Hermione shakes her head violently against his chest and reaches up to grip at his jumper, pulling him closer to her. She's embarrassed by how hard she's crying, but no matter how many times she tries to stop the tears, they just keep coming. She can only wait until she's thoroughly exhausted herself, and try to find comfort in both the way Harry's hand runs soothingly up and down her back, and the quiet words of love and support he continues to murmur into her hair.
They stay like that for a while, and when Hermione's tears finally start to subside, she pulls back from Harry. He looks down at her, his brow furrowed in concern, but before she can reassure him that she's okay, she notices the state of his jumper.
"Oh! Harry, your jumper!" Hermione says, reaching out a finger to touch the massive wet splotches where her tears had soaked through the material. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'll dry it off, let me just—"
"What this old thing?" Harry asks, fingering the fabric lightly. "It's alright," he adds, distracting her before she can reach for her wand. "Don't you know by now that I'd sacrifice every jumper I own for you?"
Hermione spares a watery smile as she wipes at the residual tear tracks on her face. "I suppose this didn't go the way you expected it to, did it?" she asks, somewhat wryly.
"No. No, that…" Harry shakes his head and says, "maybe I should stop skipping Divination. At least then I might have seen some of that coming."
Hermione tries to smile, but it almost immediately falters on her face. "Do you think I'm mad?" she asks quietly. The persistent insecurities are whispering in her ear, and she finds herself craving some sort of reassurance. Nerves settle into her body and as she waits for Harry's reply, she absently bunches the material of her robes in her fists.
"No. Well…okay, I mean…" Harry hesitates, then carefully says, "no, I don't think you're mad, but I won't lie—I'm confused. I'd barely wrapped my head around you and Parkinson being friends, and then you tell us that you're…I mean, you tell us that you like women, and now…"
Hermione winces. "I know."
"And I…I don't want to start an argument," Harry says quickly, green eyes gazing earnestly into hers, "I don't, but the last thing any of us knew, you hated her." He frowns and drops his gaze down to study the grass. "Though I suppose now that I'm thinking about it, you haven't complained about her in months."
"No. No, I haven't. And like I said, I'm not upset that you're cautious. It'd be mad if you weren't considering everything that's happened in the past. I know you're just being a good friend, but I just…will you let me try to explain?"
"I would love for you to try to explain."
Hermione nods, grateful that unlike Ron, Harry's willing to hear her out. She takes a moment to think through the story she had told Ginny last week, and once all the details are clear in her head, she settles in and tells Harry everything.
He's quiet throughout her story, giving her his full attention, and even when she gets to the bit about Pansy's father, his eyes grow wide, but he doesn't interrupt. And after Hermione's told him every last detail, down to her recent interactions with Millicent and Luna, she sits back and clasps her hands together, waiting for his final judgment.
Harry stares at the grass for a long while, and when he finally looks up, there's a worried set to his brow. "You're sure her father is in Azkaban now? I mean, you're sure you're safe?"
Hermione's heart swells just a bit. Because after all of that, after literally telling him how she had fallen in love with her biggest enemy, of course the one thing Harry is most concerned about is her wellbeing.
God, she loves him.
"Yes," she says with soft eyes. "I'm sure."
Harry nods. "Okay. Okay, that's good. That's…" he trails off and studies the grass for a while longer. After a moment, he heaves a massive sigh and looks back up at Hermione. "Thank you for telling me everything."
"Mm. I'd imagine the context helps," Hermione says.
"I mean, yeah. It's good to know why she was the way she was. And it's nice to know you didn't forgive her immediately."
Hermione scoffs. "Contrary to what Ron believes, I didn't just forget about our history overnight. It took time. Time and a lot of effort on both of our parts. But she…she's come so far," she adds, a proud note in her voice as she thinks about the person Pansy is today and the struggles she's had to face to become that person. "Believe me, I wouldn't have even given her a second glance if she was anything like she used to be."
Harry nods. "I do believe that." He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, then glances up at Hermione. "You know, even though the context helps, this is still…" He trails off and shakes his head, unable to find the right words.
"I know," Hermione says, filling in the silence.
"I mean, of all the girls at this school, Pansy Parkinson is the last person I ever would have expected you to—" Harry cuts himself off, then says, "no, I suppose Bulstrode is the last person I'd expect you to fall in love with. But mind you, Parkinson's up there." He puts his glasses back on and scrutinizes her carefully. "But you're happy?"
"I am," Hermione says with a gentle smile, touched by the simple question.
"And she treats you well?"
"She does."
"Right," Harry says with a nod. "That's good." He rubs at his forehead and says, "I can't say I'm thrilled about any of this, and I'm still going to be worried about it for…well, probably forever. But if you could forgive her and if Ginny's going to make the effort, then I guess…I guess I can try to understand it, too." He shakes his head once more and murmurs, "Parkinson," in a dazed voice.
"You still think I'm mad, don't you?"
Harry lifts his eyes to meet Hermione's gaze. "I mean, just a little," he says with a tiny smile that undercuts his words.
"I can deal with that," Hermione says with a smile of her own. But then, she thinks about the cold, almost detached way Ron had looked at her, and her smile falls.
"Hermione?"
She looks up and shakes her head a bit. "Sorry, I just…I don't know what to do about Ron."
"Oh," Harry murmurs with a small wince. "I mean, he means well, but—"
"Does he?" Hermione interrupts swiftly. "You were confused but you still managed to treat me with respect, which is all I'm asking for. I just don't understand why he gets so belligerent."
"He's overly protective. And he's a stubborn arse."
"And I've told him how much that frustrates me. I've told him so many times, and I'm just sick of having the same bloody conversation every time I have the audacity to make a decision he doesn't agree with."
"I know. I know, and I agree with you, but…you have to admit, this was a shock," Harry says, choosing his words carefully. "And Ron's not exactly someone who deals with shock well."
"I know. But he doesn't have to be so insensitive."
"I'll talk to him," Harry says. "I don't know if he'll listen, but I'll try." He reaches out to squeeze her knee, but before he can say anything else, they're both distracted by noise from the castle doors. Hermione twists around to see a steady flow of students, streaming out of the castle, on break between classes.
"What time is it?" Hermione asks with a small frown. She shakes back her sleeve to check her watch, and her eyes grow wide. "Oh, Harry! We're going to be late for Transfiguration!"
Harry blinks at her. "You still want to go to class?" he asks, sounding bewildered.
"Of course I do! I will not lose points by being late because of Ronald Weasley." She stands up quickly and smoothes down her robes, then she lifts an eyebrow at Harry. "And what's more, I'm not about to let you skip two classes in a row."
He sighs and clambers to his feet. "One of these days, I'll get you to skip a class."
Hermione scoffs. "You'll have to Confundo me first."
She waits for him to sling his bag over his shoulder, then she starts back toward the castle. As they walk, she bites her lip, then murmurs, "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for not reacting like Ron did. For still loving me. For…for trying to understand even though it's mad."
Harry glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Of course. And I meant what I said—I'll never stop loving you. Not even if you decided to start snogging Malfoy."
Hermione shudders in revulsion. "Don't be disgusting."
Harry laughs, then pauses and turns to her. "You're my best friend, Hermione. That hasn't changed. So whatever decisions you make, no matter how mental they seem, I'll always try and support them. Granted, this one is really putting that to the test, but even so," he says with a smile. "I love you. No matter what you do, I love you, and you'll never lose me. You couldn't if you tried."
Hermione swallows past a painful lump in her throat. "I love you, too, Harry Potter. More than you could ever know," she murmurs in a thick voice. "God. How did I get so lucky?"
"Could ask myself the same thing."
Hermione blinks back more tears as she steps forward to gather Harry in a massive hug. She squeezes him as tight as she can, hoping he can feel every single bit of the way she feels about him in her embrace. All of her love, her gratitude, her relief. She wants to blanket Harry in it in the same way he's just blanketed her with his acceptance and the promise of his steady, unwavering presence in her life.
After a moment, she turns her head to drop a quick kiss on his cheek, then she pulls back and straightens his tie. "Come on, then. Don't want to be late for class."
"I think McGonagall will manage if we're two minutes late. I mean, maybe not if it was just me, but it helps that I'm with her favorite student."
Hermione hums, and as she starts walking again, she says, "that's one thing I forgot to tell you."
"What?"
"McGonagall knows about us"
Harry stops walking and stares at her in stunned silence. "About you and Parkinson?" he asks, his voice completely stricken.
Hermione laughs and tugs on his arm, forcing him to keep moving toward the castle. "No stopping," she gently chastises. "And yes. I was mortified. I still am mortified," she corrects. "She thinks we were shagging in the library," she whispers, her voice low and positively aghast.
"What?"
"Which we weren't! Obviously, we weren't! We haven't even done that yet, but I just…I mean, honestly. Can you imagine? Who would shag in the library?" she mutters darkly, like it's the worst atrocity she could ever imagine.
"I…I…"
A sudden laugh bubbles out of Harry, carefree and joyful, and though Hermione rolls her eyes at the sound, it still pulls a smile from her. Because no matter what, she knows that they're going to be okay. That even with these monumental changes in her life, she and Harry will still always find a way to laugh together. And even though she's still feeling awful about everything with Ron, as she recounts the horribly embarrassing encounter in the library to a completely delighted Harry, she feels like a massive weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Because she still has Harry. She still has Harry, she has Ginny, she bizarrely has Luna, and of course, she has Pansy. She has more than she ever could have dreamt of. So even thought things aren't perfect, and even thought there's still so much to work through with Ron, she feels tentatively optimistic about the next few weeks before the end of the year.
Maybe they won't be that bad after all.
***
This is assuredly the worst day of Hermione's life.
No. Stop thinking like that. Be reasonable.
Hermione exhales slowly and forces herself to put things into perspective—perhaps she's being a bit dramatic.
But it's definitely going to be in the top five.
Because as she sits in the Room of Requirement on Saturday evening, waiting for Daphne and Pansy to arrive, she can't help but feel like she's made a massive mistake in setting this whole plan in motion.
"Would you stop that?" Ginny mutters beside her, glaring down at Hermione's rapidly bouncing leg. "You're making me nervous."
"Sorry," Hermione says. "Sorry. I just…they were supposed to be here ages ago."
Ginny checks her watch, then rolls her eyes. "They're four minutes late."
"Yes, but—"
"We were sixteen minutes early."
Hermione flushes. "I didn't want to be late!" she says, defending her choice for the third time.
"Which is why we should've shown up five minutes early. Sixteen minutes early is absolutely mental."
Hermione's leg starts bouncing again. "Right. No, you're right, but I just…what if they changed their minds? I mean, what if Pansy couldn't convince Greengrass to come?"
"Then there's no bloody way I'm staying, and again, would you stop that," Ginny mutters crossly, lifting a hand to slap lightly at Hermione's practically-vibrating knee.
"Sorry," Hermione says, forcibly stopping her bouncing. "Sorry." She exhales and pushes a hand through her hair, and as the nerves flare in her chest, she can't help the words that pour out. "This is a mistake. This is such a mistake. I don't know why I agreed to this. I don't know why you agreed to this," she adds, completely missing the way Ginny scoffs in disbelief. "I mean, you and Greengrass? I…I…." She turns to face Ginny a bit wildly. "Should we leave?"
"What?"
"I can tell Pansy something came up and we couldn't make it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know," Hermione says miserably, wincing when the first thing that pops into her head is Pansy's old standby of anal warts.
She won't be saying that.
"I don't know, but—"
There's a sound by the door and Hermione's mouth snaps shut as she turns to stare at the entrance with wide eyes.
It's too late to run away. They're here.
She feels Ginny tense beside her, but before she can say anything that might be vaguely comforting or helpful, the door opens and Pansy and Daphne step inside.
Hermione's eyes are immediately drawn to Pansy (as they always are), and even though she's beside herself with nerves, she can't help the small frisson of desire that runs through her like an electrical current at the sight of Pansy's outfit. It's simple enough, but it hugs Pansy in such a way that Hermione can feel her hands twitching in her lap, desperately longing to reach out and touch her.
She's wearing crisp, black cigarette pants that flatter her lithe figure, and if Hermione finds her very appreciative gaze lingering just a little too long on Pansy's backside when she turns to close the door, she'll never admit to it. Pansy's movements are graceful and refined, and the closed-toed stilettos that she seems to practically live in adds a dash of elegance to her outfit. A simple white tank top is tucked into her pants, showing off smooth, fair arms with just the faintest hint of definition. And as Hermione watches the subtle flex of said arms as Pansy double checks the door behind her, she can't help but remember the way they feel when they're wrapped around her body, holding her in place in this very room as dark lips expertly ignite a fire deep within her core.
And speaking of Pansy's lips, they're painted a darker color tonight—they're practically purple, and for the hundredth time, Hermione finds herself wishing that Pansy didn't insist on charming her lipsticks not to smudge.
One of these days, she'll get to wear all of those beautiful colors on her body.
Pansy's taken extra care with her hair and makeup tonight—not a single strand is out of place, and it's clear she took the time to make a good impression. But even though for all intents and purposes, she looks like a 1940s Muggle bombshell who's just stepped off the silver screen, when she catches Hermione's eye, she looks ludicrously bashful. It's such an endearing juxtaposition to Pansy's entire appearance that Hermione can't help but smile fondly.
But before Pansy can take a step toward them, she glances around the room for the first time, and her eyes grow wide with surprise. Because even though Hermione and Pansy have been in this room a few times since they swore off of snogging in abandoned classrooms, it's never looked quite like this.
It almost resembles the Gryffindor common room, though there's no scarlet or gold to be found. Instead, there's a crackling fireplace on the rightmost wall, and in the center of the room are two identical, leather couches with a low table between them. Candles illuminate the space with a cozy, warm glow, in the very far corner of the room are a pair of overstuffed, dark brown armchairs, and there's now a small kitchen tucked away in the back of the room that Hermione could swear wasn't there before.
But before she can think too hard about the mysterious kitchen, Pansy finally manages to pull her astonished gaze back to Hermione, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Hermione stifles a smile.
She's clearly wondering where the bed went.
Which even though they had both stopped short and stared at the queen sized bed in embarrassment the first time they had entered the room, and even though Pansy had immediately muttered there's no way I'm doing anything on that bed with dirty old Tom watching, they had both eventually come to greatly appreciate its comforts.
Not that they've had sex yet. They haven't, even though each encounter leaves Hermione's body wanting it more and more. But she's never had sex before, and what's more, she's never even gone this far with anyone, so she's trying very hard to take the physical side of their relationship at a reasonable pace. Which she sometimes thinks might be a bit silly. After all, her one stipulation had always been that she'd wait to have sex until it was with someone she was in love with, and god knows, she's in love with Pansy. So all things considered, there's really no reason to be holding off.
But truth be told, as much as she wants it, she's still a little nervous over the entire idea of it.
Pansy's been absolutely lovely and supportive, though. Even though Hermione knows that she's had sex before, she's not rushing anything or acting impatient. If anything, she's always quick to check if Hermione's okay with any new step they take, and has stressed multiple times that she's fine with taking things at whatever pace Hermione is comfortable with.
Of course, with every encounter, that pace changes. And lately, it's been changing rapidly. Hermione knows that with every clandestine meeting, they're getting closer and closer to crossing that line, to finally making all of her desperate imaginings a reality. But considering summer holiday is rapidly approaching, she's not sure if they'll manage to cross it before graduation.
But she doesn't really mind. After all, Paris is still on the table.
And Hermione certainly wouldn't mind having sex with Pansy for the first time in Paris.
"You're telling me this room has been here all along?"
Hermione looks up from her thoughts with flushed cheeks to see Daphne, staring around the room with shock. "Merlin…I can't believe I've been shagging in the greenhouses for years," she says.
"The greenhouses?" Pansy asks, her brow creasing in a disgusted grimace as she makes her way toward the couch opposite Hermione. She sits down and places a surprisingly large bag on the floor, and Hermione eyes it for just a moment before she's distracted by Daphne sitting down beside Pansy.
"Mm," Daphne confirms, placing her own reasonably sized bag on the floor. "Haven't you heard? It's the best place for someone to…plant their seed," she says suggestively, grinning when Pansy immediately groans.
Daphne turns her gaze away from a now-flustered Pansy to cooly survey Hermione and Ginny. "Weasley. Granger."
"Greengrass," Ginny says, the name falling stiffly from her lips.
Pansy, having quickly bounced back from the seed quip, looks between Daphne and Ginny nervously, then lets her eyes settle on Hermione. "Hi," she says, directing the soft word toward Hermione and giving her an equally soft smile.
"Hi yourself," Hermione returns, forgetting for the moment about how bizarre and awkward this encounter will most assuredly be. Instead, she finds herself wishing she could pull Pansy into her lap and wind her arms around her. She wants to drop long, lazy kisses to her neck. She wants to feel Pansy, shivering against her with need.
She wants to trace the ancient rune for Acromantulaagainst her thigh.
(She does that quite often.)
(Pansy never finds it quite as amusing as Hermione does.)
"Sorry we were a bit late," Pansy says.
"Were you? I didn't notice," Hermione says, desperately fighting the urge to swat at Ginny when she hears the quiet snort of disbelief from beside her.
But Pansy doesn't seem to hear the noise. Instead, she says, "you look lovely tonight," as her eyes sweep appreciatively over Hermione's body.
Hermione flushes, but before she can reply, Daphne gags. "Revolting. Absolutely revolting. If I wanted to spend my evening watching two people disgustingly fawn over each other, I'd watch Blaise talk to himself in a mirror."
Pansy turns to glare at her. "We're not—"
"That little display is exactly why I came prepared, though," Daphne says, calmly cutting Pansy off. She leans over to dig in her bag, and after a moment, she pulls out an almost-full bottle of Ogden's.
"You brought firewhisky?" Pansy asks, staring at Daphne with wide, alarmed eyes.
"Obviously. I mean, really, darling. Did you think I'd get through this evening sober? No offense, Granger," she adds. Then, she opens the bottle and takes a quick swig, wincing slightly as she swallows. But she doesn't bother to recap the bottle. Instead, she tilts it toward Ginny and raises an eyebrow. "Care to join me?"
Hermione raises her eyebrows, absolutely stunned that Daphne had willingly offered to share something with Ginny. But before Hermione can firmly remind Ginny that she's underage, Ginny exhales sharply, reaches across the gap, and grabs the bottle. She swiftly lifts it to her lips and takes a drink, wiping her lips with her sleeve once she's done. Leaning forward, she places the bottle on the table, then gives a nod to Daphne. "Thanks."
"Ginny!" Hermione says, disbelief coloring her tone.
"What? I mean, she has the right idea. This is…this is absolutely mental."
"See, Pansy? I told you that you were worried about nothing. We're already getting along splendidly. Be careful, or I just might replace you before the night is done," Daphne says.
Pansy simply shakes her head with the weariness of someone who's deeply familiar with Daphne's antics, then she turns her gaze to Ginny. "I know this is mental. Trust me, I know, but I just…thanks for coming anyway," she says quietly. "I'm sure you'd rather be doing other things right now."
"Is other things her nickname for Potter?" Daphne asks.
Pansy tilts her head toward the ceiling and groans. "Daphne."
"Sorry," Daphne says, studying her nails with a tiny smirk and looking completely unapologetic.
Pansy sighs, then turns to Ginny once again. "Like I was saying, I'm sure you'd rather be anywhere else right now, but…I'm glad you're here. Truly. And know that I don't take this opportunity lightly."
Ginny nods tightly. Her gaze is hard, but she manages to say, "I'm only here for Hermione's sake."
"Well! There goes our beautiful, new friendship," Daphne says, looking up from her nails with an injured sniff.
"I know," Pansy says ignoring Daphne. "I know you are, but I just…thank you. For trying."
Ginny nods once more, but doesn't say anything else. An awkward silence descends on the room for a few seconds before Daphne clears her throat and turns toward Hermione.
"I'm offended, Granger. Don't I get a thank you for trying?"
Hermione knows she's joking, but she doesn't give into the bait. Instead, she says, "actually, yes. I've been meaning to thank you for a while now."
Daphne's eyes narrow suspiciously. "You have?"
"I have. Pansy told me how you reacted when she let you in on everything, and I just…" Hermione sighs and clasps her hands together as she tries to find the right words to say. "It would have been far easier for you to distance yourself," she eventually murmurs. "For you to be cruel, or intolerant, or judgmental," she adds, wincing when her thoughts turn to Ron briefly. "But you weren't. You supported her. You made her feel loved. And what's more, you supported us. Even though you didn't understand it, you supported us…and even lost eight Galleons to Rosmerta in the process, or so I'm told. So yes. Thank you, Green—" Hermione cuts herself off abruptly, swallows around the block in her throat, then says, "thank you…Daphne."
Daphne's eyes widen, but before she can say anything, Hermione adds in a proper, clipped tone, "though that said, I can't say I approve of your operation name."
Daphne's head snaps around quickly and she stares at Pansy with furious betrayal. "You told her?"
"I…may have," Pansy says sheepishly.
"Pansy Parkinson!"
"Hang on…operation name?" Ginny asks, cutting Daphne off and looking between Pansy and Hermione.
Hermione sighs. "Operation Woo the Pants Off Granger," she says, trying not to smile when she sees the scandalized look on Ginny's face. "After Pansy found out I was her parchment pal, she decided to try and actually get to know me, and Green—and Daphne nicknamed the plan. Very respectfully, I might add," she says dryly.
Daphne's regained control of herself, so she simply shrugs. "It's a good name and I stand by it. Though speaking of…" she says, leaning forward with a devious twinkle in her eye. "Has the plan name finally come to fruition?"
Ginny splutters next to her, and Hermione feels her cheeks grow warm at the question, but before she can open her mouth, Pansy turns toward Ginny, and in an attempt to steer the conversation far from their rather heated snogging sessions, she loudly asks, "and how is your father?"
"My…my father?" Ginny repeats. She looks completely off-kilter as she turns to stare at Pansy with wide-eyes.
"Suppose that answers that question," Daphne murmurs with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Your father," Pansy says, raising her voice to cover Daphne's. "I…I met him. At the Ministry. Nice chap," she finishes a bit lamely. "I meant to owl him actually, but I haven't found the time."
"You meant…to owl…my father," Ginny repeats slowly, as if she's not quite sure what any of those words mean anymore.
Pansy nods. "He helped me in what some might rather dramatically call my darkest hour. And he made sure Hermione was safe." Her soft eyes flicker toward Hermione, then she glances back to Ginny and gives a simple shrug. "I'm indebted to him for the rest of my life."
Ginny blinks at her a few times. "I…I mean, he's fine. He's…" She breaks off and before Hermione can register what's happening, Ginny has the bottle of Ogden's in her hand. She takes another swig and swallows with a grimace.
"Ginny!" Hermione says in frustration, all while Daphne chuckles in the background.
"Sorry! Sorry, it's just…this is mental. Pansy Parkinson is asking after my father, and you two are…I mean, Hermione, this is—! I've never seen you be so much as cordial to each other, and now you're looking at each other like…like…" she shakes her head. "And obviously, I know you're together now, which is…" she gives a short, strangled laugh and runs a hand through her hair. "But it's weird. It's so bloody weird and then she asks about my dad, and I just…I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?" Ginny asks, sounding a bit wild. "What am I supposed to say to any of this?"
But before Ginny can continue to spiral, Pansy stands up abruptly. "You don't have to say anything. And actually…I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with something?"
Ginny shifts her gaze to Pansy. "Sorry, you…you want myhelp?"
Pansy nods. "I figured we were all skipping dinner for this, so I nicked some stuff from the kitchens. Thought I could cook something, and there's a kitchen, so…"
Oh. So that's what the kitchen was for. Pansy had a plan all along and the room had simply adjusted for her needs.
Clever old Tom.
"And you want my help?" Ginny asks again.
"I mean…only if you're willing," Pansy says, nervously rocking on her feet.
Hermione waits anxiously for Ginny to reply. Because she knows what this is—it's Pansy's attempt to get Ginny alone and apologize to her properly.
She can only hope Ginny's actually open to it.
Ginny stares at Pansy for a long moment, and just when Hermione thinks she's going to refuse to help, she seems to wilt a bit. "Fine. Why not? But I won't be any help—I'm a rubbish cook."
"That's okay," Pansy says quickly, her shoulders sagging in obvious relief as tension seeps out of her body. "You won't need to do much. Just hand me things now and then and…and…watch pots," she adds lamely.
Ginny sighs once more, then stands up. She glances down at Hermione. "You'll be alright here?" she asks, her eyes flicking to Daphne and back again.
Hermione nods in a way that she hopes is convincing. "I'll be fine."
Granted, she's nervous about the idea of spending any one-on-one time with Daphne Greengrass of all people, but she might as well try. And if it only makes her want to bang her head against the wall—which from everything she knows about Daphne, it will—she'll never have to do it again.
Ginny frowns for a moment, then nods in acceptance. "Right. Right, why not?" she adds, almost like she's trying to motivate herself. "Cooking dinner with Parkinson…" she mutters. "The amount of favors you're going to owe me after this is done," she adds in a low voice to Hermione.
"Anything you want," Hermione promises. "Now go and make sure she doesn't burn down the castle."
Ginny sighs what might be her third massive sigh in less than a minute, then starts off toward the back of the room with a slight stomp in her step.
Pansy stoops down to sling the heavy bag over her shoulder, then turns to Daphne. "Best behavior, right?"
Daphne nods solemnly. "I swear upon my grandmother's grave," she intones, her voice reverent and serious.
Pansy nods, then stops and exhales sharply. "Your grandmother is still alive," she says, folding her arms across her chest in irritation. "Both your grandmothers are still alive."
"Are they?" Daphne says, widening her eyes with fake-surprise. "Hm! Isn't that strange? I suppose they are." But before Pansy can reply, Daphne waves a hand. "But enough about me! Go on. You've got your little cooking date to get to. Granger and I will be more than happy to keep each other company."
Pansy shakes her head, then turns away from Daphne. She catches Hermione's eye. "Don't let her be a prat."
"I won't. It'll be okay," Hermione says. Pansy gives her a look that says she doesn't really believe it, but she hikes the bag up on her shoulder and starts toward the small kitchen. As she passes by Hermione, she reaches out to let her fingertips gently graze against Hermione's shoulder. It's intended to be a quick move, something fond and reassuring done just in passing, but Hermione finds herself catching Pansy's hand for a moment to hold her in place.
"Kind of need that hand to cook, love," Pansy says, dropping her voice and looking at Hermione with fond and amused eyes.
"I know," Hermione says as she idly plays with Pansy's fingers, her heart glowing with warmth at Pansy's words as a foolish smile spreads across her face.
She still hasn't quite adjusted to Pansy's new terms of endearments, but god, does she love them. They catch her off-guard in the best way every time, and she finds herself constantly yearning to hear them.
"I know," she eventually repeats. "But I just wanted to say…you can do this. And no matter what, I'm proud of you."
Pansy gives her a beautiful, almost shy smile. "Thank you." Then, she quickly schools her expression into something playfully serious. "And for the record, I've never burnt anything in my life."
Hermione rolls her eyes—she knows that. She's read all of Pansy's letters and knows the other girl can cook. But as she gently runs her thumb over Pansy's knuckles, she still finds herself teasing. "You know, some might argue that blowing up a potion counts as burning something."
Pansy flushes and tugs her hand back with an exasperated eye-roll. "If you hadn't been so caught up in the bloody Acromantula, it wouldn't have blown up."
"And if you had just warned me about your kinks before we started this, I wouldn't have been so surprised."
"Circe's sake," Pansy grumbles. "You're insufferable. Why am I even trying to be nice to your friend?
"Because you love me," Hermione says simply.
"Merlin knows why."
Hermione drops her voice down to a whisper and says, "because I'm a much better snog than an Acromantula."
Pansy tsks. "Absolutely insufferable," she says, but her exasperated words are undercut by her shining eyes.
Hermione flashes Pansy a grin, then turns and glances back toward the kitchen where Ginny is staring at the stove, lost in thought with a frown etched on her face. She twists back to Pansy and murmurs, "are you ready?"
Pansy gazes at Ginny, then gives a resigned shrug. "Not really, no. But I suppose I have to be."
"It'll be fine. Ginny will hear you out. She's reasonable." Hermione pauses, then adds, "well, compared to the rest of her family, she's reasonable."
"I really hope you're right. But if this goes sideways and she offs me instead, always remember that I loved you."
Hermione snorts, then says, "I love you, too. Now go."
Pansy gives her one more smile, skims her shoulder once more, then she turns to join Ginny in the back of the room.
Hermione watches her go, her skin still tingling from where Pansy had caressed her and her heart still glowing from the simple, beautiful words that she's certain she'll never grow tired of hearing.
"Do you know, it's actually stranger to see in person than I thought it would be?"
Hermione turns around to find Daphne, watching her with a quirked eyebrow. She's trying to keep her face somewhat impassive, but the surprise is still lingering in her eyes from everything she had just witnessed.
Hermione flushes a bit, mostly because some part of her had mildly forgotten that Daphne was watching them and had clocked every interaction, every glance, and every touch they had just shared. It's embarrassing, but at the very least, Hermione is fairly sure that they had been speaking quietly enough to not be overheard.
At least, she hopes they were—she really doesn't want anyone thinking Pansy wants to actually shag a spider.
"Sorry," Hermione says, rubbing at a warm cheek. "I suppose that was a lot to see."
To her surprise, Daphne laughs. "You think that was a lot to see? Please, Granger. Pansy's literally walked in on me having sex. I think I can handle a scandalous brush of the shoulder."
Hermione stares at Daphne in shock. "She what? I mean…how? And where?"
"The prefect's bathroom," Daphne says with an unaffected shrug.
"Oh. Oh, I…" Hermione immediately stiffens as Daphne's words actually sink in. "Wait…you're not a prefect."
Daphne sighs, her face crumpling in concern. "You know, sometimes I worry about your little Golden Trio, Granger."
"What?" Hermione asks, surprised by the completely unexpected remark. "Why?"
"Because if you're considered the brains of the operation, that really doesn't bode well for anyone, does it?"
Hermione glares, but before she can retort, Daphne says, "Pansy gave me the password ages ago. And I usually remember to lock the door, but, well…you know. The heat of the moment, and all that. Which I'm sure you're veryfamiliar with by now?" she adds with a smirk.
But the remark barely registers. Hermione's too busy shaking her head in horror as she finally fully comprehends what Daphne's admission means. "I use that bathroom," she says. "I…I…" She runs a hand through her hair then sharply says, "did you at least clean it after?"
"No," Daphne says with a scoff. "But if it's any consolation, we obviously didn't finish."
"Oh. Well, that's good, I suppose—"
"That time. We finished all the other times, though," Daphne adds with a devilish grin.
Hermione stares at her in aghast silence. Finally, she whispers, "I'll never be clean again."
"Oh, don't say that! Perhaps a soak in the prefect's bath would help?"
"No. I'm cleaning every surface in there tomorrow," Hermione glowers. "And I'm having McGonagall change the password."
"Go ahead. Pansy will just give it to me again," Daphne says, clearly not intimidated by the threat.
"No, she won't."
"You think she'd deny her best friend the simple pleasure of a bath?"
"First of all, it's clearly not just a bath you're after. Secondly, you're not a prefect," Hermione says, stressing each word in annoyance. "And thirdly, yes. I do. Because only one of us can withhold snogging, and it's not you," she finishes, arching a victorious eyebrow.
Something that looks like amusement sparkles in Daphne's eyes. "Devious, Granger," she says, cocking her head and surveying Hermione with respect. "I didn't think you'd have it in you."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Hermione counters easily.
"Clearly. But I suppose now that you're dating my best friend, that should change."
Hermione leans back and crosses her legs, trying to project cool confidence. Because even though she's surprised by Daphne's suggestion, she agrees—she should get to know the most important person in Pansy's life, even if she's certain Daphne will make a spectacle of the entire ordeal.
"You can ask me questions, if you want. I mean, we've got the time."
Daphne's eyes dart toward the back of the room for just a moment, presumably to make sure Ginny and Pansy are still busy, then they return to Hermione. "Alright. I suppose I'll start off when an easy one, then." She leans forward and asks, "what's your favorite position?"
Hermione tilts her head to the ceiling to avoid the smirk that immediately spreads across Daphne's face, and she forces herself to exhale slowly. She shakes her head in complete exasperation, then looks back toward Daphne. "You just lost first question privileges."
Daphne's smile grows wider. "Touchy, touchy."
"I'll go—what's your favorite subject?"
Daphne's smile immediately fades and she rolls her eyes. "At least my question was interesting," she mutters, leaning back. She crosses her arms and says, "Charms."
"Charms?" Hermione echoes with interest. "Why?"
"Oh, no. No, you don't get two questions in a row. It's my turn." Daphne tilts her head and takes a moment to think, and in that moment, Hermione reflects on how insane this is. She's being quizzed by Daphne Greengrass of all people, in the middle of the Room of Requirement, all while her girlfriend tries to win over one of her best friends in the back by apologizing for being a complete arse for years.
It's all mad, and it boggles Hermione's mind. But even though she's not exactly comfortable with spending time in Daphne's company, at least it's already going better than she had been anticipating. She had expected to snipe back and forth with Greengrass, all while the other girl made increasingly sexualized jokes and rude quips at her expense. So all things considered, being quizzed isn't too bad.
"Right. I've got one," Daphne says. "And you have to answer this time."
"Fine."
"Did you snog Weasley?"
"What?" Hermione says, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "No! Of course not!"
"Oh, don't act so surprised. We did run into you on a date with him, you know."
"A date which you made it your mission to ruin," Hermione reminds her.
"Yes. And you're welcome," Daphne says, somewhat smugly.
Hermione scoffs. She crosses her legs, then says, "no. I've never kissed Ron."
"Good. Because if you had, I think Pansy would have to burn her lips off."
Despite herself, Hermione feels her own lips twitch. It's true—Pansy would die if there was any chance she was kissing the same lips Ron had kissed. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want that."
"Mm. Not when you're so fond of them," Daphne says, raising an amused brow when Hermione fidgets uncomfortably. "Right, then! Your turn?"
Hermione nods, grateful for the quick pivot. She thinks for a moment, then says, "oh, I know. Did you get any Os on your O.W.L.s?"
Daphne shakes her head incredulously. "Merlin's tits."
"What?" Hermione asks, confused by Daphne's reaction.
"It's like having a conversation with my gran. And not my fun gran, mind you. What's your favorite subject? How were your O.W.L.s?" Daphne mimics. "Next thing I know, you'll be taking your teeth out and going to bed at eight."
Hermione bristles. "Well, it's a better question than what's your favorite position?"
"It most certainly isn't," Daphne says with a scoff. She taps her fingers against her knee, then says, "four Os—one in Care of Magical Creatures, one in Herbology, one in Transfiguration, and one in Charms. And if the next question you ask me has anything to do with schoolwork, I'm leaving," she adds. Before Hermione can reply, Daphne claps her hands together. "Now, then! Back to the fun questions—have you ever snogged Potter?"
"Oh my god."
"What? That's actually interesting! And Merlin knows, you've spent enough time together."
"As friends," Hermione says, exasperation coloring her tone. "You've spent enough time with Pansy…have you ever snogged her? And actually, has it escaped your notice that I'm dating a woman?"
"No, but that doesn't mean you didn't snog a boy, just to be sure."
"Well, I didn't," Hermione says. She hesitates for a moment, then begrudgingly adds, "snog Harry, that is."
Daphne's eye immediately light up. "So you have snogged a boy? Who?"
"If I don't get two questions in a row, neither do you," Hermione says with as much dignity as she can muster. She ignores Daphne's overly loud tsk and asks her next question. "What do you want to do after you graduate?"
"Another gran question?"
"It's not! It's a pertinent thing to ask all seventh year students!"
"Merlin's tits. You know, I hope you change out of your scaggy granny knickers before you and Pansy shag."
Hermione shoots Daphne a withering glare. "My knickers are not—"
"Chief of the Wizengamot."
Hermione stops mid-sentence and stares at Daphne, her glare slowly fading into something completely bewildered. "You…you want to be the Chief of the Wizengamot," she repeats slowly, unsure if she's heard correctly. When Daphne nods, she very cautiously asks, "why?"
"So I can convict you for asking such boring bloody questions."
"Well, excuse me for taking an interest in what you want to do with your life and not just who you're shagging!"
Daphne huffs out a sigh. "Fine. A columnist for Witch Weekly," she says. "Or a trophy wife to someone fabulously wealthy," she adds with a smirk. "I haven't decided yet."
Hermione's somewhat taken aback by the fact Daphne's actually answered her question, so she puts her indignation to the side for a moment and manages, "I'd pick the former, if I were you. Better working hours."
"Noted. My turn?"
Hermione nods.
"Excellent. Did you snog Viktor Krum?"
Heat rises to Hermione's cheeks and she glares at Daphne. "My questions might be gran questions, but do you ever think about anything other than…than…physical intimacy?"
"Don't call it that," Daphne says, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "You sound like McGonagall trying to give us some sort of lecture on sex education."
"I—"
"And anyway, you knew I was going to ask a follow up."
Hermione runs a hand through her hair as she stares at the wall behind Daphne in irritation. She doesn't necessarily want to answer, but at the same time, she figures there's no harm in telling the truth, so after a moment, she clicks her tongue and says, "yes."
"Yes you knew I was going to ask a follow up, or yes you've snogged Krum?"
"Yes, I've…the second one," Hermione says, sitting up straight and holding her head high and with as much pride as she can.
"You snogged a professional Quidditch player?" Daphne asks, sounding suitably impressed.
"I mean…not often? I usually tried to avoid it," Hermione says, wincing as she thinks about the time she toppled backwards into a fountain solely to avoid Viktor's lips and once again wondering how on earth she had ever thought she was straight.
"I mean, obviously, I saw how he followed you around during the Tournament, but I didn't know you'd…" She turns to Hermione with interest sparkling in her eyes. "How was it?"
"Two questions," Hermione says raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, humor me, Granger. Just this once?"
"Fine." Hermione thinks about it carefully for a moment, then slowly says, "he was considerate—"
Daphne groans. "Considerate? Merlin, never write a romance novel…"
"—but considering I'm going to be kissing women exclusively from now on, it wasn't exactly a great experience for me."
A surprised laugh bubbles out of Daphne. "I suppose that's fair. Still, though…what I wouldn't give to snog someone famous…"
Hermione rolls her eyes as Daphne loses herself for a moment in daydreams. "My turn?"
Daphne's eyes snap back to her. "Mm. But don't you dare ask another gran question."
"I like my questions," Hermione mutters. "But fine. Speaking of your gran…" she trails off for a moment and worries her lower lip as she tries to decide whether or not she should ask the question on her mind. Things are actually going fairly well, and she doesn't want to jeopardize this tenuous peace between them, but she also finds herself desperately wanting to know the answer. So even though it's probably ill-advised, she decides to ask it anyway. "What's your family like? I mean…are they anything like…like Pansy's?"
It's a decidedly more serious question, and Hermione can feel the way the air shifts around them immediately. She waits with bated breath, completely sure that Daphne is going to either snappily change the subject or make some sort of stupid joke about how her grandmother and Hermione would get along famously. But instead, she surprises Hermione. Her brow furrows slightly and she shifts a bit on the couch as she thinks over her answer. Finally, she says, "no. No, they're not like Pansy's."
"Good," Hermione exhales. "That's good."
"But they're not like the Weasleys, either," Daphne adds. "I mean, they're not vile by any means, but they're not exactly what you'd call tolerant."
Hermione nods. She knows the Greengrass family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so it's not like it's a surprise. To be honest, it's why she asked the question in the first place. And it's actually more of a surprise that in the seven years she's known her, Daphne's never mercilessly berated Hermione for her blood status. But even though she's fairly certain that she knows the answer to the question on her mind, she finds herself asking it anyway.
"Do they believe in pure-blood supremacy?"
"Two questions," Daphne says flatly.
"Humor me."
Daphne sighs. "Yes. But not to the same extent as Pansy's family. Nowhere near that extent, actually. They're quieter about it, but you know it's there. In the way they look sometimes. In the way they speak."
Hermione hesitates, then asks, "and do you agree?"
"Three questions, Granger? Unbelievable. It's like there aren't any rules anymore."
"You can have three after. But I'd like to know."
Daphne surveys Hermione carefully, then she shakes her head. "No. No, I don't."
"Why?"
Daphne shrugs. "I don't know. I never really did. I mean, Pansy believed in it because she had to. Because if she didn't, her father would…well. You know," she says, her expression briefly turning dark as she thinks about Pansy's father. But then the shadow passes and Daphne says, "but like I said, my parents aren't like that. They never threatened me. I think they just assumed we'd follow in their footsteps, but unfortunately, they failed to take into account that I've never respected either of them," she says, arching an eyebrow. "I suppose that predisposed me to question everything they believed in and naturally made me want to go the opposite way. And if I'm being honest, it just never made sense to me. If you're magic, you're magic. I mean, we're all here, aren't we? And…"
She trails off and flushes, and Hermione tilts her head with interest. "What?" she asks. She's already pleasantly surprised by the content of what Daphne's said so far, and she very much wants to hear the rest.
Daphne bites her lip as she contemplates something, then she sets her shoulders and says, "I don't want to inflate what I'd imagine to be an already astoundingly large ego, but it actually had something to do with you."
"With me?" Hermione echoes in surprise. "What?"
"If you tell anyone I'm about to say this, I'll…"
She trails off and turns to stare at the door for a long moment. Hermione glances toward it, then back at Daphne in confusion. "Did you hear something?"
"No. No, I was just waiting to see if some future version of me might come bursting through the door to stop me from saying this. Because if you tell anyone, I will find a Time-Turner and stop this whole bloody conversation from happening."
"I won't tell anyone," Hermione promises, intent on hearing whatever role she had played in Daphne's surprising beliefs.
"Fine. Fine, I…" Daphne lifts a hand and runs it through her hair, then huffs out, "I suppose I figured if the smartest sodding person in our entire year was a swotty Muggleborn, then pure-blood supremacy must just be a ridiculous and discriminatory way of maintaining some type of archaic power structure and that it was idiotic to think blood had any influence on magical ability."
The words come out in one rapidly delivered sentence, and Hermione blinks stupidly at Daphne, completely taken aback. "That's…I…"
Daphne lifts a hand. "Shh." She glances expectantly toward the door one more time and waits. After a moment, she turns back to Hermione. "Either I couldn't find a Time-Turner, or you kept your word. I certainly hope it's the latter."
Hermione breathes out a surprised laugh. "I'll keep my word. I just…that's…that's a really admirable way to look at things," she says, keeping things simple as to not embarrass Daphne or cause her to rattle off a string of offensive jokes to undercut the moment. Instead, she tilts her head in thought, then asks, "do other Slytherins feel this way?"
"Some do, some don't. Stunningly enough, we're not all cut from the same cloth," Daphne says, arching an eyebrow.
Hermione flushes a bit at the thinly veiled implication that she had thought all Slytherins were the same, but before she can weakly protest, Daphne huffs and says, "and anyway, that was at least seventy-three questions, which means I get to ask you just as many."
Hermione leans back as she finishes absorbing everything she's just learned about Daphne. It had all been surprising, because even though Daphne had never been cruel per se, she certainly hadn't liked Hermione, which had led Hermione to assume that the other girl simply believed her to be inferior. But now that she knows that Daphne had never actually subscribed to her family's views, it's…
…well, honestly, it's still a little upsetting. Because that just means Daphne had disliked Hermione based solely on her personality, which isn't something that anyone wants to hear. But she's cautiously optimistic that now that they have a reason to get along and now that her blood status isn't an issue, they might actually manage it.
She glances up to find blue eyes, trained on her, waiting for a reply.
"Fine," Hermione says, content to not press Daphne any further and to let her take her turn. "But if any of them are about snogging, shagging, or any other form of physical intimacy—"
"Physical fucking intimacy," Daphne mutters.
"—then I reserve the right to remain silent."
"Merlin's tits. I hope you're not this uptight with Pansy."
At Daphne's words, Hermione has a sudden flash of the last time she and Pansy were in this room together. It's a vivid scene—jumpers discarded on the floor, Pansy astride Hermione with her head thrown back in pleasure and her hands tangled in curling hair as Hermione dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses across the swell of pale breasts.
"Granger?"
Hermione glances back at Daphne with flaming cheeks. "Sorry, I…did you say something?"
Daphne's eyes sparkle. "Oh, I see. Uptight when it comes to talking about it, but not so much when it comes to doing it?"
"I—"
"Don't bother denying it. Your face just told me everything I need to know."
Hermione glares. "Did you have a question?"
"I do. I mean, mostly it's what on earth were you just thinking about? but considering that probably falls into your absurd no physical intimacy rule, I'll leave it be for now."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," Hermione says stiffly. "What's your question?"
Daphne hums, and Hermione thinks she's about to smirk and say something else completely lewd and inappropriate. She steels herself for the inevitable, but as she waits, Daphne's face does something unexpected. She frowns and looks almost hesitant, like she's worried about whatever she wants to ask. Hermione's never seen Daphne look so nervous, and she finds herself waiting with curiosity to see what the question is.
After a few silent seconds, Daphne works up the nerve to ask it.
"Have you forgiven Pansy?"
Hermione stares at her, completely bewildered. "Of course I—"
Daphne shakes her head. "I mean really forgiven her. Forgiven her for all of it. Because…" she hesitates, then sighs. "I can see how much she loves you. But I worry that there's a part of her that will always feel guilty for your past. That she'll feel unworthy or undeserving and then she'll internalize it in that stupid way she does and refuse to talk to anyone about it, and it'll fester until—"
"Wait. Wait, hold on, I just…" Hermione shakes her head and nervously bounces her leg as she wonders if she's been misreading things all along. "Did she tell you this? I mean…is that how she feels?"
"No. But I've known her for long enough to know how her mind works. Which is why I need to know that you've reallyforgiven her. That there's no part of you that's still holding onto any anger toward her, or anything that you could use against her one day."
"I would never—"
"Even by accident," Daphne adds. "Even if it's unintentional. It just…it doesn't take much for Pansy to blame herself for things. She's surprisingly good at it, actually. Especially if she thinks she's hurting someone she loves. And I'm just concerned that with everything that happened between you two, you might hold onto something or…I don't know, use your history together against her in an argument someday. I'm worried she's priming herself for a lifetime of self-hatred or feeling inadequate. And I won't let that happen," she adds, her eyes flashing. "So if there's any part of you that still has grievances against her, I want to know."
Hermione manages a small smile at the passionate way Daphne is defending Pansy before shaking her head. "No, I…I've already forgiven her for all of it," she says. "I mean, obviously, it wasn't an ideal situation, but I know why she acted the way she did. She explained it all. She apologized. And what's more, I forgave her before any of this was a thing. I forgave her back when I thought we'd only ever be friends, so if you think I'm just ignoring everything in our past because of some sort of…of honeymoon phase, I'm not," she says firmly. "I know who she was, and while I can't forget our past, I'll never hold it against her."
"You're sure?" Daphne asks.
"I'm sure. The person she is now is leagues away from the person she was then. And what's more, I know how hard she worked to get here. I'd never belittle that by throwing past indiscretions back in her face. The only things I'll hold against her are the stupid things she does from here on out," she adds with a quirked eyebrow.
"Of which there will be many," Daphne says, looking more or less comforted by Hermione's words.
Hermione smiles, then decides to be even more honest with Daphne, even if it might make them both uncomfortable in the process. "I love her," she says simply. "And I don't care that she doesn't have a perfect background—I love every part of her. Even the messy bits. And I'll spend every day reminding her of that and showing her just how wonderful she is and how lucky I am to be hers."
Hermione's concerns about making Daphne uncomfortable seem to be unwarranted, because Daphne's eyes grow just a touch softer at her words. But of course, she's still Daphne, so she manages a scoff. "See, that's how you'd write a romance novel. None of that he was considerate nonsense."
"I'm a lesbian," Hermione says flatly. "Honestly, what did you expect me to say about kissing a man?"
Daphne snorts as she crosses her legs. "Fair enough. Anyway, you've answered my question. Any more for me?"
"Yes, actually," Hermione says. She takes a deep breath, then says, "are you really okay with all of this?"
"With what? You and Pansy?"
Hermione nods as she crosses her arms across herself anxiously.
Daphne glances toward the back of the room, smiles a bit, then looks back to Hermione. "All I want is for Pansy to be happy," she says, sounding more honest than she's ever sounded before. "And for some reason, you seem to make her happy, so…yes. I'm really okay with it. But Merlin, is it strange. I mean, you and Pansy? It's the strangest thing I've ever heard of. I mean, I could shag Flitwick and that would make more sense."
"I—"
"I could shag the fat fucking Friar and it would make more sense."
"I'm—"
"I could shag the portrait of Sir Cadogan and it'd make—"
"I think I get it!" Hermione snaps, interrupting with a cross frown.
"It never hurts to make oneself clear," Daphne says with a smirk. But the smirk quickly falls away as her gaze turns serious. "But you're not the only one who loves Pansy. So even if it's bizarre and makes almost no sense, if it makes her happy, then it makes me happy."
"I…thank you," Hermione says. "Really. Thank you."
Daphne hums, then tilts her head. "And to be honest with you, I can't think of anyone else who could keep Pansy in line. You're probably one of the only people who will be able to keep up with her."
Hermione's eyes widen in surprise at the compliment, but before she can acknowledge it, Daphne adds, "anyway, I don't know if you've decided to tell people, but when you do, know that I'll curse anyone who so much as breathesat either of you in the wrong way."
Hermione's eyes grow even wider at the threat and the very specific language Daphne had used. "Really? I mean, Pansy, I understand. But…either of us?" Hermione asks in surprise, trying to work out if it was just a slip of the tongue.
Daphne shrugs. "Pansy loves you. I love Pansy. Which means that as long as you're a part of her life, you're a part of mine. And you'll come to find that Slytherins are a surprisingly loyal bunch to those they decide to protect."
"I…I…"
Daphne saves Hermione the trouble of trying to find words. "Speaking of, I have another question," she says. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye—"
"An understatement," Hermione scoffs.
"—and I suppose I should apologize for letting Nashira nest in your hair…" Daphne says, ignoring Hermione's interjection. She breaks off and frowns, then shakes her head, "no, I won't apologize for that. That was my favorite part of sixth year, actually," she says proudly. "You know, she really does miss you."
Hermione taps a finger against the couch in frustration. "Is there a question here?"
"So impatient, Granger. But yes, there is. Putting all of that aside…do you maybe want to…make an effort to…get along?" Daphne asks with a somewhat pained grimace, each word of the question coming out strained and forced.
Hermione stares at Daphne for a moment before managing to ask, "for Pansy's sake?"
Daphne immediately rolls her eyes. "No, Granger. Because I'm in love with you, too." She huffs, then says, "obviously for Pansy's sake. Merlin's pants."
"Right. Right, I…I suppose that would be a good idea. At the very least, it'd make Pansy's life easier."
"Which in light of recent events is something I'm sure we both want."
"It is," Hermione says. "So I suppose we already have something in common."
Daphne nods, then fixes Hermione with a level gaze. "So…for Pansy?"
"For Pansy," Hermione agrees.
Daphne inclines her head once more, and they hold each other's gaze for a moment, both silently seeming to realize that they had just formed some sort of strange, delicate bond together, based solely around the Slytherin witch they both love. But to be honest, Hermione's fairly sure she'd try to befriend anybody at this school if there was a chance it would make Pansy happy.
She'd do just about anything to make Pansy happy.
Before Hermione can say anything else, Daphne's eyes light up and she leans forward. "Ooh, I have another question."
"Technically, it's my turn," Hermione says. "But fine."
"I know the answer to this is probably no, but…have you ever snogged Longbottom?"
"What?"
"I have a theory about him that I want to check."
"I…I…"
"Everything alright over here?"
Hermione looks up in a daze to see Pansy and Ginny, both holding two full plates of pasta each, and glancing between the two of them with interest.
"Oh, good, you're just in time to hear if Granger's ever snogged Longbottom," Daphne says cheerfully.
"Longbottom?" Pansy asks. She stares at Hermione with wide eyes. "I…I mean, have you?"
"Obviously not," Hermione says, finally regaining her ability to speak. She glares at Daphne. "And if it'll put an end to this ridiculous line of questioning once and for all, I've snogged three people total—Viktor, Terry Boot, and Pansy."
"You snogged Terry Boot?" Ginny says with surprise, putting two plates down on the table and summoning one of the armchairs to her. She sinks down into it and looks at Hermione with interest. "When did that happen?"
"Snogged is the wrong word," Hermione amends. "He and I ended up under the mistletoe together last year and he…rather enthusiastically tried to kiss me," she finishes with a small flush.
Pansy, who had been in the process of lowering herself down to sit beside Hermione, freezes. "But you didn't want to?"
"Well, no, obviously not. I was surprised. But it's not like it was much of a kiss. He mostly missed my lips and when it became clear I wasn't interested, he was terribly embarrassed."
Pansy's face darkens. "I'll hex his balls off," she mutters.
Hermione turns to look at Pansy with surprise, finding herself unexpectedly intrigued by the seething jealousy in Pansy's voice, and for a moment, she wishes they were alone so she could kiss Pansy properly and show her that she's the only person she's ever had eyes for.
Instead, she tucks her reaction away for later, places a hand on Pansy's thigh, and turns back to Daphne. "Anyway, no. I've never snogged Neville, nor will I ever. And what's this theory you want to test?" she asks suspiciously, wondering if she should be concerned for her friends' safety.
"Oh, Merlin, not this again," Pansy mutters. Daphne's eyes shine and she opens her mouth, but Pansy points a finger at her and says, "no. No tallywhacker talk at the table. Not when we're about to eat."
"Tallywhacker talk?" Hermione echoes in confusion.
Daphne pouts at Pansy. "You're no fun." She turns toward Hermione and says, "I'll tell you later," with a very surprising wink.
"I'm…I…" Hermione blinks a few times, completely thrown off by the unexpected wink.
"What's tallywhacker talk?" Ginny asks, reaching for her fork.
"Something Pansy and Granger are decidedlyuninterested in," Daphne says, smirking as she shakes out a napkin and gently drapes it over her lap.
"Merlin's beard," Pansy mutters. She glances toward Hermione and says, "I hope spaghetti is okay? I thought it would take too long to make anything else, but had I known how helpful Ginny would be, I might have changed the menu."
Hermione clocks the casual use of Ginny's first name, and she turns to look at Pansy with bright, questioning eyes. Pansy glances back at her with a tiny smile and nods her head, and Hermione feels her own smile practically double.
It would seem that Ginny had been open to Pansy's apology, and Hermione feels her heart swell. She's beyond thrilled that she won't have to tip-toe around Ginny, and that someday in the future, she might actually be okay with Pansy joining them for meals, or with coming round their place for dinner.
Hermione flushes at where her own thoughts had immediately gone. She's getting a bit ahead of herself. She shouldn't be thinking about a their place right now.
(But if she were to think of it, it would be a lovely little cottage, somewhere in the countryside outside of London, filled with books and light and laughter and Pansy.)
"Already trying to win points with me?" Ginny asks with a small scoff as she twirls her fork into her pasta. "I didn't do anything," she says, looking toward Hermione. "She managed it all. I reckon she could give my mum a run for her money in the kitchen."
"I doubt that, but thank you," Pansy says with a small, modest smile as she lifts her fork to her mouth. "I just like cooking."
"Which is surprising," Daphne says with a suspicious twinkle in her eyes. "I would have assumed you'd much prefer…eating out."
Ginny's face flames, Pansy chokes on the food in her mouth, and Daphne lifts her fork for another bite, looking far too satisfied with herself.
Hermione spares an exasperated look toward Daphne, then she puts down her fork and raises her hand to gently rub Pansy's back as she continues to cough around her mouthful spaghetti. As she continues her gentle ministrations, Hermione glances toward Ginny, intent on steering the conversation back into less suggestive waters. "I know how hesitant you were to…to cook, so thank you for being willing to try. Really, it…it means a lot," she says, hoping Ginny knows that she's not just talking about cooking.
Ginny seems to catch on, because she nods. "To be honest, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. I mean, it could be the Ogden's talking, but…I can kind of understand what you see in her," she says, raising an eyebrow toward Pansy. "She's not that bad when she's not being a massive troll."
"Thank you," Pansy says, sparing a small, appreciative smile for Ginny that makes Hermione desperate to know all the details of their talk. "Anyway, how were things here? What did you two find to talk about?"
Hermione swallows the bite she's just taken and opens her mouth to reply, but Daphne beats her to it. "Granger's scaggy granny knickers and whether or not she's ever snogged Potter."
Hermione turns to Daphne with hot cheeks and angry eyes. "My knickers are not scaggy!" she says furiously.
"You've snogged Harry?"
"What? I—no," Hermione says to Ginny, whose fork is suspended in the air in disbelief. "Of course not, I…" She trails off and looks helplessly at Pansy. "Is she always like this?"
"Every bloody day of the week," Pansy mutters around a mouthful of pasta. She swallows, then looks at Hermione. "You get used to it," she adds with a shrug.
And even though she's frustrated by the annoying smirk on Daphne's face, there's a part of her that's buoyed by Pansy's words. Because she will get used to it. She'll get used to Daphne in the same way Pansy will get used to her friends, because they're going to make this work. Even though all the odds are stacked against them, they're going to make this work. They're both bright, passionate, and surprisingly stubborn, and there's no doubt in her mind that if any two people could somehow navigate a secret relationship, it's the two of them. So even if Daphne is currently driving her mad, as she looks around this small, intimate gathering, tucked away in the most secret room Hogwarts has to offer, she still feels surprisingly happy and hopeful.
Their friends are making an effort, they're all more or less getting along, and at the end of the day, it's all going to be fine.
They're going to be fine.
***
It's just past ten when Hermione and Ginny arrive back at the Gryffindor common room. Hermione's stomach is full and her heart is light, and as she discusses the events of the evening with Ginny, she can't help the smile that seems to have taken up permanent residence on her face.
"And you really had an okay time tonight?" Hermione asks for what might be the tenth time.
"Minus the inquisition at the end here?" Ginny asks dryly. "Yes, I really did."
Hermione's smile grows even brighter. Ginny had filled her in on the details of Pansy's apology and from what she can tell, it seems like it had been well received and that they had come to the same conclusion that she and Daphne had—for Hermione's sake, Pansy and Ginny would try their hardest to get along.
"And do you…I mean, you liked Pansy well enough?" Hermione asks nervously as they come to a stop just out of ear shot of the Fat Lady.
"I still don't know if we'll ever be friends, but…yeah. I mean, you're right, she's not the same person she used to be. And I think if she stays this way, then we'll be able to get along," Ginny says. "Like I said, she's okay when she's not being a troll."
Hermione chuckles, but before she can reply, Ginny looks her in the eye. "I told you before that all I want is for you to end up with someone who treats you well and makes you happy. And I saw the way you two interacted tonight. It's pretty clear that you love each other, which…again, it's completely mad, but…I'm happy for you."
Warmth flares in Hermione's chest and she has to swallow past a lump in her throat before she's able to whisper, "thank you."
Ginny nods, then says, "but next time we double date, I'm bringing Harry. I don't think I can handle Parkinson and Greengrass together ever again. I've never been so exhausted."
Hermione laughs in surprise and starts toward the portrait, where the Fat Lady is already eyeing them expectantly. "Deal. I want Harry to get to know her anyway. And to be honest, I'm not sure I can handle Greengrass ever again either." She turns to the portrait but before she can give the password, the Fat Lady interrupts.
"Out awfully late, aren't you?" the Fat Lady says, eyeing them both with interest.
Hermione checks her watch, then shrugs. "I suppose so. But I've been out later than this," she says, thinking of all her late nights in the library, and as of recently, her even later nights in the Room of Requirement.
"Trust me, I've noticed." The Fat Lady sighs rapturously. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to be young and sneak out to meet with gentlemen callers again…"
Hermione glances at Ginny with bewilderment. "We weren't…I mean, I wasn't…"
"Custard creams," Ginny says, rolling her eyes as the portrait swings open to admit them.
"Ginny!"
"What?"
"We were in the middle of a conversation!"
Ginny scoffs. "I just did you a favor. Trust me, you don't want to have a conversation with her about this…she's the biggest gossip in the entire bloody school."
"I heard that," comes a deeply offended voice from behind them.
"You were meant to," Ginny calls back over her shoulder.
The portrait slams shut behind them, and Hermione winces a bit. She's not sure how, but she's fairly certain she and her friends face the Fat Lady's wrath more than any other Gryffindors.
"One of these days, she's going to lock us out for good," Hermione says, but Ginny just laughs as she glances around the common room.
Even though it's late, there are still a few small groups of students spread throughout the room. There's a trio of third years, huddled by the fireplace and working collaboratively on an essay, a lanky and pale seventh year, reading a book with an absurdly fat, grey cat curled up on his lap for company, two fifth years playing chess in the far corner of the room, and…
…Ron, sitting on a couch, watching her with nervous eyes.
Shit.
Immediately, she straightens her back and folds her arms across her chest. Her gaze must grow hard and cold, because Ginny glances toward the couch and when she sees Ron, she inhales softly.
"Hermione…" she starts, but Hermione doesn't want to hear it. Instead, she swiftly starts across the room with her head held high. She knows she'll have to pass by Ron to get to the girl's dormitory, but she won't spare him a glance.
She hasn't said a word to him since Tuesday, and this time, there's no part of her that feels the need to mend the rift. She couldn't possibly care less if they go into summer holiday furious at each other.
She's done trying.
As she passes by Ron, she hears him clear his throat nervously. "Hermione…I…could we…?"
She pauses briefly, but doesn't turn to look at him. Instead, she folds her arms even tighter across her chest, stares straight ahead, and mutters, "we have nothing left to say to each other."
But before she can stalk away, Ginny grabs at her arm.
Hermione glances down at the hand holding her in place, then raises her eyes to Ginny's, her gaze narrowing suspiciously as she waits to hear what Ginny's going to say.
"I know you don't want to, but…will you hear him out?" Ginny murmurs.
"Why should I?" Hermione says, her tone icy. "He's made his feelings on everything abundantly clear."
"I know, but I just…" Ginny glances at the ground, her eyes searching back and forth as she bites her lip, lost in thought. After a moment, something in her gaze sets, and she looks back up with determination. "You said you'd owe me a favor if I helped Parkinson with the cooking, right? Anything I wanted?"
Hermione frowns. "Yes…" she says slowly. "But I—"
"Then this is it. This is what I want my favor to be."
Hermione shakes her head. "No. No, Ginny, I—"
"Just hear him out. That's it. For me?" she adds, looking at Hermione with so much hope that it makes some of her firm resolve crumble. Because after all, Ginny did just sit through a dinner with two people she strongly dislikes, and she listened to Pansy's apology, all for Hermione's sake. She went above and beyond what she had to do because she knew it would make Hermione happy.
Because that's what a good friend does.
"Fine," Hermione eventually says, both her tone and her posture stiff. "But only because of what you did for me tonight. And after this, we're even."
Ginny nods quickly. "I can accept that. Thank you." She turns to Ron and says, "So you know, I just cashed in a massive favor for you and if you blow it, I'm shoving a Filibuster's up your arse and lighting it."
Ron visibly pales and Ginny, evidently satisfied that her threat has landed, claps her hands together. "Right, then! I'm exhausted so I'm off to bed." She pulls Hermione in for a quick hug and whispers, "give him a chance. He might surprise you."
"He hasn't yet," Hermione says.
"No. But neither had Parkinson, and she managed it."
Ginny gives Hermione a final squeeze, then pulls back. "See you in the morning," she says. She turns toward Ron and says, "Good night. And remember—I've got an extra Filibuster's with your name on it."
Ron swallows heavily at the ominous promise. "G'night," he manages to mutter as Ginny walks by. Once she's gone, he turns his nervous gaze to Hermione. "Hi," he says weakly.
Hermione arches an eyebrow at the pathetic greeting, but doesn't reply.
"D'you…I mean, would you maybe want to sit?" he asks, nodding toward the chair beside the couch.
"Not particularly, no."
Ron winces at the ice that's still present in Hermione's tone and anxiously rubs at his neck. "Right. Okay, that's…that's okay. It's just…I have a lot to say—"
"What a surprise," Hermione mutters.
"—and it might take a while to get through. So…I mean, it might make sense to sit?"
"I'm only here as a favor to Ginny," Hermione says, her words coming out clipped. "I don't want to sit. I don't even want to be doing this, so whatever you want to say, say it quickly."
Ron sighs quietly, then he nods. "Right. Okay, so…so first thing's first—I'm sorry."
Hermione's eyes narrow at the earnest tone in Ron's voice, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she waits for him to continue.
"I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you the first time around. Or the second. …Or the third," he says, sheepishly rubbing at his neck once more and making the skin under his hand turn bright red. "And I'm sorry for some of the things I said. I was upset and confused, I guess. And I know you hate it when I second guess you," he says, raising earnest eyes to bore into hers. "I do, and I'm sorry for that, too, but I just…" He winces a bit, then says, "can you see it from my perspective? I mean, I know I went about it the wrong way, but I just…I've spent seven years, standing by and watching Parkinson hurt you. I've heard the things she says to you and I've seen how it affects you, and I just…I mean, I'm your friend," he murmurs. "And as your friend, that's not exactly something I can just put aside, you know?"
Hermione nods tightly. "I know that. Which is why I toldyou that I wasn't upset that you were worried."
"I know," Ron says quickly. "I know that. It was the way I expressed it, so…can I try to express it differently? I mean, can we just…can we try to have a conversation and not an argument?"
A muscle in Hermione's jaw jumps at the phrasing. "I don't know, Ron. Can we?" she asks, her voice surprisingly sarcastic.
Ron flinches a bit, seeming surprised that Hermione's even capable of sounding that harsh, then wilts. "I deserved that," he murmurs with downcast eyes.
Hermione sighs at the defeated tone in his voice, and after a long moment, she crosses to the chair near Ron and against her better judgment, she perches on the armrest. "We can try," she says, recrossing her arms tightly. "But if you insult Pansy even one time, I swear, I'll—"
"I won't," Ron says. "I mean, I have questions, but…I won't insult her."
Hermione takes a deep breath, then slowly exhales. "Fine. Fine, we can have a conversation."
Ron manages a small smile. "Thanks," he says. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and Hermione waits patiently. After a few long seconds, he carefully says, "I don't mean to second-guess you. Everything I've ever said, I've said out of concern and as your friend. Because I care about you. And I don't want to see you hurt. So when the only thing I know about Parkinson is that she's made it her mission to hurt you for seven years, and when I know how much you hated her, I mean…what was I supposed to think?"
"You could have let me explain. Like Harry did. Like Ginny did."
"Right. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly known for my cool head under pressure," Ron says with a self-deprecating smile.
"So does that mean you'll let me explain now?"
"You don't have to. Harry already told me everything."
Hermione hadn't expected that piece of information. "He what?" she asks with a puzzled frown, slowly letting her arms unfurl as she gazes at Ron.
"Don't be cross with him," Ron says quickly, looking concerned that he's just put his foot in his mouth. "He just thought it'd help if I knew the whole story."
"I see," Hermione says. "And did it?"
"Yeah. A bit. I mean, I still don't really get it, but…" Ron trails off and bites his lip for a second, then shrugs. "But I know I need to stop second-guessing you, even if I don't get it. And I know you're the smartest person I've ever met, and I know you can take care of yourself. That's not it at all. It's just…it's sometimes a bit hard not to question a decision when on the surface it seems a bit…a bit…"
"Mental?" Hermione asks. Her tone has considerably softened now that she can tell Ron's actually making an effort and isn't going to start a fight, and she tentatively lets some of the fight ease out of her body.
"I mean, yeah," Ron says. "And if it was any other witch…but it isn't. It's Parkinson, and I just can't turn off the way I feel about her. I can't shut down seven years of grievances against her for hurting someone I love."
"And I can appreciate that," Hermione says, shifting from the arm of the chair to sit in it properly. "And believe me, I don't expect you to ever be her best mate. I don't even expect you to even like her. But that's not what the issue here is. The issue is that you don't trust me. You don't trust my judgment."
"I do," Ron says quickly, but Hermione shakes her head.
"If it was just this time, I'd believe that. But it's been so many things. I mean, even when I told you that I like…that I like women," she says, glancing around and lowering her voice, "the first thing you did was tell me I was wrong. The first thing."
Ron flushes and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. "And I'm sorry." He runs a hand through his hair, then says, "it's not an excuse but you caught me off guard and I reacted…well, like a complete tosser, if I'm being honest," he says with a wince.
Hermione exhales sharply in something that almost resembles a laugh. "I won't disagree."
Ron spares her a smile, but it's only present for a moment before it morphs into something more serious. "But about that. I want you to know that I don't think there's anything wrong with you." When Hermione raises a disbelieving eyebrow, Ron shakes his head quickly. "Really, I don't. I know what I said, but I just…" he picks at the fabric on the couch for a moment, then says, "I was just thinking about it in a sort of abstract manner, I suppose."
"An abstract manner?" Hermione echoes with confusion.
"There's probably a better way to put that, but yeah. Just…y'know, the idea of a bloke with another bloke, it's just…" His face twists with discomfort for a moment, then he shrugs. "I suppose it's just something that seems a bit weird to me? And I know it shouldn't. I know it doesn't matter and it doesn't impact me in the slightest, but…I mean, it's like Harry said, isn't it? I've never actually met anyone who's…who's…"
"Gay?" Hermione prompts gently, trying to keep her tone as calm as she can.