Goyle started to reach down for Pansy—she was still sprawled on the grass—but one sharp look from Blaise stopped him cold.
"Leave her," Blaise murmured.
"But she's still a Parkinson…" Goyle muttered, confused, yet he let go at once.
Pansy dropped back to the ground with a dull thud, still out cold.
Blaise gave a low, mocking chuckle. "Didn't you catch the look on our young master's face? Anyone who touches Pansy right now is asking to be dead meat."
His gaze flicked to Estelle's small, frowning face, and something sharp flashed in his eyes.
"Pansy! Pansy!"
"Merlin's beard, why is she on the ground?!"
The loud, frantic voices of a man and woman cut through the noise by the lake. Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Well, looks like we don't have to lift a finger now."
Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson had spotted their daughter lying unconscious in the middle of the chaos and were pushing through the crowd toward her. Trailing right behind them came Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, followed by the Malfoys.
The moment Lucius's eyes landed on Draco carefully supporting Estelle, his pale brows shot upward.
"Father!"
Draco's whole face lit up at the sight of his parents, but his hands stayed gentle as he guided Estelle over. The two children slipped behind Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy like they belonged there.
"Mother, look at Stelle—her arm!" Draco blurted, words tumbling out like gunfire. "Pansy did it! But Mammon got revenge for her—he swatted Pansy out cold with one paw!"
Narcissa's eyes filled with instant worry. She knelt and gently turned Estelle's arm to inspect the bruise, then leaned in close, voice soft and soothing. "It's all right, darling. I'll get my wand and fix it in a moment." She pulled the little girl into a warm, perfumed embrace.
Estelle had never been handled so roughly before; tears had been threatening all afternoon. But the second she sank into Aunt Narcissa's soft, lavender-scented hold, her mind went blissfully blank.
Mmm… so big and warm and safe.
She blinked, then shyly wrapped her uninjured arm around Narcissa and gave her back a couple of awkward, grown-up pats. "Aunt Narcissa, don't be sad. Stelle will be better soon."
The tenderness in Narcissa's gaze nearly overflowed.
Lucius's eyes lingered on the ugly bruise for a long second before sliding to his son. "Draco," he said, voice low and icy, "you were supposed to protect her."
The little dragon wilted on the spot, head hanging. "I… I know, Father."
"She really knows how to play both sides," Blaise muttered under his breath, clicking his tongue.
Theodore followed his gaze. Daphne stood a short distance away, holding Astoria's hand, watching everything with that carefully neutral expression. Of course she'd been the one to fetch Pansy's parents and the Malfoys—smart enough to stay on everyone's good side.
"Pansy! Wake up—what on earth happened?!"
Fiona Parkinson cradled her daughter, voice tight with worry but carefully polite; no one dared snap at the hosts of the Malfoy banquet.
"Enervate!"
Hector Parkinson's hand shook slightly as he cast the reviving charm. Pansy didn't look badly hurt, just dazed.
"Mmm…" She stirred, eyelids fluttering open to a sea of staring faces. The most striking was Lucius Malfoy's gleaming platinum hair.
The memory slammed back. Pansy's eyes widened in horror. "Uncle Lucius! Bellin is a freak! I saw—she—"
"Mmmph!"
Her mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. She glared furiously at her father, body going rigid.
Hector's jaw clenched. "Pansy Parkinson, what utter nonsense are you spouting? Do you want to be locked in your room until you learn some sense?"
He knew exactly how dangerous it was to speak ill of Lucius Malfoy's god-daughter in public.
"I believe Miss Parkinson is still not quite herself," Lucius said, his thin smile never reaching his eyes. The words were courteous; the tone was pure ice. "Perhaps she owes an immediate apology to my god-daughter for the entirely unprovoked attack?"
Pansy trembled, eyes wide with fear.
"Pansy," her father hissed, "if you say one more word—"
"I'll lift the spell, but you will apologise to Miss Bellin right now. Do you understand me?"
Listening to her parents' low, urgent scolding, Pansy felt tears prick her eyes. She nodded frantically, terrified that one wrong word could bring the entire Parkinson family down.
A few feet away, Estelle's head was starting to spin. The familiar dizzy, restless feeling had been creeping up on her all day—she should have realised. Her skin hunger had arrived three days early this month.
The itch under her ribs grew unbearable. Her cheeks flushed hot; a tiny, helpless whimper escaped as she instinctively pressed closer to the nearest source of warmth.
Draco reacted instantly, steadying her waist, but he couldn't stop her soft cheek from nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
His ears burned scarlet.
Estelle, half-conscious and desperate, only wanted to burrow into that familiar apple-and-cedar scent. Her lips found the warm skin just behind his ear and brushed against it.
The wet little touch froze Draco solid.
Is… is she treating my earlobe like a piece of jelly?
Over the past few months her episodes had never come early, so he'd always had the inhibitor ready. Nothing like this—nothing like being wrapped up by a completely unaware little girl who was clinging as if her life depended on it.
"Mmm…" Estelle whimpered again, arms tightening.
Lucius and Narcissa had been watching her closely the whole time. They noticed the change at once.
"Draco—the inhibitor," Lucius said, voice low and urgent.
The command snapped Draco out of his daze. He fumbled in his tailcoat pocket, pulled out the small vial, and gently pried one of Estelle's arms free while still supporting her back. With zero regard for dignity, he bit the cork off and tipped the pale green potion—smelling faintly of fresh grass—between her parted lips.
At the same moment, Pansy's silencing charm dissolved.
"Pansy, apologise to Miss Bellin. Now."
Pansy swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "Miss Bellin… please forgive my rashness. I'm sorry." Her voice sounded sincere enough, but her gaze kept darting behind Lucius, trying to see past the broad black overcoat.
They… they wouldn't actually be embracing in public, would they?
She bit her lip so hard it went white.