Chapter 6Notes:The reaction to the last chapter was so wonderful. I'm blown away, and I'm blaming all of you and your amazing feedback for the increasing length of these chapters. I couldn't be more delighted that you're all on this slow burn journey with me, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text"Merlin. What happened to you?"
Pansy, who has been sitting alone at the very end of the Slytherin table with her eyes closed and her head propped up in her hands, manages to drag her heavy lids open. She squints against the light in the Great Hall to find Daphne standing before her with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow (most likely the remnants of an early morning run) and concern in her eyes.
"Late night," Pansy manages to mutter, closing her eyes again.
She hears both Daphne's hum and the soft thump of a bag hitting the floor. "Well, you look atrocious," Daphne says.
Pansy groans and sits up, rubbing at her eyes and fighting against the almost overwhelming urge to put her head down on the table for a quick nap. "You're too kind," she manages to grumble, watching as Daphne begins to load her plate with baked beans and sausage.
"I'm sorry. I mean, you're obviously still better looking than everyone at this school. Present company excluded, of course," Daphne says with a wink. "But you look like you're half dead."
"Feel like it, too," Pansy says, stifling a massive yawn.
"And I can't even remember the last time I saw you without eyeliner," Daphne continues, paying no attention to Pansy's interjection. "I was beginning to think you just had it tattooed on."
Pansy lifts a hand to her eyes self-consciously. "I brought it with me. I was going to do it before class, but if you can't handle being in the company of a troll that long, I can do it now."
Daphne shakes her head as she spreads strawberry jam on a piece of toast. "I'm no stranger to the company of trolls. I spent a considerable amount of time sleeping with Blaise, remember?"
Pansy snorts weakly as she reaches for her coffee. She usually drinks tea in the morning, but today, she's making an exception. Because today, Pansy is tired.
No. That's a colossal understatement—Pansy is fucking exhausted.
She had only clocked three hours of sleep last night, and honestly, she's surprised she managed that. It had taken absolute ages for Pansy to finally settle down after the attempted attack on Hermione. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so fucking terrified, and had there been any doubts still lingering in her mind as to whether or not her feelings for Hermione would ever be as strong as her feelings for Robin, her reaction had certainly put them to rest. And even hours after the attack, when her heart had finally stopped feeling like it was going to explode from her chest, she still hadn't been able to sleep. She had laid awake, replaying the events of the night, plagued by useless what ifs.
What if Hermione had noticed the reckless panic in her eyes?
What if the rumor spread that she was a blood-traitor?
What if she had finished her rounds just a few minutes earlier?
She knows the answer to that question—she would have returned to the dungeons, climbed into bed, and waited patiently for Hermione's nightly message. But the message never would have arrived because Hermione would have been at the mercy of two abhorrent, repulsive fourth-years who never should have been trusted with wands in the first place. Merlin only knows how long they would have tortured her. And Merlin only knows how long it would have taken someone to find her, lying there broken and bleeding on the cold steps.
The image of Hermione being tortured at the wands of Baddock and Montague had looped over and over in her mind as she laid in bed, and it was so horribly vivid that Pansy had to remind herself multiple times that she hadn't finished her rounds early. She had been there to save Hermione, and the Gryffindor was currently fast asleep, safe in her own bed.
Her paltry reassurances hadn't helped her sleep, though. Because each time she tried, the loop would morph into a different, more familiar scene—petrified green eyes, a blood stained face, her father's cold voice. And even when she had eventually managed to fall into a fitful, shallow sleep, her dreams somehow managed to blend both events together in a horrifying, endless nightmare—Hermione on her dining room floor, terror in her hazel eyes, Pansy's father's wand trained on her. Her aunt pinned down by Montague while Baddock cast curse after curse at her. Glassy, empty eyes, staring at Pansy, sometimes green, sometimes hazel, always lifeless.
Pansy had awoke from the nightmare in a cold sweat, tangled in her bedsheets and gasping for breath. And even though it had still been absurdly early in the morning—the rest of her dorm was still sleeping—she had decided to stay awake for the rest of the night, rather than risk the nightmarish scene again.
Which was of course why she now found herself half-awake at the breakfast table, wondering if it was worth begging Madam Pomfrey on bended knee for a draught of Wideye Potion before class.
"So out of curiosity, would your late night have anything to do with that?" Daphne asks, pulling Pansy away from her thoughts with a nod toward the Slytherin hourglass, nestled in the far corner of the Great Hall.
Pansy glances over her shoulder at it with a wince. Yesterday evening, the hourglass had been filled with sparkling emeralds, proudly declaring to the entire school that Slytherin was in first place in the race for the House Cup.
Today, it's been decimated.
The one-hundred and fifty points Pansy took from Montague and Baddock last night would have been enough to notice a difference, but it's clear that Hermione had also taken a considerable amount of points from the boys. And while Pansy may be tired, she's not deaf. She's heard the outraged remarks from her fellow Slytherins, all wondering how the bloody hell they had managed to lose two-hundred and fifty points in one night. But Pansy's not stupid, either—there's no way she's telling anyone she played a massive hand in the deduction.
Well…anyone other than Daphne, of course.
"It…may be connected," Pansy says. She takes another sip of her coffee, then glances around to make sure no one is listening. "Montague and Baddock were expelled last night," she murmurs, keeping her voice as low as she can manage.
Daphne's eyes widen and her hands freeze over her food. "Expelled?" she repeats, astonished. "Why? What happened?"
"They tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Granger."
Somehow, Daphne's eyes grow impossibly wider. "No," she says, shaking her head slowly. "No, you're not serious."
Pansy nods. "Her back was turned. The foul gits thought they'd take her by surprise," she says, rancor filling her voice as her hand tightens around her mug.
"Merlin…" Daphne says quietly, shaking her head. "I've always hated Baddock. Fucking entitled little prick. But I never thought he'd…" she trails off, then looks up swiftly at Pansy. "Was she hurt? Granger, I mean, was she…?" she asks with genuine concern in her eyes.
"No. No, she's okay."
"Thank Merlin," Daphne breathes. But then, a small frown flutters to her face and she puts down her silverware. "Hang on…you said her back was turned?"
Pansy hums in acknowledgment, and Daphne's frown deepens. "I don't understand. If her back was turned, how on earth is she okay?"
Pansy runs her finger over the rim of her coffee mug, trying to delay the inevitable and merciless teasing she's about to endure. Finally, she says, "I…may have protected her."
Daphne raises an eyebrow. "You may have protected her?" she repeats slowly.
"I did protect her," Pansy says, flushing as a slow grin starts to spread over Daphne's face.
"Well, well, well. Who'd have thought? Pansy Parkinson, dashing hero to damsels in distress."
"Fuck off," Pansy mutters, abandoning her coffee for the time being and reaching for her bag. She roots around inside, searching for her eyeliner and a mirror. Once her hand closes over what she needs, she pulls both items out and tosses her bag back to the floor.
"Well, not damsels in distress. Just the one damsel," Daphne says with a knowing smile.
"Fuck off," Pansy grumbles, flicking open the mirror. She glances at the purplish shadows under her eyes with a small wince, then she begins to expertly apply her standard winged eyeliner. Once she's done, she examines both sides closely, then gives a satisfied nod. At least she doesn't look half dead anymore. Now, she only looks about a quarter dead.
"I have to say, I didn't think you were taking operation Woo the Pants Off Granger seriously, but saving her from torture?" Daphne whistles. "That's next level wooing, Pans."
"I despise everything about you," Pansy says crisply, snapping the mirror closed and tossing it back in her bag, along with her makeup.
"So what happened after?" Daphne asks, ignoring Pansy completely. "Did she swoon? Or better yet, did she snog you in the hallways to show you her appreciation?"
Pansy looks around quickly to make sure no one is listening to their conversation. Daphne must notice her glance, because she scoffs. "Oh please, no one is listening to us. Everyone's too busy moaning about house points, which means you're free to tell me all the scandalous details."
"There are no scandalous details," Pansy says with a small glare. "Nothing happened. She thanked me, we talked a bit, then we said goodnight. That's all."
"You talked a bit? Adorable," Daphne says, picking her fork back up and spearing a sausage. "If only you had offered to walk her back to her common room. Then you'd really be her hero," she adds with a smirk.
Pansy's face must turn bright red, because Daphne's eyes begin to sparkle. "Pansy. You didn't," she says with a delighted smirk.
"I…it was late! And need I remind you, she had almost been tortured," Pansy hisses, her glare turning murderous as Daphne's smirk morphs into a broad grin.
"And here I thought I'd have to teach you how to woo. Looks like I could stand to take lessons from you."
"Oh, piss off," Pansy grumbles, reaching for a piece of toast and furiously ripping it in half.
"So what did you talk about?"
Pansy rips one of the halves of toast into a smaller pieces. "I don't think I should tell you anything anymore," she grumbles, squeezing a tiny piece of toast in her fist.
"Oh, don't be like that. Look, I'll be on my best behavior. Promise," Daphne says. She reaches for her tea and takes a sip, then she places the mug back on the table and folds her hands in her lap, waiting patiently for Pansy to speak.
Pansy rolls her eyes, but finds herself relenting. She does want to talk about this, even if telling Daphne is akin to telling Peeves—neither will take it seriously, and they both make Pansy want to bash her head against the wall. "Fine. But if you make even one shit comment…" Pansy says, raising a threatening eyebrow.
Daphne mimes zipping her lips, and Pansy relaxes a bit. She idly fidgets with the crushed toast in her hand and stares at the table, trying to remember everything they had discussed last night. "I…I suppose we…or rather, she…or, no, hang on…I think it was me…"
Daphne unzips her lips. "Had I realized this would be a shit story, I wouldn't have promised not to make shit comments."
Pansy glares at her. "I'm trying to remember!"
"Well, remember faster. Merlin, at the rate you're going, we'll be done with seventh year before you manage a full sentence."
Pansy shakes her head, then exhales sharply. "She asked me why I was so hard on them. Baddock and Montague."
"Because you want to shag her," Daphne says matter-of-factly with a serious nod.
"Daphne! What did you just promise?" Pansy asks, dropping the mangled toast pieces onto her plate in exasperation.
"I promised no shit comments. I didn't think telling the truth fell under shit comments. My mistake," Daphne says lightly. "But anyway…you were saying?"
Pansy rolls her eyes at Daphne's antics. "I was saying, she wanted to know why I was hard on them. She didn't expect me to take house points or offer my account to Snape and Dumbledore." Pansy pauses, then says, "and I may have cursed Baddock."
"You what?" Daphne asks in stunned delight.
"He wouldn't stop talking," Pansy says with a shrug. "So I used Oscausi."
"In front of Granger? I'm surprised she didn't take house points from you. Or did she? Is that why our hourglass is so bloody low?"
Pansy snorts. "No, she didn't do anything to stop it. But when I refused to reverse it, she stepped in. Not for Baddock's sake, though. She seemed worried that Imight get in trouble," Pansy says, remembering the distress in Hermione's gaze. She also remembers the soft, concerned way Hermione had murmured her name, her first name, and how it had made something strange and intoxicating flood Pansy's entire body. If she's being honest, she's desperate to hear her name fall from Hermione's lips again and again and again.
But she's not bringing that up to Daphne.
"So she's worried about you now? That's a step in the right direction," Daphne says before taking another bite of her toast.
"She…" Pansy frowns, remembering the way Hermione had looked at her after she had disclosed some of her father's parenting methods. "Yes. I think she was concerned. I…I may have mentioned some things about my father," she adds, noticing the moment Daphne's eyes snap to her face.
"You did?" she asks, seeming stunned. Daphne knows all about Pansy's father, and has expressed her vehement hatred toward him on multiple occasions. "That's…Merlin, that's huge, Pans."
Pansy shrugs. "I didn't go into detail, but I think it may have helped to garner some sympathy for my cause." She takes another long sip from her now lukewarm coffee. "She asked me about forgiveness," she adds, as casually as she can manage.
"She did?"
Pansy hesitates. "Well…she asked parchment me about forgiveness," she says, growing a bit warm under Daphne's steady gaze.
It's not exactly something she's proud of, but last night, when Hermione had mentioned her via the parchment for the first time, she had felt a stupid, selfish need to dig a little deeper. To be honest, she wanted to find out exactly what she was up against. Did Hermione still hate her as much as she used to? Was there any part of her that was starting to view Pansy differently? And was there any chance that they could one day be…friends?
It's still surprising how desperately Pansy wants that to happen, but she's done being embarrassed by her feelings. Because she does want to be friends. More than anything.
(Well, not more than anything. She'd obviously like to be a bit more than friends, but she's going to respect Hermione's boundaries, even if it destroys her.)
The change hadn't been immediate, per se, but it had certainly happened faster than Pansy had expected. She thought she'd need more time to adjust to the thought of Hermione and Robin being the same person. She figured it would take weeks, months, perhaps even years.
It took about four days.
The first few days post-realization had been tricky, of course. Not only had Hermione been deeply suspicious of her altered behavior, but Pansy had still occasionally found herself gritting her teeth to keep heated, stinging replies from slipping past her lips. Feelings or not, there was still no one who could get under Pansy's skin as quickly and easily as Hermione Granger.
But the more Pansy had fought to stay neutral and calm around Hermione, the less confrontations they had managed to find themselves in. And the less confrontations they had, the more they seemed to find themselves in some strange, tenuous place of peace. There were even times when Pansy would mutter something under her breath and Hermione's lips would subtly twitch at the dry commentary. It was these moments that continued to fuel her newfound quest to be a halfway decent person to Hermione. And now, a few weeks into her experiment, Pansy is seeing more flashes of her Robin in Hermione than ever before. And Merlin, does she love it.
Had anyone told Pansy a month ago that she'd actually be looking forward to the time she spends with Hermione in Potions, she'd have thought they were positively barmy. But somehow, against all odds, it's true. Potions has become her favorite class of the day and attempting to make Hermione smile has become her favorite pastime. And what's more, it doesn't seem entirely one-sided—as of late, Hermione has been less prickly and less prone to anger. Her lips twitch more often, her words are less laced with suspicion, and she's stopped flinching every time Pansy makes a sudden movement. And perhaps the biggest indicator that something was shifting between them happened last night, after Pansy had saved her from the Cruciatus Curse. When all was said and done, Hermione had looked at her strangely, almost as if she was seeing her in a completely new light. Her eyes had been open and curious and something had felt…different between them. Wonderfully different.
So it was only natural that when Hermione had brought her up that night in their messages, she hadn't been able to ignore the burning curiosity ignited by that moment.
She feels badly about it now, of course. Because she had made a promise to herself to not use the parchment in any way that may be viewed as manipulative, but when the opportunity arose, she conveniently managed to "forget" that promise. Though she hadn't been manipulative…not really. Because she hadn't told Hermione to forgive her. She had simply spelled out the things Hermione already knew, and told her to do what was in her best interests.
That wasn't that bad…was it?
"Let me get this straight," Daphne says slowly, drawing Pansy back to the present moment. "Granger asked you…for your advice…on whether or not she should forgive…you."
Pansy flushes. When she hears it spelled out like that, it doesn't sound great. "I…yes, that's more or less it," she mutters, refreshing her coffee to give her twitchy hands something to do. "But for what it's worth, I didn't say she should forgive me. I told her she should never forgive out of obligation."
Daphne snorts. "Oh, how wonderfully noble of you. No, really!" she says lightly, ignoring Pansy's dark look. "Perhaps they'll erect a statue of you somewhere on campus—a monument to the most selfless, altruistic witch of our times."
"Why do I tell you anything," Pansy grumbles into her mug.
Daphne shrugs as she wipes off her mouth. "Search me," she says. Then, she tilts her head and studies Pansy thoughtfully. "But really…do you think Granger is genuinely considering forgiving you?"
Pansy hesitates as she swallows the last of the bitter dark roast. "I…I'm not sure. I think so? She's certainly noticed a change in me," she adds, gently running a finger over the mug's handle as she speaks.
"Helps that you're not being a massive twat to her anymore."
Pansy rolls her eyes. "I suppose so. But she thanked me this morning for my message. Parchment-me, I mean. And she said she'd consider what I said, so…" Pansy shrugs. "I don't know where she'll land."
"Well, at least she had an impartial and unbiased person helping her sort things out," Daphne says with an arched eyebrow.
Pansy glowers, but before she can reply, Daphne says, "so the two-hundred and fifty points we lost? Was that all you?"
"No," Pansy says with a small shake of her head. "I only took one-hundred and fifty. The other hundred were from Granger, I'd assume."
"You realize if anyone finds out, you'll be the most reviled Slytherin of all time?"
Pansy raises an eyebrow. "Do you care?" she asks.
Daphne waves a dismissive hand "Merlin, no! You know how I feel about the House Cup."
"Well, you're the only Slytherin whose opinion I care about, so…" she shrugs. "It doesn't really matter what the rest of them think."
Daphne smiles at Pansy, then glances toward the hourglasses with narrowed eyes. "I don't know why anyone is upset in the first place. The whole thing is so bloody arbitrary. Slytherin could be in the lead by two-hundred points, but if Dumbledore decides he likes the way Potter combed his hair that morning, then boom. Two-hundred and one points to Gryffindor. Complete and utter rubbish."
Pansy nods absently, but Daphne isn't done yet.
"And if this school was serious about inter-house unity," she continues, pitching her voice up to sound more like McGonagall, "they wouldn't waste their time mucking about with magical parchment. They'd get rid of the bloody competition that pits students against each other and by the very nature of its existence fuels inter-house rivalries. Merlin, they'd get rid of the houses altogether! They're detrimental and inane." She huffs a frustrated sigh, then catches Pansy's very amused gaze and says, "…what?"
"Nothing. Just…some very strong feelings you've got there."
"Oh, I'm just annoyed that this is all we're going to hear about for the rest of the school year," she says, glaring at the hourglasses once more. Then she deflates a bit and reaches for her tea. "But all things considered, I suppose I wouldn't change it. After all, the whole mucking about with magical parchment thing worked out for you, didn't it?" Daphne adds with a smirk before draining her mug.
"That remains to be seen," Pansy says as she gathers her bag from the floor. Both the coffee and the knowledge that she's about to spend an hour with Hermione have given her the smallest bit of energy, and she manages to stand up without immediately wanting to sit back down. "Ready?"
Daphne nods, collects her own belongings, and stands. But before they're able to make any movement toward the main doors, someone clears their throat.
"Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy turns to find Professor McGonagall, gazing at her over her glasses.
"Erm…yes?" Pansy says stupidly, wondering if she's done something to get in trouble. She quickly casts her mind back over the past few days, but the only thing that stands out is the Oscausi she used on Baddock. She doubts Hermione mentioned it, but perhaps Baddock ratted her out after she left him to Dumbledore and Snape's mercies.
"A moment of your time, please," Professor McGonagall says, sounding serious.
Oh bloody hell. Is she about to be expelled, too? Three Slytherins in one go has to be a record.
Pansy slowly nods, then glances over at Daphne. "Go on without me," she says, shrugging slightly when Daphne gives her a curious look.
"Right, then. I'll suppose I'll see you in class," Daphne says, backing away toward the main doors, her eyes flicking between Pansy and McGonagall.
Pansy gives her a small wave and turns to follow Professor McGonagall. She's taken about four steps before something occurs to her.
"Professor? I forgot to tell Daphne something, may I…?"
Professor McGonagall stops walking and gives her a curt nod, and Pansy quickly rushes after Daphne.
"Daph! Daph!" she whispers as she approaches. "Can you do me a favor?"
Daphne turns and raises an eyebrow, waiting to hear what Pansy wants. Pansy takes a step forward and lowers her voice. "When you get to Potions, would you mind picking up the pewter cauldron with the scrollwork on the base and putting it on my table?"
Daphne's eyes narrow. "Why? You know that's my favorite cauldron," she says suspiciously.
"I know, but…" Pansy trails off, and rubs her neck, trying to fight against the flush on her cheeks. Daphne must notice it though, if her sudden, massive eye roll is any indication.
"Oh, Merlin. I forgot. It's her favorite too, isn't it? She always glares at me anytime I end up with it." Daphne heaves a huge, theatrical sigh, as if she's the most put upon woman in the entire school, then says, "fine. I suppose if it'll help with operation Woo the—"
Pansy smacks Daphne's arm. "Will you shut up?" she mutters, hoping no one at the Slytherin table is listening.
Daphne grins wickedly. "Never, darling. But I'll get your cauldron. Honestly, the sacrifices I make for you…" she says, walking backwards toward the doors.
"You're a martyr," Pansy replies dryly. "Perhaps if you're lucky, they'll erect a statue of you next to the one of me."
Daphne shakes her head with an amused smile, then gives her a wave and turns, setting off toward Potions. Pansy turns and hurries back toward Professor McGonagall, who watches her approach with a raised eyebrow.
"Is everything alright?" Professor McGonagall asks.
"Yes, sorry. Just had to sort something out before Potions."
Professor McGonagall nods, then turns, headed toward the owl lectern at the front of the Great Hall. Pansy follows her, absently glancing toward the lectern as she walks.
When she sees that Hermione is already standing beside it, patiently watching their approach, she almost stumbles over her own feet.
Before Pansy can open her mouth to ask any of the dozens of questions that spring into her mind, they arrive in front of the lectern and Professor McGonagall turns to face both of them.
"I know you both have a class to get to, so I won't keep you long," Professor McGonagall says, clasping her hands in front of her. "But in light of the attempted attack on Miss Granger last night, the faculty have decided it would be in the best interest of the students on patrol if they did their shifts in pairs. So starting next week through the end of the year, the Head Boy and Girl and all prefects will patrol with a partner."
Pansy raises her eyebrows in surprise and glances at Hermione properly for the first time. She looks a bit tired and Pansy's notices that she's not the only one sporting dark bags under her eyes this morning. But in addition to the bags, Hermione's also sporting a puzzled frown. "But there wouldn't be enough prefects for that," she says. "It would leave too many hallways unmonitored."
"Faculty members will be patrolling all hallways left without a prefect presence. We'll be taking shifts to ensure the safety of all students and no part of the castle will be unmanned, I assure you."
"Oh," Hermione says. "Well…I suppose that's a prudent decision," she murmurs. "Though perhaps it's unnecessary? I won't leave myself open for attack in the future. I shouldn't have last night, I know, I just…"
"Miss Granger, this has nothing to do with your skill level or your competency, both of which rank among the finest of any student I've ever had the pleasure of teaching. It's simply a matter of making sure all students are safe."
"Yes, but if it inconveniences the faculty…"
"It doesn't," Professor McGonagall says, calmly cutting her off. "We've been discussing prefects patrolling in pairs for quite some time now. The attack last night was simply the impetus we needed to put the plan into motion."
Hermione fidgets beside Pansy, but doesn't say anything. Pansy can tell she's uncomfortable and feeling like she's let McGonagall down, and she desperately wants to reach out to her, to comfort her and tell her that's not true. She wants to repeat the words she had penned last night and erase the doubts that are clouding Hermione's mind.
Instead, she looks down at the floor and clasps her hands behind her back, waiting for McGonagall to continue.
"Now as for your partners," Professor McGonagall says. "I believe you and Miss Parkinson are on Tuesday and Thursday night patrols, correct? The second and third floors?"
Pansy and Hermione both nod.
"For the sake of an easy transition, we had you two partnered together. But upon further reflection, I thought it might be wise to give you a choice. I know the two of you have a…a complicated history," Professor McGonagall says tactfully, and Pansy somehow controls the urge to snort at the gross understatement. "Normally, I'd expect you to look past your differences and work together," she continues. "But considering there are so few remaining weeks in the school year, I'm willing to make an exception. So if your history would put either of you in danger during your patrols for any reason, we can see to it that you're patrolling with other prefects."
Professor McGonagall breaks off and looks at them both expectantly, and Pansy's heart sinks. She knows there's absolutely no chance Hermione will voluntarily stay partnered with her. But she also knows that Hermione might feel guilty about being the one to ask for a change. So to save her from any awkwardness, Pansy scrapes together whatever altruism she has left and prepares to tell McGonagall it would be for the best if they patrolled with different partners, her own wants be damned.
"I think…"
"I don't think that will be necessary," Hermione says from beside her.
Pansy's head whips around to Hermione in surprise, and Hermione turns to meet her gaze. "Unless Parkinson has an objection?" she adds, raising an eyebrow.
Pansy swallows hard. "I…no. No, I don't have any objections," she manages to say, hoping her face isn't as red as it feels.
Hermione nods once, then turns back to Professor McGonagall, who's watching them both with surprise.
"I see," Professor McGonagall says slowly, glancing between the two of them. "If you're sure…?"
"I'm sure," Hermione says, and Pansy manages to weakly nod beside her.
"Well! I suppose that makes things easier," Professor McGonagall says. "In that case, you'll both remain on Tuesday and Thursday night patrols, but you'll both be patrolling the second floor. Professor Flitwick will be taking over the third. And if at any point you decide you'd rather patrol with someone else, come see me. Now, then. Do you have any questions?" Professor McGonagall asks, peering over her glasses at Pansy and Hermione.
Pansy shakes her head no slowly, though it's not exactly the truth—she has a million questions about what just happened.
They just all happen to be for Hermione.
"Very well," Professor McGonagall says with a nod. "And one last thing," she adds, turning to Pansy. "Miss Granger has informed me that not only did you protect her last night, you were also extraordinarily quick to fairly discipline members of your own house. So for both quick thinking under pressure and the courage to do what was right rather than what was self-serving, I'm awarding one hundred points to Slytherin. Well done, Miss Parkinson," Professor McGonagall adds, looking at Pansy with something akin to respect.
Pansy shakes her head in confusion. "What? No, I…I mean, that's not…"
"Now, off you go. Best not to keep Professor Snape waiting," Professor McGonagall says, interrupting Pansy's confused babbling. She turns and walks back to her seat, leaving Pansy to stare after her, dumbstruck. Finally, Pansy manages to turn to Hermione with wide eyes. "She can't give me one hundred points," she says, all other thoughts momentarily erased from her mind.
"Why not?" Hermione asks, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Because I'm a prefect! I did what was expected of me, I…" Pansy trails off and shakes her head. "Ten points, maybe. But one hundred?"
"I think she was more than fair. You did show tremendous courage last night. What did Dumbledore say, first year? It takes more courage to stand up to your friends than it does your enemies?"
Pansy manages to scoff. "Baddock and Montague are notmy friends. And anyway, you're just proving my point—he gave Longbottom ten points for that," she says, stressing each word.
"Oh, don't be obtuse, you know what I mean," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "And that aside, two-hundred and fifty points is a ridiculous amount to lose in one go. After all, you didn't know I had already taken points and it's not right to punish an entire house for the poor decisions of two of its members, is it?" Hermione asks. But before Pansy can reply, Hermione quickly adjusts her bag on her shoulder and turns, heading toward the Great Hall doors.
Pansy watches her leave, feeling both strangely disappointed that their conversation had ended so abruptly, yet vaguely optimistic that there had been no trace of suspicion or disdain in Hermione's eyes. But before she can begin to replay their entire conversation back in her head and analyze everything Hermione had said and done, down to the smallest gesture, Hermione pauses and turns around.
"We're going the same way, you know," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"I…what?" Pansy asks stupidly.
"Potions?" Hermione says. "You'll be late if you wait for me to leave, and I'll feel ridiculous if you trail three steps behind me, so…" she tapers off and looks at Pansy with something both expectant and guarded in her gaze, as if she's not sure if her offer is a mistake.
"Oh," Pansy says, mildly stunned. "I…right. Potions…right," she finishes pathetically. She sounds about as articulate as Crabbe, and she wants to kick herself for it.
Instead, she takes a few hesitant steps toward Hermione, who turns and begins walking again. Pansy awkwardly falls into place beside her, trying to keep up with Hermione's long strides. She's hyper aware of every part of her body (have her arms always swung in such a stupid manner?), and she hopes her cheeks don't look as flushed as they feel.
Once they've safely made their way out of the Great Hall and away from any potential eavesdroppers, Pansy decides to ask the question that's rattling about in her mind.
"Why didn't you switch?"
A small furrow mars Hermione's smooth brow, and she glances at Pansy. "Switch what?" she asks.
"Your patrols partner. You're already stuck with me in Potions. Why not take McGonagall up on her offer?" Pansy asks, starting down the stone steps to the dungeons. She risks a glance at Hermione's profile, just in time to see a muscle in her jaw jump and something hard settle in her gaze.
"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have. I don't want to be more of a burden than I've already been," she mutters, angling out of the way to let a Slytherin second-year pass by.
Pansy frowns at Hermione's reply. "A burden? In what way?"
"The only reason they're doubling us is because I was too weak to fend off the attack in the first place," Hermione says bitterly. "I already feel awful enough as it is. I wouldn't want to cause more trouble by asking for a new partner."
Pansy feels a wave of disappointment at Hermione's words. She had preposterously found herself thinking that there was some small part of Hermione that had actually been okay with the idea of patrolling beside Pansy. She had hoped that perhaps Hermione was viewing it as an opportunity to work out what was behind Pansy's change in personality, or perhaps even an opportunity to get to know her a bit better. But of course, she was wrong. It was foolish to have hoped for anything different.
Pansy holds her head high to mask her wounded feelings, then says, "it wouldn't be too much trouble to swap, you know. Corner and Macmillan are on the Tuesday-Thursday shift as well. It'd be a simple switch."
Hermione shakes her head and slows down as they approach the Potions classroom. "They're both in the West Tower. They go directly from class to patrols. It'd be an unnecessary hassle to make them trek to the second floor."
"I see," Pansy says, crossing her arms in front of her. "Well, I'm sorry you're stuck with me," she adds, noting how ridiculously petulant she sounds.
Hermione raises an eyebrow at her remark. "I'm not," she says. "I saw your Protego. Even I've never managed one quite that strong." She comes to a stop just before the Potions doorway and scrutinizes Pansy with a small frown. "And I never said I wanted to swap partners. I said that even if I had wanted to, I wouldn't have."
"You…what?" Pansy asks, staring at Hermione, completely taken aback. She's dimly aware she sounds like Crabbe again, but she's so surprised by Hermione's words that she doesn't particularly care.
Hermione shrugs and leans against the stone wall. "You protected me last night," she says simply. "You had my back when it mattered, and I trust that you'd do it again. What more could I ask for in a partner?"
Pansy somehow finds it within herself to scoff. "Oh, I don't know…I suppose you could ask for someone you don't think is a miserable, vile bitch?"
Hermione regards Pansy closely, as if she's a particularly tricky puzzle she can't quite work out. A few moments pass by before she shakes her head and sighs. "I'm not sure what I think anymore," she murmurs, more to herself than to Pansy.
Hope springs immediately within Pansy's heart, but she manages to keep her expression neutral. It would seem Hermione's still confused about the shift in her personality. But confusion is a good thing. Confusion means forgiveness is still on the table.
All Pansy has to do is earn it.
Hermione pushes off from the wall and turns away, but before she can take a step toward the doorway, Pansy finds her voice.
"Granger?"
Hermione pauses and turns back to face Pansy, curiosity lingering in her hazel eyes.
"You weren't weak," Pansy says. She knows that she reassured Hermione last night, but it's clear the doubts have cropped up in her mind again. More than anything, Pansy wants to make them disappear.
"I meant what I said last night—you could have flattened those two in your sleep. Baddock was a sneaky, opportunistic coward. No one would have stood a chance against an attack like that, so don't give it another thought. You're not weak, and you're certainly not a burden. You're…you're one of the best bloody witches in the entire school. The best," Pansy amends awkwardly, shifting a bit under Hermione's surprised gaze. "So just…don't let two pathetic, cowardly excuses for wizards make you think otherwise, okay?"
Hermione's eyes are wide with shock and there's a pale flush on her cheeks. "I…thank you," she says uncertainly, studying Pansy once again with a question lurking in her gaze. But before she can vocalize it, Snape rounds the corner. He stops short when he notices the two of them and eyes them both suspiciously.
"Miss Parkinson. Miss Granger. Are you lost?" he asks.
Pansy glances dumbly at the entrance to the Potions classroom, less than two feet away from her, then back at Snape. "Er…no?"
"Then perhaps you can tell me why you've decided to loiter outside of my classroom?" he asks, raising an unamused eyebrow.
"Oh. Yes. I…we…"
"We were discussing the events of last night, Professor," Hermione puts in quickly. "I asked what happened with Baddock and Montague. Pansy was just…filling me in," she says, glancing at Pansy to corroborate her story.
Pansy nods quickly. "Yes, we were…I…that's…yes," she says, finishing with another firm nod. She glances back at Hermione who's staring at her with exasperation, as if she can't believe that the same girl who's managed to verbally berate her for seven years is so absolutely useless at thinking on her feet.
"I see," Snape says. He turns to Hermione. "I'm sure Miss Parkinson has already informed you, but both Baddock and Montague have been expelled. It is…most regrettable what transpired last night. As head of the Slytherin house, I offer my sincerest apologies," he says stiffly and insincerely. "And if anyone threatens you again in any way, you're to immediately inform a faculty member," he adds, waiting until Hermione nods to continue.
"If there's anything you'd wish to discuss about last night, Miss Granger, you may see me after class." Snape's mouth twists a bit as if he can't believe that offer just escaped him. "My door is…always open," he adds, sounding somewhat pained.
Pansy scoffs quietly at Snape's pathetic attempt at consolation, but Hermione manages to thank him for the offer. He nods curtly, then says, "class is starting," and brushes by them.
Hermione glances at Pansy once more with curious eyes before turning and walking through the doorway without another word. Pansy watches her go, letting her gaze linger for just a moment.
There had been no bitterness in Hermione's eyes and no sharp edges to her words. A small flame of optimism flickers deep within Pansy's heart as she replays their conversation, and she lets a slow smile spread on her face. Because if she didn't know any better, she'd think that Hermione had decided to try forgiveness after all. And if that's the case, then perhaps Pansy's in better shape than she thought. Perhaps they're only a step away from peaceful coexistence. And perhaps someday, operation Woo the Pants Off Granger might actually pay off…
The smile disappears from Pansy's face at the thought, and is immediately replaced by a dark glower. She can't believe she just used that ridiculous name.
She's going to throttle Daphne.
***
Pansy leaves Potions, still exhausted, but remarkably lighter than before. All things considered, it had been a fairly productive hour—she and Hermione had brewed a perfect Wound-Cleaning Potion, and they had managed to maintain civil conversation, during which Hermione had seemed mostly forthcoming, if still somewhat guarded. But Pansy could tell Hermione was actually attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt, and for that, she was immensely grateful.
But perhaps the greatest thing to happen in the past hour is something she never would have expected: Pansy had kind-of-sort-of apologized.
And Hermione had kind-of-sort-of accepted it.
Pansy thinks back on the interaction with a small, secret smile, replaying every second in her mind.
It had started with Ron, who had spent the entire hour throwing dirty looks at Pansy from two tables away. It had been so bloody distracting that Pansy finally decided to ask Hermione about it at the very end of class.
"He thinks you had something to do with the attack last night," Hermione said, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she gritted her teeth.
"He…what?" Pansy asked, staring at Hermione's profile in confusion. "That doesn't make any…why on earth would I—"
"Oh, I've no idea. And I spent the entire morning trying to dissuade him of the notion. But Ron is nothing if not tenacious," she muttered tersely, stirring their potion with more force than was necessary.
Pansy glanced at Ron's table again to find cold blue eyes boring into her. There was a part of her that knew she shouldn't poke the bear, but there was a much bigger part of her that wanted to see just how much she could piss Weasley off. So she lifted a hand and gave him a little wave, wiggling her fingers and smiling as his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
"Oh, what are you, five?" Hermione muttered, noticing the movement. "Don't taunt him."
"I'm not taunting him. I'm simply…being neighborly," Pansy said thoughtfully.
Hermione snorted as she removed the spoon from the potion and gave it three quick taps against the cauldron. "Being neighborly," she echoed. "Do you even have neighbors in whatever massive castle you live in? I'd imagine your dragon eats anyone who dares get too close."
"Not quite," Pansy said as she began to clean up their ingredients. "Most people tend to fall into the moat, and once they do, well…" Pansy shrugged. "The merpeople take care of the rest. Quite gruesome, really."
She glanced at Hermione to find her watching her with horror, her hands frozen over the cauldron. "Merpeople?" she said, sounding aghast.
Pansy managed to keep a straight face for about five seconds before breaking. "Merlin, Granger. I'm joking. Do you actually think we have a moat?" she asked, regarding Hermione with fond amusement.
Hermione turned bright red and she began to bottle furiously. "Well, how should I know?" she asked hotly. "It's not out of the question, considering there's a dragon guarding your money. I don't know what pure-bloods do."
"The dragons are provided by Gringotts, you know," Pansy said with a smirk. "Surprisingly enough, we didn't bring our own dragon when we opened the account. But anyway, we're getting off track…why does Weasley think I had something to do with the attack?"
Hermione screwed the bottle top in place and put the sample on the table. "I believe his exact words were 'she put them up to it. She's pure evil,'" she said, leaning back and gazing at Pansy with a raised eyebrow. "He thinks you let them take the fall as some part of greater, nefarious scheme you're planning."
Pansy hums contemplatively. "You know, I take back everything I've ever said about Weasley. Why, with those powers of deduction, he'll make a splendid Auror someday. …I mean, only criminals would find him splendid, but still. A win is a win."
Hermione's lips twitched infinitesimally, and Pansy couldn't help her small, victorious smirk. It was one thing to make Hermione smile, but to make her smile over an insult about Weasley of all people?
Before she could fully bask in her victory, a shadow fell over their table. Pansy looked over her shoulder to find Ron, gazing at them uneasily, his arms full of ingredients.
"Alright, Hermione?" Ron asked, without taking his eyes off of Pansy.
"Oh, hello. We were just discussing you," Pansy said lightly, enjoying the way Ron's gaze immediately narrowed.
"Were you, now?" Ron asked, his eyes shifting to Hermione, who quietly sighed.
"We weren't discussing you. Parkinson was," Hermione said, picking up her quill to neatly label their bottled sample. "I was trying to finish bottling our sample."
"Yes, but you were also telling me how Weasley thinks I had something to do with the attack on you last night," Pansy said, never taking her eyes off of Ron. He had the decency to flush as he turned his stung gaze toward Hermione.
"Are you mental? Why would you tell her that?" he asked, his voice high and baffled. "You don't tell the person you're onto that you're onto them!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, tucked her quill back into her bag, and turned to face Ron with exasperation etched in her face. "Because I'm not onto her. She didn't have anything to do with it. And I told you at breakfast, if you're going to continue being obstinate, then I don't want to continue discussing this. You're clearly not willing to listen to reason, so there's no point."
"Reason?" Ron repeated, looking completely flummoxed. "Maybe you've forgotten, but this is Parkinson," he said, glaring at Pansy once more, who smiled sweetly back at him. "Reason doesn't exist around her. She's cruel! She's horrid, she's…she's…"
"She's sitting right here," Pansy said, raising an eyebrow as she dropped her gaze to study her fingernails.
"She's vile," Ron finished, his tone scathing.
"She has been," Hermione agreed with a nod, but before Pansy could feel any disappointment at her statement, she continued. "And if you want to judge her on that, then by all means, do. I won't stop you. But her past transgressions don't play any role in what happened last night, and it's absolutely ridiculous to pin this on her just because you don't like her."
"But—" Ron started with a fire in his eyes, but Hermione cut him off quickly.
"And honestly, I wish you'd just listen to me when I tell you something, rather than inserting your own bloody opinion every time. It's like you think you're the only one who could possibly know the truth of the matter," she said, running an aggravated hand through her hair. "It's frustrating, and quite honestly, it's insulting to me. And if you really think she took one-hundred and fifty points from her own house, had two students expelled, and painted a massive target on her back, all as part of some ludicrous scheme against me, then…then…" Hermione's rant trailed off and she looked a bit flustered as she searched for a way to conclude it.
"Then you're even dumber than you look," Pansy put in helpfully.
"No," Hermione said sharply, glaring at Pansy. She turned her gaze back to Ron and her eyes softened a bit. "Honestly, Ron. I know you hate her. And I…I'm certainly not her biggest fan," she said, stumbling a bit over her words. "But trust me when I say that she had nothing to do with this. So please, for my sake, leave it alone. I don't want to keep reliving it," she added quietly.
Pansy felt a twinge of sympathy in her chest at Hermione's quiet plea, and she glanced up at Ron with hard eyes, daring him to see what would happen if he pushed his luck. But for once in his life, Ron looked properly shamed.
"I'm sorry," he said, his brow crinkled in concern. "I don't want that either. I just…" he sighed and juggled the ingredients in his arms a bit. "I'm just worried about you. And we all know she's done things in the past," he added, glancing coldly at Pansy again. "So it wasn't out of the question. But I do trust your judgment, so…I'll let it be."
Hermione gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it." She eyed the ingredient bottles, balanced precariously in his arms and added, "now go and put those back. I keep worrying you're going to drop one of them."
Ron nodded, spared one more dark glance for Pansy, then walked toward the ingredients cupboard.
"I'm sorry about that," Hermione said, pulling Pansy's gaze away from Ron's retreating form.
"About what? Weasley?"
Hermione nodded. "He's protective. Sometimes too protective for his own good. But you don't deserve his suspicion. At least, not over last night," she added.
"He was right, though," Pansy said quietly, wincing at the credit she was extending to Ron. "I certainly didn't mastermind anything last night, but after everything we've been through, he wasn't out of line to think it."
"No. No, he wasn't," Hermione said. "And had I heard about what happened secondhand, I probably wouldn't have believed your innocence, either. But I was there. I saw the way you reacted." Hermione gave Pansy a long, level look. "There are a great, great many things you're not innocent of, Pansy. But you didn't do anything wrong last night. And you shouldn't be made to feel as if you did."
Pansy's hands fidgeted. To give them something to do as she sorted through her thoughts, she hastily reached for a small glass vial and rubbed her thumb absently over the surface."I know I'm not innocent," she finally said. "And I know I've done things that can never be excused, no matter how many excuses I try. But even so…even knowing that, I want you to know that I'm…I'm…" She huffed a frustrated sigh as she placed the vial back down on the table. It shouldn't have been so hard to say, after all this time, but Pansy still found the apology curiously stuck on her lips. Admitting she was wrong wasn't something she was fond of, and admitting to seven years worth of horrendous wrongdoings was another thing entirely. A long silence descended on the table, and Pansy wondered if it was better to just cut her losses and give up entirely. But then, she glanced up at Hermione and caught her hazel eyes and reminded herself—this isn't just Hermione Granger.
This is Robin.
And Robin deserves an apology.
A sudden rush of remorse shot through her body, and the words slipped out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for…for everything," she said. There was a long list of sins she'd have to eventually make amends for, but right now, "everything" seemed a good enough catchall. Still, she winced at how ineffective and shoddy the apology sounded as it lingered in the air between them. "That doesn't mean a whole lot, does it?" she asked, trying to read Hermione's expression.
Hermione held Pansy's gaze for a moment, her eyes carefully guarded. Then she looked away and scrutinized the ceiling with a small frown. "It…" she shook her head quietly, seemingly lost in thought. "It's a start," she finally said, looking back at Pansy. "But no, there's not a lot of substance to it. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to hear it," she added quickly. "And I do believe something is…different about you. I don't know what's caused it, but I believe it's genuine. But after seven years of…how did Professor McGonagall put it? Our 'history'? After seven years of our history together, 'I'm sorry' feels a bit…hollow. I mean, you hated me. And I hated you, so to just suddenly show remorse and act like everything is different, it's…" Hermione broke off suddenly and looked at Pansy closely. "What did cause it? The remorse, I mean. Why now? You told me you were breaking up with Malfoy, but ever since, you've been a completely different person. It can't all be because of Malfoy, so…what, then?"
Pansy bit her lower lip. She obviously couldn't tell Hermione the real reason, but perhaps she could tell her something truth-adjacent. Perhaps she could let her in on some of the secrets of her past. "I…"
Before she could say anything, Ron appeared at their table again, this time free of bottles and vials.
"Almost done?" he asked, studiously ignoring Pansy. "Harry and I will walk you to the library if you are."
Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "I…" She glanced at Pansy, who lowered her eyes to the table. "Yes," Hermione said, looking back up at Ron. "Yes, we're done. For now, at least. You don't mind taking care of…?" she asked Pansy, nodding at their ingredients.
Pansy shook her head. "No, go ahead. I'll clean up."
"Thanks," Hermione said, standing from her stool and bending to retrieve her bag. She slung it over her shoulder, then looked at Pansy again and lowered her voice. "I meant what I said, though—it is a start. And for what it's worth, I hope you don't stop before you've begun." Then with the smallest of smiles, Hermione turned and walked to the back of the classroom with Ron, where Harry was already waiting.
Pansy sighs and adjusts her bag on her shoulder. She wishes she had been able to give Hermione an explanation for her sudden show of remorse. She has a feeling the whole "forgiveness" thing might be expedited if she could manage to give Hermione's logical brain some concrete reason to latch onto. But Ron had bungled everything by looming over their table like a massive, ginger troll, hell-bent on swooping Hermione away before their conversation was done.
Still, though, it had been a productive hour, and Pansy feels more hope than she's felt in quite a long time. Plus, Hermione had stood up for her. And to Weasley, no less.
A smile returns to her face as she makes her way to the third floor for Charms. Perhaps this day isn't going to be as dreadful as she thought.
"Pans! Pansy, hold on!"
Her smile fades at the familiar voice behind her and she turns to find Draco, rushing after her, robes fluttering behind him. When he arrives in front of her, he takes a moment to catch his breath. Once he's more or less recovered, he says, "I was calling you, didn't you hear?"
Pansy rolls her eyes. "Obviously not. Had I heard, I would have stopped," she says, then turns to resume walking toward Charms. She's only taken two steps when Draco's hand closes lightly around her upper arm, holding her in place. Pansy grows rigid as she glances down at his hand, then back up to his face.
"Hold on a moment," he says, releasing his grip and regarding her with twinkling eyes. "I have a proposition for you."
"Oh? Marvelous. Could you tell me about it on the way to Charms?" Pansy asks, looking over her shoulder toward the staircase leading to the third floor.
"No. Because we're not going to Charms," Draco says with a sly grin.
"We're not?"
"Nope," Draco says, popping the p a bit and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Pansy hums. "And out of curiosity, when did we make this decision?" she asks, feeling a flicker of irritation at Draco's presumptions. It's not that she's against skipping class, but she'd at least like to have some say in the matter.
"We're making it right now. Theo and Blaise are in the Hospital Wing, and…"
"What?" Pansy asks, cutting him off quickly in alarm. "What happened? Are they alright?"
Draco waves off her concerns. "Nothing happened, they're fine. They tried to charm an Exploding Snap deck to make the explosion stronger, but neither of them realized the other had already had a go at it. They ended up making the deck four times stronger and it blew up in their faces. It burnt off their eyebrows," Draco says with a smirk. "They look ridiculous. But anyway, they're in the hospital wing, and I've bribed Crabbe and Goyle with sweets to stay out of the dorm. So…" he trails off and raises an eyebrow.
Pansy stares at him blankly. "So?"
Draco huffs impatiently. "So the dorm is empty. And if you and I skip Charms, then…" Draco steps closer and lifts a hand to Pansy's face, gently trailing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Perhaps we could find a way to utilize it?" he asks, dropping his voice and closing the distance between them.
Oh. That.
Pansy shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't immediately pull away. "Draco, I…I don't think that's a good idea," she says.
"No, nor do I. I think it's a bloody brilliant idea," Draco murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and letting his hands trail slowly down to her hips.
"No, it's…" Pansy sighs and finally takes a step back, putting space between their bodies. "Instead of four Slytherins missing from Charms, you want it to be six?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Flitwick will tell Snape and we'll all lose points. And after last night, I don't think we need to lose any more points, do you?"
Draco frowns. "We won't lose points for skipping one class. And even if we do, who cares? We're down two-hundred and fifty points already. We've lost the Cup. Losing another ten or twenty points won't hurt."
They're actually only down by one-hundred and fifty now, but Pansy doesn't bother correcting him. Because aside from Daphne, no one knows that she was involved in the stunning loss of points and she'd very much like to keep it that way. Instead she simply shrugs. "Even so. Best not risk it."
"There's no risk, it's—"
"And anyway, I skipped Charms last week, remember?"
"Yes, but we can—"
"I can't skip again. Some other time, okay?" she asks, patting him awkwardly on the arm. "I promise, just…I can't today."
Draco's jaw tightens and his lips twist into a tight, angry smile. "Of course you can't," he says quietly.
"No, I really can't. You know, with the N.E.W.T.s coming up—"
"So it's the N.E.W.T.s this time, is it? At least that's a new one."
Pansy frowns. "What does that mean?"
"It means that there's always a bloody excuse," Draco says bitterly.
"It's not an excuse," Pansy says, trying to keep the impatience from creeping into her voice. "Look, I'd liketo, but—"
Draco snorts. "You'd like to," he echoes. "That's…that's rich." He shakes his head and stares at the floor as a light flush spreads over his neck.
"Excuse me?" Pansy asks, crossing her arms.
Draco turns his gaze back to Pansy, but this time, his eyes are blazing. "I said that's fucking rich. You don't want to, Pansy, and we both know it."
"I most certainly do, I just—"
"Because if you actually wanted to, you wouldn't trot out dozens of excuses anytime I so much as fucking breathein your direction," he hisses, refusing to let her get a word in edgewise. "If you actually wanted to, you wouldn't freeze every single time I touch you. If you actually wanted to, then you would. But you don't."
"I do—"
"You don't," Draco says again, cutting her off sharply. "And you can stop lying."
"I'm…I'm…you're putting words in my mouth," Pansy says hotly, trying to defend herself while simultaneously trying to maneuver around the fact that she is, in fact, lying.
"I'm not! I'm commenting on what's right in front of me! I'm not stupid, Pansy. Anytime I bring up sex, you manage to find an excuse. I told Daphne we'd spend the day together," Draco says, raising his voice in a poor imitation of Pansy. "I barely slept last night. I'm on my monthlies. I'm bloated, I have a headache, I'm behind on my homework, I couldn't possibly skip Charms."
Pansy grits her teeth at the long list of familiar excuses. Still, she manages to hold Draco's gaze as she evenly replies, "those are all valid reasons, and you know it. And can we not have this conversation here?" She glances around to see if anyone is listening. "Believe it or not, I don't want the entire school knowing what we get up to."
"What we get up to?" Draco repeats, staring at Pansy with wide eyes. He scoffs and says, "are you…Pans, we don't get up to anything! It's been…" he trails off and looks around, then takes a step closer and hisses, "it's been over a month."
Pansy frowns and shakes her head. "No, it hasn't. It's only been…it's…"
She tapers off uncertainly. Has it been that long? She knows she's been making more excuses as of late, but she's sure she's folded at least once in the past month. After all, she has to make some effort at keeping up appearances. She casts her mind back, trying to remember the last time she had let Draco pull her into his bed, and when the memory finally comes to her, she flushes with discomfort.
It had been almost two months.
Draco's watching her, clearly waiting for her to continue where she left off, so Pansy quietly says, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it had been that long."
Draco nods. "And that's the problem, isn't it? Most people would realize, because most people would care. Most people want intimacy. But you don't, do you? You don't want it. You don't care." He breaks off and looks at her a bit desperately. "Why don't you care?"
Pansy bites her lower lip and studies her shoes for a moment, feeling hot and uncomfortable. Then, she glances back at Draco.
Draco, who she's been friends with since she was a child.
Draco, who knows how to make her laugh, knows how to comfort her, knows how to make her feel safe.
Draco, who had once purchased every single pear drop from Honeydukes, her absolute favorite sweet, just because Pansy was having a shit day.
Draco, who despite everything, she does love.
Just not the way he needs her to.
And in that moment, Pansy decides it's time to do the right thing. It's time to stop using him as a shield and to treat him with the respect he deserves. It's time to be brave.
Merlin, if the Sorting Hat could see the decisions she's been making lately, it might put her in Gryffindor.
Pansy takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. "I…Draco," she murmurs. "I do care. I care about you more than you know. But…" she trails off and glances around, her eyes landing on an empty bench just outside the Great Hall. She nods toward it. "Can we…?"
Draco follows her gaze, then nods stiffly.
They walk toward the bench in silence, but Pansy's mind is racing as she desperately tries to figure out what to tell Draco. Because while she may have made up her mind to break things off, she also has no intention of giving him the real reason. It's one thing to tell Daphne—she'd never break Pansy's trust, not in a million years. But as much as Pansy also trusts Draco to have her best interests at heart, there's a slight chance he might let it slip to his parents when they inevitably ask why Pansy broke things off. And if he tells his parents, it's only a matter of time before her parents find out.
She can't risk that. Not just yet.
But she can still do the right thing.
Pansy sits down on the stone bench and nervously twists her hands in her lap. Draco sits beside her, ramrod straight, his gaze trained on the wall before them. She's sure he knows what's about to happen, and she already feels miserable over the fact she's going to hurt one of her only friends.
She takes another deep breath, then quietly says, "I haven't been honest with you. And I should have been. Right from the beginning, I should have been. But I was…scared, I guess."
Draco doesn't say anything, so Pansy continues.
"When you showed up at my house over the summer…do you remember what happened?" Pansy asks.
"I don't want to play a bloody guessing game," Draco mutters.
"It's not a game, I just…I want to know if you remember what happened."
"I asked you to go to Fortescue's. You said yes," Draco says stiffly.
Pansy shakes her head. "No. I didn't," she murmurs.
At that, Draco turns to look at her, anger flashing in his stormy eyes. "What? Of course you said yes! I didn't fucking abduct you."
"Draco," Pansy says as gently as she can manage. "Inever said yes. My mum did."
"What are you…" Draco trails off and frowns. His gaze is far away, as if he's replaying the scene in his head. After a moment, his eyes clear and he looks at Pansy with surprise. "You didn't," he says, sounding a bit stunned. "You didn't say yes."
Pansy exhales sharply and shakes her head. "No, I…I think you took me by surprise. It's not every day one of your mates shows up in your fireplace, completely pissed, and asks if you'd like to go on a date. But you did, and you stunned me into silence and my mum took advantage of that. It was probably the happiest day of her life, to be honest. But it…I…" Pansy tapers off and runs a hand through her hair.
"But you wouldn't have said yes," Draco says, completing her thought with a faraway tone.
Pansy nods miserably. "I should have told you. But you know what my parents are like, and I just…I didn't want to upset them," she says, picking at a loose thread on her jumper. "So instead, I hurt you. And I can never apologize enough for it."
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Draco says, staring at her with betrayal in his eyes.
"I don't know. I don't…" Pansy bounces her leg restlessly as she gathers her thoughts. "I think…I was hoping that something would change. That after a while, I'd feel the same way you did."
"And you never did?"
Pansy shakes her head. "No. I tried. I really did, but I just couldn't. But you were so happy and I didn't want to hurt you so I—"
"So you thought you'd…what? Play with my emotions instead?" Draco asks.
"No. No, I never meant to…I mean, I know I did, but I didn't want to, I just…I didn't want to hurt you," she says again, quieter this time. The explanation is weak and pathetic and Pansy desperately wishes she could tell him the truth without fearing the repercussions.
"You strung me along for a year. I think that ship has long since sailed," Draco says, his tone significantly cooler than it was before. "You could have told me at anytime, but instead, you let me act like a fool for a fucking year. I kept trying and trying to connect with you and all the while you were…what? Laughing at me behind my back?"
Pansy shakes her head vehemently. "No. Not at all, I just—"
"Why?" Draco interrupts, turning toward Pansy. His face is taut with anger and a muscle in his jaw is jumping.
"Why what?"
"Why didn't you feel the same way? Was it something I did?"
It'd be so much easier to just tell him the truth. It would save her the trouble of making excuses, and he might actually be comforted, knowing that he had never stood a chance. But instead, Pansy miserably shakes her head.
"No, it's nothing you did. I just…I've never felt that way about you. I'm sorry," she adds quietly.
"That's not true. We were good together in the beginning. You didn't flinch when I touched you…you would even touch me first. So what changed?"
"Nothing changed, I…" Pansy bites her lower lip, wishing there was something she could say to get out of this conversation without hurting Draco in the process.
Something besides the blindingly obvious option of "I'm a lesbian," of course.
"It's like I said. I was trying in the beginning. I thought I'd be able to feel the same way you did if I spent enough time with you. But I couldn't, and once I realized that it just became a chore."
"It's been a chore to spend time with me," Draco repeats in a voice tight with anger, and Pansy winces.
"No, not…that came out wrong," she amends hastily. "I meant trying to match your feelings was a chore. Spending time with you has never been a chore. I do love you, Draco. And I love spending time with you. You must know that," she says desperately. "I just…I don't want to be with you. At least, not like that. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I'm telling you now, so…"
She trails off and waits. Draco is silent, so she risks a glance at his profile. His eyes are guarded, his cheeks are still flushed, and the muscle in his jaw is still jumping. Pansy feels her stomach twist uncomfortably, knowing that she's the reason he looks so upset.
"Draco?"
He shakes his head and a small, angry smile appears on his face. "So what? We're just…done? It's over, just like that?"
"I…yes. I think it is. But it's for the best," Pansy says quickly. "You don't want to be with someone who doesn't have feelings for you. You deserve so much more than me. You deserve a person who makes you feel…makes you feel everything, all at once," Pansy murmurs, her thoughts straying ever so briefly to her parchment and clever, hazel eyes.
Draco chuckles humorlessly. "I thought I had found that person," he says, finally turning to look at her, his gaze burning. "My mistake. It seems I only found a self-serving, opportunistic coward."
Pansy's brow furrows. "You don't mean that," she says uncertainly, stung by both the venom and the truth behind his words.
"Oh, I most certainly do," Draco murmurs smoothly. "Because from what I can tell, the only reason you decided to date me was to appease your parents. You decided to use me for your own gain and if I was hurt in the process, well, who cares, right? It's only Draco."
"No. No, that's not fair," Pansy says, shaking her head quickly.
"Isn't it? You say you love me, but no one would ever treat someone like this if they actually loved them. So what was it then, Pansy? Just another lie you told yourself to feel better?"
"It's not a lie," Pansy says frantically. She wants to convince Draco, but his eyes are cold and he's staring at her with fury. It's clear he wants nothing to do with her, and she knows that any attempt at making him see her side of things would only fall on angry, deaf ears.
She tries anyway.
"I do love you, and I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. But just because I'm not in love with you, doesn't mean I don't care about you. I wanted us to work! You don't know how much I wanted us to work. It would've been so bloody easy, but I just…I couldn't. And I should have told you sooner, I know, but I didn't know how to do it."
"Well. You've figured it out now, haven't you? Congratulations," Draco says spitefully. "One less choreon your list."
"Draco, would you just…" Pansy reaches out a hand toward his shoulder, but he jerks away from her.
"Don't touch me, I…"
He stands quickly, his posture rigid and his gaze trained on the wall behind her. "I think it would be best if we didn't speak again," he says.
Pansy's heart sinks. "Draco, please. You don't have to do this." She's aware she's pleading, but at this very moment, she couldn't care less. She doesn't want to lose a friend.
He shakes his head for a second and looks up at the ceiling. When he finally glances back toward her, his eyes are cold and guarded. "Goodbye, Pansy," he says.
"No. No, not goodbye! Would you stop that? There's no need to be dramatic, we can still be friends."
"No. We can't."
Pansy pushes her bangs out of her face in frustration and stands up. "Look, I'm sorry, I don't know what else I can say. I fucked up! And you can be angry at me! You can be fucking furious, but you don't have to do this."
Draco surveys her for a moment. "You know, I actually was stupid enough to think that one day, we were going to be…" he trails off and shakes his head. Then without any warning, he quickly turns on his heel and strides away from her without another word.
She watches him leave the castle and slowly sinks back down on the bench, her heart pounding in her chest. She knows what he was going to say—that one day, they'd be married. To be honest, she had always assumed the same, as had everybody else in their lives. And while she knows deep down that she's done the right thing by ensuring that will never come to pass, it doesn't make this any easier. Her heart is aching for Draco and she's furious at herself. She had never wanted to hurt him.
Then how could you have used him?
The thought makes her shift uncomfortably on the bench, because it's the cold hard truth; she had used him. And she had done so without any regard for his own emotions.
Pansy sits there for ages, fighting off tears and feeling miserable and small. She knows she'll be replaying the disdain in Draco's eyes over and over again until she drives herself mad, and she's probably just ensured another atrocious night of sleep.
If this is the price to be paid for being brave and telling the truth, it's not worth it, and all Gryffindors are fucking imbeciles.
It's far too late to go to Charms, so instead, Pansy gathers her things and heads toward the library. Perhaps she can distract herself with studying. Or better yet, her parchment.
As she stands up, something suddenly occurs to her—somehow, despite her best efforts, six Slytherins are skipping Charms today.
They're definitely going to lose more points.
***
The Three Broomsticks is absolutely packed. It's colder outside than it's been in weeks and the welcoming warmth of the pub has lured in just about every Hogwarts student idly milling about Hogsmeade. Each table is occupied and Madam Rosmerta is serving eight people at once, yet she's still managing to sling drinks across the bar with practiced ease.
Pansy and Daphne are seated at a tiny two-person table with people pressing in around them from all sides. They're nursing butterbeers and attempting to have a conversation, but the raucous group of Ravenclaw seventh years seated beside them is making it difficult to hear anything.
"What did you say?" Daphne asks, sparing a withering glare at a particularly loud Ravenclaw boy who won't stop boasting about some Quidditch maneuver he's managed. "I can't hear you over the sound of ostentatious grandstanding next to me," she says raising her voice and staring pointedly at the boy.
"Perhaps we should go somewhere else? Somewhere quieter?" Pansy asks, watching as the Ravenclaw takes a swig from his third firewhisky of the day. Liquid dribbles down his chin and Pansy's nose wrinkles in disdain. "And somewhere with less distasteful company?"
"Oh, no. Not until I've finished every last drop of this," Daphne says, gesturing to her butterbeer. "A Sickle and ten Knuts for a bloody butterbeer, can you believe it? At these prices, I'd bet Rosmerta has more money than both our families, put together."
Pansy glances around the well-loved pub, clocking the dingy chairs, stained tables, and dated decor. "I sincerely doubt that," she says, lifting her foaming tankard and taking a sip of her butterbeer. Once she's swallowed, she sighs with quiet disappointment. She likes butterbeer well enough, but right now, she'd give anything for a firewhisky. Really, she'd give anything for whatever would help take the edge of the past few days. Because ever since she broke things off with Draco, things have been…difficult, to put it mildly. Despite all of Pansy's efforts, he's still refusing to speak to her. Glacial silence has replaced easy banter and frosty glares are standing in for soft and fond glances and Pansy hates it. She misses her friend and she despises herself for hurting him so deeply.
And it's not just Draco—quite a few of her classmates are giving her the cold shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle, obviously, but Blaise, Theo, and Tracey have all decided that they're staunchly team Draco as well. Only Daphne has been firmly on Pansy's side.
Well, Daphne and Millicent, who had simply shrugged at the news and said I thought you broke up ages ago.
But Millicent and Daphne aside, it's been a rough few days. She's sick of hearing her name whispered in the common room, she's sick of catching Draco's disdainful gaze, and quite frankly, she's making herself sick with wondering how she can make things right between them.
"Maybe once we're done here, we can stop by Honeydukes? I'll buy you pear drops?" Daphne asks, pulling Pansy away from her bleak thoughts.
Pansy manages a weak scoff. "You mean you'll buy uspear drops," she says. "I don't think I've ever had a stash of pear drops that you haven't managed to ransack. You're like a giant, blonde raccoon."
Daphne shrugs. "What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine," she says simply.
"Oh, please. You threatened to hex me if you ever caught me borrowing your foundation again, remember?"
"Yes, well, obviously not the foundation! Are you mad? It's thirty-five Galleons per ounce. I wouldn't share that foundation with anyone. Not even my own child."
"Your maternal instincts never cease to amaze me," Pansy says into her butterbeer.
"I happen to think I'd make an excellent mother," Daphne says cooly. "For instance, I'd be able to teach my child that nobody bloody cares if he caught the Snitch during a Sloth Grip Roll and that quite frankly, he's boring all his friends to death," Daphne says, raising her voice and staring once more at the Ravenclaw, who's still recounting his Quidditch heroics.
This time, the Ravenclaw boy hears her, and he turns to her with a bleary-eyed glare. Daphne plasters a sweet smile on her face. "Oh, hello! I wasn't talking about you," she says. "Just my dreadfully dull hypothetical child who's been cursed with unearned confidence and the unhappy ability to lull his companions into a stupor with the same bloody story he's been telling for fifteen minutes."
The boy turns bright red. "Ah, piss off," he mutters. He lifts his tankard and downs the rest of his firewhisky, then stands up unsteadily. "Let's go, lads. Best to let someone else spend their day seated next to a massive bitch."
He wobbly starts toward the door and his friends stand to follow him, tossing dirty looks at Daphne and Pansy as they leave. Daphne waves cheerfully at them and once they're all gone, Pansy drops her head into her hands.
"Great. That's four more people who hate me," she mutters.
"They don't hate you. They don't even know you. And anyway, why on earth would you want mister I brag about myself to make up for my tiny tallywhacker to like you?"
Pansy lifts her head and stares at Daphne. "Tallywhacker?" she asks, completely bewildered.
Daphne shrugs. "My gran calls them that," she says, lifting her tankard and taking a sip.
"Oh," Pansy says. Then she frowns and reconsiders. "No, wait. I don't know why I didn't question that, that's…why have you been discussing tallywhackers with your gran?"
"Oh, she's got some good stories. Some of them are absolutely filthy," Daphne adds with a grin. "Trust me, next to my gran, I'm a complete prude."
Pansy shakes her head fondly and picks up her tankard. But before she can take a sip, the door to the Three Broomsticks opens again. She squints toward the doorway to see two backlit figures, but as soon as the door closes behind them, she's able to make out the newcomers.