I hope our story has a happier ending

don't let me drown

It's only her second time patrolling with Pansy, but—she doesn't mind at all, really.

They fall into an easy silence as they did the first time, though they both make occasional comments as they come to mind.

They'd both picked up other people's patrol shifts, tonight, as there's a Quidditch match and most of the other Prefects likely hope to partake in post-game festivities, so their lack of interest in the sport is serving as one more point of commonality.

Pansy is—incredibly witty, and clever, and funny in a way so full of fire it reminds her of Ginny, largely. Hermione's started paying more attention to her in class and the Great Hall, and—she keeps to herself, mostly.

(So much so the brunette wonders if she should worry.)

The other girl is in the midst of a story about something idiotic Crabbe did in the Slytherin common room last week when her voice goes suddenly silent, her body freezing stock still.

"What—" Hermione looks over to see the blood gone from her face, panic in her eyes.

(A familiar kind of horror.)

Pansy's lips tremble, but she clenches her jaw, remaining frozen as Roger Davies and a sixth year Gryffindor girl stroll past without glancing at them.

Pansy slumps against the brick wall as soon as the pair have rounded the next corner, her eyes closed.

"Pansy?" Hermione asks tentatively. "Is there—anything I can do?"

The dark haired girl takes a deep breath before re-opening her eyes, straightening. "I-I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Hermione doesn't push, allows it to sink back into silence.

(But the day Pansy had begged to switch patrols—it had been to avoid Ravenclaw Tower.)

(And now she's having a panic attack at the sight of Roger Davies. It doesn't take much guesswork.)

/

"Mia," Harry groans, spitting Hermione's hair out of his mouth after she jerks her head too fast and whacks him with the mass.

"Sorry!" She gives a brief smile before turning back to the fireplace—the one in the RoR they're using to floo call into Order meetings.

They'd tried to get Remus and Professor McGonagall to let them go with them physically, but she'd insisted it would be too suspicious, which—while not wrong, they still hated not being able to actually be at Grimmauld.

There's not much news—McGonagall reveals the newest info from her source (aka Draco), which is just more of the same: the Death Eaters are after the weapon, and it's in the ministry.

(The Order is aware and rotating guard shifts, but they won't disclose the specifics of the what or where within the Ministry it is, which—Hermione has a bad feeling.)

Percy recounts that the Minister is still staunchly denying Voldemort's return—the rumors of his recent strife with his family have done their job, getting him closer to Fudge and other central players. His role has the unfortunate consequence of his not being allowed to be viewed with Tonks (who everyone knows is tight with the Dumbledore/Weasley/old-Light-side gang), but it's a necessary sacrifice—and one the woman in question doesn't mind, claiming that the secrecy is "spicy" and will be a fun story for either kids or nieces and nephews.

"How's ASA going, you two?" Ted asks, making Molly scowl with disproval.

"Well," Harry smiles nervously. "I, er—still feel out of my depth, but all the members are great and everyone's making awesome progress. And I think that's making them do better, too, because they feel more confident and less incapable if the war—yeah."