This is a companion one shot to Salvation. It is about the relationship between Pansy Parkinson, who is confined to St. Mungo's, and Blaise Zabini, her husband. This is my first one shot, so let me know what you think.

Sunday

She exists in that half-life of madness and unreality between Sundays, a lavender grey twilight Most of the week the voices in the dark gibber and whisper foul things that she comprehends only too well, after that Night of Darkness. So long ago, in another life, she had been a girl and there had been no monsters. Only him. He was brown. She looks at her stomach. It's large with child and it moves. She wonders what it looks like. It feels like a pollywog. It moves again, and she wonders if it will be green when it comes out.

Then, he is there. The one she married to escape the Night of Darkness, and the twilight recedes. His skin is like the earth and he radiates light. She jumps to her feet, happy to see him, her husband. His smile warms her. His name is Blaise and he gave her the pollywog in her belly, and she loves him. She is Pansy and it is Sunday, the day she comes alive.

He scoops her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers, letting his breath mingle with hers. His eyes are brown and concerned, somehow these two are linked in her mind along with love. “Darling, are you having a good day?”

She breathes in his scent, one of excitement and brown. “Always when you're here.”

Her mind clears more when he brings out the shrine and they meditate in front of the Buddha and the Celestial Mother. He burns the joss sticks as he has been told, and she breathes, in out in out until her world is the breath and the brown and the little figure of the Buddha. Once done, they eat. It is Sunday, and he is the Brown that she loves. “I know, you know. I remember when we could love each other without the twilight coming between us.”

He smiles, truly happy at her pronouncement if she can judge by the strength of the light he radiates. “Yes, and we can have that again after you have the baby.”

It moves and she jumps, remembering how green it might be. “Do you think it has a tail?”

“Hmm?” He hums then grimaces, as if remembering the ugliness. “No, darling, remember when we talked last week? You are having a baby, not a frog. A human baby.”

“Oh.” She knows this as he says it, but teases anyway, “But if it is a frog, he might have a princess waiting.”

He knows the game now, and kisses her. “You're the only princess I need. Am I a frog?”

“Let me kiss you and see.” She uses the slyness of the mad to have her way. He slides his arm around her and soon more than their breathing mingles.

After they end, he whispers. “You know I love you.”

“I love you too. I always have.” Pansy is her name and she says it in her head. She remembers when he's here. They play at being married, little bickers, little annoyances, love and a child they both want, even if she can't remember what it will be when it comes out.

Then.

The afternoon wears to night and the lavender-grey twilight descends again. He is leaving and the madness comes. It is inevitable. It always does. Her Sunday is gone until the frogling is born.

Whether it comes out green or brown, she'll always love them both.

AN: Please Review. That's all I ask.