"Now, then," Snape says. "Who can tell me about Veritaserum?"
Pansy sighs and drums her fingers on the table as Hermione lifts her hand and says something about jobberknoll feathers and powdered moonstone. She's hardly paying attention though, too bothered by the fact that even bloody Granger had made her feel awful about herself. It's decidedly a new low in what seems to be a day filled with them.
She manages to tune back in when Snape says, "Slytherins, you'll be behind the cauldron today. Gryffindors, gather the ingredients. Do so quietly."
Hermione turns and regards Pansy with contempt. "If I see that any of my things are out of place…"
Pansy rolls her eyes and pulls her book closer to skim the ingredients list. "Believe it or not, I couldn't possibly care less about your life, Granger, and I don't want to touch your filthy things. Who knows what might be lurking on those surfaces?" she adds with a small shudder.
Hermione eyes her warily for a moment, then shakes her head and walks away without taking the bait. Pansy starts the fire under their cauldron and reads over the instructions as she waits for Hermione to return with the ingredients.
Once she does, they settle into their usual routine of working in silence, which despite being uncomfortable, is actually startlingly effective—apart from their ill-fated attempt at brewing the Draught of the Living Death, they've been the first pair to successfully finish every potion for weeks now. They only communicate in terse comments or grunts of acknowledgment, which has done wonders for their efficiency, and is why after only forty minutes of work, they're on the final step of their Veritaserum.
Pansy watches silently as Hermione crushes the Sopophorous Beans with the blade of a silver knife and quickly adds it to the mixture. As soon as it's in, they both sit back and watch as the potion starts to clear. Once it's translucent, Hermione nods, satisfied, and Pansy extinguishes the flame without a word. They're done with fifteen minutes to spare, but Pansy knows Snape won't let them leave early. He always expects them to get a head start on their nightly assignment, even though she rarely does. She usually spends her free time charming notes to send to Daphne, two tables away, always taking care to make sure the notes hit Potter in the head as they land on their table.
She frowns slightly when she realizes that's not an option today.
"It needs to cool before we can bottle," Hermione says, pulling her away from her thoughts before they can turn too maudlin.
"I know. This might startle you, but you're not the only one who can read a book," Pansy mutters.
Hermione rolls her eyes and closes her Potions book, and Pansy eyes her with surprise. Because while she never gets a head start on the nightly assignment, Hermione always does. And what's more, she usually finishes it, much to Pansy's constant irritation. She's about to ask Hermione if she's recently suffered from a concussion or something of the like, but before she can, Hermione leans down toward her bag and plucks out her parchment.
"Merlin," Pansy mutters at the sight of it, bitter that Hermione is apparently having splendid conversations with her parchment pal while she's being tortured with prolonged silence by hers. "You actually are obsessed with this person."
Hermione doesn't answer. She's opened her book again and is using the cover to shield her parchment from Pansy's gaze. Her quill scratches at the surface and Pansy watches for a moment. There's a part of her that wants to reach for her own parchment to see if there's a reply, but the thought alone makes her feel anxious and awful. So instead, she decides to spend her free time on something slightly more amusing.
She's going to find out what kind of sad, damaged person would willingly talk to Granger.
"Why?" she asks calmly, tilting her head and studying Hermione's profile.
Hermione doesn't bother to look up. "Why what?"
"Why are you obsessed with this person? You don't know a thing about them."
Hermione pauses, her quill hovering over the parchment. She turns to Pansy with a small frown. "That's not true at all. Believe it or not, some of us have actually taken the time to get to know our parchment pals," she says. Then she snorts and says, "oh, but let me guess—you didn't even bother with the assignment?"
Pansy shrugs, trying to project apathy. "No. Why would I?" she lies, absently picking at the corner of her Potions book and hoping her cheeks aren't flushed. "Why would anyone willingly spend their time talking to a stranger for a few house points? Honestly, it's a horrid idea and a complete waste of time, if you ask me."
"It's not," Hermione says, her voice surprisingly soft as she glances at her parchment. There's something curious in her eyes as she regards it. Pain, Pansy thinks. Perhaps remorse. But before she can think too hard about the swirl of emotions in her eyes, Hermione turns back to Pansy and regards her with scorn. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand. Heaven forbid you think about someone other than yourself for once. No, really!" she says when Pansy scoffs. "Did you ever stop to think that your parchment pal might have wanted to participate in the project?" Hermione shakes her head. "Of course you didn't. Because you never do. You just decided you knew best and didn't even give it a chance. Though I suppose in this case, you were actually right. It was for the best. I wouldn't wish a correspondence with you on my worst enemy."
Pansy clenches her fist under the table. It's the second time she's heard someone say something to that effect today, and even though it matters less coming from Hermione, it still stings. "Trust me, Granger, the feeling is very much mutual," Pansy says, darkly. "I pity whatever poor soul is forced to read your letters. What I wouldn't pay to see the look on that person's face when they realize you're their parchment pal," she says, gesturing toward Hermione's still obstructed parchment. "And I'd pay double to see the look on their face when they realize you've gone and fallen in love with them. With a complete stranger! How bloody daft can you be?" Pansy asks somewhat furiously, well aware that most of that fury is directed toward herself.
"I haven't," Hermione says, though her cheeks are flushed again and her knuckles have turned white around her quill.
Pansy scoffs. "Whatever you say. Let's just hope for his sake, he has a thing for shrewish, obnoxious cows."
Hermione's flush darkens, but before she can reply, they're interrupted by Snape clearing his throat. They both glance up to find him looming over their work station, regarding them like they're two flesh-eating slugs degrading the sanctity of his classroom.
"Shall I presume by your constant bickering that you've both finished tonight's assignment?"
Pansy and Hermione both slowly shake their heads, and Snape's mouth twists in distaste. "I should think you'd both be clever enough to use your time wisely. And yet," he says, pronouncing each word with cold disdain. He glances at their cauldron and after a small hesitation, gives it a nod. "This looks…adequate. Parkinson, bottle a sample. Granger, clean up. See if you can manage it without the usual, petty theatrics you both seem to take such delight in," he adds, before turning and walking away.
Hermione exhales sharply and puts down her quill. She flips her parchment over, spares a glares for Pansy, then stands up to gather their used ingredients. Once she has everything, she stalks away from the table, this time not bothering to give Pansy a warning about disturbing her things.
As soon as she's gone, Pansy begins bottling quickly, intent on leaving before Hermione returns. She fills a bottle with their cooled potion and twists the cap into place, then picks up her wand to vanish the rest of the Veritaserum from the cauldron. Before she can cast the spell though, she glances down and sees Hermione's parchment. Pansy frowns and lowers her wand, then glances toward the far corner of the room that houses the ingredients cupboards. Hermione is nowhere to be seen.
She knows she shouldn't. She knows it's petty and childish. She knows she'll probably get into heaps of trouble and maybe even land herself with another detention. But she's also had an absolute shit day, and if dousing Hermione's parchment in their leftover Veritaserum will bring Pansy even an ounce of joy, then she's bloody well going to do it. A detention will be more than worth it. She'll serve the whole thing with a smile on her face if it means wrecking Hermione's day. And it's not like she doesn't deserve her comeuppance, after some of the things she said today.
Pansy makes sure Hermione is still out of sight. Then, heart in her throat, she leans toward the parchment and flips it over, keeping an eye on the room as she does to make sure no one is watching her antics. As her eyes sweep the room, she catches the familiar glimpse of gold and silver shimmering in her peripheral vision, confirming that this isn't just some dull, school assignment. Pansy smiles, pleased she has her hands on the right parchment— she wouldn't take any pleasure in dousing something as impersonal as an Ancient Runes essay.
There's some part of her that's mildly disappointed that she won't be able to read anything on the page. She might have found new material to use against Hermione, or at the very least, some pathetic confession of love to parrot back at her for the next two months. But she's seen her fair share of charmed parchments and she knows that the concealment charms scramble everything on the page, making it impossible to decipher what's written. So there's no point in trying to read Hermione's parchment. She'll just grab it, dunk it into the cauldron, and be done with it.
Satisfied that no one is paying attention to her, Pansy snatches the parchment and lifts it up toward the cauldron. She smirks at the gold and silver words that will soon be washed away by their perfect Veritaserum. It'll be worth it, solely to see the look on Granger's…
Pansy freezes.
She replays her last thought.
The gold and silver words.
Words.
Time seems to slow as she pulls the parchment to her, and the sounds of the room fade around her as her eyes fly over the parchment. She shouldn't be able to read anything on the page, and yet…
It's a trick of the light, Pansy thinks frantically as she scans the page, taking in words here and there. That's all it is, just a trick of the…
Her gaze falls to the most recent silver message shining on the page.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Robin. I truly never meant to hurt you. Please say something. Anything.
I miss you.
No.
No.
Cold horror seeps into her veins as she stares at the painfully familiar words. Her ears are filled with the ragged sounds of her own breathing, and the more she stares at the words, her words, the more she feels like she might pass out. Quickly, she slams the parchment back onto Hermione's Potions book face down and grips the edges of the table, forcing air into her lungs.
It's a mistake, she thinks, somewhat hysterically. It's a fucking mistake. Granger must have taken someone else's parchment by accident.
But then why was she writing on it? Surely, if she had taken someone else's parchment, she would have noticed the mistake. She would have realized she couldn't read anything written on it and immediately alerted McGonagal to the mix-up.
In which case…
No. There's no other case. There's been a mistake. She doesn't know what the mistake is, but she knows that somewhere along the line, there's been a colossal fuck up.
Hermione Granger is not her parchment pal.
The thought alone makes a strangled noise leave Pansy, and her grip tightens on the table. There's a curious ringing in her ears, but somehow, a voice manages to cut through it.
"Pans? Are you alright?"
Pansy looks up wildly to find Draco looking at her, his spare ingredients balanced in his arms and his brow creased with concern.
"You don't look good. Did something happen?" Draco asks. He leans forward to deposit his ingredients on her table so he can take a closer look at her. As he does, Pansy looks past him to see Hermione on her way back from the ingredients cupboard, her eyes lingering on the two of them suspiciously.
Pansy takes a sudden, sharp breath at the sight of her. Getting as far away from this classroom before Hermione returns suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world. The only problem is, she's not sure if she can move. It's as if someone has hit her with a particularly strong Jelly-Legs Curse, and she has a feeling if she releases her death-grip on the table, she'll crumple to the ground in a pathetic heap.
Draco follows her gaze and narrows his eyes when he sees Hermione.
"Oh. Bloody Mudblood," he mutters. "What did she say to you? Say the word and I'll hex her," he adds, lowering his voice.
Pansy shakes her head, frantically. "No, I…she…I didn't…I mean, she never…I have to go," she babbles incoherently, finally releasing the table. Pinpricks of pain tickle her fingertips as the blood slowly returns, but she barely notices. The only thing she's aware of is the voice in her head, telling her to run. She grabs her bag from the floor and tries to shove her Potions book inside, desperately hoping that Draco doesn't see how badly her hands are shaking.
"Right…are you sure? Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey instead? You really don't look good," Draco says, peering at her closely.
Pansy shakes her head frantically, still wrestling with her Potions book. When it refuses to go into her bag, she gives a short, somewhat hysterical laugh that makes Draco's eyes widen with concern. "Bloody book won't go in," she says, trying to sound overly cheerful and not like she's two seconds away from screaming until her lungs burst and her eyes pop out. She puts her bag on her chair and slams the book down a few times, laughing again when she hears the crack of an ink bottle breaking somewhere in the depths of her bag. The book finally settles into place just as Hermione returns to the table.
Pansy freezes and stares at her, suddenly petrified that Hermione somehow knows the cause of her distress. Her whole body heats up uncomfortably as she watches Hermione's eyes track down to her bag, which by this point, is in quite a state, then back up to her face. Her gaze narrows as it flicks between Pansy and Draco and she opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Pansy remembers her one objective is to get as far from this classroom and Hermione Granger as she possibly can.
Run.
Her body blesses her with a sudden burst of adrenaline, and she turns on her heel and flees from the classroom, ignoring how mad she must look to both Draco and Hermione.
She flies through the dungeons without a destination in mind, ignoring a dirty glare from Filch when she almost trods on Mrs. Norris's tail. Shock has settled into her system and has made her blind to everything and everyone around her. She feels completely untethered. It's almost as if someone else is controlling her body like a marionette, yanking on her strings, turning her left and right through the dungeons. A few people glance at her as she passes by with something resembling concern, but she's too oblivious to notice. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows she needs to be alone, and she has half a mind to walk into the Forbidden Forest and never return.
Somehow, without trying, Pansy finds herself in front of the plain stone walls guarding the Slytherin common room entrance. "Boomslang," she manages to say in a rough, low voice. The wall falls away and she rushes through the opening and down the stone steps, lit by the flickering torches that line the walls. Once she's in the common room, she flies past a few third years lounging in front of the fire, throws open the door to her dormitory, and slams it shut behind her. Her chest heaves as she leans against the door, and she takes a few moments to catch her breath. When she's relatively sure she isn't about to pass out, she shakily makes her way toward her bed, sits down on it, and stares at the wall across from her.
Her mind has been curiously blank until now, the shock of the discovery rendering it useless. But now that she's alone, she feels as if the volume has been turned up in her head. Every thought is overwhelming, and they race and tumble about in an awful, mad cacophony. But the one that keeps jumping out at her is the one she manages to latch onto with fervor.
It's a mistake. There's been a mistake.
It rings comfortingly true. There has to have been a mistake. Because the alternative is quite frankly, impossible. Pansy would know if she had been conversing with Hermione this entire time. And there's just no way. There's absolutely no bloody way. For starters, she hates every word that's ever fallen from Granger's repulsive lips. It's impossible that the same witch she finds abhorrent could be responsible for some of the most achingly beautiful messages Pansy's ever read.
But you've only ever argued with her. Did you really think there was only one side to her?
Pansy frowns at the thought, but doesn't push it away immediately. After some consideration, she admits that yes, perhaps Hermione is different when she's talking to someone she likes. And Pansy is certainly not someone she likes. But still, there are too many things that point to this being a mistake. Perhaps most obviously, Hermione is a Mudblood. She would certainly know who Robin Hood is.
You included that in an attempt to throw her off of your scent. She feigned ignorance to do the same.
Pansy inhales sharply and shakes her head, bunching her sheets in her fists. Something else, then. She thinks back on their earlier messages and remembers the Paris conversation. It had happened the night she and Hermione had served detention together. It was the same night doubts about blood status had begun to swirl in her head and sleep had eluded her, so she had reached for her parchment to soothe her frayed nerves. And she distinctly remembers her pal saying they had had an altogether uneventful night in the library. There had been no mention of a detention.
You didn't mention the detention either, you stupid twat.
Pansy groans and buries her head in her hands. She hadn't. She hadn't wanted to cloud her parchment pal's view of her by admitting to being in detention, and she had wanted even less to bring up her feud with Hermione. It had felt like too big of a bloody mess to try and explain to an innocent bystander. It stands to reason that Hermione had felt the same way that night and had chosen to ignore it completely.
Now that Pansy's opened the floodgates, disjointed thoughts and memories start to race through her mind, one right after the other.
Pansy refilling her punch during the Yule Ball, catching a glimpse of Viktor Krum, leaning in to kiss a stiff, awkward looking Hermione. Her underwhelming first kiss, presumably.
She tended to make friends with blokes, and referred to her "best mates" often. Potter and Weasley.
The orange cat that sometimes trailed after her, and that Hermione looked at with far too much raw affection in her eyes.
Her way with words…not the brightest witch of her age for nothing, then.
A devotion to help others—bloody S.P.E.W. Bloody Gryffindor.
A persistent fear of failure. One of the things she herself had planted in Granger's mind.
Something about her that others judged and were cruel about—her blood status.
Pansy groans again, falling back onto her bed. She hadn't even thought about blood status. Not since the Robin Hood comment in their very first messages had convinced her she was talking to someone with Wizarding parents. Of course that was what Hermione was referring to. It had never been about her sexuality.
Pansy shakes her head as every piece of the puzzle slots into place.
It was all there. All along.
Her parchment pal, her Robin, is Hermione bloody Granger.
Pansy can't decide if she wants to laugh or cry. Because somehow, the person she likes the best, the person she thought she was falling in love with, is also the person she hates more than anyone and anything.
She stares up at the ceiling, shell-shocked and numb for what feels like hours. There's no way she's going to any of the rest of her classes today. Or tomorrow.
Perhaps she'll drop out of school entirely.
That way, when the parchment pals are finally revealed and this is all out in the open, she won't have to be there to see the revulsion on Hermione's face. She'll be long gone by then, and the parchment pal business will just be a ridiculous memory she'll laugh about someday.
Pansy sits up and sighs. There's no use thinking about the future when she still needs to deal with the horrifying realizations the present has brought her. And the first step she needs to take? Shutting this down. Before she drops out of school and lives in the Forbidden Forest with the centaurs, she needs to do the right thing. Which at the very least, shouldn't be hard, considering the state of things. She wouldn't have pegged Hermione as homophobic, but her silence speaks volumes. Ridiculously, Pansy finds herself somewhat glad for the days of silence now; it'll make shutting this whole farce down easier, and she won't feel cruel about writing a rude message to Hermione.
She reaches for her bag, finds her parchment, and pulls it out. But before she can reach for a quill, she freezes.
After two long days of waiting, there's a new message on the paper.
A message from Granger, Pansy reminds herself firmly. She shouldn't even read it. She should shove it back into her bag, never to see the light of day. She should use it as kindling in the fire crackling outside of her door. She should shred it and toss the tiny pieces out the window, letting both the parchment and her dreams flutter away over the pine green hills.
She should do these things.
She doesn't.
The only thing she does is try not to be embarrassed by how quickly she starts reading.
Dear bard,
Before I say anything else, let me apologize—you asked me to give you some sort of reassurance that I was still here and that I still cared, and I failed. I failed you miserably, and I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough. I never should have taken two days to reply to you, and I'll always feel wretched for it. But please know that even though it didn't seem like it, I did think of you. Every moment. And I know this might not be worth much to you right now, but let me offer my belated reassurances: I'm still here, and I still care.
But as to why it took me two days to reply…
You weren't wrong. When you said that our messages weren't just friendly. You weren't wrong. You were honest with me, and now I think it's only fair I do the same with you: I had feelings for you.
(Pansy tries not to think too hard about why her heart drops after she reads the word had.)
They took me by surprise, but they were real. And if I'm being honest, you were the first person I've ever had those feelings for. You were the person I thought about, morning, noon, night, and every time in between. I'd find myself breathless with anticipation when we'd correspond, desperate to read everything you had to say. I don't know how it happened. All I know is that somehow, against all odds, you had become everything to me.
Which is why when you disclosed your gender, I was…surprised, to put it mildly. Upset, to be blunt. And it's taken longer than I care to admit to come to terms with the fact that you weren't toying with me from the start. Which is regrettably, what I thought when I first read your letter. But with further reflection, I realized you were right—you had never said anything to deliberately mislead me. That was entirely my doing, my assumptions, and no fault of your own. We both disguised large parts of our identities, so it's unfair of me to feel hurt or deceived by your revelation.
You asked if the cadence of these letters should change. And while I still want to talk to you and still consider you one of my dearest friends, I do think that we need to change the way we speak to each other. That's not to say I don't want to hear from you every day, or that I'm not still dying to find out who you are. But it wouldn't be fair to you to give you false hope. Because I'm afraid that's what it would be. So from here on out, we'll just be friends. The dearest of friends, but friends, nonetheless.
I know how much it must have taken to admit this to me. To be so brave. And for me to react with silence…honestly, if you never want to hear from me again, I'll understand. I'm ashamed of my conduct. But if you'll let me, I'll make it up to you. In any way I can. Because I still want to be the person you talk to, and I promise you that your revelation doesn't matter to me. Well, that's not true; it matters in that I'm delighted you told me, and I want every happiness for you and whomever you decide to love (she'll be the luckiest girl in the world). But at the same time, it doesn't matter because it doesn't change the way I feel about our friendship. Which I very much hope you're still invested in.
Again, I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to you. I don't want to lose my dear friend, either, and I've missed you terribly the past few days. All my own doing, I know. But still.
I promise, I won't be an awful twat ever again.
Your (deeply ashamed) awful twat,
Robin
Pansy leans back against her pillow, letting the words sink in. She's been given the perfect escape. Her parchment pal (Granger, her brain supplies traitorously), had told her that if she never wanted to speak to her again, she'd understand. Pansy could simply let the message go unanswered and be done with it.
But there's something strange about how easy it is for Pansy to separate Hermione from Robin. Even though logically, she knows now that they're the same person, she had still felt the same eagerness she had always felt when reading one of her parchment pal's messages. And even now, she feels her hand itching to reach for her quill and reply immediately. Because to not reply to Hermione would be one thing, but to not reply to Robin would seem like cruel and unusual punishment. Especially after she had essentially accepted what Pansy had told her with open arms. And yes, Pansy's still hurt that it took her two days to reply, but she can more or less understand her parchment pal's hesitation. If the shoe was on the opposite foot, she'd also feel confused and betrayed. To be honest, she's not sure if she'd have even penned such a nice message.
Her hand reaches for her quill.
But it's Granger.
Right. It's Granger. The same Granger that Pansy has always despised with a passion. Her hand stalls, hovering over her quill. She can't possibly be entertaining the idea of continuing a correspondence with her parchment pal, knowing full well that it's her sworn nemesis on the other end.
Pansy thrusts her hands through her hair and hisses fucka few times, trying to figure out what she should do. She's never felt so at war with herself. What she needs is an outside opinion on this whole mess, but of course, Daphne isn't speaking to her.
Then suddenly, as if by magic, the dormitory door opens, and Daphne appears. Pansy stares at her stupidly, wondering if she's somehow managed to summon her by sheer will alone.
Daphne steps into the room, humming absently to herself. She closes the door behind her, turns, and sees Pansy. Immediately, her eyes harden.
"Bunking off without an excuse now, are we? I should tell Snape."
Pansy's eyebrows raise at the comment. She hadn't expected Daphne to say anything to her at all. The fact they're on any sort of speaking terms gives Pansy some hope, and she shelves all thoughts of her parchment pal and sits up straighter, absolutely determined not to botch this. She knows she has a decent shot at her apology going well, because while Daphne is quick to anger, she's also quick to forgive. She's the only member of the Slytherin house who seems to think people are always worth a second chance and is willing to give it, freely and gladly. It's something Pansy's always viewed as a flaw but right now, it's something she's going to try and take full advantage of.
Because more than anything, she needs her best friend.
"Daph…"
"Don't," Daphne says sternly, crossing the room to her bed. She bends down to root around in her trunk, avoiding eye contact with Pansy. "I'm not here to talk to you, I just forgot my Charms book. I'm still furious with you."
"I know. I'm sorry," Pansy says, watching as Daphne tosses a silk scarf onto the floor. "You have every right to be furious with me. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I shouldn't have said any of it. I didn't even meanit," Pansy says, then she pauses. "Well, no. Your parents are awful, and I won't take that back. But the rest of it…I was bang out of order."
Daphne stands from her trunk and tosses the covers back on her bed, still searching for the book. "You called me a slag in front of the entire bloody school." She's still not making eye contact with Pansy, but the tips of her ears are pink. "You think that piss-poor apology is going to make everything right?"
Pansy shakes her head. "No. Obviously not. And you're not a slag. And even if you were, who fucking cares? You can sleep with whoever you bloody like, whenever you bloody like, I just…" Pansy trails off and exhales heavily. "I was frustrated and angry and I just wanted to be left alone so I said something so colossally stupid. Something I don't even believe and I…I wish I could take it back," she finishes quietly.
Daphne sits back on her heels and finally looks at Pansy, her eyes guarded. "We all get frustrated and angry sometimes. But it doesn't give us the right to be unnecessarily cruel. Especially when people are just trying to look out for you."
"I know," Pansy murmurs. "I'm sorry. But you were right. When Parkinsons are upset, we do things…terriblethings," she says, thinking about her father's cold eyes with a small shiver. "We lash out and we're vile and awful, even to the people we love the most," she says, looking up to find Daphne's eyes. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. And I know you hate me right now. I don't blame you. You can hate me for as long as you want, and I'll understand. I hate me, too, if it's any consolation."
Daphne frowns. "I don't hate you. I'm angry and I'm hurt." She stands from the floor and sits down on her bed. "I just wanted to help. I care about you. I love you. Merlin knows why, though when you go and act like…like…"
"A mad bitch with a severe case of constipation?"
"I was going to say a complete cow, but that works, too," Daphne says, the tiniest hint of a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.
"I know. I'm both. A mad, bitchy, constipated cow," Pansy says cautiously. The small smile has made a spark of optimism flare within her, but she doesn't want to push her luck.
"I think that suits you," Daphne says. She picks at her pillowcase and bites her lower lip. "Although…I suppose if we're both apologizing…I shouldn't have pushed you, or goaded you into talking." She looks up swiftly and says, "make no mistake, you're still in the wrong here. But there's a slight chance I may have…purposefully added fuel to your fire."
Pansy feels relief wash over her. They're going to be okay. Daphne's acknowledgment of her role in their argument is enough for Pansy to exhale and let go of some of the tension that's been sitting on her shoulders all morning. Still, she affects a careless shrugs and says, "I shouldn't have even come to breakfast. I knew I was in no state to. I've had…a lot on my mind."
"Oh? I hadn't noticed," Daphne says, dryly.
Pansy grimaces. "Sorry."
"Well, whatever is on your mind, you can keep it there. I know better than to ask about it."
"No, I don't…I want to tell you, I'm just," Pansy sighs and blows her bangs out of her face in frustration, wishing there was an easier way to go about this. "I think I'm scared," she finally says, her voice low.
"Scared? Impossible. Pansy Parkinson doesn't get scared."
"No, you wouldn't think so, would you? But she does," Pansy says. "And she has been. But…I think it's time I face what's been making me scared."
Daphne leans back against her bed post and raises an eyebrow. "Right then. Go on. I'm listening,"
Pansy bites her lower lip. The same anxiety she had felt a few nights ago when she came out to her parchment pal is swirling in her gut, making her second-guess herself. It would be far easier to avoid this conversation. But then again, it would be far easier to marry Draco and live the rest of her life in absolute misery. And it's high time Pansy stops doing the easier thing in lieu of the right thing.
Whatever her reaction is, she'll just have to live with it.
"I told my parchment pal something. Something…delicate," Pansy starts, slowly. Daphne frowns and cocks her head, waiting for Pansy to continue. "I…explained that I have feelings for them."
Daphne's eyes widen. "You did?"
Pansy nods, steeling herself for the harder part still to come.
"Merlin. And what, he said he doesn't have feelings for you?" Daphne snorts before Pansy can say anything. "That's absurd. No one spends that much time talking to someone if they don't have feelings for them."
"No, that's…that's not what happened. The feelings are mutual. Were mutual," Pansy corrects herself, remembering her parchment pal's newest message with a small wince.
"Oh," Daphne frowns, then shakes her head. "Then I don't understand. What's the issue? Is it Draco?"
Pansy manages a small scoff, then shakes her head no. She wishes it was as simple as Draco being in the picture.
"Well, if it's not Draco, then what? You like him, he likes you. It's a bloody fairytale."
And here it is again. The moment that will change everything. Pansy gathers all of her courage and looks at Daphne. Her eyes are open and curious, and Pansy finds herself desperately hoping this won't be the last moment she sees her eyes like this. She doesn't think she'll be able to handle it if all she sees is revulsion dancing behind Daphne's gaze from here on out.
It's the right thing.
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and leaps toward the unknown.
"She."
"What?"
Pansy opens her eyes to find Daphne gazing at her, puzzled. "She," Pansy repeats. "She likes me."
Daphne's frown deepens for just a moment. Then it vanishes, replaced with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. "Oh. Are you saying you're…" she trails off and looks at Pansy with a raised eyebrow.
Pansy hesitates, then nods slowly. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she desperately wishes she had a Calming Draught on hand to take some of the edge off.
"Oh," Daphne says. She stares at the wall across the way for a moment, a frown marring her smooth brow, seemingly lost in thought. Pansy watches her closely, looking for any sign of disgust or discomfort. After a few excruciatingly long moments, Daphne turns back to Pansy. She looks upset and there's something in her eyes that makes Pansy want to fold in on herself. Shame floods her veins and she has half a mind to apologize for saying anything in the first place, but before she can open her mouth, Daphne says, "and you told your parchment pal before me?"
"I…what?" Pansy asks stupidly, uncertain if she heard Daphne correctly.
"Bloody unbelievable!" Daphne says. "What did I say? A circus monkey! That's what I am to you. I've been your best mate for seven years and you tell a stranger before me!"
Pansy's slightly bewildered. "I…yes?" Daphne scoffs and shakes her head, so Pansy quickly says, "but to be fair, I only said something because I had feelings for her!"
"That's something I'm choosing to ignore," Daphne says sharply, and Pansy feels her heart sink for just a moment before Daphne says, "no, actually. I can't ignore it. Thought I could, but I can't." She turns to Pansy and scrutinizes her closely. "Why her? What's wrong with me?"
Pansy stares blankly at Daphne. "I don't…I mean…what?" she says, completely flummoxed by the question. "Are you…gay?" she asks, cautiously.
"Merlin, no!" Daphne says, rolling her eyes like it's the dumbest question she's ever been asked. "But I'd still like to know why you didn't even consider it. I never crossed your mind?"
Pansy shrugs, somewhat helplessly. This conversation isn't going the way she thought it would, but she supposes it's far better than most other outcomes. "No? Why would you?"
"Well, now you're just being rude," Daphne sniffs, looking deeply offended.
Pansy shakes her head, completely mystified by everything that's happening. "I'm not! You're fishing for compliments, which is mental considering I've just come out to you," Pansy says, stressing each word. "But if I have to stroke you massive bloody ego before we discuss that, then fine—you could be half-Veela, and you know it. You're gorgeous. But that has nothing to do with it. The reason you haven't crossed my mind is because it would be bizarre. You're family, Daph. You know that, don't you? You've been my only family for a while now. So no, of course I don't bloody fancy you!"
Daphne seems to consider this for a moment, then she nods, looking satisfied. "Fine. I can accept that." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "Part-Veela? Really?"
Pansy shakes her head and looks toward the ceiling. "The only thing she latches onto," she mutters in amazement.
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take away from your announcement, I just…I guess it doesn't matter. That you just came out, I mean." Daphne grimaces and shakes her head. "No, that came out wrong. It obviously matters. I'm glad you felt safe enough to tell me. Even if it was after you told a literal bloody stranger," she adds with a massive eye-roll. "But Pans…you're my family, too. And I love you, no matter what. Even when you're being the biggest twat in the world, which mind you, I still haven't completely forgiven you for. Fiendishly clever of you to come out in the middle of an argument though," she says, shaking her head and fixing Pansy with an amused look. "But that aside, I couldn't care less. You're still my best friend. So you like women. Big deal. And honestly, being attracted to men is a bloody nightmare that I wouldn't wish on anyone. We should all be so lucky." She pauses. "Wait. Was your parchment pal a git about it? Is that what happened?"
Pansy hesitates, then shakes her head. "No. Not exactly. I mean, she didn't reply for two days, which is why I was so upset at breakfast this morning," she adds, noticing Daphne's sympathetic wince. "Still not an excuse, I know. But I didn't take her silence very well."
"No, nor should you have. Two days to reply?" Daphne shakes her head in wonder. "Talk about a mad cow with constipation."
Pansy immediately feels the need to defend her parchment pal, but then remembers all at once that it's Hermione. Which is something else she needs to tell Daphne.
One thing at a time.
"She's not," Pansy says quietly. "She answered just now. Before you came in. She said she was confused and upset, but she apologized for taking so long and said she still wants to be friends."
"Oh. Why was she upset? Did she think you were a bloke?"
Pansy nods. "And when she thought I was a bloke, she had feelings for me. She said I was the first person she had ever had feelings for," she says quietly, still marveling at that particular confession, all the while steadfastly refusing to let herself think of Robin as Granger.
Daphne raises an eyebrow and says, "and then she took two days to think about how to reply because she was…confused?"
"Not like that," Pansy says. "I think she felt like I was leading her on. Which I never meant to do, obviously. But she seemed fairly certain that she wasn't interested in me like that."
Daphne hums. "Perhaps. But who knows, maybe you put a thought into her mind she had never considered."
"I sincerely doubt it," Pansy says, finally letting herself think of Hermione, whose eyes always seem to go soft around Weasley for some inexplicable reason.
"Fine. So you just stay friends," Daphne says with a shrug. "I'm sure it's disappointing, but there are other fish in the sea. And who knows, maybe she was hideously unattractive. It's probably for the best. You get a friend out of this, and all's well that ends well, right?"
Pansy sighs. "Not exactly…"
Daphne frowns and looks at Pansy, waiting for the rest of the sentence.
Pansy's leg bounces restlessly as she thinks about how to tell Daphne the rest of this sordid story. Somehow, ludicrously, telling her about Hermione feels harder than coming out. But Pansy's come this far. It's time to reveal her last secret.
"I…may have accidentally found out who she is."
Daphne goes deathly still as she regards Pansy with wide eyes. "You what?"
Pansy sighs. "I said I know who she—"
She doesn't get to finish the sentence. Daphne has grabbed a pillow from behind her and is pummeling Pansy, a massive grin on her face. "You git!" she says with glee. "You absolute git! You know who she is and you didn't tell me?" she asks, punctuating each word with another blow from her pillow.
"I just found out today!" Pansy says weakly, arms up to shield herself from the next attack.
Mercifully, the next attack never comes. Daphne drops the pillow immediately and eagerly leans forward. "Who is she? Do you know her? Do I know her?"
Pansy nods slowly and Daphne's eyes glitter. "Ooh. Delicious. Let me guess." She studies her comforter for a moment, deep in thought. "Oh!" she says, lifting her eyes to Pansy. "Is it Sue Li? She's…sporty, so to speak."
Pansy rolls her eyes at the euphemism, then shakes her head no.
"Abbot? I could see her sending long, romantic notes."
"No," Pansy says. She's not sure if she wants this to be a guessing game, but she also finds herself curiously unwilling to admit to her parchment pal's real identity.
"Copplestone? No, I've seen her ogling MacLaggan. Shit taste, that one. Ooh, Dodsworth? She's rather pretty."
Pansy shakes her head no again, her leg bouncing double-time as she waits for Daphne to exhaust herself guessing.
"Well, I don't want to name the whole school, so you might as well just…" she cuts herself off, then fixes Pansy with an aghast stare, and Pansy's sure she's about to ask if it's Hermione. She steels herself and waits for the inevitable.
"Pansy. Is it Lisa Turpin? You can be in love with whoever you want, but I swear, if you've fallen in love with Lisa fucking Turpin, I'll scream."
Pansy exhales sharply. "It's not Turpin," she manages to say.
"Thank Merlin. Can you think of anyone worse? Honestly, can you?" Daphne thinks for a moment, then snorts. "Oh, I know. Loony Lovegood. Can you imagine? Though you'd know straight away, wouldn't you? All her letters would be about sparkly, purple bowtruckle fairies," Daphne says, raising her voice in a decently dreamy imitation of Lovegood, "or whatever drivel she likes to talk about."
Pansy manages a weak smile, but Daphne isn't done yet. "Or no! No! I know who would be worse," she says with a sly grin.
Pansy waits, her heart in her throat.
"Granger."
Pansy's heart drops.
"Oh, Merlin. Can you imagine falling in love with Granger via letter?" Daphne says with a laugh. "You'd tell her you're in love with her and she'd correct your grammar and ask for rewrites."
Pansy doesn't say a word. Her face is flaming and she's twisting her bedsheets in her hands uncomfortably. Daphne glances over at her with a puzzled frown, apparently confused at Pansy's complete lack of reaction. As she studies Pansy's face, her frown slowly fades, giving way to wide, incredulous eyes.
"No. No. Pansy, no. You're joking. Tell me you're joking."
Pansy winces, but doesn't say anything else, and Daphne's mouth drops open.
"Granger? Your parchment pal is Hermione Granger?"
Pansy shushes her frantically and glances at the door in alarm, but Daphne waves a hand in annoyance. "Don't you dare shush me! You're telling me you've gone and fallen in love with Granger and you expect me to be quiet?"
"No!" Pansy says, horrified at the thought of falling in love with Hermione. "Absolutely not! Not with Granger! With…with her," she says, gesturing at her parchment. "And it's not love. I just…have feelings for her. Hadfeelings for her," she corrects herself quickly. Best to start thinking in past tense.
"For Granger," Daphne says flatly.
"No!" Pansy says, running a hand through her already disheveled hair. "It's not Granger! I mean, it is Granger, but it's not!"
"So this whole time you've been complaining and moaning about Granger being your Potions partner, you've been falling in love with her on the side."
"Would you stop saying that? I'm not in love with her," Pansy says, her voice high and strangled. Merlin, she hopes these walls are soundproof.
"And how the bloody hell didn't you know?" Daphne asks, ignoring Pansy's interjection. "All those messages you sent to each other! All the bloody hours you spent hunched over that piece of paper! You must have complained about your shit Potions partner at some point!"
Pansy winces and stares at her comforter like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen to avoid Daphne's hard gaze. Daphne clocks her silence and exhales sharply. "Unbelievable. You're telling me you wrote each other novels, and you never once talked about your day to day life?"
"No, we did, it's just…that particular part never came up," Pansy says weakly.
"How on earth is that possible?" Daphne asks, sounding completely bewildered.
"I don't know," Pansy says miserably, bouncing her leg and fighting the urge to get up and run from the room. "I don't know. It just didn't."
"Well, what the bloody hell did you talk about, then?" Daphne says, her voice raised in frustration.
"I don't know!" Pansy repeats. "Everything! We talked about everything, just not that!" she says, growing more frazzled by the second. The idea of living in the Forbidden Forest is sounding better and better, especially if it means escaping this conversation. "I just never wanted to bring it up because it felt like too much to explain," she adds, restlessly twisting her sheets under her hands.
Daphne shakes her head in wonder. "But all those messages! Honestly, Pansy, how could you not have known? Or at least suspected? You must have!"
The accusatory tone in Daphne's voice rankles Pansy, and she lifts her eyes defiantly. "You think I would've let it go this far had I known?" she asks, her voice slightly raised. "You think I'd have willingly put myself in this situation?" Pansy shakes her head. "She never crossed my mind! Of all the people at this school, I never would have even suspected—! And why would I? She's…she's…" Pansy trails off and rubs her eyes, suddenly very tired. "No. I had no idea," she murmurs.
Daphne sighs. She seems to notice the fight go out of Pansy, and she gazes at her with something close to pity. "And you're sure it's her?" she asks, her tone considerably gentler than it was before.
Pansy nods and Daphne exhales heavily. "Merlin," she murmurs. "What a bloody mess." She's quiet for a moment, then she tilts her head and says, "how did you find out? Did she say something?"
"No, I…I saw her parchment. Today, during Potions," Pansy says, conveniently ignoring the part where she was going to destroy it for her own amusement. "I could read it," she adds quietly.
"Oh, Pans," Daphne says, sympathy coloring her voice. She's still for a moment as she studies the opposite wall, then she turns to Pansy with a suspicious gaze and says, "just so you know, if you're pulling one over on me, it's not funny."
Pansy gives a dry, humorless laugh. "I'm not. I wish I was. You don't know how badly I wish I was. But I'm not."
Daphne sighs, then shakes her head with wonder. "Unbelievable. Hermione Granger," she says. She pauses, then scoffs and murmurs Hermione Granger again, placing a sort of horrified awe on Granger's surname.
They sit there in silence, Pansy staring at her bedsheets, Daphne staring at the wall, both taking in the absolute absurdity of the situation. After a few long moments, Daphne finally turns her gaze back toward Pansy, and Pansy stares back.
"Hermione Granger," Daphne says again, still shaking her head in disbelief.
"Hermione Granger," Pansy repeats quietly.
Then without any warning, Daphne's lips twitch.
"Daphne…" Pansy says, her eyes narrowing at the movement and a warning in her voice.
"No, right. Sorry. It's just…" Daphne trails off and tries valiantly to fight against the smile that's settled on her lips. She schools her face into something that looks appropriately serious, but when she opens her mouth to speak, a snort of laughter erupts from her. Immediately, she claps a hand over her mouth, but another snort follows, then another, until soon, she's laughing hysterically. Pansy glowers at her and bunches her sheets in her hands. "Oh, piss off," she mutters.
"I'm sorry, it's just…this whole situation! And Granger!" Daphne dissolves into a fresh round of giggles. "Of all the people in all the world! Granger!"
Pansy plucks a pillow from her own bed and throws it at Daphne. "Would you stop laughing?" she asks.
Daphne lifts a hand as silent laughter shakes her body. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll stop…" She catches Pansy's eye and an explosive laugh rips out of her. She doubles over on her bed as Pansy glares at her, waiting for it to run its course. Once it finally does, Daphne sits up and holds out both of her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm done now. Promise. I just…Granger," she says again with wonder. "You truly have a spectacular knack for getting yourself into the most bizarre situations. Granger!"
Pansy nods, shaking her foot restlessly. "I know," she says, then sighs heavily. "I don't know what to do. Usually, I can figure it out, but this time, I just…I don't know what to do," she repeats, looking at Daphne helplessly. "I feel like I'm two different people right now. I hate Granger. You know I hate Granger. But her…" she says, gazing down at her parchment. "I don't hate her. Not in the slightest. The way I feel about her is…" she trails off and shakes her head, unable to put it into words. "And I don't know how to reconcile any of this. How can I reconcile the fact that the person I have feelings for also happens to be Granger?"
"I thought you said you had feelings for her," Daphne says.
Pansy shakes her head. "No, I…they're still there," she murmurs. "I wish they weren't, but they are. And even when I remind myself it's Granger, they don't go away. It all gets more confusing, I suppose, but when I read her most recent message, I…I still felt something. Even though I knew it was Granger, I still…" She trails off and looks up at Daphne with a small frown. "Do you think I'm mad?"
Daphne sighs, gazing down at Pansy's parchment. "I don't know. Maybe? Probably. But that's the thing about feelings, isn't it? They're inherently mad. You can't control them. You can't help when they spring up or who they're for and it can be a bloody nightmare. I shouldn't have still had feelings for Blaise after the first time he slept with Lisa Turpin, but I did." She looks up at Pansy, the set of her mouth turning serious. "I can't say I like the idea of my best friend having feelings for Granger in any capacity. But she," she says, pointing at the parchment, then looking at Pansy with soft eyes, "shemakes you happy. She makes you very happy, which is all I want. And if she makes you happy, then it stands to reason Granger would too. I mean, they're the same bloody person. So maybe…before you self-destruct and shut down completely…maybe you should…get to know Granger," Daphne says, then immediately shudders and grimaces like she's stumbled upon a rotten egg flavored Bertie Bott's bean. "I genuinely cannot believe I've just said that."
"Nor can I," Pansy says.
"But I did, and I mean it. I think. Do I?" She tilts her head thoughtfully, then nods. "Yes. I do. …It is mad, Pans. It's absolutely stark raving mad, but…who cares? Life is stark raving mad. Stranger things have happened. …I mean, I can't think of any right now, but I'm sure they have. And anyway, you already know Granger. It's not like you're in for any surprises. She's the same girl as that girl," she says, nodding at the parchment. "But the difference is that girl doesn't hate you. So if the two of you can manage to stop being twats to each other for more than two seconds, you might find that you can have the same kind of conversations in person as you do on that bloody paper."
Pansy frowns. She knows Daphne's right, but the thought of being nice to Granger…
"You don't even have to be nice to her," Daphne says, as if she's read Pansy's mind. "Not at first. Just don't be a complete bellend. Because honestly? If you treated me half as poorly as you treat Granger, I'd hate you, too. It wouldn't kill you to show her that there's another side to you, Pansy. But if you both still hate each other after that, well…you can't say you didn't try. Though Merlin, it'll be awkward when she discovers that it's you she's been talking to all along," Daphne says with a grin. "Actually, can I be there for that? I'd pay good money to see it."
"Piss off," Pansy says, managing a small smile for the first time since they started talking. "I just…I don't know if I can do this. Be nice to her, or…whatever."
"You've already been nice to her. You just didn't know it," Daphne says, nodding toward the parchment.
"That's different. I don't know if I can be nice to her face to face."
"Of course you can. You're a stubborn, sodding Parkinson," Daphne says, repeating her words from earlier in the day with a smile. "You can do anything you put your mind to. And if that's wooing the pants off of Granger, then…I'll support it. Very reluctantly, mind you. But I'll support it nonetheless."
Pansy face twists in disgust. "I don't want to woo the pants off of Granger."
"No, of course not. Just your parchment pal."
"Yes."
"Who is Granger."
Pansy glares at Daphne who smiles angelically at her. "You're never going to let this go, are you?" Pansy asks.
"Merlin, no! Are you mad? This is the best thing I've ever heard. Genuinely. I'll never hear anything better than this. You've been sending love letters to Hermione Granger for an entire month. This was completely worth skipping Charms for."
Pansy snorts, then rubs her eyes. "Daph?"
"Hm?"
"What if…what if I try and she just…doesn't like me? And I mean honestly, why would she?" Pansy asks, her voice coming out pathetic and small. "I've been horrid to her for years."
Daphne nods. "You have been. But you already know she likes you. The real you. The person you were when you weren't trying to tear her down or put on a front. You without any of the bullshit. So…just try and be that person. Be Pansy. Start slow. Say something nice to her. Eventually you can apologize for being a twat and try and explain yourself. And whatever happens, happens."
Pansy taps her fingers restlessly against her covers, her mind still clouded with doubt. Daphne watches the motion for a moment, then slides off her bed and crouches beside Pansy's, covering Pansy's hands with her own. She gazes at her steadily and says, "you're stubborn. You're a complete cow most of the times. You can drive anybody mad with your sharp tongue. Not a euphemism. Well…not yet, at least," she adds with a wink. "You're guarded and prideful and set in your ways…"
"Is this a pep-talk, because you're shit at it," Pansy grumbles.
"And those are the only things you've ever let Granger see. But you're so much more than that. You're smart. You're witty. You're the most loyal person I've ever met. You grew up surrounded by so much shit and you're stilla good person. To your friends, at least," Daphne adds. "But you care so deeply, and you go out of your way to listen to people. Really listen. You're a wonderful person, which means a lot coming from someone who's still a bit upset at you. But I won't lie—if you're serious about this, then you've got a ways to go. You've got a lot of apologies to make if you ever want a chance at being…something with her. But if you decide to let her see the person I've just described, then…" Daphne shakes her head and smiles fondly. "Pans, how could she not like you?"
Pansy nods shakily and squeezes Daphne's hands. "I don't deserve you," she murmurs after a moment, her voice a bit thicker than she expected.
"No. You certainly don't. But you're stuck with me," Daphne says with a smile. "I love you. Everything about you."
"Even though I'm a stubborn twat?"
"Even though you're a stubborn twat," Daphne says. "You deserve to be happy. No matter what form that happiness takes."
"Thanks. I love you too, you know."
Daphne smiles softly. "I know."
Pansy nods and glances at her parchment. Daphne follows her gaze. "So…are you going to try?"
If anyone would have told Pansy that she'd agree to being nice to Hermione Granger at the start of this day, she would've laughed in their face. But now, she finds herself slowly nodding. She knows it's mad. She knows there's no way Hermione will ever want to talk to her, no matter how nice Pansy attempts to be. She doesn't even know if she'll be able to be nice to Hermione, once she comes face to face with her again. Old habits might flare up and destroy any chance she has.
But she also knows there's a stupid, stubborn part of her that wants to try. That wants to scratch Hermione's abrasive surface to find the wonderful person she knows is lurking below. Because she knows that person. Knows her better than she knows just about anyone at this school. And she likes that person.
She could maybe even love that person.
So she'll try. Even if she knows it's mad, she'll try.
"Brilliant," Daphne says with a grin once Pansy nods. "Then operation Woo the Pants off Granger is a go."
Pansy groans and buries her head in her hands.
What is she getting herself into?