t retaliate any further. It never worked to try and

rile Potter up – he never rose to the bait. Pansy tried at first, oh did she try, but then she found she was merely arguing with herself while Potter just sat there and laughed. Or ignored her, altogether.

It made for a very not fun game.

“Hey, wait,” Harry said, pointing at the parchment in front of him. “Look at this! It has a very similar vibe as the bauble, being tied to a kind of – what did you call it? Oh, yes, self-purification.”

Pansy scooted her chair closer and looked over at the report in front of Harry.

Found Artefact: Emerald Ring

Description: A Parkinson heirloom designed to burn away the wearer’s guilt. When worn, the ring would cause a painful, burning sensation tied to the wearer’s emotional regrets.

Notes: Upon further investigation, it has been decided that continuous use of the ring would result in the loss of one’s sanity.

“The Ashen Ring,” Pansy whispered.

“You know it?”

“Yes, but I’d forgotten. My grandmère told me a story about this ring. She said that only the strongest would be able to endure wearing the ring and many – oh Salazar!” Pansy exclaimed. “I think I know how to get answers about the Christmas bauble!”

“Seriously?” Harry deadpanned. “We’ve only been going through these archives for a week now.”

“Oh, shut it, Potter! Hearing about the ring made me remember my many greats grandmother, Gertrude Parkinson. A real treat, that one.” Pansy stood up and dusted off her, walking toward the exit. “Her portrait is hanging upstairs in the south wing. I never go in there, so I forgot about her!” She stopped short and turned around, Harry nearly running into her. “Don’t tell her I forgot about her. I’ll never hear the end of it and with my luck she’ll no longer remain in the south wing.”

“Don’t tell the old portrait you forgot about her. Got it.” Harry rolled his eyes and motioned Pansy forward. “Shall we call for Hermione and Malfoy as well?”

“Sure. Do that Patronus thing and tell them to meet us at the estate.”

She watched enviously as Harry cast his Patronus and a stag bound from the room. “Alright, they’ll meet us there. Shall we Floo?”

Pansy shook her head and walked toward the exit. “No, I’m tired of soot being tracked all over my home. I’ll just apparate us.”

Once outside, Pansy walked over to a nearby alleyway and held out her arm to Harry. “Take my arm, Potter. Let’s go.”

Harry, however, did not take her arm, and instead grabbed her hand and spun on his heel, apparating them to the front door of the Parkinson estate.

Pansy yanked her hand out of his and looked down at it like it had offended her. Which it had. “I can apparate, Potter! I was going to do it.”

“Sorry, old habit I suppose. Hermione hates doing Side-Along after the war, so I always take us if we apparate together.”

Pansy frowned as she opened the door and they walked inside. “Did you apparate together that often during the war?”

Harry nodded, his eyes glazing over for a moment before he shook his head and cleared his thoughts. “Erm, yeah. We apparated every few days, sometimes every day, to some place new. She was just, always in charge of that, you know? Yet she always hated it after Ron got splinched that one time. Could have bled to death, probably. So once the war ended, she got afraid of being in charge of Side-Alongs. Not of apparating itself, but of possibly splinching someone else.”

Pansy walked over to the half-decorated tree in the entryway, playing with a branch. “I suppose I never really thought about what you lot were up to during the war.”

“No,” Harry said darkly. “I imagine you didn’t. You were one of the safe ones at Hogwarts, never having to deal with what the rest of us did.”

“Safe?” Pansy snapped, whirling around. “You think that because I was a Slytherin, I was safe?”

“Well, yeah.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Pansy snarled. “Sure, I was safe. I was safe as long as I didn’t look at the Carrows the wrong way. I was safe as long as my parents remained in good standing. I was safe while I was at school because I wouldn’t have been forced to get the Mark until I left. I was safe as long as I agreed to torture the younger students, torture your friends. I was so safe that I was Crucio’d myself for not being able to perform the curse on a First Year. So, yes. I was so fucking safe at Hogwarts that year.” Pansy was breathing so hard, tears burning in her eyes, that she didn’t notice the icy tendrils creeping around her.

Harry blinked a few times, but suddenly reached forward to grab Pansy.

“Potter, what the fu–”

The world around Pansy shattered.

“Do it!” Amycus Carrow shrieked in Pansy’s ear. “He was caught trying to free his ickle firstie Hufflepuff housemates. They deserved to be punished and now so does he!”

“He’s eleven, Professor Carrow!” Pansy argued.

“His age makes no difference! Crucio him!”

Present day Pansy watched in abject horror as her seventeen-year-old self stood there shaking, wand in her hand. She jumped when she felt a hand on her arm and turned to see that Potter had apparently been yanked into her memories as well. His face was ashen as he stared at the scene before him.

“Don’t do it,” present day Pansy whispered to her younger self. “Don’t do it.”

“Cr– crucio!” The red light at the tip of seventeen-year-old Pansy’s wand flickered and went out. She jumped as she was hit with a Stinging hex.

“Mean it!” Amycus screamed, his wand trained on Pansy.

“I can’t do it,” Pansy cried, gasping for air. She put her wand down at her side. “I can’t do it, Professor. I won’t do it!”

“Insolent child!” Amycus screeched. “Crucio!”

Present Pansy lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a sob as her Hogwarts self fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain. Amycus lifted the curse for a moment before hitting Pansy with it again.

Finally he relented and Pansy lay panting on the ground, tears streaming down her face. She pulled herself to her knees and struggled to get to her feet.

“Mean it,” Amycus said in a low voice. He kicked Pansy’s wand to her from where it had fallen on the ground.

Pansy grabbed her wand, struggling to get to her feet and pointed it at the First Year who stood frozen. “Crucio.”

The scene swirled before them as the First Year screamed in agony.

Pansy blinked and she found herself back in the entryway of her home, standing next to the tree with the cursed fucking artefact.

She felt, rather than heard, the insidious voice in her head. You are weak. You are flawed. You are a disappointment.

Pansy clasped at her head and pulled at her hair, not carrying that she’d probably wind up with it looking like Potter’s. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That was one memory she’d finally stopped dreaming about every few nights and watching it replay like that in front of her? It just made it all worse.

“Parkinson.”

Pansy screwed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” She repeated over and over again until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Pansy.” Harry’s voice was like smooth whiskey in her ear. “Pansy, it’s okay. It wasn’t real.”

“It was real,” she said thickly. “That happened, just as it showed.”

“Okay, but it was just a memory. Anyone could see you did it under duress. Fuck, Pansy, you were tortured, yourself.”

Pansy wiped angrily at her tears and pulled her arm away from his touch. “It still doesn’t make it right, Potter. You never would have done that, but I was – I am a coward. You’ve probably never even used an Unforgivable.”

Harry stood there quietly. “I have, actually. I used the Imperius on someone. I also used the Cruciatus on Amycus. During the Battle.”

Snapping her head around to face him, Pansy stared at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Erm, he spat at McGonagall.”

Pansy let out a huff of laughter. “So you used the Cruciatus on him?”

“Well, it wasn’t very nice,” Harry said rather sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus, tensions were running very high that day.”

“I can’t believe you,” she said, shaking her head. “Was able to conjure the Cruciatus curse by being so upset his Head of House was spat on. You really are something else, Potter, you know that?”

“Oh, I’ve been told,” Harry said with a boyish grin. “Think what the papers would say if they knew that?”

“Don’t ever let them know. I don’t think the world could handle their Savior not being perfect.”

“Oh, gods,” Draco’s voice drawled from the doorway. “His head is large enough, Pansy. Please don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of Boy Wonder since working with him.”

“He’s not half as annoying as I thought he’d be,” Pansy sniffed, wiping the mascara from under her eyes.

“Gee, thanks for the heartfelt compliment.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Draco’s right, Potter, your head is big enough.”

“Harry’s big head aside,” Hermione interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “What’s the update?”

“Here,” Harry shoved the paper with the information about the ring at Hermione. “Her great grandmother –”

“Many greats grandmère,” Pansy corrected.

“Whatever,” Harry muttered. “Some old ancestor is in a portrait in the south wing and may have some answers. Figured you both should be here when we ask her some questions, in case you catch something we don’t.”

“Rather astute of you, Potter,” Draco nodded. “Alright, south wing?”

The group headed to the south wing, an area of the estate Pansy usually avoided, and she wandered around until she found the portrait she was looking for. An older, respectable pureblood sat snoozing in an armchair, drool beginning to drip down the side of her mouth.

“I always thought purebloods were classy,” Harry muttered.

Pansy threw an elbow toward his stomach, which he dodged. “Shut it,” she snapped quietly. “Erm, Grandmère?” Pansy called, raising her voice. “Grandmère Gertrude?”

The witch in the portrait snapped to attention, wiping the drool away. “Ah, if it isn’t my little Pansy. You never come visit me, child. I’d almost thought you abandoned the estate.”

“Never, Grandèere Gertrude.”

“Well, you could give an old woman some attention every now and then. It’s very improper to ignore your elders.”

“You’re a portrait,” Hermione responded quietly.

“What’s that, dear?” The portrait sneered. “Times sure have changed since this was my home. Letting mudbloods onto the estate – willingly! Pansy Parkinson, I demand she be removed at once!”

Pansy shot a glare at Hermione. “I’m so sorry, Grandmère Gertrude. I promise she’ll be leaving shortly.”

Harry motioned as if to say ‘get on with it’ and Pansy glared at him, too.

“Anyway, Grandmère. I was decorating for the holidays, it’s the Yuletide, you know, and came across this… possibly cursed bauble?”

“You need to be much more specific than that, my dear.” The portrait sniffed, looking annoyed that her time was being wasted. “I have much to do, you know. Very busy here.”

Pansy pressed her lips together. “I’m sure. Well, it’s a bauble that is making me relive some truly horrid memories and it’s making the house freezing cold. Warming charms won’t work, the fires won’t stay lit. It can’t be good for portraits,” she added for good measure.

“No,” the portrait mused. “It certainly can’t be. The bauble you’re speaking of is an old family heirloom, of course.”

“Of course,” Pansy repeated. “I’d assumed as much.”

The witch continued on as if Pansy hadn’t said anything. “Parkinsons are pure people, my dear. We do not carry things like shame, guilt, or desperation,” she said with a wrinkled nose. “This artefact helps you see your weaknesses so you can rid yourself of them. Parkinsons are not weak.”

“Right,” Draco said slowly. “And how does one rid themselves of their guilt?”

The old witch rolled her eyes. “I just explained how to do so.”

Pansy felt her stomach tie up into knots. “Grandmère, please. I need it to stop.”

Sighing, the witch stood up and placed both her hands on her hips. “Pansy Persephone Parkinson. If you are so filled with guilt and shame, then you must do something to counteract it. What did you do? Either get over it or overcome it.”

“That doesn’t tell me what to do!” Pansy cried. “How do I get over using an Unforgivable on a child?”

“A true Parkinson wouldn’t let it bother them. I’m sure you had your reasons. However, I swear you all have become so dramatic as of late. If you don’t want to be burdened by guilt, then think of a way to overcome it. That is all I can tell you. Now, shoo. I’ve missed the quiet of this wing. Take the mudblood with you,” Gertrude said with a shudder.

Draco motioned their little group out of the hall, and they made their way slowly to the front entryway again. “Well, that went as well as could be expected, I think.”

Pansy groaned and threw herself onto an ottoman, dropping her face into her hands. “How the fuck do I just get over Crucio-ing a child? And all the other stuff it showed me?”

“I don’t think you can,” Hermione said softly. “You’re not the same as your ancestors, Pansy. You care too much.”

“I do not,” she muttered.

“You clearly do,” Draco snorted. “If you can’t get over it, then your grandmère said you have to overcome it.”

“How the fuck do I do that?” Pansy snapped, lifting her head from her hands.

Surprisingly, it was Harry who answered next. “Perhaps, for your own sake, you need to make amends. If you clear your conscience, then you should rid yourself of the guilt and the bauble will have no hold over you.” He looked over at Hermione and Draco for reassurance that he was on the right path.

Hermione nodded, eyes shining brightly. “It’s definitely worth a shot! Draco and I will, of course, keep working to see if we can find a countercurse, but in the meantime, I think that’s a great idea.”

Pansy watched glumly as Hermione and Draco took their leave, both saying they were going to research, but the looks on their faces said they were only going to research each other. So much for Granger being hardworking.

“Why are you still here, Potter?” Pansy questioned when she realized Harry was still standing awkwardly in her entryway.

“Oh, erm, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was a habit of his, she’d realized. “I don’t really have anywhere to be and I noticed you never really finished decorating.”

Pansy blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Pardon?”

“Your decorations?” He pointed at the boxes still on the floor. “You never finished decorating the tree.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, realization dawning on her. “The curse was a bit of a distraction. I should just have the elves finish it.”

“Or we could do it?” His ears were tinged pink at the tips.

Pansy smirked. Was Harry Potter – fucking Harry Potter – blushing and asking her to help decorate her tree?

“Or not,” he stammered.

“You want to help me finish decorating my tree? Even though it’s below freezing in my house?”

Harry just shrugged. “I love decorating for the holidays. I never got to as a child.”

Pansy furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I might be a household name in the wizarding world, but growing up, I was something to be hidden away.” He scuffed his trainer on the marble floor. “So, now that I have the opportunity, I love to decorate. I have a tree in nearly every room of Grimmauld Place.”

Pansy felt a smile creep onto her lips. “I have one in every room here. I wasn’t allowed to decorate trees growing up either. It was beneath me, or so my mother told me.”

Harry scoffed. “I’ll never understand purebloods.” He walked over to the box of decorations and leaned down to grab a blue bauble. “Should we make a game of it?”

“What?” Pansy laughed. “For every bauble that isn’t cursed we take a drink?”

“Or every bauble we put up, we tell a truth about ourselves or take a drink. And hope none of the others are cursed,” he added as an afterthought.

Pansy thought about it for a minute then called for her elf. “Henrie!”

The elf popped into view and gave a low bow. “How can Henrie be of service, Mistress?”

“Could you bring me a bottle of firewhiskey, please?”

The little elf snapped his fingers and handed a bottle of Ogden’s to Pansy, who took off the lid and took a big sip.

“Thank you, Henrie. That will be all.” She passed the bottle to Harry who stared at it. “A sip to start us off, yeah?”

Harry grinned and grabbed the bottle, taking a long drag. “At least the whiskey will keep us warm.”

“Alright, Potter. You first.”

Harry reached up to place the blue bauble in his hand on a higher branch of the tree. “Alright, a truth. I didn’t receive a birthday gift until I was twelve.”

Pansy balked and almost dropped the ornament she’d picked up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry shook his head and grabbed another. “Nope,” he said, popping the last sound. “My aunt, uncle, and cousin truly hated me. My cousin and I have slightly moved past it, but we’ll never be bosom buddies.”

“Bosom buddies?” Pansy snorted. “Only old witches are bosom buddies, Potter.”

“Either way,” he said dismissively. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright,” Pansy took a drink before grabbing a silver icicle. “I almost went to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.”

“Really?”

“Really. My mother’s family are from France and with Dumbledore being so… radical…my parents weren’t sure if they wanted me to attend Hogwarts while he was the Headmaster. However, I begged to go to school with my friends, and my father always had a soft spot for me. So they relented.”

Pansy wanted for nothing as a child, except love and affection, and she’d found it with her friends. Draco, Theo, Daphne and Astoria, Greg. They found in each other the solace and comfort that they didn’t receive all that often from their own parents. She wasn’t one to argue with her parents, but argue she did when she learned they were going to send her away to France for her schooling.

Harry levitated another ornament onto a high branch before grabbing the whiskey bottle and taking a sip. “I wasn’t afraid to die.”

Pansy froze in putting the next ornament on the tree, a frosted bauble, not unlike the cursed one already on the tree. “You weren’t?”

She looked over as Harry shook his head. “I had accepted the prophecy and understood that neither could live while the other survived. Then I’d learned about the Horcruxes and when I realized I was one? Well, how does one person say no to saving the entire wizarding world? I couldn’t just walk away. I was willing to die to protect those I loved, just like my parents had.”

Pansy scoffed and snatched the bottle from his grasp. “That was stupid, Potter. Dying isn’t heroic.”

“Saving the world and those I loved was more important than my life!” Harry shot back. “You can’t tell me you thought differently!”

Pansy was about to argue when it hit her. She had felt the same way. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I tried to give you up, too, to save everyone.”

Harry nodded and took a long drag from the bottle before passing it back to her. “I don’t blame you for it, you know? Trying to give me up.”

Pansy took a long drink, relishing in the burn down her throat as the liquid entered her stomach. “You should hate me for it. Even the fucking cursed bauble reminded me of how shitty I was in that moment.”

Harry pressed his lips together and stared at Pansy. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet a few times before he opened his mouth. “You wanted to do the same thing I did, just went about it in a different way,” he chuckled. “It’s like Malfoy taking the Dark Mark. He didn’t want to be loyal to Voldemort,” Pansy flinched at the name, but Harry carried on. “He did it to save those he loved. If you need forgiveness, Pansy, or whatever this bauble needs from you, then I forgive you.”

Pansy was about to say something in return when the bauble glowed from the center of the tree. “What the fuck was that?” She whispered.

“Maybe it’s one less thing to feel guilty over,” Harry suggested.

“Is that all it’s going to take? Apologizing? That seems way too fucking easy.”

“Answer me this. Do Parkinson’s usually apologize?”

“We’re rarely wrong,” Pansy said dryly. “So, no.”

“Maybe that’s it, then. Apologize for your wrongdoings and maybe then the curse will be lifted.” Harry took a step closer to her and Pansy could smell the whiskey on his breath. “It’s okay to apologize, Parkinson. We all make mistakes.”

“Even you?”

“Even me. I’ve made several, trust me. Most of which would have probably killed me if it hadn’t been for Hermione or someone else saving my arse.”

Pansy looked up into his green eyes and saw they were shining like fucking emeralds. Salazar, were they always this bright? “I don’t believe it,” Pansy murmured, not sure if she was turned on or uncomfortable by his closeness.

Harry lifted a hand to graze her cheek. Turned on. She was most definitely turned on.

“We’re done,” he said softly.

“What?” Pansy had zero idea what Boy Wonder was talking about.

“The tree?” He stepped back and gestured at the now fully decorated tree. “I think it’s done. Any more ornaments and it would just look over done.”

Pansy eyed the beautifully, if slightly over decorated tree, and nodded. “Yes, we don’t want a gaudy tree.”

“The horror,” Harry mused.

“Well.” Pansy took a step back, away from Harry, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. For helping me decorate, I mean.”

“It was fun,” Harry grinned, taking a step closer again. He bent his head down and his lips brushed her ear. “Thanks for the apology.”

Pansy shivered as he stepped away, hands shoved in his pockets. “So what do I do then? With the other memories it showed me?”

Harry shrugged. “Ask for forgiveness. It worked with me, didn’t it?”

“I don’t think the others will be as forgiving,” Pansy grimaced.

“Well, you won’t know until you try. Night, Parkinson.”

“Goodnight,” she answered to his retreating back as he made his way to the Floo.

* * *

The next day, Pansy was determined to return her house to the warmth it was before the blasted curse turned it into an arctic tundra. If she had to apologize to people then she was going to start with who she hoped would be the easiest. Longbottom.

However, after staring at her Floo for over thirty minutes, Pansy realized, not for the first time, that she was most definitely not a Gryffindor. Which is how she found herself walking through the halls of the Ministry, in particular, the Auror’s Office, looking for a messy head of black hair.

It took a few turns, a disgruntled secretary, and two wrong doors before she found one with a brass plaque on it, Harry J. Potter, Auror, and rapped her knuckles sharply against the wood. When he didn’t answer right away she knocked again and when he still didn’t answer, she turned the handle.

It opened easily in her hand and she saw why he hadn’t answered – he wasn’t there.

“Well, fuck,” Pansy sighed. She made a face at the robes lying in a heap on the chair across from his desk and with a wave of her wand had them hung up beside the door. Making herself comfortable, she grabbed a report from the desk and began perusing it while she waited.

She was so engrossed with what she was reading – a witch in Pembrokeshire was cursing and obliviating muggles to perform in a play of hers – that she didn’t hear the door open again.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Pansy jumped and slammed the report closed, setting it back on the desk. To her surprise, Harry didn’t look upset, but amused.

“Those are classified, you know.”

“Well,” Pansy said defensively, “you shouldn’t have left them out, then.”

His lips twitched. “You mean on my desk? In my office?”

“Precisely. I’m glad we agree. Anyway, I need your help.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “With? I thought today was your apology day.”

Pansy stopped staring at the way his wand holster was strapped across his chest long enough to blink and look up at Harry’s face when she answered him. “It is, but I’m not a Gryffindor.”

“No, you’re very much a Slytherin,” Harry agreed.

“Which means, I don’t think I can do it.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going to start today?” Harry asked.

Pansy let out a long sigh. “I was going to start with Longbottom, but I stood in front of my Floo for ages and couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Harry held out his hand to her. “Come on, then.”

Pansy stared at his hand like it was diseased. “Come where?”

“To Neville’s, of course. I’ll escort you. Merlin knows I haven’t taken a lunch break in about seven months, so they can afford to miss me for a little bit.” He waggled his fingers at her and Pansy looked at him dubiously.

“I don’t need you to watch me bumble my words and fuck this up, Potter.”

Harry reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling Pansy to her feet. “You’ll do great. Just… don’t be bitchy. Take ownership and express how truly sorry you are. You are sorry, aren’t you?” he asked.

His hand was warm and callused in hers and it was making Pansy’s heart do absurdly fluttery things. “Erm, yes, of course I am.”

“Then it should go swimmingly. Let’s go! He’s probably in one of his greenhouses.”

Harry didn’t let go of her hand as he led her out through the Ministry and Pansy didn’t try to pull hers away. There was something oddly comforting about having her hand in his as he led her to the Floos. When he called out Longbottom’s address, then tugged her into the fire, Pansy felt her stomach begin to tie itself into knots.

The knots only grew as they walked toward the greenhouse Neville’s stern-looking grandmother had pointed to. If she could apologize to Potter, she could apologize to Longbottom. She could do it.

She had to if she didn't want to freeze her nipples off every night.

“Hiya, Harry!” Neville called out as he looked up from where he’d been bending over a plant. He walked forward, brushed his hands on his trousers, and pulled Harry into a hug. “What brings you around these parts? And with… a friend?” Neville phrased the last part as a question and Pansy couldn’t even blame him.

“Pansy here has something she’d like to say to you, that’s all.” Harry reached back and tugged Pansy’s arm, pulling her forward. “Go ahead, Parkinson.”

Pansy took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you at Hogwarts. You never deserved any of that and I was cruel. Especially at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year? Fuck, I was such a nasty little bitch. I still kind of am, I guess, but I’m getting better!”

To her giant surprise, Neville threw back his head and roared with laughter. The wizard didn’t stop for several minutes, finally wiping tears from his eyes as the laughter subsided. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out through his remaining laughs.

“I’m so glad to see you find my apology funny, Longbottom,” Pansy sneered.

“No, no, it’s not that!” He said in a reassuring tone. “It’s just that I’ve had a bet going with Luna on which Slytherin would apologize to us first for being a shitty teenager. I’ll be honest, you were not a top contender.”

Pansy pressed her lips together as Harry laughed next to her. “Who was, then?”

“Theo Nott or Daphne Greengrass.”

“Oh, rubbish,” she scoffed. “I don’t think either of them actually did anything to either of you that they’d need to apologize for.”

“Trust me, they did.”

“Well,” Pansy drawled. “Since I won, does that mean you accept my apology? I really am sorry.”

Nevilled waved a hand at her. “It’s all in the past, Parkinson.”

“Would you mind saying the words? Just as like, a formality?” Pansy wasn’t taking any chances with the cursed bauble.

“Sure. I forgive you.”

“Thanks, Nev!” Harry said cheerily off to the side. “We’re on a bit of an apology tour, so sorry to apologize and run, but…”

“No worries. Stop by again soon, yeah?”

“Absolutely, mate. Let’s go, Pansy,” Harry grabbed her hand and led her out of the greenhouse, and once again, Pansy let him.

“I think that went rather well,” Harry surmised as they walked back to the main house to the Floo.

“Do you…” Pansy trailed off. “Do you think I have to apologize to literally everyone I’ve ever done wrong to? Or just the ones the bauble showed me so far?”

“I’d say just the ones you’ve been shown. Even a cursed object can’t expect you to receive apologies from every single person you’ve wronged. That’s crazy.”

“That fucking bauble is crazy,” Pansy muttered. “I don’t think I’ll get an apology at this next place.”

Harry came to a stop and squeezed her hand. “Do you know where we’re going?”

Pansy nodded. “I looked up the address last night. Archie Kettlewax. He’s a Seventh Year student this year and should be home for the hols.”

“It’s going to be okay, you know that, right?” Harry spoke to her softly, his thumb rubbing the outside of her knuckles.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Pansy asked suddenly, the words out of her mouth before she even had time to process what she was saying.

Harry gave her a crooked smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because I firmly believe that people can change and they aren’t just what their past made them out to be.”

“Hmm, and here I thought it was just because you find me attractive.”

“Well,” Harry gave a wolfish grin, “that does help. C’mon.”

Pansy dragged her feet, but eventually they found themselves standing outside of the front door to Archie Kettlewax’s house. It was very clearly a muggle house, in a muggle neighborhood, and Pansy thought she might throw up in their very muggle bushes. It wasn’t that she was afraid of muggles, or hated them, moreso that she had cursed the son of a muggle. Tortured.

“Deep breaths, yeah?” Harry said in a soothing voice.

Pansy took several deep breaths, willing the nausea away, before stepping onto the front step and giving three smart raps to the door. It opened to show a middle-aged woman and brought the scent of baked goods wafting to the doorway.

“May I help you?”

“Hello, ma’am,” Pansy began. “My name is Pansy Parkinson and I was hoping that I’d be able to –”

“Pansy Parkinson?” The woman’s face turned immediately from one of welcome to one of fury. “You have no business being here! After what you did to my son? Get off my front step!” The woman tried to slam the door shut, but Harry stuck his foot in the door.

“Mrs. Kettlewax? My name is Harry Potter and I really think you should hear what Pansy has to say.”

“Harry Potter? You – you’re the one who – my husband is a wizard, he knows about you!”

Harry had the decency to look abashed. “Yes, that Harry Potter. I’m sure there’s only one of us. Anyway, my friend here would really like to speak with you, if you’d just give her a moment of your time.”

The woman frowned, glaring at Pansy, then opened the door fully. “You have five minutes and I have the right to revoke any of those minutes as I see fit.”

“Understandable,” Pansy agreed. She followed the woman into the house, Harry right behind her, and sat on a very uncomfortable floral couch in the sitting area. She tried very hard to not look all around the room at the muggle devices and focus solely on the woman in front of her.

“Daniel?” The woman called up the stairs. “Daniel, come down here, please!”

A moment later there were footsteps on the floorboards upstairs and then a man came walking warily down them. “Elyse?”

“This is Pansy Parkinson,” the woman, Elyse, spat her last name out and Pansy flinched at the animosity.

The man frowned and sat down next to his wife. “What would you like?”

Pansy looked at Harry, who nodded at her encouragingly, and took a deep breath. “I’ve come here to apologize…for my actions when Archie was a First Year. Is Archie here, by chance? I’d really like to say this to him as well.”

The woman huffed and opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when her husband placed his hand on her leg. “Archie?” He called out.

Right away, a boy, no, a young man, came around the corner and Pansy felt her breath catch. Six years may have passed, but he still held the same round face of the eleven-year-old she tortured. He had the same, chocolate brown eyes that she’d never forget. He was taller, sure, and filled out, his hair was longer – but all Pansy could see was the little boy she held under the Cruciatus.

“Archie, I’m not sure if you remember me, but…”

“Pansy Parkinson. Of course I remember you.” He didn’t sit with his parents, choosing to remain standing next to the sofa. “I never thought I’d see a pureblood at this house,” he said with a wry laugh.

Pansy felt herself flush. “Erm, the reason I’m here, is… well, I want to apologize. For that day. For what I did.”

Archie and his parents didn’t say anything, they just looked at her as if waiting for more.

“I’m so unbelievably sorry for everything that happened that day, Archie. I never, never wanted to do that to you. I swear I didn’t want to, and I don’t know if you remember, but I begged Carrow to not make me do it.”

“I remember,” Archie said softly. “He put you under the Cruciatus for disobeying him. Twice.”

“That is not an excuse!” His mom cried out, half standing before her husband pulled her back to her seat.

Pansy shook her head. “No, no it isn’t an excuse. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I need you to know how sorry I am for that. I will never be able to express how sorry I am, but I have to at least try. That was, by far, the worst day of my life. Having to do that at all, but to a child? I don’t think the nightmares will ever fully go away.”

“And they shouldn’t,” Archie’s mother snapped. “What you did –”

“I forgive you,” Archie said softly, so softly Pansy didn’t hear him at first.

“What?” She asked, heart racing.

“I forgive you,” he repeated. “That was the worst possible experience of my entire life, being put under the Cruciatus. Yet… I’ve never blamed you, Pansy.”

“You didn’t?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You were doing what all of us were that year…just trying to survive. If one small hit of a Cruciatus on me is what it took to stop Carrow from using it on you, again? I’d have done the same thing. Besides, what if you hadn’t done it and Carrow had? It could have been so much worse. Honestly, thank you.”

Pansy felt the burn of tears in her eyes and blinked quickly to get rid of them. The last thing she needed was to bloody cry in front of a kid she’d tortured and his parents. “Are you sure?”

“Pansy,” Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Archie smiled and held out his hand. “Forgiven.”

Pansy reached out and placed her free hand in his as he gave her a firm shake. “Alright then,” she gave a half laugh. “Thank you, for giving me a chance to apologize. I really do mean it.”

“I know you do,” Archie’s dad said from the couch. “Plus, any person sitting next to Harry Potter has to be good in my book. It’s nice to meet you, son. I didn’t know your parents well, different houses and I was several years below them, but I did know of them. Great people.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry stood up and shook the wizard’s hand. “Well, we ought to get going, but thank you for allowing us to intrude upon you during the holidays. I hope you all have a Happy Christmas.”

They said their goodbyes and before she knew it, Pansy was back in her home, Harry at her side, staring at the bauble on the tree in front of her.

“How do we know it worked?”

Harry shrugged. “We could call for Hermione and Malfoy? I think it’s done, though – look.” He pointed at the walls, no longer covered in frost, and to the fire burning merrily in the fireplace.

Pansy reached for the bauble, but pulled her hand back quickly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t touch it, just to be safe.”

“That’s probably wise,” Harry agreed. “Well. It looks like we’ve solved your dilemma with a few days to spare before Christmas, Parkinson.”

“It looks as if we have.”

“Any plans then? For the holiday, I mean.”

Pansy’s lips twitched. “Well, I’ll be at the Malfoy’s Christmas Ball, of course, but Christmas Eve will just be here by myself. It will be nice though, calm and soothing.”

“You could come to the Burrow?” Harry blurted out. “I mean, only if you wanted, of course.”

“The Burrow? You mean the Weasley’s home?” Pansy scrunched up her nose in distaste. “I know I’ve been going through apologies as of late, but I think spending Christmas Eve with the Weasley’s crosses a line.”

“Oh, come on. Even Malfoy’s going to be there with Hermione.”

“Did everyone else know about the two of them besides me?” Pansy stomped her foot. “This is ridiculous.”

“Well it’s not as if they were hiding it,” Harry laughed. “So, what do you say? Come with me?”

“With you, you say? Like, as your guest?”

“Yes, Pansy Parkinson,” Harry rolled his eyes. “As my guest. Come to Christmas Eve.”

Pansy bit her lower lip before relenting. “Fine, but you’ll have to accompany me to the Malfoy Christmas Ball.”

Harry’s face spread into a wide grin as he reached forward and laced their fingers together. “It’s a date.”

Pansy, not to be outdone, reached a hand behind Harry’s neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Best to seal it with a kiss,” she said, before placing her lips against his.

Who knew a cursed Christmas bauble would lead to all of this?