Pansy was already dreading the trip, and it was on the tip of her tongue to back out. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a big rock, and her hands were cold and clammy. Maybe he’d let her put it off until she felt better. The turn of the next century sounded good to her…..
‘Polly isn’t going,’ she said firmly. She could put herself in danger, but she wasn’t risking Polly. Her magic wasn’t a hundred percent up to par because she was nursing, but she had more than she’d had in the late stages of pregnancy. She could protect herself better, now. And Harry would be there.
But Pansy couldn’t look at her baby daughter in the same surroundings in which her father were killed, not without remembering how close she came to losing her that night. And she didn’t think she could handle that.
Pansy sighed. It had been easier when her parents were killed….she hadn’t witnessed it and they had already been buried by the time it was deemed safe enough for her to go back. She didn’t even know exactly how they had died, just that it had been someone they’d known and trusted enough to let through the wards. And even then, they’d been outside the house when it happened, apparently about to apparate or portkey to safety. The Aurors had arranged the burial after they’d finished their initial investigation and had then sealed up the house for several weeks before they’d let her in. She’d only gone long enough to direct the elves in what to pack up to move to Hogsmeade.
If she didn't think she'd be haunted by every Parkinson ancestor who had ever lived in the house, she'd tear the thing down and build a new one.
'When....?' she whispered, hoping he had no immediate plans to drag her out there. Maybe if she kept quiet, he'd forget about her going....