Pansy glared at the townhouse.  She'd stomped her way up the steps in a way that left Hermione staring in begrudging admiration.  If someone had told her a person could stomp in stilettos she would have called them a liar, but, clearly, Pansy could.  More, she knew far too well that Pansy wasn't wholly back to her usual self.   Her contact with Harry might have eased away the things that stabbed and the things that burned, but aches took longer to fade.  She still felt weak.  She still felt woozy.  You wouldn't know it to watch her, however.  She strode in her heels and she stomped up the steps almost as if she dared anyone to question her.