Chapter 8Notes:This chapter is about 60k words, so please take breaks :)
Also, for those of you who feel personally tortured by a slow burn: Maybe wait for chapter nine... Or just take a moment to adjust your expectations accordingly lmao
Please note that there is a content warning in this chapter for violence. If you don't want to read that, I'd suggest skipping over the scene where Pansy returns home, or at least the italicized section of that scene.
And as always, thank you so much to everyone reading along :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextPansy wakes on Saturday morning to an empty dorm and a pounding head.
She groans and rubs her eyes as she tries to remember anything that had happened last night, but the simple motion is enough to make her head throb harder and her stomach roll dangerously.
Merlin, had she been poisoned?
After a few moments of lying completely still, Pansy's stomach settles and she manages to slowly turn her head toward her bedside table to see an empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. It's the emergency bottle Daphne keeps hidden in her trunk for everything from catastrophic breakups to last-minute parties, and Pansy could swear the last time she saw it, it had contained a fairly significant amount of alcohol. But now it's bone-dry and Pansy feels as if she might die if she moves.
So not poisoned, then. Just spectacularly hung-over.
With a low moan, Pansy slowly turns her head back from the bottle and thinks back to the night before, trying to remember what had led to this moment. The pain in her head makes it almost impossible to focus on anything, but eventually, she pulls together a foggy memory.
She had come back to the Slytherin common room after her late night in the library with Hermione. The room had been completely empty and she had flicked her wand at her dormitory to open the door just slightly. Then, she had flicked her wand again.
Pansy groans and rubs her fists against her eyes. Why did she have to flick her wand again?
The memory unfurls slowly behind Pansy's closed lids.
"Accio Ogden's," Pansy said as she slumped down onto the couch. She pulled off her tie, kicked off her shoes, and ran a hand through her hair as she waited for the bottle to appear. After a moment, it sailed through the door and plopped down gently beside her on the couch. With a quick flick of her wrist, she closed the door to her dormitory again, watching to be sure it shut completely.
She didn't want anyone wrecking her pity party.
Pansy reached for the bottle, twisted off the top, and tossed it beside her on the couch. There was a split-second hesitation where she thought about being responsible and pouring a sensible amount of liquor into a glass, but then she heard Hermione's voice echo in her head.
"I don't want you to think I've thought of you in that way. I don't want to give you the wrong idea."
Pansy snorted a bit and lifted the bottle. Sod the glass. Sod responsibility. All she wanted to do was forget what had just happened.
The whiskey stung on the way down and Pansy grimaced for a moment before lifting the bottle to take another long swig. She wanted to feel the burn all the way down to her core. She wanted it to incinerate any residual feelings that were still lingering for a certain witch in its wake. She wanted it to numb the sharp edges of what had almost occurred between the dusty shelves and to make her forget Hermione's tempting lips, her intoxicating warmth, and her dark, heavy-lidded gaze.
Pansy scowled at the memory and lifted the bottle again, chasing the liquor with the ghost of Hermione's breath against her lips.
There was a familiar twinge between her legs when she remembered just how close Hermione had been, and Pansy lifted a hand to rub furiously at her lips, as if she was trying to erase any remnants of the other girl. She glared at the bottle, wondering how long it would take before the events of this night faded into oblivion. Ogden's worked fast (one of the perks of magical liquor), so it should be soon. Merlin, she hoped it was soon. She wasn't sure how long she could stand all the emotions currently twisting about in her mind.
There was embarrassment, of course. To be told that she wasn't Hermione's type stung worse than any of the countless insults the other witch had hurled her way over the years. It had left her feeling awkward and shamefaced and…
…Confused, if she was being honest. Because Pansy's been around enough people who have found her attractive to recognize the tell-tale signs—the dilated eyes, the flushed skin, the rapid rise and fall of the chest, the subtle attempts to get closer. And Hermione wasn't just giving her one or two signs—she was giving her every sign in the fucking book. Based on that alone, Pansy would have bet every Galleon she owned that Hermione was attracted to her. More than attracted, even—that she wanted her. So to be told it was just an unexpected byproduct of the moment had thrown Pansy off completely. She had never misread a situation so badly in her life and it left her feeling entirely bewildered.
Bewildered, sad, and curiously empty. Hearing Hermione admit to simply getting swept up in the moment had done something strange to Pansy's body. It was as if everything inside of her had shut down, all at once. Whatever feelings had been ricocheting wildly throughout her body froze at the words, and she had felt almost…bereft.
Pansy took another swig and managed to scoff at herself. It was ridiculous to feel such a loss at something that had never been hers in the first place. But after Hermione's tentative confession in the library on Monday, Pansy had felt that stupid little ember of hope glowing brighter than it ever had before. It had lit up her heart and shined a light on all of her most secret dreams, revealing things that she herself hadn't even realized she wanted with startling clarity. And what's more, they were all things that had started to feel attainable. Because frankly, Hermione's sexuality had been the biggest stumbling block between the two of them one day having a real relationship. So when that stumbling block had been kicked aside, Pansy hadn't been able to think of a single reason why they couldn't one day be together. She had practically floated back to her common room that night and had spent the next few days being obnoxiously cheerful to anyone who crossed her path. Because there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she and Hermione were going to be together. Really, actually together.
And then…
"You're not my type."
Pansy lifted the bottle once more and glowered into its rapidly lowering depths, thinking about the one stumbling block she hadn't thought to factor in. And she should have—it was stupid of her to assume that Hermione would find her attractive. Stupid and utterly naive.
Though perhaps if Pansy had actually let the kiss happen, things would be different.
Which was another thing: Pansy was angry at herself for suddenly deciding to be noble. Of all the bloody moments to listen to her conscious and tell the truth, why had she picked that one? Why the fuck had she taken a step back? She had been a second away from finally feeling Hermione's lips against her own. One heartbeat was all that had separated her from claiming everything she wanted, from giving into the heady desire thrumming through her body, and instead, she had decided to become some sort of beacon of virtue?
Pansy's grip tightened around the bottle in frustration as she lifted it to take another long swig. The alcohol burned her throat, but it wasn't nearly enough to distract her from the anger burning in her heart at her own stupid, newfound code of chivalry. Because what if that was her one and only chance at kissing Hermione and she had blown it to be some sort of idiotic, Gryffindor-like moron?
Pansy eyed her wand on the table and seriously contemplated Obliviating everything that had happened tonight from her memory. Perhaps everything that had happened since McGonagall handed out the stupid parchments in the first place.
At least the alcohol had finally started to kick in. She could feel a pleasantly warm buzzing sensation radiating throughout her body and tingling in her head, and it helped to take the edge off of her anger.
She took another sip and tried to forget about all the stupid emotions coursing through her body. Instead, she decided to convince herself that everything was okay. That nothing really mattered. Who cared if Hermione didn't fancy her? She didn't. Not at all, actually. She was completely fine with it. They'd only ever be friends, and that was that.
Almost immediately, tears gathered in the corners of Pansy's eyes. She blinked hastily and glared once more at the Ogden's, as if it was solely responsible for Pansy's tendency to be a weepy drunk.
As she glared at the nearly-empty bottle, one thing became blindingly obvious—she didn't want them to just be friends. There was no bloody way she'd be able to sit by and watch as Hermione found love with someone else, someone who was her "type." Just the thought of Hermione turning that soft, fond smile that seemed to be reserved for Pansy toward another girl made something that felt decidedly like jealousy slither in Pansy's gut, and she lifted the bottle for another sip.
And anyway, who even has a bloody type? Pansy's certainly never had one.
She took another sip and considered.
Perhaps she had always been a bit partial toward brunettes, but that didn't mean she had a type.
Another sip.
And yes, maybe she found intelligence to be a complete turn-on, but again, that wasn't necessarily her type.
Another sip.
And fine, as of late she had found herself thinking that hazel was really the only worthwhile eye color out there.
She frowned as she stared into the bottle again, watching as the dregs slowly settled. Fine. So she had a bloody type. But if Hermione wasn't interested in her, then that was fine. There were other girls who would fulfill Pansy's type. She took another small sip as she thought about the loads of other brainy brunettes in the world who snorted when they laughed. The scads of other women who would cover their flushed faces with both hands when they were embarrassed, or tuck their hair behind their ears when they were nervous.
Pansy took another sip and winced as doubt began to settle in her stomach.
Surely, there will be other hazel eyed girls who will look at Pansy with a particular glimmer in their eyes, as if she's something special, something to be treasured?
Another sip. More doubt.
Surely there will be at least one other girl who will make Pansy feel so completely, overwhelmingly, madly in love that she'll hardly even recognize herself anymore?
Another sip.
Surely it wouldn't just be Hermione?
Pansy drained the bottle.
Slowly, she rolled it between her hands and let herself think about Hermione, and as Pansy let her perfect face swim into her mind, she realized with a sinking sensation that yes, it would always and forever just be Hermione.
Because honestly, how could there be anyone else? How could there be another brilliant, beautiful, fiercely strong, ferociously clever witch who understood Pansy inside and out? How could there be someone she could trust to take care of her heart in the same way she trusted Hermione?
How could she even begin to contemplate the idea of bringing anyone else to Paris?
Pansy blinked furiously as her vision clouded over at the thought, but before she could manage to control her emotions, a tiny, pathetic sob escaped her throat.
"It's only her," she said to herself, dimly noticing the small slur in her words. "It'll only ever be her." Absently, she lifted the bottle for another sip, but frowned in surprise when nothing came out. She lifted it to her eye and peered down the bottle neck, only to find it completely empty.
Huh. When had she finished it?
Pansy shrugged, then leaned forward to place the bottle on the table. Almost immediately, the room started to spin.
"Oh, fuck," Pansy whispered as she quickly leaned back on the couch. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again after a long moment, the room had mercifully decided to stop moving.
"Don't you do that again," Pansy said, pointing a threatening finger as she directed her words to the room.
She sighed and looked around her at the dark common room. Now that the bottle was empty, she knew she should stand up and go to bed. She knew the best thing would be to leave this entire mess behind her.
But she also knew that if she stood up, she would most assuredly topple over.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes once more, frowning a bit as Hermione's face immediately bloomed behind her closed lids.
"Stupid hazel eyes," she muttered, noticing that the slur in her words was now much more pronounced. "Who gave you the bloody right to have…to have eyes?" she said out loud, not noticing at all how ludicrous the statement was.
There was a quiet sound of a door shutting in the background, but Pansy paid it no mind. She couldn't focus on anything else, not when the Hermione she had conjured up was smiling at her so fondly. Those maddening hazel eyes rolled, seemingly amused by Pansy's drunken musings, and despite herself, a grin flickered to Pansy's face.
"Like seeing me drunk, then?" she asked.
"Not particularly, no."
Pansy frowned, wondering stupidly why Hermione had suddenly started speaking with Daphne's voice.
She managed to drag her eyes open to find Daphne, standing before her with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She was in her pajamas, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was looking at Pansy with irritation swimming in her bleary blue eyes. But Pansy didn't care—the extraordinary amount of firewhisky in her system just made her irrationally overjoyed to see her best friend, and she leaned forward with a grin on her face.
"Daphne!" Pansy said with delight. Her voice was bright and far too loud for the silent common room, but she didn't notice. "You're here!"
Daphne shushed her with a frown and Pansy dutifully put a finger to her own lips and shushed her back with wide eyes and a serious nod. Then, she broke into a small giggle. Daphne rolled her eyes and whispered, "you better have a bloody good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night."
Pansy's eyes grew even wider with concern. "No. I woke you up?" she whispered. "But…but I'm all the way over here and you…you are there," she said, gesturing toward Daphne with a firm nod, as if her explanation made all the sense in the world.
"Astute as ever," Daphne said. "But I suppose you've forgotten where I keep that bottle of Ogden's?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bottle and frowning slightly when she noticed that it was empty.
Pansy stared at the bottle, then back at Daphne, then back at the bottle. "Is this a riddle?" she asked seriously, looking up at Daphne again.
Daphne rolled her eyes once more and muttered "Merlin help me," under her breath. Then she said, "it's not a riddle. I store the bottle in my trunk. And when someone decided to summon it, it banged its way out of said trunk and woke me up in the process."
"Oh. Who summoned it?" Pansy asked with interest.
Daphne shook her head in amazement and stared at Pansy incredulously, and after a long, silent moment, Pansy whispered with awe, "wait…is this a riddle?"
"No," Daphne said, exhaling sharply. "The only riddle is why you're sitting in the dark on a Friday night, all on your own, and more pissed than I've ever seen you before."
Pansy snorted and waved a hand. "I'm not." She broke off and frowned. "Pissed, that is. I am in the dark," she finished thoughtfully. Then, she patted the couch. "But sit down! We can drink together! It's been too long since we did that, you know." She reached for the bottle, then frowned when she noticed it was empty. She peered up at Daphne and said, "someone's finished this one. Have you got another?"
"No. And I'm not going to sit down in the middle of the bloody night," Daphne whispered with frustration. "I just want to go back to bed, but I could hear you talking to yourself out here and I got worried. Merlin knows how you haven't roused everyone by now."
"You were…worried?" Pansy asked, looking up at Daphne with shimmering eyes, outrageously touched by the concern. "That's…that's…" a tear fell down Pansy's cheek, but she didn't bother wiping it away. "I love you. Do you know that?" Pansy asked vehemently as she surveyed her best friend with watery eyes. "I love you so fucking much. You're the fucking best, I…I…" She broke off with a tiny sob, too overwhelmed by her emotions to continue speaking.
Daphne looked up at the ceiling as if she was begging for patience. "I know," she said, dropping her gaze back to Pansy. "And I love you, too," she said, her eyes softening just a touch. "But I'd love you a lot more if you got up from that couch and came back to bed with me."
Pansy gave a slight hiccup and dried her tears. "Ooh," she said, trying to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively and failing miserably. "Is that a proper…a propha…a proooo…"
"A proposition?" Daphne asked tiredly.
Pansy snapped her fingers. "That's the word."
"If I say yes, will you come with me?"
"Maybe," Pansy said slyly. "Or maybe…you're not my type," she said, putting a ridiculous amount of emphasis on the last three words. She snorted at her own joke, but then, without any warning, a new round of tears gathered in her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but it was no use. Her lower lip wobbled as Hermione's voice echoed in her ears once more, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked up at Daphne with despair to find her already watching Pansy with wide, concerned eyes. "Why aren't I her type?" Pansy managed to whisper miserably. Daphne frowned, clearly unable to hear whatever Pansy had just said. But before she could ask Pansy to repeat herself, Pansy's entire face crumpled pathetically and her body started shaking with small sobs.
Immediately, Daphne crossed the room to sit beside Pansy. "Oh, Pans," she murmured, pulling Pansy into a hug. She didn't bother to ask what was wrong or try to pry out any information. Instead, she simply held her and whispered,"you're okay. I've got you." She rocked Pansy gently back and forth and continued to murmur placating words against her hair as she gently rubbed her back.
They sat that way for a long while until eventually, Pansy's tears stopped falling and her breath evened out again. And even then, Daphne refused to let go.
"What happened tonight?" Daphne eventually asked, her voice gentle. "It's not like you to drink your feelings away."
"I—"
Pansy frowns and blinks her eyes open. The memory had stopped abruptly, as if someone had purposefully erased the rest of the conversation. But she knew she hadn't been Obliviated—it was just the bloody Ogden's that was responsible for the massive dark spot in her recollection. But as she thought about where the conversation had ended, she feels a cold fear trickle down her spine.
Had she answered Daphne's question?
Had she inadvertently outed Hermione?
Her stomach rolls again, but this time, it's a mixture of both her awful hangover and the anxiety that's suddenly racing through her body. More than anything, she hopes she hadn't said something stupid last night. But she knows that she tends to get both ridiculously weepy and incredibly loose-lipped when she drinks, so she has a sinking suspicion that Daphne now knows more than she should.
She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration and fury and balls up her sheets in her fists. Why did she decide to drink last night? It was a stupid, weak decision, and one she regrets with every fiber of her being.
If she had told Daphne anything about Hermione's sexuality, she's never drinking again. Not another sip. Not even butterbeer.
Before she can continue berating herself, there's a soft thump on the foot of her bed. Pansy manages to open her eyes to see Felix, staring at her with anticipation.
Right. It's morning. She has to feed him. He needs his cat food.
But the moment Pansy thinks about cat food, her stomach lurches uncomfortably. She closes her eyes once more and draws in long, steady breaths through her nose, in and out, in and out. Felix gives a pitiful, needy meow, and Pansy lifts a finger. "I know. I know, just…give me a minute," she whispers.
As she's busy deep breathing and desperately hoping that everything in her stomach stays where it is, she hears the dormitory door creak open. She looks over to see Daphne, holding a mug and peering toward Pansy's bed. As soon as she notices Pansy's eyes are open, she closes the door with a bang and bustles into the room.
"Good, you're up," she says. Her footsteps sound like small explosions and her voice seems absurdly loud in the silent dorm. Pansy desperately reaches up to curl her pillow over her ears and a tiny, pathetic whimpers escapes her. "I was wondering when you'd emerge. Though you've missed breakfast," Daphne adds, her voice growing closer as she nears her bed.
Pansy groans at the mention of food.
"Shame, too. It was a full English breakfast. Black pudding, eggs, tomatoes, baked beans…" Daphne says, listing off the food cheerfully.
Pansy groans louder and puts her pillow over her face, pressing it down as hard as she can in a desperate attempt to block out Daphne's voice. Daphne won't be deterred, though—she simply picks the pillow off of Pansy's face and calmly continues listing foods. "Sausages, bacon, mushrooms, toast…"
"Daphne, I swear…" Pansy breathes between gritted teeth. Her stomach is rolling dangerously and she's two seconds away from sprinting from her bed toward the bathroom.
"Hm? Oh! I'm sorry, am I speaking too quietly for you? Here, how's this?" Daphne asks, raising her voice to an absurd level as she places the steaming mug down on her bedside table. "Can you hear me now? I could always use Sonorous if I'm still a bit quiet."
"I hate you," Pansy says, closing her eyes and wincing at the throbbing, unyielding pain in her head.
Daphne chuckles quietly, then says, "no, you don't."
Pansy feels something land on the bed beside her, then hears Daphne's footsteps retreating. She looks to her right to see a small vial of light blue potion lying on top of her sheets, and relief seeps through her at the sight.
It's a hangover potion.
Thank Merlin.
She sits up as quickly as she dares, uncaps the vial, and tips the peppermint flavored liquid into her mouth. The moment she swallows, she feels the effects wash over her—her headache lifts, the queasiness in her stomach vanishes, and she feels blissfully human again.
Pansy sighs in relief, then glances toward the the foot of her bed where Daphne is kneeling down to fill Felix's bowl. "Thank you," she says.
Daphne hums. "For the potion or for taking care of your poor neglected cat?" she asks, stroking Felix as he purrs and rubs his face against Daphne's hand.
Pansy rolls her eyes at the display. Felix almost never purrs when she feeds him. He usually stares at her with wounded eyes and meows mournfully, as if Pansy's suddenly taken the wicked notion to starve him, and it's up to him to convince her otherwise. But of course, for Daphne, he acts like a sweet little angel.
Bloody cat.
"That cat is the least neglected cat that's ever lived," Pansy says, watching with amusement as he sticks his entire face into the bowl and starts eating with gusto.
Daphne straightens up and looks at Pansy. "Oh? Then why did he have to beg me for food?"
Pansy rolls her eyes. "I was going to feed him. I just needed a minute to collect myself."
Daphne scoffs as she crosses back to her bed. "The amount you drank last night?" she asks, sitting down and folding her legs under her. "You would've needed more than a minute. I've never seen you that drunk before. Which by the way…" she stretches forward and grabs the mug on her bedside table, then hands it to Pansy. "Thought you might need a pick-me-up."
Pansy takes it gratefully, inhaling the rich, bitter aroma of coffee. She takes a long drink then sighs. "Thank you," she says. "For this, for the potion, for stealing my cat's love…all of it. I owe you."
"Get me a new bottle of Ogden's and we'll call it even."
"I can do that. And it'll be all yours—after last night, I'm never touching that stuff again."
Daphne frowns and shifts on her bed a bit, getting more comfortable. "How much do you remember? Of last night, I mean."
Pansy slowly runs a finger over the rim of the mug, then says, "some of it. I remember being surprised to see you…and I…I remember crying," she adds, covering her embarrassment with a hasty sip of coffee. She lowers the mug and says, "the last thing I remember is you asking me why I was upset. You wanted to know what happened." Pansy glances up at Daphne nervously. "Did I…did I answer you?"
"Sort of? I mean, not really," Daphne amends quickly. "You kept saying you couldn't tell me anything. But you also kept talking about Paris and types. Honestly, it was all a bit disjointed."
Pansy cringes at her own actions. She's really never going to drink again.
She fiddles anxiously with the mug and glances at the foot of her bed as Felix hops back up, done with his food. He yawns, then curls into a ball and promptly falls asleep. She lifts her eyes from Felix and says, "but I didn't tell you any specifics?"
Daphne shakes her head and Pansy feels the ball of tension loosen a bit in her chest.
At the very least, she hadn't completely outed Hermione.
"No," Daphne says. "No, you didn't tell me any specifics but…" she trails off and stares at the wall behind Pansy with a small frown, as if she's pondering something.
Pansy feels her heart start beating faster at the look on Daphne's face. The ball of tension tightens again as she whispers, "but…?"
Daphne sighs and when her eyes snap back to Pansy, she looks resigned. "But you didn't have to."
"I…what?" Pansy asks confused.
"Pansy, you didn't have to say anything specific because you're the least subtle person I've ever met in my entire life."
Pansy straightens her back and draws back her shoulders, but before she can refute Daphne's statement, she continues. "And what's more, this is my area of expertise."
Pansy falters for a moment before stupidly asking, "I'myour area of expertise?"
Daphne snorts in surprise. "I mean, yes, I suppose after seven years, you could be. But no." She fixes Pansy with a no-nonsense look and says, "you may be better than me in just about every subject at this bloody school, but there's one thing I'll always be better at, and that's relationships. I mean, honestly! Did you really think I wouldn't be able to figure out what's been going on?"
"I—"
"You think I haven't seen the way you act after your little library dates? You think I haven't noticed the way you two act around each other? You think I haven't noticed the way Granger's been staring at you for weeks now? I mean, Merlin, she's somehow even less subtle than you are," Daphne says, looking amused. But before Pansy can reply, Daphne says, "I may not be the cleverest witch, but I know people. I understand attraction, I understand body language, and I know what I've been seeing for the past few weeks."
"I…wait." Pansy says, trying to make sense of what Daphne's saying. She sorts through her thoughts and opens her mouth to say something hopefully clever, but the only thing that comes out is, "she's been staring at me?"
"Merlin's pants," Daphne says, rolling her eyes at the stupidly hopeful tone in Pansy's voice. "You know, you should really be congratulated."
"For what?" Pansy asks uncertainly.
"For managing to convince me for seven bloody years that you're clever, when in actuality, you're the densest bloody witch who's ever lived."
Pansy opens her mouth to retort, but Daphne lifts a hand. "Yes, she's been staring at you. Have you honestly not noticed?"
"I—"
"Every bloody meal! Her eyes are on you every bloody meal! And don't even get me started on your Potions interactions," Daphne says, rolling her eyes.
"What about our Potions interactions?" Pansy says with a frown, immediately disregarding Daphne's warning.
"Are you joking?" Daphne explodes. "The two of you are constantly whispering to each other, Granger's laughing like an idiot at every other word out of your mouth, and the way you two look at each other!"
"We don't—"
"It's like you've forgotten you're in class! All those soft gazes and long stares…I suppose that's, what? Your pathetically sad version of foreplay?"
"It is most certainly not—"
"I've never seen two people more thoroughly and disgustingly besotted with each other. It's a wonder Weasley and Potter haven't caught on. You should be grateful that she's managed to befriend two people even denser than she is."
"She's—"
"I mean, the amount of times I've seen her staring at your lips alone! I just…" Daphne shakes her head bewildered, then abruptly holds up two fingers. "How many do you see?"
"What?" Pansy asks, completely taken aback.
"How many fingers do you see?"
Pansy narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because the only logical explanation for you missing all of these signs is that you're blind as a fucking bat."
"I'm not blind," Pansy says hotly.
"Well, that's a shame. I suppose you're just stupid, then."
Pansy glares at Daphne. "I'm not stupid either! I just…" she sighs and places the coffee mug on her bedside table as she sorts through her feelings. Finally she says, "I had hoped there was something between us. I had, but after last night…" she shakes her head and says, "she made it abundantly clear that I was misreading the situation. That she doesn't see me in that way and she never will."
Daphne snorts. "Then she's lying."
"She's not."
"She is."
"She's not. You weren't there last night. You didn't hear what she said."
"Then tell me."
Pansy shakes her head. "I can't," she says weakly.
Daphne stares at Pansy for a moment. She looks like she wants to press the issue, but eventually, she sighs and nods with resignation. "Alright. I won't force you to tell me anything." Then she leans forward and says, "but Pansy…it doesn't matter. I've seen everything I need to see."
"You haven't."
"I have. Merlin, would you listen to me?" Daphne asks hotly. "I know when someone is interested in someone else! I've never been wrong before. And I know that Granger has feelings for you. Whether or not she's at a place where she's ready to admit that to herself, well…that I don't know. But if she's not, then she needs to tell that to her face, because honestly, the way she looks at you…" she trails off and shakes her head. Then she leans toward Pansy and says, "I wouldn't promise you this if I wasn't absolutely certain, but I am, so I will—Granger has feelings for you."
"Daphne…"
"And as for what happened last night…I don't know if you admitted you have feelings for her and she took it poorly, or if you asked if she has feelings for you and she said no, or…or something else altogether. I don't know, and you don't have to tell me. But just keep in mind, people can lie. And people do lie. Especially when they're scared. So whatever happened last night, just…take it with a grain of salt."
"No, it's…I mean, she didn't…"
Pansy trails off with a small frown as she contemplates what Daphne's said. It's true—people do lie. Merlin, she herself has been lying for ages now. But she would have been able to tell if Hermione had been lying.
Wouldn't she?
Pansy drops her gaze down to study her sheets as she lets herself think about what had happened last night with a clear and sober head.
She thinks about all the signs Hermione had given her. She thinks about the way Hermione's heated gaze had lingered on her chest. She thinks about the burning desire flickering in her eyes. She thinks about how Hermione had been the one to lean forward. She thinks about that heart-stopping moment when she had tilted her head and let her eyes flutter closed.
There was no doubt in Pansy's mind that in that moment, Hermione had wanted her.
Then, Pansy thinks about the look on Hermione's face when she had taken the hardest step back that she's ever had to take in her life.
There had been immediate panic in Hermione's wide-eyed gaze and she had looked frightened. Terrified, really. It was as if she had been caught doing something wrong and needed to find a way out of the predicament. But why would she have been scared? She had already admitted her sexuality and Pansy had accepted it. And what's more, it certainly wasn't as if Pansy had seemed uninterested last night. If anything, she had been a verywilling participant.
Surely Hermione had noticed that?
Yes. Of course she had. She'd have to be completely daft not to.
…But what if she hadn't?
What if she thought that by taking that step back, Pansy was saying she was uncomfortable with what was happening? What if she thought the fear in Pansy's eyes was because she was bothered by Hermione's brazen flirtation? What if she had found herself terrified that she had been assuming too much, or that her advance had been unwanted, or worse, predatory? After all, for all she knew, Pansy was straight as an arrow. What if Hermione's deeply rooted fear of rejection had reared its ugly head at the worst moment possible and had forced her to come up with a quick lie on the spot?
What if she said that Pansy wasn't her type not because it was true, but simply out of fear?
What if she was lying about everything?
Pansy stares down at her sheets, completely bewildered, then she slowly drags her gaze back to Daphne, who's watching her with interest.
"I'm not sure I've ever seen a face go through so many emotions in such a short time," Daphne remarks lightly. "What was that one in the middle?" she asks with interest. "Looked a bit like constipation?"
"I…I…" Pansy trails off and shakes her head, wondering if her hypothesis was true. Had Hermione lied to salvage their friendship?
Could they have managed to cross their wires that badly?
"Should I take your lack of coherent speech as an admission that I was right?"
"I…"
"And if I am right," Daphne continues, completely unbothered by Pansy's sudden inability to form words, "then I want a whole flock of cats named after me for telling you what's been right in front of your nose for ages now." She flicks her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and arches an eyebrow. "Honestly…how the two thickest people at this school managed to fall in love and make such a spectacular mess of it, I'll never know. Good thing you have me to sort it all out."
Pansy's trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she might be Hermione's type after all when the jab registers. She looks at Daphne with a small glare. "We're not thick," she says crossly.
"Oh, please. You two would make Crabbe and Goyle look like proper casanovas. Though I suppose all things considered, it's nice to know that there's somethingGranger's shit at," Daphne says, idly studying her fingernails.
Pansy rolls her eyes as she reaches for the forgotten mug of coffee and reheats it with her wand. "For the record, I never said you were right. And in any event," she continues, raising her voice over Daphne's explosive snort of disbelief, "I think you're oversimplifying the situation a bit."
"Not at all. This is the easiest thing in the world—you like her, she likes you. You could have been shagging by now, but instead, you've made a total cock-up of it."
Pansy splutters into the coffee at the word shagging but before she can reply, Daphne leans forward with twinkling eyes and says, "so if I'm right, which, let's face it, I am…will all the cats be named Daphne, or will there be a Daphne One, a Daphne Two, a Daphne Three…?"
"You're not getting a flock of cats named after you. I'm not even having a flock of cats! And again, I never said you were right."
"You didn't have to." Daphne points at Pansy's face and says, "body language, darling," with an infuriating wink. "Your face told me everything I needed to know."
Pansy rolls her eyes, then lifts her middle finger. "What's my body language telling you now?" she asks dryly.
"That you're a boorish, uncultured arse," Daphne says without missing a beat.
Pansy chuckles as she puts the mug down, stands up from her bed, and begins gathering her things for the bathroom from her trunk. "And now?" she asks raising a wry eyebrow.
"Hopefully that you're going to have a bath," Daphne says. "You smell atrocious."
Pansy's acutely aware of the alcohol smell still clinging to her clothes and seeping from her pores, so she can't exactly disagree. Instead, she says, "when I'm done, you can pester me all you like about cats, so long as you come to the Great Hall with me. I'm starving." She glances up from her trunk and says, "you said there was a full English breakfast today?"
"I did say that," Daphne says brightly. "But no, there isn't."
Pansy frowns. "But you said—"
"I lied. I just wanted to list a load of food and make you feel miserable," Daphne says, flopping backward against her pillows. "Had to get back at you for stealing my Ogden's somehow."
Pansy snorts, then stands. "I suppose that's fair. But I'm afraid that'll be one less cat named after you," she says, petting Felix.
"What? Why?" Daphne sits up again, looking genuinely upset.
"You were trying to make me feel sick? That's cruel, Daph. And I can't reward that kind of behavior with a cat named after you, so I suppose Daphne Three will just be a fond dream." She drops a kiss to Felix's head and smiles when he gently butts against her face, then starts toward the bathroom.
"You can't take away Daphne Three!" Daphne calls after her, stung. "Not when I've just singlehandedly salvaged your entire bloody relationship!"
"Again, you're presuming. But if you did, then I'm sure Daphne One and Two will thank you," Pansy says over her shoulder with a grin.
"Pansy Parkinson, you're awful!"
"But you still love me," Pansy sing-songs. She hears Daphne grumble Merlin knows why as she closes the door and she laughs.
She crosses to the bathtub and turns the tap, then takes a deep breath and slowly exhales as she watches the water flow into the tub. Perhaps it's foolish, but now that she knows there's a chance Hermione was lying, that tiny ember of hope is back, burning tenaciously within her heart. The absolute heartbreak of last night feels like a long-ago and terribly embarrassing memory, and she's once again desperately looking forward to seeing Hermione again.
Absently, she tests the water temperature with her hand as she ponders what her next step should be and after a moment, she realizes that there's only one thing left to do—she has to do what she intended to do last night.
She has to be honest with Hermione.
She's not going to see the other witch until Monday, but that doesn't mean she can't start the process. All she has to do is set up an in-person meeting via her parchment. It's something she's been wanting to do for ages now, but she had been worried that it was all too soon. But now that it's clear that she and Hermione are genuine friends with the potential for more, now seems as good a time as any.
And to be honest, it feels only right to make the first contact via parchment. It's where everything had started, after all. There had been moments in the library where she had found the confession on the tip of her tongue, but then some foolish, romantic part of her would whisper, wait, not yet, and convince her to make the reveal a genuine moment, rather than something hastily confessed over stacks of books.
Of course, there's still a chance that Hermione won't want to bend the rules. She might insist that they wait until the experiment ends, and in that case, Pansy will just have to put aside her fanciful little dream and tell her in person, without ceremony. But that tiny, silly, romantic part of her secretly hopes that Hermione will be easily swayed and she'll get to have the moment she's been waiting for.
Pansy turns off the tap and strips off her grimy clothing. She bundles everything up and tosses it into the corner of the room, hoping she remembers to cast a Cleaning Charm on the pile later. Then, she steps into the bath and groans a bit at the deliciously hot water against her skin. The heat helps her muscles start to relax, and as she settles back and closes her eyes, she lets herself imagine what life will be like with Hermione by her side. She lets herself imagine a tiny, one bedroom flat, somewhere in a cozy little corner of London, full of plants, cats, and far too many books for any two people to own. And of course, she lets herself imagine Paris.
Each imagined glimpse into their future together leaves her almost desperate with want, and by the end of her bath, she finds herself dying to set up a meeting. She wants this future and she wants it now.
Merlin, she hopes she's actually Hermione's type.
***
Saturday night finds Pansy seated in a comfortable leather armchair, tucked away in a secluded nook of the Slytherin common room. She's bent over a sturdy antique writing desk and sporting a small frown as she gently runs her quill back and forth over her lips.
Turns out it's surprisingly hard to find a casual way to ask if Hermione would like to meet.
She's vanished half a dozen attempts over the past fifteen minutes, and each time she thinks she's found something decent, the parchment censors will activate and highlight her words in red. It's aggravating enough that Pansy's been tempted to rip her parchment in half a few times. But instead, each time her words glow red, she takes a deep, measured breath and tries again.
She has a good feeling about attempt number nine.
Robin,
Here's something you might not know about me—I don't care about house points.
When I decided to write to you the first time, it wasn't in some mad attempt to win the House Cup. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less about that aspect of this experiment. I wrote to you simply because I wanted to know who was on the other end of my parchment. And now that I do, I must confess that it wouldn't matter if McGonagall ended this experiment by awarding me a thousand points, or if she presented the Cup to me and me alone. All of that would be meaningless, because I've already won the best prize of all—I've met you.
Here's something else you might not know about me—patience is not one of my virtues. I wanted to know who you were after the very first message you sent to me. But I forced myself to wait. To enjoy the process. To tell myself that three months would pass by in the blink of an eye. Which is why every morning, I woke up, I sipped my morning tea, and I forced myself to be patient.
But here's the thing—I'm tired of being patient.
I don't care about house points, Robin. I only care about you. And to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure if I can manage another day of patience.
I hope what I'm insinuating is clear. And if you don't feel the same way, that's fine. I'll understand, and I'll keep forcing myself to wait. But if you do, then…
Have you ever seen the beech tree on the banks of the Black Lake? I've always been fond of it. There's a certain time in the late afternoon where the sun filters through its leaves just so and makes everything look beautifully golden. I'd imagine it's about an hour before sundown. I wanted to spend part of tomorrow underneath that tree, but there's the Hogsmeade trip, so…I suppose I'll just have to wait a week.
If you've never sat beneath that tree, I'd recommend it. Normally, it's fairly secluded, but sometimes if you're lucky, you might find some decent company there.
Twenty-one more days…?
Yours, always and forever,
Bard ♥
Pansy re-reads her message a few times, making sure the details are vague enough. Once she feels confident that she's finally evaded the censors, she picks up her wand, holds her breath, and taps the parchment.
The ink sinks into the parchment and her words immediately turn to gold. She exhales sharply and grins down at her parchment with delight.
She's done it.
She's actually asked Hermione to meet in person. And if Hermione says yes, she's only a few days away from revealing her identity once and for all.
Her hand trembles a bit as she puts down her quill. She's absurdly nervous and waiting for a reply seems akin to torture. Absently, she bounces her leg and looks up from her parchment to gaze around the common room, hoping to find some sort of distraction.
She lets her gaze linger over all of the wonderfully normal scenes around her, and all of the people who are blissfully unaware that she's just taken a massive step toward changing her destiny.
A few chairs over from her, a very bored looking Millicent is arm wrestling Theo. He's red in the face and looks like he's three seconds away from combusting, but Millicent looks completely unaffected. Pansy had overheard that she's in training for some mad arm wrestling contest to be held in the common room next Sunday, and honestly, she'd bet every Galleon she has on Millicent winning the whole thing.
Her eyes flicker over to Tracey who's sitting on the arm of a chair, taunting Theo and popping Every Flavour Beans into her mouth. She's also tossing every third jellybean at the side of Theo's head, and each time one hits, his face turns a darker shade of red. By the time Millicent finally gets bored of taunting him and slams his arm down onto the table, Theo is practically puce. He immediately demands a rematch and Pansy lets her eyes wander away before she can see if Millicent takes him up on it.
Her gaze settles on a small group of Slytherin third-years playing Wizard's Chess in front of the fire. They're all completely unaware of a small, grey tabby cat nearby, watching the pieces with wide eyes and a twitching, bushy tail. It's clearly about to pounce and scatter the pieces and Pansy grins; she's pleased the cat will be the real winner of the game. She's content to watch until the cat makes its game-ending move, but a movement from the hearth distracts her.
Blaise is sitting in front of the fire, whispering something in the ear of a blushing, embarrassed looking Slytherin fifth-year, and Pansy's smile immediately fades. She recognizes the girl as Bridget Thorpe, one of the sweeter members of the Slytherin house. Pansy doesn't know too much about her, but what she does know is all good. She knows that Bridget is always kind to the younger students and takes the time to get to know them, that she adores Felix and frequently asks Pansy if she can pet him with a shy smile, and that she's best friends with an equally sweet Hufflepuff girl. In short, Bridget is a genuinely good person.
And Blaise? Blaise is a smug, pompous bastard who only cares about Blaise.
He leans back with a self-satisfied smirk as he trails a hand over the Bridget's knee, and Pansy grits her teeth.
Bridget's too good for him, and Pansy doesn't want her to go down the same, awful, heart-breaking road Daphne had gone down.
Not if she has any say in it.
Casually, Pansy slips a hand into her pocket and waits for Blaise to lean forward and whisper something else. When he does, she grips her wand, points it at him, and whispers Eructo. Blaise opens his mouth once more to whisper something, but instead, he loudly belches in Bridget's ear. She scrambles backward quickly with wide eyes and when Blaise opens his mouth to apologize, he belches again.
Blaise claps a hand over his mouth and turns to glare around the common room, clearly searching for the person who had jinxed him. When his eyes land on Crabbe and Goyle, cackling at his misfortune from across the room, he stands up with a face like thunder and crosses to them, leaving Bridget all on her own. But she's not alone for long—a few Slytherin fifth year girls join her to laugh over Blaise's misfortune, and Bridget immediately grins, not seeming to miss Blaise's company at all.
Pansy watches the display with a smile, pleased that she's both gotten away with her prank, saved a good person from an awful man, and will have something to amuse Daphne with later.
After she's had her fill of watching Blaise furiously burp at Crabbe and Goyle, she glances back toward her parchment to find a silver message waiting for her, and her breath catches. Hastily, she pulls the parchment toward her and begins to read.
Dear Bard,
As long as we're trading little-known facts, here's one about me—I always follow the rules.
Pansy feels her heart sink, but she keeps reading.
I know what you're thinking: "the great Robin Hood of Hogwarts is just a silly little teacher's pet?" Sadly, it's true—if there's a rule to be followed, I'll follow it. Especially when it comes to assignments. I follow instructions to a tee and what's more, I get cross with others when they decide to flaunt directions.
(I'm really selling myself to you, aren't I? Still think I'm a prize?)
But now that you know what a stickler I am for the rules, let me tell you something I just learned about myself, not even five minutes ago—apparently, when it comes to you, all bets are off.
When I read your message, I didn't even stop to think about the rules. The only thing on my mind was how desperately glad I was that you brought this up. Because while I didn't mind being patient at first, lately, I've found it almost impossible.
I don't care about house points either. And somehow, against all odds, I don't care about the rules.
I think I'd break every rule in the book when it comes to you, bard.
(If it's not obvious by now, my answer is yes.)
You know, I think I'm fairly good at magic, but somehow, I still haven't figured out what this spell you have over me is.
All I know is that I seem to be powerless against it.
Yours, in anxious, unbearable anticipation,
Robin ♥
Pansy exhales shakily as she finishes the message. It's actually going to happen. After all this time, Hermione is going to find out who her bard is. A week from today, everything will be out in the open.
Anxiety and excitement bubble in Pansy's stomach as she picks up her quill to reply.
Dear Robin,
I'm afraid whatever spell I have over you pales in comparison to the one you have over me. Do you know, I've done nothing but think of you for weeks now? I'll start a thought and by the time I get to the end of it, it's turned to you. I shudder to think what some of my assignments have looked like as of late. How many essays have I turned in that start with the history of the Giant Wars, only to devolve into an ode to you by the end? Honestly, it'll be a miracle if I manage to graduate on time.
It feels almost surreal to say "seven days left," but here we are. Though as excited as I am to write that, there's a part of me that's almost disappointed. It's lovely to have something to look forward to, isn't it? Nothing compares to the delicious anticipation of something you're looking forward to drawing near.
Perhaps I should start a countdown to Paris?
Before Pansy can keep writing, someone falls into the armchair next to her with a huff. Pansy turns to find Daphne, already glancing down at her parchment.
"Writing your girlfriend?" Daphne asks as she shrugs off her robes.
Pansy glares at her. "Care to announce that any louder?"
"Sure." Daphne takes a deep breath and loudly says, "writing yo—"
Before she can finish, Pansy drops her quill and claps a hand over Daphne's mouth. She rolls her eyes as she feels Daphne's lips turn up against her palm in a smirk.
"Hilarious," Pansy says dryly. "But I wouldn't test me if I were you," she adds, removing her hand.
"Oh?"
"Mm. Just look at what I did to Blaise."
Daphne frowns, then follows Pansy's gaze toward the corner of the common room where Blaise is still uncontrollably belching, much to the delight of everyone in earshot. Daphne's mouth falls open and when she turns back to face Pansy, her eyes are shining. "You did that?" she asks with a grin.
"I did."
"Why?"
Pansy shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he hurt my best friend and I'll never forgive him for it?"
"Merlin…remind me to never cross you," Daphne says, glancing back toward the scene with amusement. Then, she turns back to Pansy and her smile softens. "Thanks," she murmurs.
Pansy nods. "It also doesn't help that he's a slimy bastard."
Daphne laughs as she leans back in her chair. "Well, we can't all pick a perfect partner on our first go-around, now, can we?"
"First go-around? Did you forget about Draco?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. First real go-around," Daphne says, rolling her eyes. "All that pathetic, forced fumbling with Draco didn't count. But speaking of pathetic fumbling," she says, glancing pointedly at Pansy's parchment. "Please tell me you're finally writing something interesting."
"What do you mean?" Pansy asks with a small, confused frown.
She thinks all of their letters have been interesting.
"I mean something dirty."
Pansy raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head. Of course that's what Daphne had meant. "No," she says, picking up her quill once more. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Pansy! It's been ages! You mean to tell me that in all the pages and pages you've written, you've never once sent a dirty message?"
Pansy scoffs and shakes her head. "Does Hermione really seem the type to write dirty messages?" she asks, keeping her voice low.
"Oh, you'd be surprised. It's always the ones you suspect the least." Daphne loosens her tie and says, "you think, oh, she'd never be able to enjoy anything, not with that massive stick so far up her arse…"
"Daphne."
"But then one night, you find yourself alone in the library with her and next thing you know, Pince is banning you from the place for noise violations," Daphne says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Pansy feels her face flame at the mention of the library and she drops her eyes to her parchment. "You're awful," she mutters, desperately trying to keep her thoughts from turning back to what had happened last night. "Besides, Hermione would never degrade the library in any way, shape, or form."
"You think that now, but mark my words—it's always the ones you'd never expect." She crosses her legs and says, "it's why I have a theory that Longbottom is secretly spectacular in the bedroom."
"Longbottom?" Pansy says, raising her eyes to stare at Daphne in some vague mix of shock and disgust.
"Mm. I bet his wand isn't the only thing that's eleven inches and unyielding…"
Pansy grimaces in distaste. She takes her wand out of her pocket and holds it out to Daphne. "Obliviate that sentence from my memory. Please."
Daphne rolls her eyes and swats at Pansy's wand, then looks at the parchment again. "So what are you writing? Something prudish and boring, I presume?"
"No, I…" Pansy trails off and bites her lip nervously, then murmurs, "we've made plans to meet in person," she says. "Next Sunday."
Daphne's eyes widen. "Next Sunday?" she repeats. "That's…I mean, Pansy, that's huge."
"I know."
"Merlin…after all this time. Are you nervous?"
Pansy starts to shake her head slowly, but eventually it morphs into a nod and she confesses, "I'm terrified." It's true—she's far more anxious than she had expected to be. But at the same time, there's a current of optimism running through her, and she's trying to cling to that instead of letting the overwhelming fear drown her.
"Well, don't be. Like I said, there's not a doubt in my mind that she has feelings for you."
Pansy scoffs and looks down at her parchment. "I wish I could be that sure."
"You don't have to be." Daphne bends down to untie a shoe. "Remember, this is my area of expertise."
"Mm, how could I forget your symposium on body language," Pansy mutters, absently re-reading what she's already written.
"You joke, but I could give a symposium," Daphne says, undoing the knot on her other shoe. "Anyway, just wait and see. By this time next week, you'll have a girlfriend. I'd stake my entire reputation on it."
"A girlfriend?"
Daphne's hands freeze on the laces of her shoes and Pansy's head whips around. Draco is standing behind her chair, regarding her with carefully guarded eyes. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he glances from Pansy to Daphne and back again.
"Moving awfully fast, aren't you?" he asks.
Pansy exhales sharply and Daphne slumps in her chair with relief. Because of all the people to overhear the comment, Draco's honestly the best.
She had told him the whole truth two weeks ago and while he hadn't been as supportive as she would have hoped, he had promised her his silence. He had also agreed to tell his parents they were back together in an attempt to throw Pansy's father off her scent and convince him that she was a non-threat. It was clear Draco still felt guilty over the Howler and wanted to do whatever he could to make it up to her, which Pansy of course appreciates.
But he's also been stilted and awkward with her, and she appreciates that far less. He had told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't understand the "decisions" she was making, and he had implied more than once that she was just confused. Pansy had then told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't confused, that she didn't need him to understand her "decisions," that she was happy with who she was, and that if he had a problem with that, he could bloody well sod off.
He had muttered an apology that day, but ever since then, all of their interactions have felt forced. Draco always seems as if he's in a hurry to get away from her, he's barely able to look her in the eyes most days, and whatever easy, warm rapport that used to exist between them is more or less gone.
Pansy's not surprised—she knows that Daphne's reaction to her sexuality had been a surprising and wonderful outlier, and she knows that Draco's reaction is a better barometer of what the rest of the world will think about her. And perhaps even that's being too kind. But even though she's not surprised by his reaction and even though she thinks that all things considered, it could have gone worse, it doesn't mean that she's not hurt.
Pansy lifts a hand to her chest, glances around to make sure Draco is the only one who had heard Daphne's comment, then murmurs, "Daphne's exaggerating. I don't have a…a girlfriend," she whispers. She gives Daphne a small glare and whispers, "and for future reference, this is the appropriate volume to use when discussing these matters."
"Sorry," Daphne murmurs, dropping her eyes and looking genuinely contrite.
"So who is she?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms over his chest.
Pansy briefly glances at her parchment, then back at Draco. "No one you'd know," she says, hoping she sounds vaguely believable.
"Oh? It's a small school. Try me."
Daphne jumps in and says, "who said she's from here? For all you know, she could be a half-Veela from the French Riviera."
Draco's mouth twists into a small, unamused smirk and he shakes his head. "Right. Don't know why I bothered asking. After all, it wouldn't be our relationship if there weren't dozens of secrets at play, now, would it?"
Pansy winces. "Draco…"
"No, sorry, I just…" he sighs and runs a hand through his sleek, blonde hair, mussing it a bit in the process. "You don't have to tell me. Honestly, I don't even care. I just wanted to tell you that I've had an owl from my mother. Apparently she's heard from your mum and she said that she's over the moon that we're back together." His face twists into another pained, small smile. "Anyway…hopefully that'll keep your father off of your back for now."
"Thank you," Pansy says. When Draco simply nods, Pansy takes a moment to glance toward the open chair beside Daphne with a raised eyebrow. But before she can actually ask Draco if he'd like to sit for a while, he shifts uncomfortably.
"Right. That's all I had to say, so I'll just…" he jerks his head toward the middle of the common room.
"Right," Pansy echoes. She sighs quietly and adds, "thanks for letting me know."
Draco nods and opens his mouth as if he wants to add something. But instead, he shakes his head, then turns and quickly walks toward the couch where Tracey is forcing a very unhappy looking Theo to do a blind taste test of Bertie Bott's.
Pansy watches him for a moment before turning back to Daphne.
"Sorry," Daphne murmurs, still looking shamefaced. "I didn't notice him. I'll be more careful from now on, I promise."
Pansy nods a bit stiffly. "I'd appreciate that."
Daphne nods, then bites her lip nervously. "You're furious with me, aren't you?"
"I—"
"Honestly, you're right to be. Do you know how many times my mum has told me to look before I speak?"
"Isn't the saying look before you leap?"
"Exactly!" Daphne says. "She had to change the saying! That's how awful I am." She tucks her legs under her and says, "but I am sorry. You can jinx me, if you like. I'll stand next to Blaise and burp for the rest of the night."
Pansy chuckles. "Much as you deserve it, no. I won't jinx you. And I'm not mad at you. I didn't notice Draco either. No one would have. Merlin knows, he glides about like a bloody Dementor. Honestly, I'm just…I'm frustrated at him." Pansy sighs and glances over at Draco once more, then shakes her head. "But I'm not going to grovel and plead for his presence in my life," she says firmly. "I want us to be friends again, but if that's not what he wants, then…" she shrugs and look back at Daphne. "Then I suppose that's that."
Daphne hums, then says, "I think he'll come around. I think he's still just hurt over the whole situation. Not that he has any right to be," she adds quickly.
"No, he does. It was wrong of me to wait so long to tell him the truth. But I just wish I knew how much of his reaction is residual hurt and how much of it is him thinking there's something wrong with me."
"Whatever it is, you know there's nothing wrong with you, don't you?" Daphne asks, looking at Pansy with a small, concerned frown.
Pansy smiles. "I do. Thank you." She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Anyway, I can't focus all my time on Draco's reaction. I have bigger things to be thinking about," she adds, looking back to her parchment.
"That you do. You have to send a dirty message to Granger," Daphne says, dropping her voice to a whisper this time.
"That is absolutely not what I meant."
"Here, I'll help…" Daphne says, ignoring Pansy. She tilts her head and stares at the floor for a moment, then she looks up with a grin. "Tell her you'll knick a pair of earmuffs from Herbology."
"…Why?" Pansy asks, against her better judgment.
A sly smile comes to Daphne's face and she says, "because when you have her screaming louder than a Mandrake, you'll need them."
"Merlin," Pansy mutters, picking up her quill.
"Ooh, or no! No! Tell her you've stopped studying Charms!"
"Why?" Pansy asks again in a voice filled with weariness.
"Because you don't need to master Accio to make her come."
Pansy looks up from her parchment to find Daphne grinning and looking far too proud of herself. "These are your legendary pick-up lines?" Pansy asks, lifting a disbelieving brow.
"I've never heard any complaints."
Pansy snorts. "Obviously not."
"What does that mean?"
"It means look at your face! With a face like that, you can say any ridiculous drivel you want and get away with it."
Daphne opens her mouth to retort, but when Pansy's words actually sink in, she grins broadly. "Well! Aren't you the charmer?"
Pansy turns back to her parchment once more. "Honestly. Knick a pair of earmuffs," she mutters as she dips her quill into her ink pot.
Daphne laughs then says, "fine, disregard all my suggestions. Turn Operation Woo the Pants off Grangerinto Operation Bore the Pants off Granger for all I care." She stands up and stretches. "While you practice your bleak and tragic Victorian courting rituals, I'm going to have a bath." She gathers up her things but before she goes, she pauses and quietly says, "sorry again for my big mouth."
"It's fine, Daph. Really," Pansy says with a small smile.
Daphne returns the smile, then turns and heads toward their dormitory. Pansy picks her quill back up and finishes her letter. Once it's done, she stretches in her chair and runs her finger over her golden words.
Only a week left.
Seven days before she finds out if she stands any chance with the girl she's absolutely, wildly in love with.
Merlin, she hopes she's Hermione's type.
***
Monday morning finds Pansy seated beside Hermione in Potions. It's the first time they've seen each other since the incident on Friday, and if the slightly awkward good morning Hermione had muttered as she took her seat was anything to go by, it's clear she's still feeling a bit off over their encounter in the library.
"Have a good weekend?" Hermione asks as they wait for Snape to arrive. Her voice a bit higher than usual and there's already a small flush on the back of her neck.
Pansy nods as she drags her gaze away from the flush and up to Hermione's eyes. "I did. Though I let Daphne wreck a perfectly good Hogsmeade trip with a visit to Madam Puddifoot's," she says as lightly as she can manage. She wants to put Hermione at ease and show her that she's not harboring any discomfort toward her. "How that saccharine place stays in business, I'll never know."
Hermione seems to relax just a bit at Pansy's tone. "I've heard Dumbledore's particularly fond of it." As she pulls out her Potions book, she adds, "I wouldn't be surprised if he was singlehandedly keeping it afloat."
"Ah. Stands to reason. He does lack taste, after all."
Hermione looks toward Pansy swiftly. "No, he doesn't," she says. She seems to completely forget about whatever self-conscious feelings she's been having as she gears up to defend their headmaster.
"Please. It's clear Gryffindor is his favorite house."
"It…what?" Hermione asks, her brow furrowing with confusion. "No, it isn't. He treats every house equally."
Pansy snorts and quirks an amused eyebrow. "Come off it. You know that's not true."
"It is!"
"It's not. He gave you the House Cup first year."
"He did not give it to us! We earned it!"
Pansy takes a moment to appreciate the fire flashing in Hermione's eyes, the spots of color high on her cheeks, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Merlin, she's attractive when she's angry.
Eventually, she manages to drag her attention back to the present conversation and says, "by breaking dozens of school rules?"
"By…" Hermione trails off with a faraway look in her eyes, as if she's replaying the details of that night right then and there. Then shakes her head. "We didn't break dozens of school rules," she eventually grumbles.
"Three students out well past curfew," Pansy says, ticking it off on a finger. "That's thirty points lost right there. Breaking into an off-limits area is at least fifty points, so you're already up to eighty."
"I—"
"I've even heard a rumor that you used a Full Body-Bind on Longbottom to go off on your little quest, and as the Head Girl should know, using magic against another student is an automatic fifty points." Pansy taps a finger thoughtfully against her chin and says, "actually, refresh my memory, will you? How many points do we deduct when a student uses a curse against another student?"
Hermione flushes darker. "I—"
"Oh, that's right! I think it's actually a hundred points. Plus a detention."
"Yes, but—"
"And not to mention your actions potentially endangered the entire student body."
"Potentially," Hermione says triumphantly, pointing a finger at Pansy as if the word is some kind of victory. "But the entire student body would be decimated had we not intervened. The entire Wizarding world would be decimated."
Pansy scoffs. "Oh, please. The Wizarding world would have been fine. The only reason it was ever in danger in the first place was because of you three."
Hermione gapes at her in complete and utter shock. "That is not true!"
"Isn't it?" Pansy asks lightly. "Because from what I'veheard, Quirrell was having an awfully hard time getting the stone out of the mirror before Potter stumbled upon the scene to lend a helping hand. Very kind of him," she adds with a smirk.
"I…how did you know that?" Hermione asks with wide eyes, clearly stunned by Pansy's in-depth knowledge of that long-ago night.
"Weasley's a very boastful and a very loud drunk," Pansy says with a shrug. "Maybe you should tell him not to shout your heroics all over the castle if you want to keep them private. And anyway, my point is, you should have lost at least one-hundred and eighty points that night. Probably more. Instead, Dumbledore played favorites and gave you enough points to secure the Cup. Ergo Gryffindor is his favorite house. Ergo…poor taste."
"He didn't give us points!"
"Really? You think fifty points for a game of chess is reasonable?" Pansy shakes her head. "Absolutely mental. By that logic, I should have earned fifty for the perfect game of Gobstones I played second year. But you tell yourself whatever you need to in order to justify a mad system that pits students against one another." Pansy's aware that she's parroting Daphne's long-held complaint against house points, but it's not like she disagrees.
"I…" Hermione shakes her head, bewildered. Finally she says, "it was a good game of chess!"
Pansy stares at Hermione for a moment. Suddenly, her lips twitch.
Hermione notices the subtle movement and her eyes narrow. "Pansy…"
"No, right. It was a good game of chess that absolutelydeserved fifty house points. That doesn't sound mad at all." Pansy's lips twitch again. She glances down at Hermione's mouth and notices the slightest hint of a smile lurking there, and just the sight alone is enough to make Pansy break out into a full grin.
Hermione shakes her head and after fighting against it for a moment, she finally allows her own smile to fill her face. "Oh, fine. Maybe he plays favorites. Happy now?"
"Positively ecstatic, thank you."
Hermione rolls her eyes, then says, "but that said, it wasa good game. McGonagall enchanted the board, so technically, Ron beat a professor."
Pansy snorts. "Or maybe McGonagall's just absolute shit at Wizard's Chess. Honestly, if I was defeated by an eleven-year old, I'd retire. No, that's too tame. I'd change my name, flee the country…"
"Prodigies do exist, you know," Hermione says, cutting Pansy off.
"If you're seriously about to make an argument than Ronald Weasley is a prodigy in anything, I'm going to have to hex my own ears off."
Hermione just shakes her head, but then she smiles at Pansy fondly and with far too much warmth shining in her eyes.