The Most Impossible Soulbond

Breakdown

It was with a lot of relief when Pansy finally flooed back to the comforting familiarity of Abaty Gwyn, the Parkinson ancestral home. Harry and the Weasleys and that insufferable Granger were all far away in that sorry excuse for a house called the Burrow. Meanwhile, she just allowed herself to let out a deep, deep breath.

Her mother placed a placating hand on her back as they got their bearings after stepping out of the fireplace and into the guest room. "That wasn't so bad now, was it, my sweetness?"

"We didn't kill each other. There's that," Pansy muttered while trying to get rid of the soot stubbornly clinging to her designer robes. She hated floo travel with a passion.

"Our home life would be quite the bore if it weren't for you and your tendency for dramatics," her father said with a chuckle and a kiss on her head.

Pansy huffed, but the small smile still stole itself onto her lips. "I'm not dramatic."

"You are so very dramatic, my little princess."

Her parents then led her to the sitting room, a couple of doors further down the hall towards the foyer, and sat down on their favoured armchairs, as did she.

"Biffy!" her father called out, the little creature appearing immediately with a bow.

"Biffy is ready to serve, Master Parkinson!"

"Tea and dessert."

"At once, Master Parkinson!" the house-elf squeaked before disappearing with a pop.

Her father then sighed heavily and tiredly, leaned back against his armchair, ran his hands over his face and then looked at her expectantly. "How was your time alone with Harry Potter?"

"Quiet, for the most part," Pansy answered with a thoughtful look. "He asked what was expected of him...you might need to sign his permission slip for Hogsmeade, father," she added. "You can do that, right? Because, apparently, his muggle relatives he is staying with won't do it and he won't say why."

"I will speak to Professor Dumbledore about that," her father promised then indicated for her to continue.

Annoyed, she slumped a bit in her armchair at that but sat upright again after her mother cleared her throat and gave her a reproachful look. "There wasn't much else. We didn't talk all that much. But his friends threatened me, just in case I ever thought of hurting the Boy-Who-Lived." She snickered behind a hand covering her mouth.

"The Weasleys do appear quite fond of him, don't they?" her mother mused. "Does he have troubles with those muggle relatives of his? Not that it is any of our business, but one cannot help but wonder."

"As you said, Peony, it isn't any of our business." Turning his attention to her with a pointed look, her father raised a brow. "I hope you do not plan on pressuring him about this issue."

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Pansy?" Her father took that tone with her.

"Fine. Not like he's telling me anything."

"Of course communication will be difficult at first, sweetheart," her mother tried to placate her.

"With him, it's not just difficult, though! It's frustrating! He won't tell me anything at all and he knows how to keep me out of his head, but won't even show me the basic decency and explain how!" she complained. It felt good to vent.

"Have you asked him?" her father offered.

Pansy scoffed. "I shouldn't have to! Besides," she continued, "with this stupid bond he should know anyway! He can keep all the secrets he wants, but I know – I just know – that he knows all there is about me."