Pansy returns the smile and is about to let her gaze linger when she hears Daphne's voice in her head saying something about pathetic attempts at foreplay. Quickly, she drops her gaze and leans down to get her book. When she straightens back up, she asks, "and how was your weekend?" as casually as she can manage.
"Oh. Very nice, thank you."
"Mm. I suppose it's difficult to beat a Hogsmeade weekend."
Hermione hums, then slowly says, "to tell you the truth, I almost wish it hadn't been a Hogsmeade weekend."
"Oh? Why?"
"I…I think I could have met my parchment pal yesterday if it hadn't been for the Hogsmeade trip."
Pansy's breath catches at the quiet admission and she bounces a foot restlessly, trying to decide how to reply. "Oh?" she asks, then she immediately winces. She was trying to sound only vaguely interested, but her voice came out a good two pitches higher than normal.
Luckily, Hermione doesn't seem to notice. "We've made plans to meet next Sunday," she says, absently sweeping a long finger against the stone tabletop.
"Oh," Pansy says again, this time making a concerted effort to keep her voice at a normal pitch. She taps a finger against her Potions book, then hesitantly says, "and are you…excited?"
"I am. But…a bit nervous, too."
"Stands to reason," Pansy says, smiling a bit. At least they're having the exact same emotions about this whole "meeting in person" thing. Then, she gives Hermione a sidelong grin and says, "after all, it could still be Goyle who shows up."
"Unless Goyle has somehow managed to get his monthlies, I think I'm safe."
"Oh, that's right. It's a woman," Pansy says. A sneaky, mischievous idea pops into her head, and she idly traces the title of her Potions book. Snape seems to be later than usual today, so she desperately hopes she'll have the time to pull this off. "This coming Sunday, you said?" she asks. Hermione hums in confirmation, and Pansy schools her features into something vaguely confused and somewhat surprised. "Huh."
Hermione looks over at her. "What?"
"No, it's…it's nothing."
Hermione's eyes narrow and she folds her arms across her chest. "What's nothing?"
"Really, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm probably wrong."
"About…?"
"Honestly, it's nothing."
"Pansy…"
Pansy theatrically wilts, then says, "I really shouldn't tell you this. But it's just…" she bites her lip nervously, then says, "I overheard that…that Millicent was excited about something happening this coming Sunday." She delivers the line hesitantly, like she's worried about upsetting Hermione.
But Hermione doesn't seem upset at all. Instead, she simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. If it's not Goyle, then it must be Bulstrode. You're hilarious," she adds dryly.
Pansy quickly shakes her head and looks at Hermione with earnest eyes. "Really! She is excited!"
"Of course she is."
"No, I…" Pansy twists around to Millicent's table behind her. "Millicent," she whispers. "Millicent."
Millicent is resting her head on her fist as she idly spins a knife on the table in front of her, but at Pansy's whisper, dark brown eyes flick up and she lifts an eyebrow.
"You're excited about this Sunday, right? It's going to be a big day for you?" Pansy asks, banking on the fact Millicent is actually looking forward to the idiotic Slytherin arm wrestling championships that are coincidentally being held this Sunday.
"Yes," Millicent says flatly. "I've been waiting for it for ages." She's a woman of few words so mercifully, she doesn't elaborate. Pansy grins at her, positively delighted that she's unwittingly played her role so perfectly. She makes a mental note to treat Millicent to a whole load of those awful acid pops she seems to enjoy so much, then, she turns back to Hermione.
By some miracle, Pansy manages to keep herself from laughing out loud at the sight before her.
The other witch is still staring at Millicent with her mouth hanging open and fear dawning in her hazel eyes. Her face looks pained and drawn, and her fists are clutching tightly at her robes. After a moment, she turns to Pansy and shakes her head a bit desperately, clearly incapable of forming words at the moment.
Pansy clamps her lips together as she surveys Hermione. Perhaps she should feel guilty about putting her through this, but Merlin, is this prank worth it. And anyway, after everything is out in the open, she'll be sure to make it up to Hermione. She'll buy her a book or make her sticky toffee pudding or try to have an actual conversation with Weasley.
(Maybe not that last one.)
Anyway, she will make it up to her. But for right now, she's going to enjoy this to the fullest.
"I'm sorry," Pansy says with a small, pained wince. "Though I suppose that does explain why I've seen her hunched over her parchment so often…"
Hermione's eyes grow ridiculously wider at Pansy's newly offered information. "No, I…no. No, I'd know if it were…I mean, it can't be…" Her protestations fade away as she looks wildly back at Millicent.
"I suppose she's just more comfortable pouring her soul out over parchment. Makes sense, really. She's always been a broody sort. I'd expect there's loads of deep thoughts lurking about in her mind."
"I…"
"But you like her over parchment, right?" Pansy asks encouragingly. "So it doesn't really matter if she's…well…y'know," she finishes, glancing back at Millicent.
Millicent's right hand is now splayed on the table. She's holding the short, sharp knife in her left and stabbing it between the fingers of her right hand as quickly as she can with a look of deadly concentration on her deeply furrowed brow.
Pansy turns back to Hermione, who's now staring openly at Millicent with fear dancing in her eyes. "And look, she's handy with a knife," Pansy says, "so…at least you'll always feel safe around her?"
Hermione manages to tear her eyes off of Millicent once more and she turns to Pansy. "I…I…" she shakes her head, then whispers, "do you think it's really her?"
Pansy shrugs. "Could be. But maybe not. Loads of things happen on the weekends. Maybe she's excited for something else."
"Can you find out?" Hermione asks a bit desperately.
"I'll try, but I can't make any promises. She's notoriously tight-lipped, our Millie," Pansy says, almost cheerfully.
Hermione nods, looking a bit dazed. "Right. Right," she says, almost to herself. "Well, if it's…if it's Bulstrode, then…then that's…that'll be…"
"That'll be…?" Pansy prompts with interest.
"Fine," Hermione says, her voice breaking on the word. Then, she nods and bites her lower lip. Concern is still etched on her face, but she's doing a decent job of looking resigned to the news. "It'll be fine," she says, this time with more conviction. "Because I know what's in my parchment pal's heart and at the end of the day, that's allthat matters."
Pansy opens her mouth to agree, but she's distracted by a shout of pain from behind her. She glances over her shoulder to see Millicent, bleeding profusely from her index finger and glaring at the knife in her left hand. Pansy's about to ask if she's alright, but before she can, Millicent abruptly picks up the knife and bends it against the table until the blade breaks off. She pounds the handle with her fist a few times, then sweeps both the blade and the handle from the table in one clean motion. Pansy watches with interest as the pieces smack against the stone wall, then drop to the ground with a clatter. Millicent spares a final dark look toward the discarded knife. Then, she stands up, pops her bleeding finger into her mouth, and stalks off toward the stone basins to wash up.
Pansy turns back to Hermione who's been watching the display with a queasy kind of horror on her face. "That's all that matters," Pansy echoes, fighting against the grin that so desperately wants to break free.
Hermione opens and closes her mouth a few times wordlessly, and Pansy has to lift a hand to cover the lower half of her face.
Fuck, she's enjoying this.
But even though there's a part of Pansy that wants to drag this out for the next six days, to watch Hermione gaze at Millicent with a mixture of revulsion and horror, she reluctantly decides that she's had her fun. Because frankly, she doesn't want Hermione to go into Sunday absolutely dreading what she might find.
After all, Pansy's reformed.
She's only a little bit cruel nowadays.
She lowers her hand from her face and turns to Hermione with wide eyes. "Oh! I've just remembered. There's an arm wrestling competition in the Slytherin common room this coming Sunday. I think Millicent's entered in it," she adds lightly.
Hermione's head whips around to Pansy, and Pansy tries desperately to keep her lips from twitching.
"Perhaps that's what she's excited for?" Pansy asks, refusing to make eye contact with Hermione. She knows her eyes are shining with glee and she can feel the corners of her mouth lifting up against her will. If she looks at Hermione, she knows she'll burst into laughter.
"Pansy Parkinson," Hermione hisses, her voice low and furious. "Of all the deceitful, dirty tricks…"
Pansy finally turns to face Hermione. Her hazel eyes are hard and she looks positively outraged. "You knew about that tournament, didn't you?" Hermione asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I…may have been aware of it, yes," Pansy says diplomatically. Then, she loses the fight and grins at Hermione. "But Merlin, the look on your face!" She can't help the laughter that shakes her shoulders as she remembers the absolute horror lingering in Hermione's eyes. "Sorry!" she says, lifting her hands in a placating gesture when Hermione's glare darkens. "Sorry, I…that was a bad thing to do," she says seriously as she fights to control her face. "But look on the bright side! At least now you know that even if you don't like the person who shows up on Sunday, it could always be worse."
Hermione looks up at the ceiling and shakes her head. Then she sighs and says, "I suppose that's true. But don't think for a moment that I'm going to let you get away with this little trick," she adds, looking back to Pansy with a raised eyebrow. "I'll have my revenge."
"Ooh, revenge from a Gryffindor. I'm trembling," Pansy says with a smirk. "What are you going to do, drown me in a tub of kittens?"
Hermione rolls her eyes again, but this time when she looks at Pansy, it's with those same fond eyes and that same small smile that she's never seen given to anybody else.
"You're awful, do you know that?" Hermione asks, but there's no animosity in her voice. Just exasperated fondness.
"Awful good at practical jokes? Yes. Yes, I am."
Before Hermione can reply, though, Snape brushes past their table on his way to his desk.
"Merlin, look who finally decided to show up," Pansy mutters, smiling when she hears Hermione chuckle beside her.
Once Snape arrives at his desk, he doesn't bother saying a word to anyone. He simply lifts his wand and summons a variety of ingredients, opens his book, then turns to face the class with his standard frown already in place.
"Oh. Oh, no," Hermione murmurs quietly beside Pansy. Pansy turns her eyes from Snape's face to find Hermione surveying the ingredients with panicked eyes and flushed cheeks. But before she can ask what's wrong, Snape clears his throat.
"Pearl dust, fire seeds, fairy wings, rose oil, Valerian sprigs. Who can tell me what we're brewing today?"
Oh, no.
Pansy's quite good at potions and now that she's looking at the ingredients spread across Snape's desk, she recognizes them immediately.
"Amortentia," she murmurs, a knot tightening in her stomach.
"Correct. Well done, Miss Parkinson. Five points to Slytherin. What do you know about Amortentia?" he asks. His dark eyes stay trained on her face, and Pansy forces herself to swallow around the nervous lump in her throat before replying.
"It's the most powerful love potion in existence," Pansy says. "It causes intense infatuation or obsession in the drinker."
"Correct. Another five points to Slytherin. And what of its smell?"
Pansy bites her lip, then very hesitantly says, "the steam it gives off, it…it smells differently to each person. It takes the scent profile of whatever or…or whoever you're attracted to," she adds, noticing as Hermione immediately stiffens beside her.
"Well done, Miss Parkinson. Another five points for a thorough reply." He sits down at his desk and says, "you'll find the instructions in your books on page five-hundred and twelve. Slytherins will collect the ingredients. Gryffindors will be behind the cauldron. If you have any questions, I suggest you read your book," Snape says with a sneer. "If you still have questions, silently raise your hands and I shall assist you."
Pansy glances at Hermione and murmurs, "I'll…I'll just gather the ingredients, shall I?"
Hermione nods back. "Right. Yes, you…you do that, and I'll…I'll…" she gestures at the cauldron. "I'll be here."
Pansy nods, then quickly slides from her stool, turns on her heel, and starts toward the ingredients cupboard.
Of all the bloody potions to have to brew today, why did it have to be Amortentia?
As she gathers their ingredients, she tells herself it'll be fine. So she'll smell Hermione's scent in her cauldron. So what? It's not like Hermione herself will know that. And anyway, she can always lie and say it smells like oranges and rain, or some other ridiculous combination of scents.
It'll be fine. All she has to do is play it cool and not let on that she's desperately in love with Hermione.
Easy.
When she returns to their table, Hermione is reading over the steps in her Potions book. She looks up as Pansy deposits the ingredients and manages to smile. "It's a fairly standard potion. Some of the stirring gets tricky later on, but we should be able to manage."
Pansy nods and takes her seat again. She exhales slowly and tells herself this is just another day in Potions. Nothing strange about it. The best thing to do is to act natural. "I'd imagine the only difficult part for you will be smelling Millicent in it," Pansy says with a small smirk as she uncaps the rose oil.
Good. A joke. That's normal.
Hermione seems to relax a bit at the quip and she scoffs as she lights their cauldron. "I wouldn't even know what she smells like."
"Blood and violence," Pansy says as she carefully measures out three teaspoons of rose oil. Then she cocks her head thoughtfully and adds, "and strawberries."
Hermione scoffs as she adjusts the flame, then looks up swiftly, as if something's just occurred to her. "Speakingof blood and violence, though," she murmurs. "I had an owl back from my mum this morning. She said she'd find a wire today and send it as soon as possible."
Pansy's heart skips a beat at the rapid development. She won't be seeing her father again until the end of term so she still has time to plan and prepare. But whenever she thinks about what she's going to attempt, it makes her feel a bit sick.
She fights past the feeling, leans past Hermione to deposit the rose oil, and says, "it's not expensive, is it? I don't want your mum to have to pay for my family dysfunction."
Hermione shakes her head as she reaches for the bottle of fire seeds. "No, it shouldn't cost much," she says, uncapping the bottle and picking out a handful of seeds. "And even if it does, my mum won't mind. She likes helping people."
Pansy hums. "Ah. So she's where you get it from, then?"
"I suppose so," Hermione says with a smile as she crushes four fire seeds with the back of a knife.
"Well, for now, you'll have to pass along my gratitude. But eventually, I'll find a way to pay her back."
Hermione snorts as she deposits the fire seeds into the cauldron. "With what? Galleons? I'm afraid that's just Monopoly money to her."
"I've no idea what that is," Pansy says as she skims the list of steps in her book. "But no, not with Galleons. With Muggle money."
"Oh? And how do you plan on getting your hands on that?"
"I'll steal it," Pansy says simply. But before Hermione can reply, Pansy looks up from her book, leans closer, and conspiratorially whispers, "I have it on good authority that Muggle banks have piss-poor security. Not a dragon to be seen."
Hermione laughs in surprise as she reaches for a spoon. "I don't know if I'm touched by the offer or horrified by the thought," she says as she slowly stirs their potion clockwise, lifting the spoon every four stirs.
Pansy smiles fondly at the sound of Hermione's laugh, then she says, "but really. I don't know how to repay you or your mum, but I will find a way."
"You don't have to repay either of us."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I do." Pansy reaches for a Valerian sprig and fidgets with it. "Because if I don't, then this whole thing is unbalanced. I can't just take from you and give nothing in return."
Hermione takes the spoon out of the cauldron and frowns at Pansy. "You know that's not true, don't you?"
Pansy snorts dryly. "Isn't it? You've somehow forgiven me for being a complete bitch for years, you've dedicated your days and nights to help me take down my father, Merlin, you've even brought your mum in on it…"
"Yes but—"
"You've taught me to be a better person. I mean…" Pansy breaks off and flushes a bit as she stares at the Valerian sprig. "You make me want to be a better person. You challenge me. You make me think about things in new ways, and you push me in ways no one ever has before. You sharpen me, you…you…" she stares at the table and whispers, "the way you look at me…you make me feel like I'm somebody worthwhile. Like there's more to me than the person I was. You make me feel…" Pansy trails off. The word whole is on her lips, but she catches it just in time, remembering that she had expressed the same sentiment via parchment not long ago. Finally, she looks up at Hermione. "You make me feel…things I've never felt before," she whispers, letting herself be as honest as she possibly can without coming right out and saying she's in love with the other witch.
"Pansy…" Hermione breathes, her eyes wide and full of some unfamiliar, beautiful emotion.
"So when I say I want to pay your mum back, it's because I have to," Pansy hurries on quickly. "I have to know that you're getting something out of this. That I'm not just this weak, sniveling person who spent seven years hurting you, only to graduate to using you. I can't do that. You deserve so much more than that," Pansy whispers, low and fierce.
Hermione puts the spoon down and looks at Pansy. "Do you really think that you haven't given me anything?"
Pansy shrugs miserably. "Yes? I mean, aside from sleepless nights, a massive headache you didn't need, and perhaps access to my dragon."
"Pansy…"
"Oh, and the occasional pear drop."
Hermione rolls her eyes. "Pansy. You've given me more than that."
Pansy gives a small, humorless snort. "Like what?"
Hermione drops her eyes and gently rocks the spoon back and forth on the table with a small frown on her face. She's quiet for a long while, and just when Pansy's about to tell her she doesn't have to try and think of anything just to spare her feelings, Hermione exhales slowly. "You've given me strength in a time when I needed it most," she murmurs quietly. "You've shown me what it's like to display bravery, even when the easier thing would be to run and hide. You've given me hope, you've given me encouragement. You helped me acceptmyself," she adds, raising fervent eyes to Pansy. "You've taught me to stay strong and you've reminded me to believe in the courage of my convictions, even in the face of adversity, you…you…" Hermione trails off and bites her lower lip as she stares down at the table, and after a long moment, she whispers, "you make me laugh."
It's by far the simplest admission, but the way Hermione says it makes it sound like it's the most important thing in the world, and Pansy holds her breath as she waits for her to continue. "You make me laugh and you make me feel like I'm interesting and like you care about everything I have to say." She raises her eyes to meet Pansy's once more, and Pansy's struck by the same, unfamiliar emotion lingering in her gaze. "You make me happy," Hermione says. "You make me so happy. And when I'm with you, it's…it's…" she shakes her head slowly and says, "it's like I forget about everything else in the world."
The last bit of Hermione's whispered confession hits Pansy hard, and she has to blink quickly to fight back the tell-tale moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.
It's not that it's a surprise that Hermione feels this way—they've spent countless hours together by this point, and it's clear that they both delight in each other's company. But even so, Pansy had always felt like she was fighting against her other self. That no matter what she did, or no matter how close she grew to Hermione, there would always be a part of the other girl that was thinking about her bard.
So to hear Hermione admit that her parchment pal wasn't on her mind when they were together? It's perhaps the best thing Hermione could have possibly said to her.
Pansy swallows past the lump in her throat, but before she can say anything in return, Hermione hurries on with a bright flush on her cheeks, clearly embarrassed by her unexpected vulnerability. "And you've shown me that nothing is impossible. You've shown me that two people who hate each other can become friends, against all the odds. That a little girl who grew up in a nightmare can fight back and flourish. You've shown me that a full and happy life is something I can have. And of course," Hermione says with a small smile, "you've shown me that worthwhile things rarely come easily."
"I…I suppose that's true," Pansy says, hesitantly returning the smile with one of her own.
"I know it's true. You've given me so much, Pansy," Hermione says, her voice low and adamant. "Don't ever think that you haven't."
"I…thank you," Pansy says, blinking away the tears that are still lingering in her eyes and threatening to fall at any moment. She's unable to find words to convey what Hermione's speech had meant to her, and she has a feeling that if she were to try, she'd end up sobbing in the middle of Potions.
But Hermione must notice her emotional reaction, because she simply says, "of course" with overly fond eyes. Then, she squeezes Pansy's hand one time underneath the table and lets her thumb trail over the skin of Pansy's hand for just a moment. The simple gesture makes Pansy's breath catch in her throat, but she somehow manages to keep herself somewhat collected under Hermione's gaze. After a moment, the other witch releases her hand and reaches for the wooden spoon again. She resumes stirring as if nothing had happened, but there's still a tell-tale flush spread across her cheeks.
Pansy has an uncomfortable feeling she's sporting a matching one.
They work in silence for a moment or two when suddenly, a devious smile flickers to Hermione's face. "You know," she says casually, "there's one other thing you gave me that I forgot to mention."
"Oh?"
Hermione hums and nods. "If it hadn't been for your encouragement, I might have strung Ron along even longer. So I suppose I have you to thank for our friendship staying intact."
Pansy's hand freezes over a bunch of Valerian sprigs and she looks to Hermione. There's an infuriating smile flickering around the corners of her mouth and Pansy shakes her head at the sight. "You're telling me that my advice is the only reason why Weasley's still darkening your doorstep?"
"Mm. If it weren't for you, he might be out of my life forever."
"Huh." Pansy looks down at the table and then back at Hermione. "I'm afraid you're going to have to finish this potion on your own."
"Why?" Hermione asks, removing the spoon from the potion once more.
"Because I need to find a Time-Turner to stop myself from ever giving you advice."
Hermione laughs as she reaches for a shaker of pearl dust. "Oh, don't be like that! Just admit it…you like Ron."
Pansy tosses nine Valerian sprigs in the stone mortar in front of her and picks up the pestle, grinding the poor plant harder than necessary. "I thought we were done saying cruel things to each other," she says.
"It's not cruel! You like Ron and wanted him to be happy," Hermione says, shaking the pearl dust container into the potion six times, then adjusting the flame. "That's honestly very sweet of you."
"If McGonagall gave a Time-Turner to a thirteen year-old, surely she'll give one to me," Pansy mutters.
"And what's more, I think you and Ron could be friends."
"I mean, I'll be nineteen soon. I'd imagine I'm responsible enough."
"If you play your cards right, maybe one day Mrs. Weasley will invite you to the Burrow for Christmas."
"Or I could just Obliviate myself. I've never tried a Memory Charm, but how hard could they be?"
"She'll knit you a jumper and everything. A lovely, hand-made jumper with a green P, right on the front."
"Best to just Obliviate everyone at Hogwarts and live the rest of my days somewhere far away from here."
Hermione grins broadly and adds another four shakes from the pearl dust jar, then begins stirring rapidly. "Don't Obliviate yourself."
"I've already made up my mind. There's no stopping me."
"Oh? What if…" Hermione bites her lip and lowers her eyes. "What if I told you someone would miss you very much if you did?" she asks quietly, turning to look at Pansy with a surprisingly timid gaze.
Pansy puts down the pestle and stares at Hermione for a moment. Something delightfully warm spreads through her chest at the quiet question and the accompanying look, and after a moment she says, "fine. I won't Obliviate myself."
"Excellent!" Hermione says brightly, turning back to the cauldron. "Because Ron really would miss you."
Pansy huffs and glowers at Hermione. "Merlin, you're impossible." She passes the ground Valerian sprigs to Hermione, who adds them to the cauldron while she continues to stir.
"You're no walk in the park," Hermione replies easily. "You made me think I was in love with Bullstrode."
Pansy's hand hesitates for a moment over a small container of delicate fairy wings at the words in love. She forces herself to take a deep breath and to not react, even though her heart rate has doubled in the space of a second. Instead, she opens the container with slightly shaky hands, removes four sets of fairy wings, then picks up a knife and starts to dice them. "Yes, but Millicent is tolerable. Weasley is—"
"One of my best friends?" Hermione puts in smoothly, raising an eyebrow as if she's daring Pansy to finish the thought.
"…One of your best friends," Pansy repeats. She continues to dice and mutters, "and a useless fucking orangutan" to herself. Then she raises her voice and says, "anyway, you've managed to talk me back into it, so I'm Obliviating myself again. I hope you're happy."
Hermione chuckles as she removes the spoon from the potion and turns down the flame. She measures out another spoonful of rose oil and says, "you know, even though Ron would miss you…"
"Merlin's pants…"
"I think…I think I'd miss you more."
Pansy's hand hesitates and she glances at Hermione to find her already watching her with a small, nervous smile. There's a pretty flush on her cheeks and her eyes are timid and unsure, like she's worried she just admitted to something she shouldn't have. The sight alone makes Pansy want to toss the knife down, pull Hermione toward her, and kiss her senseless. She wants to kiss her in front of the entire bloody classroom so there's no doubt in anyone's mind how she feels about this exasperating, beautiful witch. She wants to tangle her hands in Hermione's hair and catch her surprised gasp in her mouth. She wants to push their cauldron aside, climb onto the table, and wrap her legs around Hermione's waist. She wants to stay wrapped up in her until she's lost all track of time, until the world around her melts away and all she's left with is the taste and touch of Hermione.
Instead, she simply murmurs, "well, then. I suppose it's a good thing you're stuck with me." They're the same words she said in the library on Friday night, and Hermione's eyes immediately soften with recognition.
"I suppose it is."
There's a good chance they'd stay staring at each other if it wasn't for a sudden splash from their cauldron. At the sound, Hermione tears her eyes away and quickly adjusts the flame. The potion settles again and she murmurs, "caught it just in time." She glances toward Pansy and asks, "are the fairy wings ready?"
Pansy nods and scrapes the diced fairy wings into a clean mortar, then passes it to Hermione. She deposits the spoonful of rose oil into the cauldron followed closely by the fairy wings, then watches to make sure the potion turns a very pale pink. When it does, she picks up the spoon, turns up the flame, and starts stirring counter-clockwise.
"Everything look okay?" Pansy asks.
Hermione nods. "I think so." She pulls the spoon out, lets the potion settle, then starts to stir clockwise. "Anyway, now that we've covered that you and Ron are destined to be friends, we should get back to the conversation at hand."
"I'm choosing to ignore the first part of that statement," Pansy says. "And as for the second part…I'm afraid I don't remember what the conversation at hand was." It's true—the gentle, fond banter had taken Pansy's mind off of whatever conversation they had been having before.
"The plan," Hermione says. She glances around and lowers her voice. "The wire."
"Oh. Right," Pansy says, feeling a bit foolish for forgetting.
In her defense, Hermione was really bloody distracting.
Hermione begins to stir a bit faster over the bubbling cauldron, and Pansy can see the beginnings of sweat beading at the other witch's temple. "Once my mum sends it, I'll show you how to use it. I asked my mum to owl me some Sellotape as well. We'll need a way to attach it to you without using magic."
"Why?" Pansy asks.
"I'm not certain, but something tells me direct magic might interfere with the wire's capabilities, so…best not risk casting anything on it. But once you've learned how to use it, you can take it with you. And as soon as you get his confession on record…"
"I'll floo to the Ministry, straight away."
Hermione nods. She takes the spoon out of the potion and turns the flame down one more time before she lifts her sleeve to wipe at her shining brow.
Their potion is starting to take on the distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, but it'll be another minute or two before it's completely done. In the interim, Pansy decides to ask a question that's been lingering in her mind for days now.
"What if…what if Robards isn't on the up-and-up?" she whispers, watching the milky bubbles grow and pop on the surface of the potion.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean who's to say my father doesn't have some sort of dirt over the Head of the Auror Office?" Pansy asks, turning her eyes toward Hermione. "I know he has a contact in the Aurors office, and I wouldn't be surprised if it went all the way to the top."
Pansy half expects Hermione to scoff and brush off her fear, but instead, she hesitates and seems to think over the question with a faraway gaze. After a moment, her eyes clear and she looks back to Pansy. "Don't go to Robards. Go to Tonks."
"I—"
"She's trustworthy, I promise. And she'll know the right people. I'll send her an owl tonight to tell her to expect you sometime over the summer. She'll help you."
Pansy frowns, still worried. "I just don't know if—"
Without any warning, Hermione reaches out and lays a hand on Pansy's thigh, effectively freezing both her train of thought and her body. The only thing Pansy's aware of is the warmth emanating from Hermione's hand, and the curious way she seems to be able to feel it radiating over every part of her body.
"I know you're worried," Hermione says, staring at Pansy. "But Tonks is brilliant and she'll see to it that you're safe. I'd trust her with my life. And what's more, she'd never let anything happen to someone I care about."
"I…you…" Pansy blinks stupidly at the last part of Hermione's sentence. "Okay," she finally manages to whisper. "If you think she's safe, then okay. I trust you."
Hermione nods and holds Pansy's eye for a long moment. Then, her gaze falls to her hand, still planted firmly on Pansy's thigh. Her face flames and she quickly withdraws it. "Sorry," she says, sounding completely flustered. "Sorry, I didn't—"
Hermione grows rigid and stops speaking so abruptly that Pansy finds herself unnerved. As she surveys the other girl, she notices a list of troubling, physical changes—Hermione's already-red face has somehow darkened, her eyes are wide, her pupils have slightly dilated, and her nostrils are flaring.
"Hermione?" Pansy asks tentatively. "Is something…I mean, are you—"
Pansy's thought is swiftly interrupted by the most intoxicating aroma she's ever smelled in her life. It's something so rich, so enticing, and so incredibly familiar that she can't stop herself from inhaling as deeply as she possibly can to try and fill every inch of her lungs with the irresistible scent.
She can pick out notes of a wood burning fire, the scent of dark, freshly roasted coffee, and a subtle hint of something heavy and sweet that reminds her of summertime air.
But all of the other scents pale in comparison to the one that comes through the strongest…
Hermione.
It's the scent of her shampoo, something fresh and clean, like a springtime rain.
It's the scent of her soap, a delightful combination of apricot and vanilla.
It's the scent of her skin that night in the library. It's the scent of her breath against Pansy's lips. It's all the scents that have been driving Pansy insane, concentrated and drifting seductively toward her.
Somehow, she manages to look away from the spiral steam rising from their cauldron to glance over at Hermione. Hazel eyes are slightly glazed and she's taking deep, slow breaths, as if she can't get enough of whatever scent is currently wafting toward her. Pansy's eyes drift down to watch the steady rise and fall of Hermione's chest, and she feels her own cheeks grow dark at the hypnotizing sight. After a long moment, she pulls her gaze back up to find Hermione's eyes locked on hers.
"I…" Pansy clears her throat, dimly wondering if Hermione had caught her staring.
She wonders if Hermione had liked Pansy's eyes on her.
She pushes the thought from her mind and murmurs, "do you smell anything?" Her voice is surprisingly low, and if she wasn't so bloody mesmerized by the scent in their cauldron, she'd want to smack herself for sounding so ridiculously aroused.
Bloody Amortentia.
Hermione's dilated eyes drop down to Pansy's lips as she speaks, and after a long moment, she manages to nod. "Yes. Yes, I…there's something there," she says breathlessly, her heavy gaze still trained on Pansy's lips. "And you?"
Pansy nods slowly. "There's…there's something for me, too," she says. "Coffee and…and a wood burning fire."
Hermione finally raises her gaze and says, "that's…that's good. Parchment, for me," she says. "Parchment and freshly mown grass and…" she trails off and Pansy watches as her dark flush spreads down her neck. "And some other things," she says, looking strangely conflicted.
"Right. Well, that's…I mean…I suppose that means we did it right, then?"
"I suppose so," Hermione murmurs.
They stare at each other for a long, charged moment. The air around them seems heavier somehow, and when Pansy absently licks her lips, Hermione's gaze immediately drops back down to watch the movement. Her already blown pupils seem to darken just a bit more, and Pansy inhales sharply at the sight.
In the very back of Pansy's mind, she knows that kissing Hermione in the middle of Potions would be an absolutely mad idea. It's absurd and reckless and so, so stupid. But with Hermione looking at her like she's two seconds away from devouring her, it's hard to make herself remember exactly why it's a mad, absurd, reckless, and stupid idea.
After what feels like ages in some sort of heady, potent stasis, Hermione shakes her head a bit and takes a deep breath, as if she's slowly coming back to herself. With the spell temporarily broken, Pansy leans back on her stool, feeling slightly dazed. She sees Hermione clench her fists a few times from the corner of her eye before she eventually stands from her stool.
"I'll just…" Hermione nods at the spare ingredients. She's refusing to look at Pansy, her face is flaming, and a muscle in her jaw is jumping.
"Yes. Yes, you do that, and I'll just… I'll bottle, shall I?" Pansy says, gesturing feebly toward an empty bottle on their table.
Hermione nods stiffly as she quickly gathers the ingredients. Once everything is secure, she walks away from their table quickly, headed toward the ingredient cupboard. Pansy watches her go, and as she turns back toward their cauldron, she catches Daphne's eye from across the room. She's grinning and when she notices Pansy's gaze is on her, she mouths something that looks suspiciously like foreplay with a salacious wink.
Pansy glares and lifts her middle finger.
She gathers a sample of their potion and screws the cap onto the bottle, then picks up her quill to label the sample. As she does, she lets herself think about Hermione's reaction with a small smile.
There was no way Hermione didn't have feelings for her. Not after what had just happened. And she'd bet good money that the other things Hermione had smelled in the Amortentia were directly related to her.
As she places the bottle back down on the table and waits for Hermione to return, she lets her smile grow wider and the ember of hope glow brighter than it ever has before.
Merlin. She's definitely Hermione's type.
***
"When do you think was the last time Dumbledore shagged someone?"
Pansy's fork hesitates halfway to her mouth and she stares at Daphne. "Daphne. No. It's far too early for this."
"You've never thought about it? I mean, he's been single for ages. Unless he has something secret on the side…" Daphne tilts her head and gazes up at the teacher's table. "Do you think he's ever shagged any of the other professors?"
"Daphne. Too. Early."
It's Wednesday morning and Pansy's still in the process of waking up. All she wants is to enjoy her tea and her breakfast in peace and quiet, but Daphne's having none of it.
"I could see him shagging Trelawney, honestly."
Pansy groans. "Why would you say that? I'm picturing it now. Is that what you wanted?"
Daphne grins and lifts a wicked eyebrow. "Whatever works for you, darling." Then she looks back to the teacher's table and frowns thoughtfully. "Do you know, I don't know if any of our professors are in relationships! What if none of them have shagged anyone in years?"
"I'm going to sit at a different table," Pansy mutters into her tea.
"Oh, please do," Daphne says, momentarily distracted from her pondering. "I'd love to see the looks on Weasley and Potter's faces if you sat down next to Granger right now."
"They'd probably Flipendo me across the room."
"You should let them. Then Granger would have to tend to your wounds and sit by your bedside." Daphne pops a grape into her mouth and says, "that's how my favorite romance novel starts, you know. The Fever of St. Mungo's."
"Wonderful," Pansy mutters dryly, setting her mug back down.
"Mm. And if things end the same way for you that they do for broody Healer-in-Charge Oliver Cole and Trainee Healer Amelia Ashworth, then…well, I won't spoil it, but let's just say you'll end up very familiar with Granger's…anatomy," Daphne says, pronouncing the last word in a low, risqué manner and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Pansy buries her head in her hands and groans. "Why do you choose to be this way?"
"What way? Utterly delightful?" Daphne asks lightly as she pops another grape into her mouth. "I'm afraid that's just the way I was born. But anyway! Back to the matter at hand—Dumbledore and Trelawney. Yes or no?"
"No."
Daphne tsks then gazes up at the teacher's table, her eyes flicking between Dumbledore and Trelawney. "No, I suppose you're right," she says with disappointment. Then, her eyes land on someone else at the teacher's table and light up once more. "But Dumbledore and Hooch…"
Against her better instincts, Pansy lifts her head and manages a scoff. "Really? Hooch?"
"Why not? I bet she'd be commanding in the bedroom, and I bet that's just the kind of thing Dumbledore's into."
Somehow, Pansy manages to control her overwhelming urge to gag. Instead, she leans forward and whispers, "you don't think that Madam Hooch and I might have something in common?"
Daphne frowns and lets her gaze linger on Madam Hooch. After a moment, she looks back to Pansy with confusion on her face.
Pansy rolls her eyes. "You don't think she and I might have the same aversion to…to tallywhackers?" Pansy asks, flushing a bit as she uses Daphne's gran's absurd word.
Daphne's eyes grow wide and she looks back up at Madam Hooch. "Oh," she says. Then she looks back to Pansy. "I didn't even consider—!" Slowly, a sly smile comes to Daphne's face and she says, "you've just given me much more to think about."
"Oh, Merlin…"
"I mean, honestly! I would've exhausted myself eventually, but now…there are so many more opportunities."
"I'm never speaking again," Pansy mutters, reaching for her mug.
"Excellent! More time for me to speak, then. You know how much I like that. Now! What do you think about Hooch and Pomfrey?"
Pansy's about to reply when mercifully, she hears the beating of wings from behind her.
Saved by the Owl Post.
She twists around in her seat to watch hundreds of owls flood into the Great Hall, but before she can scan the ceiling in an attempt to see if any of the owls are familiar, she's distracted by the Gryffindor table.
More specifically, a pretty, brunette witch at the Gryffindor table.
Hermione's shaking out the Daily Prophet and skimming the front page with a small furrow on her brow, ignoring whatever story Harry is telling beside her. She lifts her mug and absently drinks from it as the frown on her face grows more pronounced at whatever she's reading. Pansy finds the little furrow utterly charming, and before she knows it, she's conjuring a terribly domestic scene in her mind.
Hermione, in her pajamas, reading the Prophet on the couch with a cat or two for company while Pansy makes tea.
Pansy placing the steaming mugs down on the coffee table, listening to Hermione rant about some article or another.
Pansy finally losing her patience, plucking the paper from Hermione's hands, and tossing it aside.
A surprised look and an immediate objection lingering on Hermione's lips. Pansy leaning down to swiftly kiss the objection away before she can vocalize it. Hermione huffing at first, but eventually, smiling into the kiss.
An amused and exasperated murmur of "I was reading that, you know," against Pansy's lips. A replied murmur of "and now you're not."
Hermione chuckling as she tugs Pansy down on top of her, all thoughts of the Prophet forgotten. Another kiss, this one longer, deeper, full of promise. A tongue slipping into Pansy's mouth. The taste of toothpaste. Hands slowly pushing up the fabric of Hermione's shirt. Long legs spreading slightly, allowing Pansy just enough space to bracket one of Hermione's thighs with her knees. Cool fingers skimming bare skin. A thumb trailing over the soft slope of Hermione's breast, lingering to swipe across an already-stiffened peak. Hermione's back gently arching off the couch as her hands desperately find purchase in jet black hair. Pansy finally breaking their kiss to let her teeth slowly graze down the side of Hermione's neck. The painful-pleasure of fingers tightening in her hair. Pansy pushing closer to suck on Hermione's rapidly thrumming pulse point. A soft gasp that quickly turns to a moan when Pansy presses a thigh firmly against Hermione's—
"It's like you're not even trying."
Pansy startles and turns away from Hermione, who's still reading the Prophet, to face Daphne. "What?" she asks a bit breathlessly, rubbing at her face and hoping she isn't as red as she feels.
"Honestly, if she's not staring at you, you're staring at her. How you've never managed to coordinate your staring is beyond me, but like I said…the two thickest witches in the whole school," Daphne finishes with a shrug as she takes a bite of toast.
Pansy rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to reply, but pauses when she notices an envelope lying just to the side of her breakfast plate.
"When did this get here?" Pansy asks, picking it up and turning it over with a frown.
"Oh, I don't know…sometime between the owls flying in and you undressing Granger with your eyes?"
Pansy glares at her. "I wasn't…" she trails off as she remembers the context of her daydream. "I mean…I…" she shakes her head and glowers at a smirking Daphne. "One of these mornings, I'm casting Silencio on you," Pansy says darkly. Then, she drops her gaze back down to the envelope.
"Expecting something?" Daphne asks.
"No. At least, I don't think so," she says as she studies her own name on the front of the envelope. It's in her mum's elegant handwriting, but she can't think of the last time her mum had sent her a letter at Hogwarts. To be honest, she's not sure if her mum has ever sent her a letter.
She flips the envelope over and tears it open, pulling out one sheet of parchment.
Pansy,
It's with a heavy heart that I must inform you of your grandfather's passing. He died peacefully yesterday morning with your father by his side. I'm told he asked about you. I hope this provides you with some measure of comfort.
The funeral will be held Saturday at two o'clock. Your attendance is, of course, required, and we'll expect you no later than Friday morning. Your professors have been informed of your absence, and you're to return to Hogwarts on Sunday morning.
Do make an effort to floo in for breakfast.
Love,
Your Mother
There's a postscript, hastily scribbled, as if it was a last minute addition.
P.S. I hope you're well.
She looks up from the letter to find Daphne's curious eyes on her.
"Well?"
"My grandfather died," Pansy says.
"Oh," Daphne murmurs. She puts down her toast to give Pansy her full attention. "I'm sorry. Were you close?"
Pansy shakes her head. "No, not at all. I only met him a few times and he was…" like my father, Pansy thinks. "He was severe," she says carefully.
Daphne nods. "Your father's father, I take it?"
"Mm." Pansy folds the letter again and puts it back into the envelope. "They want me home for the funeral."
"When?"
"This Saturday."
"Oh," Daphne says, looking surprised. "That's soon."
"It is," Pansy says, frowning down at the table as something occurs to her.
If Hermione's mum owls the wire in the next three days, she could put the plan in motion sooner than expected. She could catch her father completely off-guard, extract a confession, floo to the Ministry, and once everything was over and done with, she could escape back to Hogwarts.
She could take him down. She could take him down now.
It's honestly a bit unsettling to Pansy to think about just how much she wants to take him down. A few months ago, all she wanted was to fly under the radar. To do what Slytherins do best and ensure both her safety and the safety of her loved ones above all else. But now, there's this strange, burning desire, deep inside of her that's been growing steadily as the days pass. It keeps her up at night, telling her to be brave, to fight back, to do what's right, even if it's scary.
(She has a sneaking suspicion a certain lionhearted Gryffindor has rubbed off on her.)
It's honestly completely unlike her, but the stronger the desire gets, the more certain she is that some things are worth risking everything for.
This is one of those things.
"Pansy? Are you alright?"
Pansy looks up to find Daphne's eyes on her. She looks concerned, so Pansy quickly nods. "I'm fine. I'm fine, I just…"
"You're worried about seeing him, aren't you?"
"I…yes," Pansy says slowly, gently fidgeting with the envelope. "I am. But if the plan works…if this wire can actually catch him, then—"
"Hang on," Daphne says quickly. "You're not going to try and catch him now, are you?"
"I mean…why not?" Pansy asks, feeling her pulse pick up at the thought. "What's the point in waiting around for summer holiday?"
"Yes, but—"
"If I do it now, I'd catch him off-guard. He won't expect me to be on the offensive, not when he's given me a few days notice. And I wouldn't have to stick around afterwards. I could come back here while the dust settles."
"I suppose so, but…" Daphne runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head. "I don't know. I don't think you should."
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I don't want your mad father to hurt you?"
Pansy shakes her head. "He won't. He'll have no idea."
"You don't know that. And even if you're right, it's still too dangerous."
"It'll be dangerous whether I do it now or wait for summer."
"But—"
"And frankly, I'm driving myself mad thinking about the what-ifs. I don't want to spend all of summer holiday in fear." Pansy sets her jaw as conviction settles into her body. "I know it's scary, but I just…I think this is the right time to strike."
"How can you think that? We don't even know if this bloody Muggle thing works," Daphne says. Anxiety is shining in her eyes and there's a pleading note in her voice. "You can't put your faith in a device you know nothing about!"
"Hermione said—"
"No," Daphne says, cutting her off quickly. "Granger isn't going to be the one using this bloody thing. You are. You're the one who could get hurt. You're the one who could wind up…" She trails off and shakes her head, looking at Pansy with desperate eyes.
Pansy nods slowly. "I could," she agrees. "But I'm running that risk either way."
"You're not."
"I am. Every second he spends without facing repercussions is a second I'm in danger."
"Pansy—"
"And I'm tired of it. I don't want to live in fear anymore. I thought I could pretend to be the same person I always was if it meant staying safe, but I just…I can't do that. I can't turn my back on what I know is right. I can't be a part of Hermione's life while pretending to support pure-blood supremacy. And I can't let him get away with what he did."
"And you won't, but—"
"Daphne," Pansy interrupts gently. "I know you're scared. I am, too. But I've spent my entire life doing what's easier instead of what's right," she says, flushing as a hint of shame creeps into her tone. "And that's led to so many regrets. So many awful things I wish I could take back," she adds, her mind flickering briefly to hazel eyes. "But even though I can't change the past, I can change the future," she says firmly. "So as much as I don't want to risk my neck, I think I have to. I think it's time I try and be brave. Someone needs to stop him, and it might as well be me." Pansy can see Daphne gearing up to argue again, so she quickly adds, "and anyway, maybe it won't even come in time. Maybe we're creating a load of drama for nothing."
"Yes, but—"
"And aren't you the one who wanted me to take him down?" Pansy asks, raising a challenging eyebrow. "I'm just following your directions."
"I know, and I want you take him down, too. Of course I do, but I just…" Daphne exhales shakily and whispers, "I don't want anything to happen to you."
Pansy's eyes soften as she looks at Daphne. "I'll be careful. I promise. If anything looks dangerous, I won't do it." Then, she cocks her head and says, "and anyway, do you honestly think I'll ever leave you on your own? Merlin knows, with your personality, you'll never make another friend in your life. I mean, who else would willingly put up with all your shit? I have to stick around. I'm all you've got," Pansy says, flashing Daphne a fond smile.
Daphne snorts weakly. "I'm holding you to that," she says, her eyes suspiciously misty. She sniffs a bit, then whispers, "you are all I've got, you know."
Pansy frowns uncertainly, taken aback by the emotion in Daphne's voice. "Daph…I was only joking," she says, concern coloring her tone.
"I know you were, but…my parents are shit," Daphne says with a small, resigned shrug. "My sister and I have never exactly seen eye-to-eye. Everyone else at this school drives me up the wall, and I just…I suppose at the end of the day, it's true. You're my family." She fixes Pansy with a surprisingly earnest look and says, "and you're kind of my favorite person in the world."
Pansy feels her heart swell at the simply delivered truth, and she's hit with a potent, overwhelming wave of love for her best friend. "Daphne…" she murmurs, blinking hastily, trying to keep hot tears at bay.
"So if you go and get yourself killed, I'm never forgiving you."
Pansy gives a surprised laugh at how vehemently Daphne delivers her threat, then she nods and reaches across the table to grab her hand. "You're kind of my favorite person in the world, too," she says, her voice surprisingly thick. "And I promise you, I won't get myself killed. You're not getting rid of me that easily."
Daphne squeezes Pansy's hand and after a long moment, she lets it go to rub at her eyes. "Merlin, how utterly maudlin," she says with a watery scoff. "See, this is why I just want to discuss who Dumbledore's shagging. I leave you in charge of conversation one time and we end up pathetic, weepy messes." Then, Daphne exhales sharply, straightens her shoulders, and says, "fine. As long as you promise you'll be safe, then fine. You can do your mad plan. But you have to promise me you'll be safe," she adds, her blue eyes boring into Pansy.
"I promise. And anyway, like I said, the bloody thing might not even come in time, so we might just be borrowing trouble."
Daphne nods as she reaches for her long-forgotten toast. "I suppose so," she says. "But I might make you take an Unbreakable Vow with me, just to be safe."
"You're going to try and keep me safe by making me take a vow that might kill me? Seems a bit counterintuitive, doesn't it?"
"It'll only kill you if you break it," Daphne says. She wipes her mouth with a napkin, then says, "you know, on second thought, we won't need the vow. Because if you break your promise and get yourself killed, I'll just murder you myself."
Pansy nods. "Completely reasonable."
"I think so."
Pansy spares her a smile, then she looks back down at the letter and takes a deep breath. Now that the prospect of bringing her father down is actually at hand, she feels…
Scared, yes. But more than that, she feels resolved to it. She wants to do the right thing. She wants to stop him from committing any more evil, unconscionable acts. She wants to keep both herself and the people she loves safe. She wants to finally get justice for her aunt.
She wants to take him down.
She really hopes they're not just borrowing trouble.
***
They're not borrowing trouble.
The wire is delivered Thursday morning and by Thursday night, post-patrols, Pansy and Hermione are staring at it in the silence of the library.
"Merlin," Pansy whispers, gazing at the strange, black device sitting on the table. "I can't believe this is happening."
Hermione nods and glances at Pansy with worry in her eyes. "If you've changed your mind, I'll understand," she says hesitantly.
Pansy raises an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened to evil cowards shouldn't prosper? Don't let him win?"
"I still believe that, I just…now it's…it's real," Hermione says, looking back to the wire. "Now it's real and now that I know you could get hurt, I…"
"I have to do this," Pansy says quietly.
"You do," Hermione says. "I know you do, I just…if you had told me a few months ago that I'd be terrified for your wellbeing, I'd have thought you were absolutely mad."
"And now?" Pansy asks, tearing her eyes away from the Muggle technology.
"And now…I'm not sure I'll think about anything else until you're back," Hermione murmurs. She gives a small laugh and says, "I'm not sure I'll even be able to breatheuntil you're back."
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Pansy asks, looking at Hermione with too-soft eyes. "So I suppose I'll just have to hurry back. To you," she adds quietly.
Hermione blinks a bit, seeming surprised at Pansy's honest, earnest wording. "I…I guess you will." Then, she runs a hand through her hair and quickly pivots their conversation. "By the way, I owled Tonks earlier today, so if things go according to plan, she'll be expecting you."
Pansy nods. "Thank you."
"What time are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Nine o'clock," Pansy says. "Think you'll manage in Potions without me?" she adds with an impish grin.
"I'll manage," Hermione says, "but…I'll miss you."
Now it's Pansy's turn to blink at Hermione's earnest words. "You will?" she asks with surprise. Hermione had joked about it earlier in the week, saying she'd miss Pansy if she were to ever Obliviate herself, but this doesn't feel like a joke.
"I will. Quite a lot, if I'm being honest." Hermione hastily tucks her hair behind her ears and says, "do you know, I never used to like Potions. But now…"
Pansy nods slowly as she thinks back to a long-ago letter that Hermione had sent as Robin, proudly declaring Potions to be her second least favorite course at Hogwarts. "What changed?" she asks, certain she already knows the answer.
"I don't know. Perhaps I finally found the right partner," Hermione murmurs, letting her warm gaze linger on Pansy for a long moment.
And Pansy wants to savor this moment. She does. She wants to bask in the glow of Hermione's bright, beautiful eyes. She wants to prolong it for as long as possible and remember it for the rest of her days.
But she's also a complete twat, so instead, she says, "wasn't Weasley your partner? Before the switch, I mean?"
Hermione frowns a bit, clearly surprised by Pansy's casual reply. "I…yes, he was. But…" her face clears and she rolls her eyes. "that's not what I meant and you know it."
"Oh? You hated Potions when you were partnered with Weasley, but you like it now that you're partnered with me?" Pansy asks lightly, a devious smile playing on her face. "I mean, I'm no genius, but if the only thing changing is the company you kept, then perhaps it wasn't the class you hated at all. Perhaps it was…?"
"You're impossible," Hermione says, reaching forward to pick up a long cord that's trailing out of the device. "I liked working with Ron, but it's just…" she frowns and winds the cord absently around her finger. "It's different with you," she says, gazing at the table, lost in thought.
"Why?"
"It…" Hermione shakes her head slowly. Her gaze is still on the table and she's frowning a bit, like she's trying to find the words to describe what she means. Finally, she sighs. "I can't explain it. It just…is. I suppose I'm not making any sense," she adds, glancing up at Pansy with a tiny wince.
"No. No, you're…you're making sense. It's different with you, too," Pansy says. She grips the arms of her chair tightly as she wills herself to stay somewhat collected. "You know, for a time, I was afraid that we'd end up hating each other again. I mean, with all the time we've been spending together. Potions, patrols…this," Pansy says, gesturing vaguely toward the library. "I was so sure we'd eventually get sick of each other. But…" she shakes her head and looks up at Hermione. "You seem to be the only person I never get sick of. I can spend my entire day with you and when I go to sleep at night, I'm already looking forward to seeing you in the morning."
"Really?" Hermione whispers, her eyes wide.
"Really. And I'm sure you don't feel the same way, but—"
"I do," Hermione interrupts quickly. "I mean, I…I look forward to spending time with you, too. And I…I think about you," she says, releasing the cord she's been winding around her finger. "I think about you quite a lot, actually."
Pansy's heart starts beating faster, and she decides to press her luck a bit. "Oh? I'm not sure your parchment pal would be pleased to hear that."
The flush on Hermione's neck slowly spreads to her cheeks and she exhales sharply. "No, I…you're probably right." Then she looks up at Pansy with concerned eyes. "I mean, not that I…not that I'm implying that I think about you like—"
"Hermione. May I ask you something?" Pansy says, cutting off the rambled excuses she's sure are poised to fall from Hermione's lips.
"I…yes?" Hermione says, her eyes still wide and nervous. "Of course."
"Do you ever think about what could have been?"
Hermione's brow furrows at the question. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I find myself wondering…if I hadn't been so completely vile to you for seven years…if we had just been friends all along…what would life be like?" She taps a finger against her arm rest as she thinks, then she says, "I wouldn't have let anyone in Slytherin torment you, that's for bloody sure. I would've jinxed them for even looking at you the wrong way."
"Oh?" Hermione asks, the concern slowly fading from her eyes. "I thought you liked to play by the rules. Avoid jinxes in the hallways, stay out of detention…all that rot." She tilts her head and says, "what happened to the Slytherin self-preservation?"
"For you? I'd make an exception," Pansy says, privately marveling at just how true that statement is. She'd make all sorts of exceptions for the girl sitting across from her. She'd break every rule in the book if Hermione needed her to, no questions asked.
"Threatening and chivalrous," Hermione says with amusement. "I'd expect nothing less from my very own Slytherin knight in shining armor." She drops her gaze to study the table again as she loses herself in thought, and after a moment, the corners of her mouth lift in a small smile. "I suppose I would've made waves being the only Gryffindor with a Slytherin friend. My whole house would have thought I'd lost my mind, but I wouldn't care. I'd be too busy spending time with you."
Pansy hums. "I'd show you all my favorite places around the castle."
"And I'd show you all the best secret passages."
"I'd tell you to get out of the library more often," Pansy says with a sly grin.
"And I'd do you the favor of seriously considering your suggestion," Hermione replies airily.
Pansy leans her head back to gaze at the ceiling, then she snorts a bit and looks back to Hermione. "I wouldn't have dated Draco. I would've talked to you about it and you would have told me I was being a complete fool."
"Maybe not in those exact words," Hermione scoffs. "But I suppose you could have returned the favor and saved me some time and trouble with Viktor. I should never have agreed to go to the Yule Ball with him."
"The Yule Ball! Oh, Merlin, we would have had the besttime at the Yule Ball," Pansy says, slapping her hands down on the arms of her chair with excitement.
"Oh, no. No, it would've been miserable for you," Hermione says with a small grimace. "I can't dance. Not a step! I'm atrocious."
Pansy scoffs automatically. "Anyone can dance."
"I assure you, this isn't false modesty. I genuinely can't dance."
"Well, then, that's another thing we could change. I could teach you to dance."
"I suppose if anyone could, it'd be you," Hermione says unthinkingly.
Pansy cocks her head with immediate interest. "Why do you say that?"
Hermione's eyes widen a bit as she seems to realize what she's just said. "Oh, I…it's not…" she lifts a hand and rubs at her cheek. "The Yule Ball," she finally admits. "I…may have noticed that you were one of the only students in our year who could dance."
Pansy nods at the explanation. "My mother made sure I was trained, but it was all a waste—Draco stepped on my feet so many times that night, I could barely get my shoes off. And mind you, Draco's mother made sure hewas trained. He was just too embarrassed to look like he knew what he was doing so instead, he decided to trample on my feet to save his reputation." Pansy shakes her head at the memory, then looks at Hermione with a small, devilish smile. "So…noticed me during the Yule Ball, did you?"
"I…I…no, I didn't notice you, I just…" Hermione huffs impatiently and says, "you just…you looked like you were floating out there. I've never seen someone move so lightly on their feet and I just…" she trails off with a far-away glimmer in her eye, as if she's replaying the resplendency of the Yule Ball right then and there.
"You just…wanted me to trip?" Pansy asks, completing Hermione's unfinished thought.
"No. Well…maybe," Hermione admits. "But if it's any consolation, I certainly wouldn't want you to trip now."
"Thank you," Pansy says. Then, she adds, "and for what it's worth, I noticed you, too."
Hermione looks at Pansy, her eyes wide with surprise. "You did? Why? I can't dance at all."
"I never said I noticed your dancing. I said I noticed you."
Hermione blinks a few times, but before she can say anything, Pansy continues, "and anyway, my point still stands—anyone can dance."
"I disagree. And you know how much I hate admitting to being incompetent at anything," Hermione says. "But it's the truth. There are some things you can't learn in books and there are some people who just can't dance."
"Oh, I doubt that very much. In fact…" Pansy stands from her chair, walks around the table, and holds out a hand to Hermione.
Hermione stares at the offered hand, then glances back up at Pansy's face with a raised eyebrow. "Have you no consideration for your feet?" she asks dryly.
"They've been trod on before. They'll manage," Pansy says. "Now…Miss Granger," she says, putting on a ridiculously posh accent and giving a low bow. "Would you do me the great honor of accepting this dance?"
Hermione rolls her eyes at Pansy's display. "There's no music."
"We don't need music."
"I'll feel ridiculous."
"You won't."
"I will! I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Well, that's obvious. I mean, you're already doing an awful job."
"What? I haven't even done anything!" Hermione says, looking offended.
"Exactly. The first rule of dancing is to never keep your partner waiting."
Hermione's eyes narrow suspiciously. "I feel like you're making that up."
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," Pansy says. Then, she wiggles her still outstretched fingers toward Hermione. "Care to find out what the second rule is?"
Hermione rolls her eyes once more, but pushes her chair back from the table. She glances at Pansy's hand for a moment, then takes a deep breath and takes it. Pansy grins and tugs Hermione out of her chair, leading her toward an empty space in the library. Once she's sure there's enough space around them, she drops Hermione's hand and turns to face her.
"You know we're supposed to be figuring out the wire," Hermione says, giving Pansy an unamused stare.
"And we will. But if I don't teach you how to dance right now, it's all I'll be thinking about tomorrow. And I need to have my wits about me, so…" Pansy shrugs. "I'm afraid this has to happen."
In all honesty, Pansy's stalling. She doesn't want this night to come to an end, and the sooner she figures out the wire, the sooner she'll have to part ways from Hermione. And what's more, even though she's quite optimistic about her chances, there's still a tiny part of her that's worried this could be the last time she ever sees Hermione.
She wants to leave them both with good memories, just in case.
She wants to make it count.
Hermione sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine. But you're going to regret this."
"We'll see. Now!" Pansy says, clapping her hands together. "What do you know about the waltz?
"It's a dance," Hermione says flatly.
"Nothing gets past the brightest witch of our age," Pansy says brightly, grinning a bit when Hermione glowers at her. "It is. A ballroom dance in triple time," she says.
"I have no idea what that means."
"It means you feel it like this…one two three, one two three, one two three," Pansy says, gently hitting her hand against her chest with the beat as she moves her feet in the simple box step.
Hermione watches the motion with a small frown. "I'm not going to be able to do that."