What is so important to you that without it, life would not be worth living? Why?
Outside, the world is crashing down. The time has come for every witch and wizard to prove their worth and become masters of their own fates in glorious battle.
Pansy Parkinson sits at home, watching the rain pour down the window. Somewhere out there, historic things are happening and she is doing her part. Dinner is ready and waiting for husband, if and whenever he should come home. The house elves have been instructed and managed strictly, with just the right number of kicks to keep them effective but not disabled.
The situation hasn’t looked well for the Death Eaters lately. They’ve suffered many loses and casualties. Three of their covert locations had been ambushed in the last month, and every time Pansy sat listening to the events on the wireless, silent and breathless, as first the valiant efforts of the Order where endlessly chronicled, and then finally the list of captured, injured, dead.
This night has been quiet, but Pansy knows better than to consider that a blessing. She hugs the silk pillow closer to her chest; the room is growing colder as the evening deepens.
She will sit all night by the window, waiting for the sound of a door or an apparition’s pop, yet despair will never seduce her.
Pansy has hope, after all.
Pansy Parkinson sits at home, watching the rain pour down the window. Somewhere out there, historic things are happening and she is doing her part. Dinner is ready and waiting for husband, if and whenever he should come home. The house elves have been instructed and managed strictly, with just the right number of kicks to keep them effective but not disabled.
The situation hasn’t looked well for the Death Eaters lately. They’ve suffered many loses and casualties. Three of their covert locations had been ambushed in the last month, and every time Pansy sat listening to the events on the wireless, silent and breathless, as first the valiant efforts of the Order where endlessly chronicled, and then finally the list of captured, injured, dead.
This night has been quiet, but Pansy knows better than to consider that a blessing. She hugs the silk pillow closer to her chest; the room is growing colder as the evening deepens.
She will sit all night by the window, waiting for the sound of a door or an apparition’s pop, yet despair will never seduce her.
Pansy has hope, after all.