Chapter 9 - ch 6 part 2

Hermione and Ron. 

Hermione and Ron on their bloody date. 

Her eyes grow wide and she puts down her tankard with more force than necessary. 

"Oh, fuck," Pansy murmurs. Her leg immediately starts bouncing under the table, and she knows her flush is obvious when Daphne curiously glances over her shoulder to see what's happening behind her. 

Pansy hears Daphne's sharp inhalation and when she turns back to face Pansy again, she's grinning broadly. "Well, well. This little excursion just got far more interesting," Daphne says, her eyes sparkling with delight. 

"Daphne…" Pansy says, a warning in her voice.

"Hm…if only there were an open table somewhere," Daphne says, tapping a finger to her chin, thoughtfully. When her eyes land on the recently vacated table beside them, she widens them comically and turns to Pansy. "Oh, wait a minute! There is a free table!" 

"Daphne, I swear…" Pansy says. She looks toward the door where Hermione and Ron are still standing, scanning the Three Broomsticks for any available space. Neither of them have noticed that there's only one table open in the whole bloody pub, and it happens to be practically on top of her table with Daphne. 

Without any warning, Daphne grabs her wand, points it toward Pansy's tankard, and murmurs Evanesco, then does the same to her tankard. Both of their butterbeers immediately vanish and Pansy looks up at Daphne with surprise.

"I wasn't done with that!" Pansy says with a small glare. 

Daphne offers no apology. She simply stands up, winks at Pansy, and says, "you can thank me later." Then without another word, she strides quickly through the crowd toward the bar.

Pansy watches as she pushes her way behind the bar and sidles next to Madam Rosmerta, who immediately glares at Daphne and gestures angrily for her to leave. Leave it to Daphne to get us permanently banned from the Three Broomsticks, Pansy thinks as she watches the ludicrous display. But Daphne doesn't leave. Instead, she leans in close and murmurs something in Madam Rosmerta's ear, and after a few brief moments of back and forth discussion, Madam Rosmerta shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and holds out her hand. Daphne smoothly shakes it, then without another word, she slips out from behind the bar and starts back toward Pansy. When she sits back down, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining. 

"…What was that?" Pansy asks, eyeing her skeptically. 

Daphne tsks and shakes her head. "Patience, Pans. All in good time," she says with yet another infuriating wink. 

"Would you stop that?" Pansy asks hotly.

"Stop what?"

"The winking! Stop winking and just tell me what you—"

"Excuse me?" 

Pansy stops short and glances up to find Hermione and Ron, standing beside the empty table. Hermione's eyes are on her, and Pansy stares at her in stunned, frazzled silence. 

She's never seen Hermione out of her school robes before. 

She looks good. 

She's taken off her heavy wool coat to reveal a dark blue summer dress that falls just above her knees, showing off her long, smooth legs. Legs that Pansy could spend quite some time staring at, if it wasn't for her altogether distracting face. Her thick brown hair is framing said face, with two pieces pulled back on either side and braided down the back, leaving the rest to fall in perfect, soft waves over her shoulders. She's put on just enough makeup to make her hazel eyes pop, and Pansy dimly wonders if her eyes have always shined like that, or if it's just a trick of the light. She'd like to get close enough to examine them for herself…to put a delicate hand on Hermione's cheek and study the shifting brown and green tones until she's able to replicate them in her dreams. But if she did that, she'd get so distracted by Hermione's stupidly perfect cupid's bow that she'd forget what she was doing in the first place. Pansy's not sure she's ever seen lips quite like Hermione's before. They're soft and inviting and they're moving and Merlin, she wonders what they taste like and…

…They're moving. 

Hermione is asking her something. 

Pansy snaps out of whatever stupor she had found herself in and manages to drag her eyes back up to Hermione's, all the while hoping her face isn't as red as it feels. Hermione is gazing at her expectantly, and Pansy wants to bang her head against the table because she has absolutely no idea what Hermione's asked. 

"Sorry, I…could you repeat that? It's a bit loud in here," she says, flushing even darker when she hears Daphne's light snort from across the table. 

"Is this table open?" Hermione repeats, raising her voice a bit. "It seems to be the only free spot, but if you're holding it for someone—"

"No!" Pansy says, a bit too quickly to sound natural. "I mean…no, no, we're not holding it. You can…" Pansy gestures toward it weakly, all the while hoping some kind soul will take pity on her and knock her unconscious with a strong Stupefy. At least then, she wouldn't risk saying anything monumentally stupid. Or worse, risk staring at Hermione's annoyingly perfect mouth again. 

Hermione nods in thanks, then moves to sit down on the side closest to Pansy. As she sits, her dress rides up her thighs just a bit, and Pansy quickly looks away from the newly revealed skin, her face flaming and her heart beating faster. They're close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from Hermione's body, and Pansy's reasonably sure that if Hermione were to accidentally brush up against her, she might pass out.

"Honestly, Hermione, we don't have to stay," Ron says. He's still standing and looking at Hermione with pleading eyes, clearly desperate to be anywhere else. "We could go to Madam Puddifoot's. It'd be easier to talk there. And I'm sure the company would be better," he adds, glancing at Pansy with distaste. 

"Why, Weasley, didn't anybody ever tell you, you shouldn't talk about your own date like that?" Daphne asks, lifting a mockingly scandalized hand to her heart. 

Ron glares at Daphne. "I obviously meant you two," he says, then he turns back to Hermione. "But really, we can come back here some other time. And Madam Puddifoot's could be a nice change of pace. After all, I like tea and…and…tea," he finishes weakly, clearly unable to come up with anything else Madame Puddifoot's might have to offer. "So…what do you say?" he asks, looking at Hermione encouragingly.

"Ron, you know I don't like Madam Puddifoot's," Hermione says calmly. "And you're making this more uncomfortable than it needs to be. I'm sure Parkinson and Greengrass don't want to talk to you anymore than you want to talk to them." 

"Yes, but…"

"And I don't know about you, but I'd quite like a butterbeer," Hermione adds. 

Ron shifts on his feet for a moment, then sighs, seeming to deflate a bit. "Fine. But the moment a different table opens up and we can get away from these two, we're moving," he adds with another glare at Daphne and Pansy. 

"Oh, no. And here I was, looking forward to our impromptu double date," Daphne says blithely. 

Hermione rolls her eyes and chooses to ignore Daphne's comment. "We'll move when we can," she says to Ron, her voice soothing. "But until then…do you want me to get the drinks?"

"What? No, of course not, I'll get them. Or actually…we could both go?" he asks, looking hopefully at Hermione.

"I think one of us should stay here. If I leave, someone might take the table," Hermione says gently. 

"Oh. Oh, right. No, of course. I'll just…" he gestures toward the bar, but before he can start toward it, Daphne pops up. 

"I think I'll accompany you. It appears we've run dry, too," she says, glancing pointedly at her empty tankard. She catches Pansy's eye and grins at her, and Pansy has to fight the urge to bury her head in her hands. That'swhy she vanished their butterbeers—to force Hermione and Pansy to be alone together. 

Ron seems completely taken aback by Daphne's statement. He stares at her as if she's just announced she's carrying Snape's child and says, "you…what? No, don't…don't accompany me."

"Merlin, Weasley, I'm not asking you to marry me," Daphne says, rolling her eyes. "We're just going to the same place." She pulls a face at Pansy as if she's saying can you believe him? then turns back to Ron. "But if you'd like to keep your date waiting to avoid walking fifty feet with me, then by all means, stay. If there's one thing every woman is impressed by, it's pure, idiotic stubbornness." 

With that, Daphne starts toward the bar, leaving Ron to look after her, more flustered than he was before. 

"I…I…" he trails off and shakes his head, and after a moment, he turns to Hermione. "I'll be right back," he says. "But if you need anything, just call for me." 

Hermione nods. "I'll be fine, Ron," she says. "Go on." 

Ron gives Pansy one last suspicious look, then starts off toward the packed bar, leaving Pansy and Hermione seated close together, side-by-side and all alone. 

Pansy's not sure if she wants to kill Daphne or kiss her. 

She reaches toward her tankard and idly fidgets with it, wondering if she should say something or just continue to sit in awkward silence. Mercifully, Hermione saves her the trouble of making a decision. 

"I'm not sure I've ever seen it so crowded in here."

Pansy glances toward her in surprise. Had Hermione just…spoken to her? 

Voluntarily?

Things have certainly been changing between them during Potions, especially in the days since Pansy's attempted apology. Conversation hasn't been exactly easy, but it's certainly been better than it's ever been before. Hermione had even snorted on Friday at something Pansy had said (and yes, Pansy had been on cloud nine for the rest of the day). But that was the thing—it was usually Pansy making the extra effort and trying to prove to Hermione that there was more to her than the monster she had known for seven years. 

So the fact that Hermione had initiated conversation… 

Pansy stares at Hermione's profile for a moment, trying to work out if the comment had in fact, been directed toward her. Hermione must feel her gaze, because she turns to meet Pansy's eyes. 

"I'm sorry, by the way," she says. 

Pansy stares at her stupidly for a moment, having completely forgotten how mesmerizing Hermione's eyes were in the soft light of the pub. She'd probably be content to stare at Hermione for the rest of the day, but when she arches an eyebrow at her silence, Pansy realizes she should probably say something. 

"Sorry for what?" she finally manages to ask, pleased that even in her trance, she had somehow managed to remember what Hermione had said. 

"Ron and I. I'm sure we're the last people you want to be next to. Though it was very good of you to let us sit," she adds, tilting her head a bit to survey Pansy. "I'm not sure you'd have made the same decision a month ago." 

It's an accurate statement. Had Hermione and Ron asked to sit beside her pre-parchment pal reveal, she'd have scoffed and flat-out refused, undoubtedly with a rude remark or two thrown in for good measure. But now, knowing what she knows, she's not just thrilled Hermione's seated next to her; she's positively desperateto keep their tentative conversation going. Pansy straightens her shoulders, feeling determined. There's no way she's going to be the one to drop the ball. This is her opportunity, delivered to her on a silver platter by Daphne, and she's not going to waste it.

"No, I probably wouldn't have. Though to be fair, you're not the last people I'd want seated next to me. That honor will always go to Crabbe and Goyle."

Hermione hums. "Not as revolting as Crabbe and Goyle," she says. "You really know how to deliver a compliment." Her tone is light and though the din in the pub makes it hard to tell, Pansy could swear there's a bit of a teasing lilt to it. 

"I do my best," Pansy says with a small smile. "And for what it's worth, I'm sure you'd rather not be on a forced double date with Daph and I, so…I'm sorry to you, too." 

Hermione, who up until now had seemed relaxed and calm, immediately stiffens at the mention of her date. It's a surprising reaction, and Pansy's instantly intrigued. 

"How's that going, by the way? The big date with Weasley?" she asks, trailing her finger up her tankard and lightly circling the rim. She's trying to be casual, but she's dying to hear the details. "Everything you dreamt of and more?"

"It's…" Hermione trails off and frowns, and Pansy feels hope stir in her heart. Then, Hermione looks at her swiftly and with skepticism. "Why are you asking? Are you just going to make fun of him again?" 

Pansy quickly shakes her head. "No. Just…making conversation, I suppose," she says with a small shrug that she hopes looks unaffected. "And anyway, it'd be good to know what Daph and I are about to become an unwilling part of," she adds.

Hermione doesn't look completely convinced, but after a moment, she sighs. "It's going fine. He's been lovely so far, and it's all…" she trails off and looks conflicted, then she shakes her head slightly and says, "it's fine. We're having a good time, and it's…it's fine. Although it's taking a while for Ron to get our drinks…" 

Hermione cranes her neck to peer toward the bar, and Pansy watches as her eyes widen. 

"What on earth…" Hermione murmurs, looking stunned. 

Pansy twists around to see what's happening, and when she finds the source of Hermione's surprise, she can't help the grin that spreads over her face. Because standing behind the bar, looking miserable and harried, is none other than Ron Weasley. There are about four people ordering drinks and he's looking about frantically, trying to listen to all of them at once.

Pansy thinks back to Daphne, smoothly shaking Madam Rosmerta's hand with a devious twinkle in her eye. She must have bribed her somehow, and Ron tending bar is the wonderful end result. 

Merlin, she loves Daphne.

"Where's Madam Rosmerta? And where's Greengrass?" Hermione asks, and Pansy turns back to see her still studying the scene before her, confusion etched on her face. 

"Perhaps she needed Daphne's assistance in the back?" Pansy says, trying to keep her face neutral. "Good of Weasley to help out, though," she adds, glancing over her shoulder once more, just in time to see Weasley drop a full glass of gillywater on the floor. Ron's face turns bright red as it shatters and he looks at the ground miserably.

Merlin, she loves Daphne.

"Do you think…should I help him?" Hermione asks. 

Pansy turns back to find Hermione, watching Ron with concern. 

"I'm sure Madam Rosmerta won't be long," Pansy says. "He'll be fine." 

"Yes, but…" 

Before Hermione can finish her sentence, the door to the Three Broomsticks opens again. Both Hermione and Pansy glance over to see if they know the newcomers, and once they're fully in view, Pansy's stomach drops. 

It's Draco. 

He looks pale and drawn, and he doesn't seem to be listening to a thing Theo is saying beside him. His eyes scan the pub, looking for an available table in the sea of people. Pansy clenches her fist, waiting for his eyes to inevitably find her.

It only takes a few moments. The second he sees her, his entire expression changes. His face immediately hardens and his eyes grow cold, and Pansy swears she can feel the chill from his gaze in her bones. She can make out the familiar muscle jumping in his tense jaw, and there's an angry flush staining his pale cheeks.

It takes Theo and Blaise a few seconds to finally notice Pansy, but once they do, they both immediately glance toward Draco with concern. Pansy feels a wave of shame wash over her; she's the reason they're looking at him like that. She's the reason Draco looks so furious.

She feels as if she's frozen under Draco's bitter gaze. She knows she should take this opportunity to make him listen, to tell him that she hadn't been trying to hurt him and that she's been fucking miserable without his presence in her life. She knows she should stand and cross the pub and demand they have an actual conversation. She knows she should do something. 

Instead, she stays rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his piercing eyes. 

A few long moments pass as they stare at each other. Then, without any warning, Draco turns and swiftly exits the pub, leaving Theo and Blaise to hurry in his wake. 

Pansy watches as the door swings shut behind him. She sits motionless as she stares at the space where he was, feeling shaky and ashamed, and when the familiar remorse begins to seep through her veins, she welcomes it like an old friend. 

"Are you…are you alright?" comes Hermione's hesitant voice from close beside her. 

Pansy tears her eyes away from the door and glances to her left. Hermione is watching her with concern, all thoughts of helping Ron seemingly shelved for the moment. 

"I…" Pansy sighs, then shrugs despondently. "I don't know."

Hermione nods. "I heard about what happened. Between you and Malfoy. I'm…I'm sorry," she says cautiously. 

"Are you? I'd have thought you'd be overjoyed. Not like you particularly like either of us," Pansy murmurs.

"No, but I also don't find joy in the suffering of others," Hermione says. "That may be who you are, but it's not who I am," she adds, somewhat stiffly.

"I didn't mean that as an attack on your character, Granger. I just…it's a statement of fact. We're both nasty gits, so you'd be right to be happy about it."

"Oh. Well…perhaps. Though to be fair," Hermione says slowly, "you're not the nastiest gits. That would be Crabbe and Goyle," she says, giving Pansy a small, hesitant smile as she echoes her joke from earlier. 

Pansy returns the smile with a weak one of her own. "It would seem that we have at least one thing in common—we're well matched when it comes to atrocious compliments."

Hermione hums, then tilts her head and studies Pansy. "I am sorry, though. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

"No, it wasn't," Pansy says quietly. "And now he hates me. And the worst thing is, he's right to."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you. People lash out in horrible ways when they're hurt. He'll come around." 

Pansy shakes her head as she fidgets with her empty tankard. "You don't know Draco."

"I don't," Hermione agrees. "But I know that relationships end everyday, and I'm sure he's not blameless in whatever happened to end yours." 

"He is, though. Blameless, I mean. He did everything right, and I…it was all my fault. I never wanted to go out with him," Pansy admits, frowning down at the dark, stained table. "From the moment it started, I knew it was all wrong. But I did it anyway."

Hermione's close enough that Pansy can feel the moment she tenses beside her. "May I ask why?" she asks, her voice curiously guarded. 

Pansy exhales heavily and pushes her bangs back. "I…" she trails off as she ponders how to approach this. She obviously doesn't want to come out to Hermione right now, but she wants to take the opportunity to let herself be vulnerable. To show Hermione that she actually has a heart. "I wanted to please my parents," she finally says. "They expect certain things from me and when Draco asked me out, it was like Christmas morning for them. I didn't even say yes," Pansy adds with a humorless laugh. "My mum said she'd be delighted for me." She shakes her head in frustration. "But I knew right then. I knew it was wrong and that I only saw Draco as a mate. And I used him anyway."

"I'm not sure I'd call it using," Hermione says, a bit weakly. 

Pansy snorts. "What else can you call it? I knew I didn't want to be with him, but I kept seeing him for my own selfish reasons, bugger the consequences."

"Well, yes, but…perhaps you thought something would change? If you stayed the course, I mean. Perhaps you thought if you just forced yourself to go through the motions, you'd eventually feel the right way. Right?"

Pansy's brow furrows as she studies Hermione. Her eyes are wide and she almost looks…panicked? There's a dark flush on her olive cheeks and if Pansy didn't know any better, she'd think Hermione was looking to her for reassurance. 

But why would she want reassurance? Unless…

Oh. 

Oh. 

Perhaps the date with Weasley isn't quite as fine as Hermione had let on. Perhaps Pansy's story had felt a little too familiar. 

Perhaps Hermione's been telling herself all the same things Pansy did to justify her date with Weasley. 

In which case…

Pansy feels a small flicker of hope cut through the heavy shame, and she slowly sweeps a finger against the sticky table as she gathers her thoughts. "I think," she starts carefully, "that anytime someone needs to forcethemselves to go through the motions, that's a bit of a red flag, don't you? I shouldn't have had to force anything. If I wanted to be with Draco, I should have been thrilled. But I wasn't." 

"Yes, but…feelings can develop differently from person to person," Hermione says in what seems to be a desperate attempt to justify herself. "And just because someone has feelings for you first doesn't mean that you won't eventually grow to love them." 

"That may be true for some people, but it wasn't for me. Because I wasn't conflicted. I knew right away that I didn't see him as anything more than a friend. And mind you, I did try. Because Merlin knows, it would've been easier for everyone involved if I could have just magically developed feelings for him, but…" Pansy shrugs. "I couldn't. And I should have ended it after a few weeks. A few days, even. But I didn't," she says bitterly. "Instead, I used him. I treated him like a prop because it was easier to hurt him than it was to face…" she waves an uncaring hand, "to face all the other shit in my life."

Hermione shakes her head slightly. "It's…no. No, it wouldn't hurt him, it…" she tapers off and her eyes flicker toward Ron at the bar. 

Pansy glances over her shoulder briefly. Ron's sweating now as he pours a glass of firewhisky for a demanding, portly man leaning against the bar. He places the glass down and looks toward their table. When he sees Hermione, he smiles sheepishly and waves. Pansy turns back to look at Hermione, who's staring at Ron with pained eyes. 

"May I tell you something?" Pansy asks quietly. 

Hermione's eyes flicker to her and she waits quietly to hear what Pansy has to say. 

"Draco and I have been friends since we were children. Before Hogwarts, even. Aside from Daphne, there's no one in this world who knows me better. He'd risk life and limb for me, no questions asked, and I'd do the same for him. But now…?" Pansy glances toward the doorway where Draco had stared at her with such fury. "Well…you saw the way he looked at me," she says with a bitter smile. "I can't begin to tell you how much it hurts to have someone you love look at you with such contempt. And perhaps worst of all, to know that you've earned that contempt. If I could go back and throttle myself for not ending things sooner, I would. But I can't." Pansy gazes at Hermione with open and earnest eyes and she murmurs, "I don't need to be a Legilimens to notice something's amiss between you and Weasley," Pansy says, lifting a hand to cut off Hermione's inevitable protest. "I don't know what, and I won't pry. But I know that for some daft reason, that ginger nitwit behind the bar is your best friend. And take it from me, Granger…you don't want to hurt your best friend. No matter what the reasoning behind your decision." 

Hermione shakes her head, but something in her eyes still looks pained. "No, I…I told you, things between Ron and I are—"

"Fine?" Pansy puts in swiftly, noticing Hermione's small wince at the familiar word. "Things between Draco and I were fine for months." Pansy straightens her spine and decides to press her luck. "Look, maybe I'm overstepping my bounds here, and if I am, then by all means, tell me to piss off. But I'm not blind, Granger. I saw the way you just looked at him."

"I…" Hermione trails off and rubs her face miserably. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she murmurs, so quietly that Pansy can barely hear her.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Pansy says firmly. "I know he's your best mate, and he obviously has feelings for you. And it only seems right that you should return those feelings, but you know what? If you don't return them, there's nothing wrong with that. So he's not the right one for you," Pansy says with a shrug. "Trust me, it's better to tell him in the long run than to go through months of deception."

"But it doesn't make any sense," Hermione says, looking at Pansy a bit wildly. "He's wonderful! He's funny and caring and the sweetest man I know, and he's been absolutely lovely today and…" she breaks off abruptly and blinks at Pansy as if she's seeing her for the first time. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," she says, sounding a bit stunned. "Why am I telling you this?"

"Because you obviously can't tell Potter or girl-Weasley," Pansy says with a shrug, trying not to let on how fucking thrilled she is by this turn of events. "Sometimes you need to vent to someone who's removed from the situation," she adds, ignoring the fact that she's not even remotely removed from this situation. But she's a Slytherin, so she'll just pin her involvement on her propensity to dwell in life's grey areas. 

"I…I suppose that's true," Hermione says quietly. "I just don't understand," she murmurs again, looking lost and broken.

"Who does?" Pansy says, masking the urge to reach toward Hermione and comfort her with a carefully casual shrug. "I learned long ago that when it comes to matters of the heart, the mind is simply there to play the part of a foolish bystander. You can think about things logically and rationally until you're blue in the face, but the moment this decides to have its say," Pansy says, tapping her chest lightly, "all bets are off. Take Draco and I for instance," she says. "On paper, we're perfect. We get along famously, he makes me laugh, I trust him…we tick every box. Logically, we work. But logic has no place in love," Pansy says. "You can be presented with the perfect person, but your traitorous heart will stab you in the back and give itself away to the last person you'd ever expect." 

"Are you speaking from experience?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow.

Pansy chuckles quietly. "Does it matter?" she asks. "What matters is this: love is absolutely ridiculous. So you don't have feelings for Weasley. Who bloody cares? Life is too short to waste time forcing emotions. When it's right, it's right. Anything else isn't worth your time."

Hermione bites at her bottom lip once more, and Pansy's eyes are immediately drawn to the action. When Hermione speaks again, it takes Pansy a considerable amount of effort to drag her eyes away from her lips and focus on what she's saying. 

Bloody traitorous heart. 

"And what if when it's right, it's someone you'd never have expected? Someone that…that scares you a bit?" 

Pansy raises an eyebrow. "Scares you? In what way?" 

Hermione's brow furrows and she runs her finger over the edge of the table. "In that I feel like I don't know myself anymore," she murmurs. "And I'm scared of what that might mean." 

The words are so quiet that Pansy's not even sure if she's heard her correctly. But before she can ask her to repeat herself, two butterbeers are slammed down on the table in front of Hermione. 

Pansy and Hermione both jump and whirl around to find Ron and Daphne, finally back from the bar. 

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ron says, looking at her with wide, earnest eyes. "Madam Rosmerta had a shipment come in and she asked Greengrass to help with it, but that left the bar unattended, so…" Ron shrugs. "She asked me to look after it and I felt bad for her so I said yes. But I didn't think it was going to take ages." 

"The shipment was delayed," Daphne says, taking her seat and giving Pansy a small, secret smile. "But on the bright side, your drinks were free," she adds to Hermione.

"Were they, now?" Pansy mutters.

"Right then!" Daphne says, clapping her hands and ignoring Pansy. "What did you two get up to while we were gone? I'm a bit surprised the place is still standing, if I'm being honest. I figured we'd come back to a smoking ruin and the two of you in the center of it with your wands out."

Pansy glances at Hermione to find her already staring at her. Her eyes are wide with panic, as if she's worried Pansy's about to spill every hushed and frightened thought she had just divulged. Pansy supposes that the reality of who she's just confided her relationship woes to are finally setting in, but Pansy has no desire to recount any part of their conversation in front of Daphne and Ron, so she simply shrugs. "Please. You think I want to get banned? It might be overpriced, but it's better than Hog's Head. Granger and I can control ourselves if it means frequenting a moderately clean establishment instead of that disgusting hovel the barman calls a pub."

She looks toward Hermione, who stares at her with surprise. "I…yes, I suppose we can," she says, her cheeks tinged pink. She hastily reaches for her butterbeer and drains about a quarter of it in one go, completely unaware of Ron's surprised eyes. 

Pansy glances at her own empty tankard, then back to Daphne. "I thought you were getting us refills?"

"I was, but it took too bloody long. And I still have an errand to run before we leave, remember?"

There's no errand to run, but Pansy's grateful for the lie. Because as much as she was thrilled to have Hermione seated beside her, the thought of suffering through her turning all of her attention toward a besotted Weasley makes jealousy crackle across Pansy's skin like lightning. So she nods and says, "right. Your errand, I forgot. Shall we, then?" 

"We shall," Daphne says, standing up. "Weasley. Granger. Enjoy whatever ill-fated experiment this is," she says, ticking a finger between them and smiling when Hermione shifts uncomfortably. Then without waiting for Pansy to stand, Daphne starts toward the door. 

Pansy quickly stands up and looks at Hermione. "I…"

Hermione looks back, waiting for Pansy to finish her thought. And Merlin, there's so much she'd like to say. 

Don't stay here with Weasley. 

Don't be afraid of your real feelings. 

I've been your bard all along. 

I think I'm falling in love with you.

Instead, Pansy swallows and murmurs, "Granger," then gives a short nod, grabs her jacket, and quickly heads to the doorway, not bothering to wait for Hermione's reaction. 

Once she's outside, she slumps against the closed door, shuts her eyes, and takes a massive breath of crisp, spring air. 

"So! How'd it go?" 

Pansy opens her eyes to find Daphne, leaning against the wall and regarding her with shining eyes. 

"You are absolutely mad," Pansy says. 

"Mm. And I'm down eight Galleons to Rosmerta, so it better have been worth it." 

"What on earth did you tell her?" Pansy asks, pushing herself off from the door to shrug into her jacket.

"Just that I needed Weasley's drinks stalled for at least fifteen minutes. She came up with the actual reasoning. Merlin, who would have expected her to make Weasley tend bar? Devilishly clever, that one," Daphne says with respect lingering in her eyes. 

Pansy nods and starts walking. Daphne falls into step beside her and loops her arm through Pansy's, then gently presses against her side. "You're stalling. Was it worth it? If it wasn't, you owe me eight Galleons."

"I don't owe you anything because I didn't tell you to act like a nutter and bribe the barmaid," Pansy says with a scoff. "But…yes. It was worth it," she adds with a small smile. 

"Why, Pansy Parkinson! All you needed was fifteen minutes to charm the pants off of her, eh?" Daphne asks, steering them toward the nearest shop. "I wonder, what could you do with a few more…?" 

"I didn't charm anything off of her," Pansy says, then glances up in surprise when they come to a stop outside of Zonko's, of all places. "Daphne…why are we at Zonko's?"

"I need to pop in and pick something up," Daphne says lightly. 

"Why?" Pansy asks, her eyes narrowing. Daphne hates Zonko's more than anything in the world, so there's no way she actually needs something. 

But Daphne merely regards Pansy gravely and says, "because I am a very funny person, Pans," without a trace of a smile. She doesn't even break when Pansy snorts in amusement.

"Hilarious," Pansy says dryly. But before she can say anything else, Daphne gives a small shiver. Pansy's scrutinizes her closely. "Wait…where's your coat?" she asks, her suspicion doubling. "Did you leave it in the Three Broomsticks?" 

"Hm? Coat? What coat?"

"Your bloody designer coat that costs a million Galleons! The coat you wouldn't shut up about for months! The coat I'm not allowed to borrow, which by the way, is yet another hole in your what's mine is yours nonsense." 

"Darling, I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Perhaps you had one too many butterbeers," Daphne says airily. "Now! You wait out here while I pop inside. I'll only be a moment."

"Daphne! Why?" Pansy asks, desperation entering her voice as she realizes she's in yet another one of Daphne's harebrained schemes. 

Daphne looks at Pansy with twinkling eyes and says, "because I love you, you daft cow. And to be frank, you need all the help you can get. Now stay out here and don't follow me in," she says, pointing a warning finger at Pansy. Then she blows her a quick kiss and disappears into the shop. 

The urge to bang her head against the wall is almost overwhelming, so Pansy shoves her hands into her pockets and paces instead. Leave it to Daphne to somehow hatch two idiotic schemes in the space of an hour. After a moment, Pansy stops pacing and ponders what the best plan of action is. She doesn't want to continue standing outside the shop like an idiot, so after a bit of back and forth, she decides to march into Zonko's, drag Daphne by the arm back into the Three Broomsticks, and force her to pick up her bloody coat.

She's taken one step toward the door when she hears hurried footsteps behind her. 

"Pansy! Pansy, wait a moment!"

Pansy freezes in place. Before she turns, she glances in the window of Zonko's and makes eye contact with Daphne, who mouths you're welcome, then continues sorting through a barrel full of Hiccough Sweets. 

The steps are closer now, so Pansy turns around to find Hermione hurrying toward her, Daphne's jacket carefully folded over her arm. 

"I'm glad you're still here," Hermione says as she stops in front of Pansy. "I believe this belongs to Greengrass?" she asks, lifting the jacket. 

Pansy manages a weak nod, and Hermione holds the jacket out. "I'm surprised she didn't notice it was missing. It's quite cold today." 

Pansy takes the jacket and rolls her eyes a bit. "I suspect Daphne manages to stay warm, what with her constantly being full of hot air." 

Hermione's lips twitch and Pansy feels a warm glow radiate from her chest at the sight. "I'm surprised it's still in one piece," Pansy says. "I'd have thought Weasley would have tried to burn it on sight."

"He…may have wanted to do something to that effect," Hermione admits sheepishly. 

"Well, then, it would seem that Daphne owes you a debt of gratitude for saving it. I'll see that she gets it when she's done in…in Zonko's," Pansy finishes, wincing when she awkwardly stumbles over the shop name. 

A puzzled frown appears on Hermione's face as she gazes past Pansy into Zonko's. "The errand she had is in…Zonko's?" Hermione asks, sounding confused. "That doesn't seem like a shop she'd frequent." 

"No, it doesn't, does it?" Pansy agrees lightly, glancing over her shoulder. Daphne is now examining a display of Nose-Biting Teacups with a serious frown etched between her brows and a sneer on her lips. She picks one up and holds it at arm's-length, looking at it with complete and utter revulsion, then she drops it back down and turns her disgusted gaze toward another display. "But looks can be deceiving," Pansy says, turning back to Hermione. "And I can assure you that Daphne is full of tricks."

Hermione hums thoughtfully, then wraps her coat around herself a bit tighter. "Well, then, I suppose you're not the only Slytherin who's full of surprises," she murmurs. 

"What do you mean?" Pansy asks. 

"I…" Hermione tapers off and is quiet for a moment, appearing to gather her thoughts. Finally, she meets Pansy's gaze. "I thought you were going to tell Ron. When Daphne came back and asked what we'd been up to. I thought to myself you naive fool. Of all people, why would you tell Pansy Parkinson? But then you didn't," she says, staring curiously at Pansy. "Once again, you proved me wrong, and I…" she breaks off and shakes her head. "Thank you. For not saying anything to Ron. I…I appreciate it." 

Pansy nods. "I wouldn't have," she says, but when Hermione raises her eyebrows in disbelief, she quickly amends, "I mean, up until very recently, I would have. But I wouldn't now. And I won't."

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. But I would appreciate your discretion. I didn't mean to tell you…well, any of the things I told you, really. So it would mean a great deal to me if you didn't repeat them."

"I won't," Pansy repeats. "I swear upon my honor as a Slytherin," she adds solemnly, but with a small smile and a mocking hand over her heart.

Hermione raises an eyebrow. "I suppose no one ever told you you're supposed to swear on something you actually possess," she says dryly, then she sighs and glances back toward the Three Broomsticks. "Anyway. I should be getting back," she says. "Ron is…well, I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Right, you've got…you've got your date," Pansy says awkwardly. "I'll just…" she lifts up Daphne's coat, and nods toward Zonko's. 

Hermione nods, then turns around and starts back toward the Three Broomsticks. 

Pansy should let her go. She should curb the urge to call after her. Honestly, she should leave well enough alone. Daphne is waiting in Zonko's and it'd be cruel to leave her in there any longer, so really, she should just…

"Granger?" 

Hermione pauses at the sound of her name and glances back over her shoulder at Pansy, giving her a questioning look. 

"I…I know this isn't my place. But what you said before Weasley came back? About not knowing yourself anymore? And being scared?"

Hermione stiffens and she crosses her arms. "What about it?"

"I just…I wanted to tell you that it'll be okay." Pansy winces at how foolish she sounds, and she quickly adds, "I mean, I can't know what you're going through, but from my own experience, it…it'll be okay."

"Your own experience?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow as she turns to face Pansy fully. 

"Yes. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I've been having a bit of a crisis of faith lately," Pansy says dryly, shoving her hands into her pockets. "And as such, it's made me reevaluate everything I thought I knew about myself. And it hasn't been pleasant. Actually, it's been quite…scary," she says slowly, contemplating exactly how she should phrase the next bit of her speech to both allude to her own changes, and to whatever doubts Hermione might be struggling with. She takes a deep breath and says, "but even though it's scary and I know it'd be far easier to stop…to just…be the same person I've always been and believe in the things I've been told my whole life…I know I can't do that. Because I know that if I do, I'll be left with questions and doubts and I'll feel miserable all the time, wondering if I made the right choice or not. So everyday, I make the decision to keep going. To dig into everything that makes me uncomfortable and stare it in the face and say I'm not afraid of you. Because I know that eventually, I won't be afraid of it. I'll find my way to the other side and I'll be a better person for it. Perhaps a happier person, too," she adds softly, watching as Hermione looks down to study the ground, a pale flush upon her cheeks. "I suppose at the end of the day, I'm a firm believer that worthwhile things are rarely easy. And so even though I hardly recognize my own thoughts anymore…and even though the consequences of my questions are terrifying…I know I can't stop. Because it's worth it. And like I said, I can't know what you're going through, but whatever it is…even though it's not easy right now, perhaps it will be worthwhile in the end."

Pansy's glad Daphne's in Zonko's right now. Had she heard that last statement, she'd give Pansy so much grief about how ridiculous it is that Pansy's alluding to herselfas being worthwhile. 

But Daphne's not here right now and Hermione is. And she's staring at Pansy with a look Pansy can't quite decipher. It's something scared and overwhelmed and Merlin, Pansy hopes she hasn't put her foot in her mouth.

Hermione opens her mouth. "I…I…" 

"Hermione?" 

Somehow, Pansy manages to tear her eyes away from Hermione's anxious gaze to look past her. Her eyes land on Ron, standing a ways behind Hermione, his eyes flicking between the two of them. 

"Is everything alright?" Ron asks, letting his gaze linger warily on Pansy. 

Hermione stares at Pansy for a moment before turning to look at Ron. "Yes, sorry. I just…yes. Everything is fine, I…" she breaks off and frowns. "Why are you out here? You shouldn't be out here, we'll lose our table." 

Ron shakes his head. "Seamus, Dean, and Neville came in. I asked them to watch it while I checked on you." He tilts his head and studies Hermione carefully. "You're sureyou're alright? You look a bit…off. Did Parkinson say something?" he asks, lowering his voice a bit.

Pansy rolls her eyes and clenches her fists in her pockets. "I had a question for Granger about our Tuesday patrols. That's it. I didn't mean to keep you," she adds to Hermione.

"No, you…you didn't, I…" Hermione's gaze is still perplexed, but after a moment, she shakes her head as if she's clearing a fog and turns back to Ron. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've been horrible company so far. Should we start again? No more distractions, I promise." 

Ron gives her a lopsided grin. "Sounds good to me," he says, then offers her his arm. As Hermione takes it, Pansy feels envy trickle through her. Because she wants to be the one offering her arm to Hermione. Not Weasley. Her. 

Hermione glances at Pansy. "I'll see you later," she says, then adds quietly, "and for what it's worth…I think it is worth it."

Ron frowns at her words, but before he can open his mouth, Pansy asks, "for me, or for you?" She doesn't care if she sounds a bit too urgent to be casual; she needs to know whether or not Hermione's going to make the effort to ask herself the scary and hard questions. 

"For you? Certainly. For me…" Hermione glances at the ground, then back up at Pansy. "Maybe. I'm not quite sure yet," she says quietly, her eyes faraway and troubled. 

"Sorry…what's worth it?" Ron asks, glancing between them with a confused frown. 

"Just a patrols thing," Hermione says without taking her eyes off of Pansy. 

Before Ron can ask for any clarification, Hermione turns to him, pats his arm, plasters on a smile, and says "shall we?" She spares one more puzzled glance at Pansy, then turns and begins walking back toward the Three Broomsticks.

Pansy watches them go. The jealousy is still there, but after hearing Hermione's quiet murmur of maybe, it's more muted than it was before. Because a maybe means there's a chance Hermione will sort through her feelings and realize exactly why she's so uninterested in her date with Weasley. That she'll stop running from whatever feelings have been ignited in her heart and actually sit with them, as unexpected and scary as they are.

Of course, she could be projecting. Perhaps Hermione isn't attracted to Ron simply because she isn't attracted to him. That doesn't mean she's decided to question her sexuality, and it's incredibly naive of Pansy to get her hopes up. 

But as she watches Hermione disappear into the Three Broomsticks, the same stupid little kernel of hope glows brightly in Pansy's heart. 

She's dimly aware of a tinkling bell in the background, but she doesn't turn to investigate the source. It's only when she feels a chin resting on her shoulder that she realizes it was Daphne, leaving Zonko's. 

"Well…she certainly doesn't look like she hates you anymore," Daphne says, her voice close to Pansy's ear. 

"No…I don't think she does," Pansy murmurs, amazed. 

Daphne hums. "Normally, I'd tell you to name your first born after me as a thank you for my sacrifices, but I guess that's not applicable in this case, is it?" 

Pansy shrugs Daphne off her shoulder, thrusts her coat at her, and starts walking. After Daphne puts her coat on, she loops her arm through Pansy's and continues. "I suppose I'll just have to live with you two naming one of your many, many cats after me." 

"For your sacrifices?" Pansy asks, repeating the phrase with a scoff. 

"Yes."

"And what would those be?"

"Pansy. I just spent five minutes of my life in Zonko's. I had to pretend to be interested in Frog Spawn Soap. Frog Spawn Soap," Daphne repeats, horror in her voice. "The grotesque salesman talked to me about it for ages. Those are minutes I'll never get back. I deserve a bloody medal."

"You know, you didn't have to leave your coat behind," Pansy says, nodding absently at a group of Slytherin fifth years passing by. 

"Why is it so hard for you to say, thank you, Daphne. What would I do without you, Daphne? You're the reason for everything good in my life, Daphne." 

"Thank you, Daphne. What would I do without you, Daphne? Live a calm, pleasant life without having a bloody anxiety attack every five minutes, Daphne?"

Daphne snorts and bumps against her hip. "Close enough, I suppose. But I do want you to name a cat after me."

Pansy rolls her eyes, but says, "fine. You have my word. If by some bloody miracle, the stars align and everything goes according to your mad plan, we'll name a cat after you. Happy?"

"Quite." Daphne's quiet for a moment, then suddenly, she turns to scrutinize Pansy's profile. "Hang on…I've seen the squashed face monstrosity Granger calls a cat," she says suspiciously. 

"Mm. What of it?" Pansy asks, starting on the path back toward the castle. 

"What of it?" Daphne says, outrage in her voice. "Pansy Parkinson, if you name a horribly ugly cat after me, I'll never forgive you." 

Pansy chuckles. "Full of demands, aren't you?"

"Pansy…" Daphne says, a warning in her voice. 

"Fine. This isn't even going to happen, but fine. I'll only name a cat after you if it's attractive enough. Happy now, you nutter?"

"Yes. Delighted, actually. And I wouldn't be so sure it's not going to happen…I saw the way she looked at you. Like she couldn't figure you out, but was still intrigued. If my own experience being on the receiving end of that look has taught me anything, I'd say you've got a shot." 

"I don't know about that," Pansy says, absently kicking at a rock on the path.

"I do. She's starting to see you as a person and not just a massive wanker. And for what it's worth, I've never seen someone look so unenthusiastic about a first date. Perhaps it's because her thoughts are on a certain parchment pal…?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know," Pansy mutters.

"It's all there, Pans. All the pieces are there. We've just got to make her see it."

"I—"

"And you have to not botch it all before it's even begun," Daphne adds.

"You know, for someone who wasn't very enthusiastic over the idea of her best mate having feelings for…for Granger," Pansy says, dropping her voice, "you certainly seem comfortable with the idea now." 

Daphne shrugs. "Perhaps I just want you to name a cat after me," she says easily. "But either way, you should know that once I put my mind to something, I'll go to great lengths to make it happen. And right now, I've put my mind to making sure you're happy."

Pansy glances at Daphne and smiles at her fondly. She wants to tell Daphne how grateful she is for her presence in her life, but she has a feeling Daphne will brush it off with a joke. So instead, she just squeezes her arm a bit and says, "great lengths indeed. Down eight Galleons and spent five minutes of your life in Zonko's, all to have an ugly, squashed face cat named after you." 

Daphne's head whips around. "Don't you dare," she says. 

Pansy just laughs. Because for the first time since she ended things with Draco, she feels curiously light and cautiously optimistic. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

Perhaps things are about to turn around for her. 

***

Tuesday morning finds Pansy and Daphne in the Great Hall, seated away from the rest of their classmates as they chat over their breakfasts. Daphne's particularly excited—today is the day her Witch Weekly is to be delivered. 

"There's supposed to be a delicious exposé on the Weird Sisters. Apparently, Myron's been shagging Donaghan's girlfriend for months. Can you imagine? Who would shag Myron? Donaghan's the only decent looking one in the whole bloody band. Well…I suppose Gideon's not bad either, if you're into that whole, 12th-century Scottish warrior look," Daphne adds with a shrug. "Personally though, I wouldn't."

"Right," Pansy says, absently stirring sugar into her tea.

"Oh, fine, I would. But I'd never shag Orsino. He looks like he'd stand at the foot of the bed and watch you sleep all night," she says with a small shiver. "Something's off about him."

"Something tells me this will never be a problem for you," Pansy says. She blows lightly on her tea, then takes a sip. 

"You don't know that," Daphne says. "I made verymeaningful eye contact with Donaghan at the Yule Ball. And besides, that's not the point. The point is to have fun with a hypothetical."

Pansy hums lightly. "I'll have to take your word for it."

"Oh, come on, live a little," Daphne says, leaning forward with interest. "Surely you've thought about who you'd shag, given the chance?"

"Who would I shag from the all-male Weird Sisters?" Pansy asks, raising an eyebrow. "Do we have to go over how this whole lesbian thing works again?" she asks, lowering her voice just in case anyone is listening.

Daphne waves a dismissive hand. "You know what I mean. There's no one that's caught your eye? Someone on the The Holyhead Harpies, perhaps? Ooh, or maybe the lead singer of Spellbound? She's quite fit." 

"I—"

Before Pansy can answer, she's distracted by a roar of pain from the Gryffindor table. She glances over Daphne's shoulder to find a Nose-Biting Teacup hanging from Dean's nose, and Seamus doubled over with laughter beside him. 

Pansy rolls her eyes at their idiotic antics, but before she looks back to Daphne, she lets her gaze wander to Hermione. She's watching the display with a small grimace, but somehow, even when her face is twisted in displeasure, she's still the most frustratingly beautiful girl Pansy's ever seen. 

It's been strange for Pansy to fully admit the extent of her infatuation to herself. Because up until very recently, Hermione's entire personality had tempered any attraction Pansy had toward her. She could admit to herself that she found Hermione somewhat attractive, in a charming, girl-next-door kind of way, but her repulsive, entitled personality had kept her from going any further with those thoughts. Now however, she's finally willing to confess that she finds Hermione attractive in every conceivable way. From the faint smattering of freckles dusting her nose, to the glints of gold in her soft brown waves, to her perfect smile, to her equally perfect, completely maddening lips that Pansy still wants to taste, to—

"Well, I suppose that answers that question."

Pansy pulls her gaze from Hermione to find Daphne watching her with mirth in her eyes. 

"What question?" Pansy asks.

"I asked who you'd shag, given the chance, and you proceeded to stare at Granger for thirty minutes." 

Pansy's face flames and she glances around to make sure no one has heard Daphne. When she's satisfied their conversation is still a private one, she turns her gaze back to Daphne. "It wasn't thirty minutes," she says hotly. "And I wasn't even thinking about your bloody question, I just…got distracted."

Daphne takes a sip of her tea. "I get distracted like that too, you know," she says casually. "Usually though, I just snog whoever's causing the distraction and go about my day."

Pansy grits her teeth and reaches for a croissant from a basket of pastries. "I'll keep that in mind," she says, tearing the croissant in half. 

"Do," Daphne says. She blows lightly on her tea, then adds, "and if you ever need a pick-up line to expedite the process, you know who to come to." 

"Not you," Pansy says with a small snort. 

"Excuse me?" Daphne asks, looking offended. "My pick-up lines are legendary." 

"Whispering Alohomora to a boy's crotch is hardly legendary," Pansy says, spreading jam onto the croissant. 

Daphne's mouth drops open and she puts down her mug. "How dare you! I've never used such a sophomoric line in my life," she says, sounding genuinely upset at the implication.

"Oh, I assure you, you have," Pansy says with a smirk as she puts her knife down. "End of year party last year? You smuggled in a bottle of firewhisky and finished most of it yourself?"

"I…" Daphne trails off and studies the table with a faraway gaze. 

"Terence Higgs…?" Pansy prompts, trying to spark the memory. 

At the name, Daphne groans and buries her head in her hands. "Oh, Merlin." 

"There it is," Pansy says before taking a bite of her croissant.

Daphne looks up and gazes at Pansy with betrayal. "Why didn't you stop me?" 

"I did. You called me a miserable old bag and tried to wrestle me to the ground to get back to Higgs. So I cast a Full Body-Bind on you," she says casually. "You fell asleep before it could wear off," she adds, before taking another bite of her croissant. 

"Merlin," Daphne groans again. "There are some memories that are better off forgotten. That was one of them." 

The sound of hundreds of wings descending upon the Great Hall momentarily distracts Pansy, and she glances up to find the owls delivering the morning post. She spots Nashira and looks back toward Daphne with a grin. "Look on the bright side—perhaps there will be an actual pick-up line or two in your Witch Weekly."

Daphne scowls at her. "Say what you will, but if my very hazy memory serves, Terrence was more than ready to…release his basilisk, if you will." 

"No. Absolutely not," Pansy says with a pointed look. "Never say that again."

Nashira flutters down and lands on Daphne's shoulder, delivering her long-awaited Witch Weekly. She waits for Daphne to coo at her fondly and give her a quick scratch before spreading her wings and flying off again. Pansy turns to watch her go, and as she does, her eye is drawn toward another, familiar looking owl, soaring toward the Slytherin table. 

Her stomach drops as it gets closer. 

It's her family's owl. 

And tied to its leg is a red envelope. 

She's been sent a Howler. 

Daphne must notice it too, because she whispers, "oh no." Pansy turns to face her with wide eyes and Daphne says, "run. He'll follow you outside and no one will hear it. Go now," she says, looking anxious. 

But Pansy feels as if she's been glued in place. She turns back and watches numbly as her owl begins its descent, her mind flickering through all the hundreds of horrible things the Howler could contain. 

Her owl doesn't bother to land on her shoulder. It simply drops the red envelope in front of her, clicks its beak, and flies away, leaving Pansy to stare at the envelope in fear. And it's not just her eyes on it—by this point, everyone at the Slytherin table has noticed the Howler, and there's a palpable sense of anticipation lingering in the air.

"Take it outside, Pansy," Daphne whispers urgently. "Go now, before it explodes." 

Pansy shakes her head. "It's too late," she murmurs. The envelope is already smoking and Pansy knows that if she tried to run, it'd explode in her hands. There's nothing to do but open it and hope for the best.

Slowly, she picks up the envelope with a shaky hand. She takes one very deep breath, mentally prepares herself for its contents the best she can, and then, she opens it.

I'VE BEEN INFORMED OF THE DECISIONS YOU'VE BEEN MAKING LATELY, PANSY. I'D HATE FOR YOU TO COME TO REGRET THEM. DO BE CAREFUL, MY DEAR. I SHOULD THINK YOU'D REMEMBER WELL THE COST OF INSUBORDINATION. 

The amplified voice of Pansy's father fades away, and the Howler bursts into flames, leaving a small pile of ash behind on her breakfast plate. 

Pansy stares at the ash and tries to control herself. The Great Hall is curiously muted around her, almost as if she's underwater. All she can really hear is her own ragged breathing and her father's threat, both echoing loudly in her ears. His message had been clear—continue making decisions that harm the family's name, and she'd face the same end as her aunt.

Cold fear drips down her spine at the thought of her aunt, lying on the floor, twisted and broken, and her father, standing above her body and regarding her like she was no more than a piece of trash littering his pristine dining room. 

Would he do the same to her? Would he turn his wand against her and torture her until—

"Pansy? Pans, look at me." 

Daphne's voice cuts through the void, and Pansy manages to look up from the ash coating her unfinished croissant to find Daphne, staring at her with fear. Almost immediately, the sounds of the Great Hall rush back into focus, but somehow, it's not overwhelming. On the contrary, Pansy's actually glad for the noise—the sudden cacophony helps her feel a bit more grounded and whisks her away from her dark thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths and manages to force the image of her aunt from her mind for now. There will be time to think about her father's threat later. To replay the disdainful, silky words over and over again until they're burned into her mind. But this isn't the time to fall apart. Not now. Not in front of the entire student population. 

A Parkinson does not show weakness.

She straightens her back and looks at Daphne. "It's fine. I'm fine, he just—" 

"No. No, don't do that. Don't make excuses for him, do you hear me?" Daphne asks, fury lacing her words. "He can't do that. He can't fucking threaten you in front of the entire school."

Pansy shakes her head and pushes her soiled plate out of the way. "It wasn't a threat, it was just a reminder," she says, trying to both soothe Daphne's nerves and to somehow make herself believe what she's saying. "You don't need to worry. He wouldn't actually hurt me."

"Wouldn't he?" Daphne asks, her eyes hard and angry. 

"No. He wouldn't," Pansy says. "Though I wish he'd just sent me a letter, like a normal person," she adds, brushing ash from her skirt. It's one thing to deal with the fear and shame in private. But now, everyone knows that Pansy's done something to earn the wrath of her father, and it'll be the only thing anyone talks about for days. 

Quickly, she looks around the Great Hall to gauge the reaction to her Howler. Most of the professors seem to be gazing at her with concern, but unsurprisingly, most students just look delighted by the unexpected early morning excitement. And perhaps even more unsurprisingly, the Gryffindor table seems happiest of all. 

All but one. 

Hermione's troubled gaze is boring into Pansy, and she looks deeply concerned. It makes something in Pansy's stomach twist, and some mad part of her feels the need to reassure Hermione. To show her that she's okay, even though in actuality, she's three seconds away from falling apart. Somehow, she manages a small, pitifully weak smile, but it doesn't seem to be convincing because Hermione's brow furrows even more at the sight. But before Pansy can think of another way to reassure Hermione, Daphne asks a question. 

"He said decisions, didn't he?"

Pansy tears her eyes away from Hermione and looks back at Daphne. "What?" 

"In the Howler. He said he's heard the decisions you've been making. Decisions. Plural. Obviously, he's heard about your involvement with Baddock and Montague. I'd imagine that was the insubordination bit. But what else was he referring to?" 

Pansy frowns. She hadn't stopped to think about what her father was referencing, but she lets herself ponder it now. "I…I'm not sure, I…" 

Suddenly, a suspicion flutters into her mind. She looks away from Daphne and lets her gaze fall farther down the Slytherin table, searching for familiar grey eyes. She doesn't have to look hard, though—they're already trained on her. 

Draco's face is red with shame and his eyes are panicked, and Pansy's suspicions are immediately confirmed. She knows the other decision her father had been referring to. 

"Draco," she says. 

"What?" Daphne asks. 

"Draco," Pansy repeats, glancing back to Daphne. "He was referring to the end of our relationship. Draco must have told his parents, who must have told mine," she says dully. "I suppose good news travels fast." 

"I'm going to fucking destroy him," Daphne mutters, glaring down the table at Draco, who has the decency to look down at his plate with shame. "How fucking dare he. He knows what your father is like," she hisses with fury. "He knows what he's capable of." 

Pansy nods and reaches for her tea with a slightly shaky hand. "Yes. But he was bound to find out eventually. And anyway, I already told you, he won't do anything to me," she says, glancing into the mug and wrinkling her nose when she notices a fine layer of ash coating the top. 

Daphne scoffs. "Well, perhaps you and Draco have bothforgotten what your father is like, but I haven't," she says.

"Neither have I," Pansy says, setting her mug down once more. "But I also know what my mum is like, and she'd never let him hurt me." 

"Are you sure about that? She seemed perfectly willing to let him hurt her own sister."

Pansy looks up swiftly, feeling as if she's been punched in the gut. Before she can retort, Daphne lifts her hands. "I'm not saying that to upset you," she says quickly. "I'm saying that to make you see how serious this is. Pansy…he could really hurt you. He could…he could…"

"He won't," Pansy says fervently. She knows what Daphne was thinking—he could kill her. But she doesn't want her to voice it because for some mad reason, Pansy knows that if Daphne says it out loud, she'll lose whatever tenuous grasp she has over her emotions right now and she'll break. 

Daphne looks at her with shimmering eyes. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe that."

"Well, you'll have to. Because there's no alternative."

"Are you mad? Of course there's an alternative" Daphne asks. She leans forward and whispers, "Pansy…you can turn him in."

Pansy stiffens and looks away from Daphne, choosing instead to stare at the table. "No," she says. "I can't."

"You can," Daphne whispers, her tone livid. "You're the only one who fucking can! You were an eye-witness account to what happened! You could go to the Ministry and talk to an Auror and lock him in Azkaban where he belongs."

"I can't. He's my father," Pansy says, refusing to meet Daphne's gaze.

"He is. He's also a fucking murderer," Daphne says. 

"I can't have this conversation with you," Pansy says, reaching down to grab her bag. But before she can stand up, Daphne leans forward and grabs her wrist.

"Pansy. Don't you think she deserves it?" 

Pansy frowns and looks up to find Daphne's gaze on her, desperate and pleading. 

"What?" Pansy asks.

"Your aunt," Daphne says, releasing Pansy's wrist. "Don't you think she deserves justice?"

Pansy shakes her head a bit. "I…I don't…"

Daphne reaches for Pansy's hand. "After all this time…all the years you've spent shouldering this burden by yourself…all the years you've spent torturing yourself, wondering what you could have done to save her…Pansy. This is it. This is the only thing you can do to help her now."

"I…"

"You can finally get justice for her, after all these years. And you can protect yourself at the same time."

"It's not that easy," Pansy finally murmurs, releasing Daphne's hand.

"I know it's not. I know he's your father and I know you're afraid of him. You're right to be. But I won't stand by and let him threaten to do the same thing to you that he did to Beatrice. Not if there's a chance we can stop him."

Pansy laughs shakily and looks toward the ceiling, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall. 

A Parkinson does not show weakness. 

"I know you mean well," she starts slowly as she tries to regain control of her emotions. "And…perhaps you're right. About all of it," she adds, glancing back toward Daphne. "But it doesn't matter. There's nothing I can do."

"Of course there—"

"No, there isn't. You don't understand how connected my father is. How many friends in high places he has."

"You're underestimating the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Daphne says.

"I'm not."

"You are, and if you'd just— "

"Do you honestly think I haven't considered this before?" Pansy asks with frustration. She exhales sharply and pushes her hair back from her face. "Fine. Fine, let's pretend there's a chance I can stop him. Let's pretend I tell an Auror what I saw. Then what?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "He has contacts throughout the Ministry. He'll be tipped off to any investigation immediately. And once he's been tipped off, he'll prepare for an interrogation. He'd barely even need to prepare," Pansy adds with bitter smile. "My mum would never go against him. All he'd have to say is I was eight-years old at the time. My daughter had a bad dream, as children do," Pansy says, imitating her father. "Terribly sorry to waste your time. And that would be that. The entire case would be dismissed."

"No, that's not…I mean, your aunt is a missing person," Daphne says, shaking her head, but before she can continue, Pansy cuts her off. 

"She's not. She was never reported missing. As far as the Wizarding world knows, she's still alive and well. And even if I were to report her missing, it still wouldn't hold water. Because even when she was alive, she was flighty. She'd pick up her life whenever she felt like it and start over somewhere new without telling a soul. She spent the first three years of my life in Greece. She lived in Italy for a year. Spent some time in America, too. All he'd have to say is we hear from her now and again. Fake a letter or two." Pansy shakes her head. "I can't bring him down, Daphne. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. So the best thing for me to do is to keep my head down. Besides, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have sent the Howler. He'd have just done it and moved on with his life."

Daphne stills at Pansy's words and grows pale. "If he touches a single hair on your head, I'll fucking kill him," she says, her voice low and dangerous.

Pansy manages a shaky smile at the threat. "He won't," she reiterates. "I just need to be more careful. I promise you, I'll be fine, so long as I play by the rules."

"And you're willing to do that?" Daphne asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Is she? Is she willing to undo all the progress she's made over the past few weeks to appease her father? Can she revert to being a person she loathes, just to keep herself alive? She'll have to use cruel language again, simply to fit in and avoid suspicion. She'll need to rekindle her relationship with Draco. She'll have to marry him one day. Perhaps have a child or two.

She'll have to keep Hermione at arm's length for the rest of their time at Hogwarts.

Something in Pansy's stomach plummets at the thought, but she grits her teeth and forces herself to ignore the overwhelming despair inundating her body. It doesn't matter how she feels about any of this. Because if this is what she needs to do to keep herself and the people she loves safe, then she'll do it. 

Even if it destroys her, she'll do it. 

"I have to," Pansy says dully. "It's either that or…" she trails off, the word die stuck in her throat. She swallows heavily around it, then murmurs, "I have to." 

"So that's it, then?" Daphne asks quietly. "You take all these steps toward being a better person, toward actuallybeing happy for once in your life, and you're just going to…what? Let your father push you right back into Draco's arms? Let him scare you back into the closet?" 

"I…" Pansy glances past Daphne once more toward Hermione. She's listening to something Ron is saying with a weak smile on her face, and Pansy feels a pang in her heart for what could have been. "Yes. It's the only way," Pansy whispers. "Because if I keep going down this path, I'd end up risking her, too. My father might not kill me, but he'd certainly have no qualms about killing the Muggle-born witch I have feelings for. And I won't let that happen," she adds, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

"Pansy…"

"We should go," Pansy says abruptly, speaking at a normal volume. "Don't want to be late for Potions."

"We're not done—"

"We are," Pansy says with a warning glance. "We have to be done."

"Pansy, would you just—" 

"And if we hurry, you can get you that bloody cauldron you love so much."

"Pansy!" Daphne says, slapping her open palms down on the table in frustration.

"What?" Pansy hisses.

"Stop shutting me out. If we just think about this, we can figure something out."

"We can't," Pansy says, feeling something inside of her break. "We can't beat him and I will not risk anyone else's life by trying. This is just how it has to be, but that's okay! Because I can live with being fucking miserable for the rest of my life if it means everyone I care about gets to live."

"But it's…that's not fair," Daphne says, looking at Pansy desperately.

"No. It's not," Pansy says. "But just…promise me you won't make this harder than it is, okay? Promise me you'll respect my decision?"

Daphne absently trails her fingers over the glossy cover of her forgotten Witch Weekly. After what feels like a small eternity, she mumbles, "I promise," sounding absolutely miserable. 

Pansy exhales shakily at the words and whispers, "thank you." She glances down at the cover of Daphne's Witch Weekly, remembering how simple their conversation had been ten minutes ago. Ten minutes ago, when the only thing she had been focused on was the gentle stirrings of butterflies in her stomach that seemed to happen every time she thought about patrolling with Hermione tonight. Now, she just feels tired and numb inside, as if someone has scooped out her insides, leaving her hollow and raw.

As Daphne gathers her things, Pansy lets her eyes fall on Hermione one more time. She's absently nodding along to something Harry's saying, but some part of her must feel Pansy's gaze on her, because she turns away from Harry to meet Pansy's eyes. They hold each other's gaze for a moment and in those few, precious seconds, Pansy lets herself imagine a world in which things were simpler. A beautiful, easy world in which she'd have never been poisoned by her father's beliefs. She'd have treated Hermione well, right from the start. She wouldn't have been put off by her eagerness or by her know-it-all tendencies; instead, she'd have recognized her boundless intelligence, her sparkling wit, her radiant warmth. They'd have been friends. Perhaps they'd have even been more than friends, one day. And perhaps one day, if the stars managed to align just so, Pansy would have made good on her promise to show her the world. 

Merlin, how she would have loved to show her Paris. 

"Ready?" Daphne murmurs.

Slowly, Pansy drags her eyes away from Hermione's concerned gaze. She nods to Daphne and picks up her bag, then stands and starts the long walk to Potions. And as she walks, she lets go of all the dreams she had secretly been harboring over the past few weeks, one by one. As each one flies away, she feels her heart crack, just a bit.

When she lets go of Paris, it shatters into pieces.

***

By the time patrols roll around, Pansy's exhausted. She's gone through her whole day in a fog with her father's voice ringing in her ears. She's ignored all attempts her housemates have made to get her to discuss the Howler and she had even turned her back to Draco when he had found her after Potions and started toward her with an apology lurking in his eyes. She didn't want to discuss the morning's events with anyone, especially not with him.

But it wasn't just her housemates who were trying to get her to open up. 

Hermione had asked about the Howler as well. 

She had tentatively brought it up during Potions, and more than anything, Pansy had wanted to tell her what was going on. She wanted to spill all her sordid secrets, to air out every dusty, moldering skeleton lurking in her closet in the hopes that Hermione would know what to do with the shattered and splintered bones. But she had remembered her promise to keep Hermione safe by keeping her at a distance, so instead, she had simply given her head a quick shake and shut down the hesitant attempt at conversation. Hermione hadn't pushed—she seemed to realize that Pansy was in a dark space, and she had simply sat beside her in understanding silence. 

But now, they're thirty minutes into a completely silent patrol and it's clear Hermione wants to talk. She keeps glancing at Pansy out of the corner of her eye and her body language is restless and twitchy. At first, Pansy thought it might be because she was on edge, remembering what had happened last Tuesday on patrols. But as time went on and the glances became more and more pronounced, she realized that the source of Hermione's anxiety wasn't the possibility of another unexpected attack—it was Pansy. 

If she hadn't recently sworn to keep Hermione at arm's length, it would have boosted her spirits. But now, it just makes her feel despondent. 

After what must be her fiftieth worried glance, Pansy sighs. It's clear that Hermione won't stand for being ignored all night, so perhaps Pansy can continue to keep her at a distance, minus the cold shoulder. 

Pansy clears her throat a bit and murmurs, "I'm fine, Granger. I'm just…thinking."

Hermione stops walking and stares at her. "I didn't say…I mean…what?" she asks, sounding surprised. 

Pansy pauses and studies Hermione. "You've been looking at me like I might combust every three seconds since we started this. I just…you don't need to be…concerned," she finishes hesitantly. It feels a bit odd to assume that Hermione's worried over her wellbeing, but to be honest, there's no other way she can interpret the nervous glances. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…" Hermione trails off and bites her lip nervously, and by some miracle, Pansy's eyes don't stray to the movement. "The Howler," Hermione finally says with a small wince. "It sounded…I mean…that was a threat, wasn't it?" 

Pansy anxiously fidgets with her wand. "It was a reminder," she says carefully. 

"From your father?"

Pansy shrugs. "It's not important." 

"If your father is sending you threats in the form of Howlers, I'd say that's important. I certainly don't know much about him, but from what I've gathered…" she breaks off and gazes at Pansy with concern. "If he's threatening you, you need to tell someone. You need to tell Dumbledore."

Pansy shakes her head. "I don't need to tell anyone. I know what my father expects, and I'm willing to do it."

"Yes, but—"

"That's all there is to it."

"I know, but—"

"That's all there is to it," Pansy repeats, raising an eyebrow as if she's daring Hermione to continue questioning her. 

Hermione huffs and purses her lips in frustration, but doesn't continue pushing. Instead, she starts walking again, heading past Pansy toward the girl's bathroom. But just as she's about to pass Pansy, her eyes grow wide as they fix on something near the ceiling. Before Pansy can turn to see the source of Hermione's surprise, she hears glass exploding behind her. 

Everything seems to slow down at the sound. It's clear they're under attack again, but unlike last time, Pansy might be too late to protect Hermione.

That doesn't mean she won't try.

Heart in her throat, Pansy whirls around. With one arm, she pushes Hermione behind her, intent on shielding her from all harm. Then, she flings out her wand and a nonverbal Protego explodes from the tip, shimmering in front of her and illuminating the dark corridor in a misty blue glow. Content that they're safe for the moment, Pansy looks around wildly for the source of the attack, panic bubbling in her throat when she can't find the culprit. Glass from a shattered lantern is glittering on the floor, but there's no one in the hallway who could've caused the explosion. 

It's only when Hermione lays a gentle hand on Pansy's rigid arm and nods toward the ceiling that Pansy raises her gaze. 

Floating high above them is Peeves, wiggling his bare toes toward them and flashing a shit-eating grin.

Pansy's grip tightens around her wand. "I'm going to fucking kill him," she hisses, her heart still thumping wildly in her chest. She glances at Hermione quickly to make sure she's fine to find hazel eyes already trained on her, regarding her with surprise and something else that she can't quite place. But before she can think too hard about it, Peeves draws her attention again by blowing a massive raspberry.

"Oooooh! Threatening Peevesy, are you? Naughty, naughty," he says in his infuriating sing-song voice. "And such a potty mouth, too! Naughty potty, naughty potty, naughty potty," he says with a high-pitched cackle. 

Hermione sighs from beside Pansy, then pulls out her wand and points it toward the shattered glass on the floor. She murmurs Reparo and the glass shards immediately float up and begin to knit themselves back together. After a few moments, the lantern is completely fixed. Hermione relights the flame inside and with another flick of her wrist, hangs it back on the wall. Then, she turns to Peeves. "Don't you have better things to do than harass us?" she asks flatly.

"Why, I'm not harassing, not harassing at all," Peeves says. "Not doing nothing wrong! No danger for Granger, not while Peevesy is around! Lantern exploded on its own, it did," he says with a broad grin. "BOOM!" he yells suddenly, then devolves into hysterical laughter.

"Let me kill him," Pansy mutters beside Hermione.

Hermione ignores her and with the patience of a saint says, "I'm afraid I'll have to call the Headmaster for this, Peeves. And I don't think he'll be understanding. Especially not after the attack last week," she adds casually. "I wouldn't be surprised if he forced you to leave Hogwarts, what with your propensity for dangerous antics. Better that than risk a student's safety, don't you think?"

Peeves frowns and his grin falters uncertainly. There's only one thing that can scare Peeves off, and that's threatening to call either Dumbledore or the Bloody Baron. And from the look on Hermione's face, she's not making an idle threat. 

"No, no, no need to call anyone, no need at all," Peeves says. "Was just having a little fun, I was, but now I'm done. Shan't give you anymore trouble, not me! But before I leave you two all alone in the dark…" His dark eyes glitter with malice and he puffs out his chest. "BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!" he bellows with glee. Then cackling madly, he zips away through the ceiling, presumably off to bother other patrollers. 

"I don't know why Dumbledore lets him stay," Pansy mutters, staring at the space previously occupied by Peeves with bitterness. 

"Why did you do that?" 

Pansy glances away from the ceiling and back toward Hermione, whose piercing gaze is trained on her. 

"Do what?" Pansy asks, arching an eyebrow and pocketing her wand, hoping that she won't need it again tonight. 

"You pushed me behind you. Why?" 

"Oh. I…" Pansy trails off awkwardly. She's desperately glad for the dim lighting in the hallway, masking her warm cheeks from Hermione's eagle eyes. "I…I had my wand out already. You didn't," she finally says with a shrug, hoping it sounds somewhat convincing. 

Hermione shakes her head. "It was your first instinct to protect me. You didn't even hesitate," she says with quiet wonder. "And don't pretend like that's the norm for you," she adds sharply. "You told me yourself, Slytherins err on the side of self-preservation."

"So what, you thought I'd use you as a shield?" Pansy asks with a small scoff. 

"No. But…" Hermione shakes her head as if she's trying to make sense of what just happened. Finally, she looks back to Pansy. "You'd protect yourself first. You wouldn't make sure that I was safe before you cast Protego. Which by the way, how can you manage such a strong non-verbal Protego?" she asks, sounding genuinely impressed. 

Pansy winces uncomfortably. She could tell Hermione the truth: that she had locked herself in an empty classroom in the weeks after they first learned the charm, forcing herself to practice it over and over again non-verbally until she had finally managed to produce a weak version. It would raise more questions, though, because her practicing sessions had been conducted a full two years before non-verbal magic had even been introduced in their standard lesson plans. But growing up in a Wizarding family meant that Pansy knew the basics of non-verbal magic. That, coupled with her desire to never be left to her father's mercies had been all she needed to master the spell. And now that she's able to cast a powerful non-verbal Protego, she's working on casting it wandlessly. Because if there's one thing Pansy's certain of, it's that she'll never be useless again. She'll never stand by while her father hurts someone she loves. 

Hermione is still watching her, waiting for an answer. "I…I don't know," Pansy finally says, refusing to meet Hermione's eyes. "I suppose it just comes naturally." 

"You're lying," Hermione says calmly. 

Pansy's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"You're lying," Hermione repeats, unbothered by Pansy's reaction. "You're not the only one who's been practicing non-verbal magic. I know firsthand how difficult it is. So to manage a Protego that powerful…" she shakes her head. "It doesn't just come naturally," she says. "You've been practicing it, and presumably for quite some time. …Why?" 

"For reasons that are my own," Pansy says. She turns away from Hermione and starts walking toward the girl's bathroom to continue her patrols. 

"Would those reasons have anything to do with your father?"

Pansy stops walking and feels every muscle in her body tense. She grits her teeth, turns, and says, "I'm not sure that's any of your business."

"You're right. It's not my business at all, but…" Hermione hesitates, and Pansy waits patiently. Finally, Hermione seems to deflate a bit. "You gave me good advice at Hogsmeade," she says. "Advice I've been thinking about ever since. And I know we're not friends, and we never will be, but I'd like to try and return the favor. I can't force you to talk, and I never would," she adds seriously, "but…sometimes you need to talk to someone who's removed from the situation, remember?" she asks, repeating Pansy's own words from the Three Broomsticks back to her. "And you've clearly been out of sorts since it happened. So if this isn't something you can discuss with Greengrass or Malfoy, then…perhaps you could tell me." 

Merlin, she wants to. She wants to tell Hermione everything. To let her in the same way she had let Robin in, all those weeks ago. But instead, she shakes her head and mutters, "I can't."

"Why not?" Hermione says, refusing to back down. 

"I just can't, Granger," Pansy says. She's aware of the pain in her voice, but at this moment, she doesn't particularly care. She's hurting, she's exhausted, and after the debacle with Peeves, her nerves are still on edge.

Hermione must pick up on her anguished tone though, because she takes a step forward. "Because you're afraid of him?" she asks without a trace of judgment in her eyes. 

"I…" Pansy closes her eyes and exhales sharply. "Yes," she murmurs. She opens her eyes and looks at Hermione. "I am."

"And he's hurt people you love," Hermione murmurs, a small furrow on her brow. 

Pansy nods weakly. Alarm bells are faintly ringing in her head, telling her she's doing the exact opposite of what she decided on at breakfast. Instead of keeping Hermione away, she's desperately hoping she keeps prying into Pansy's past and unravels the whole sordid story. And if the look on Hermione's face is any indication, that's exactly what she intends to do. 

"If he's dangerous, you need to tell someone. You need to tell Dumbledore," Hermione says again, more urgently this time. 

"I can't," Pansy says.

"Why not? From the sound of it, you'd be doing the world a service."

At that, Pansy smiles ruefully. "I would be," she concedes. "But I can't." 

"Why?" Hermione asks taking another step forward, her eyes boring into Pansy's. 

"Because," Pansy says. "He's dangerous. More dangerous than you could ever know."

At this, Hermione scoffs. Instantly, her gaze turns apologetic. "Sorry," she says quickly. "I'm sure he is, it's just…I've been helping Harry fight Voldemort since I was eleven. I'm quite used to dangerous men by now."

"I suppose that's true," Pansy says, wincing with discomfort at Hermione's casual use of the name. 

"It is," Hermione replies evenly. "And honestly, anything you'd tell me about your father would be small potatoes in comparison. I bet I'd hardly even react," she adds lightly. "Go on. Try me." 

Pansy stares at Hermione for a moment. "Are you…are you actually trying to taunt me into spilling my tragic backstory?" she asks with amazement. 

Hermione shrugs. "Maybe. Is it working?"

In spite of herself, Pansy snorts. "I don't think so." 

"Well, worth a shot," Hermione says. But even though her tone is light, her eyes are still concerned, and Pansy knows she's not done trying. "It's just…I can see this is troubling you and it wouldn't hurt you to talk about it," she says carefully. "Perhaps I could help."

Pansy shakes her head. "I appreciate it the offer. Really, I do, but…" she sighs and slumps back against the wall behind her. "The less you know, the better."

Hermione arches an eyebrow and gives her a wry look. "I'd suggest you remember who you're talking to, Parkinson. I've never subscribed to that belief and I never will." 

Pansy manages a small smile. "No. No, I suspect you wouldn't," she murmurs, regarding Hermione with far too much fondness lurking in her eyes. Quickly, she shakes her head before Hermione can notice and says, "it just has to be this way. There's no alternative. My father expects certain things from me, and it's my responsibility to deliver them." 

"I understand," Hermione says. Then she sighs and her shoulders slump a bit. "As I said, I won't force you to talk. But know it's a standing offer. If you ever decide to air your frustrations about your father, then…well, what he doesn't know won't kill him," she says. Then, she turns and walks toward the girl's bathroom to continue patrolling. 

Pansy nods absently and is about to push off the wall to join her when Hermione's statement actually registers. 

What he doesn't know won't kill him.

Pansy's thought process momentarily stalls and she frowns a bit. She repeats it to herself, almost hesitantly.

What he doesn't know won't kill him.

Pansy inhales sharply as she realizes the massive, idiotic flaw in her logic. How could she be so bloody stupid? She doesn't have to actually revert to the person she once was—she can just pretend, a fact that had conveniently escaped her anxious, addled mind a few hours ago. Because somehow, in the depths of her despair, she had thought the only option to convince her father that she was still the same daughter he had raised was to be that person. But if there's one thing Pansy knows she can do better than her father, it's pretend.

She didn't spend years in the closet for nothing.

She straightens her back against the wall as she considers this new turn of events, and the more she thinks about it, the more hope she feels.

She doesn't have to date Draco again. She just has to be brave and tell him the truth, the whole truth this time, and hope he's willing to cover for her until she can escape her parent's house.

She doesn't have to revert to horrid language—she can simply talk to her fellow Slytherins about Muggle-borns in the same snide, awful way that she always has, but this time, ditch the offensive slur. 

She doesn't have to keep Hermione at arm's length—she can tell her what's happening. She can let her in on everything while still ensuring she stays safe.

Pansy's certainly hinted at her troubled past before, but now is the perfect opportunity to fully open up and explain her childhood to Hermione. To tell her every last detail and hope that by the end, she'll understand why Pansy's desperately trying to make changes in her life. She's cautiously optimistic that they're finally in a decent enough place that Hermione will be open to listening, and it certainly wouldn't hurt her own cause to practice being more vulnerable. 

And perhaps more than anything, Hermione deserves the whole story. Pansy owes it to her.

She digs her fingernails into her palms and takes a deep breath. 

Now or never.