November 5th, 1993

"You shouldn't have said that."

The girl's whisper seemed to echo in the silence of the library. Quill jerking to a stop, Pansy looked up from her parchment and glanced around. She had secured a rather hidden spot in between the rows of shelves, determined to finish her Charms homework before she headed back to the dormitory. If she didn't and Millicent spied her working still, she'd be forced to help the girl with her own homework. Sometimes, of course, Pansy didn't mind, for it allowed her to show off how much smarter she was than her dormmates. Tonight, however, she wanted to sit with Draco and Blaise and listen to them discuss the upcoming Quidditch game.

"He's a giant git!"

A boy spoke now. Whoever was poorly attempting to whisper was making it hard for Pansy to concentrate. She pressed her lips together, frustrated, before trying to recall what she had been writing about. Putting the tip of her quill back to the parchment, she read over the last sentence she had neatly written.

There are several reasons Carpe Retractum is taught in both Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes—

"He could've punished you even worse though."

"Yeah? I think scrubbing bedpans by hand is pretty horrible, don't you? My hands still smell, I swear."

A large inkblot was staining her parchment but Pansy neither noticed nor cared. Suddenly, it clicked who was speaking in the aisle next to hers. Weasley and Granger. Of course. How did she not recognize their voices right away? And who else would disrupt her silence? She had a feeling they didn't realize she was near though. What could they possibly be speaking about? Something she could share tonight with Draco? Some secret that would make Draco and Blaise roar with laughter? The thought of it thrilled her.

Standing from her seat, Pansy quietly moved to the end of the aisle. Peering around the shelf, she spied Granger chewing nervously on her bottom lip as Weasley stood on his tip toes to reach a book. Her eyebrows ticked upwards. He was a wizard. Why wouldn't he use a spell to get the book? It was clearly out of reach.

"I never got to thank you."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, for defending me. From Professor Snape. I can be a know-it-all sometimes and you didn't have to say anything. I mean, honestly, he could've given you a week of detentions for speaking back to him—"

"Oi, Hermione, you're—I mean, look—don't thank me. He shouldn't have said that. He shouldn't have even been there! It's Lupin's class—"

"—Professor Lupin, Ron—"

"—and we weren't supposed to be learning about werewolves yet, were we? Snape was only trying to make us feel stupid and you wouldn't let him so. Yeah."

Granger gave a soft sniff and pushed her wild hair from her face.

"I still mean it, though. Thank you. Just… don't do it again, okay?"

"I can't make any promises. I don't think Snape knows how to not be an arse."

The insult to Professor Snape made Granger reach out and slap Weasley's arm lightly. But it was clear she was fighting a smile. Light from the candles showed Pansy that Weasley's face flushed, right to the tip of his ears. Pansy had never seen him go so red before. Whenever Draco insulted Weasley, Weasley would redden in rage. But this was different. Pansy cocked her head, surprised by the soft, embarrassed looks Granger and Weasley were exchanging. Sickening.

"Let's get this book before Harry's done practice, yeah?"

Pansy jolted to life when Granger waved her wand; the book gently floated off the shelf towards the pair. Aware that any second now they'd turn and spot her, Pansy hurriedly stepped backwards before rushing to her table. She didn't want Weasley and Granger to know she had been listening in on them. It would be easy for her to make fun of them, to call them lovebirds and mock them, but… she was surprised to find she didn't want to. Would Draco or Blaise or Daphne ever defend her against a professor? Would they ever thank her if she defended them from McGonagall or Flitwick? Because that's what had happened, wasn't it? Professor Snape must've made fun of Granger and Weasley must've defended her.

Quietly, Pansy gathered her things, shoving them into her bag.

She felt like she had witnessed something she shouldn't have—a tender moment between best friends. Something she had never experienced before. Her stomach clenched and her lips twitched into a frown as she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and snuck away from the pair in the aisle beside her.


March 2nd, 1997

It had spread like wildfire through the school—Weasley had been poisoned in Slughorn's office. Potter, of course, had managed to save him. Draco had gone extremely pale when the rumor hit his ears; he immediately claimed to feel ill and holed up in his dormitory. So when Slughorn had come begging for someone to cover Weasley's Prefect patrol shift, his attention had fallen on Pansy. Slughorn had offered it as extra credit in Potions and Pansy had agreed.

Now, she rather wished she wouldn't have.

Granger's eyes were swollen, her hands twitchy by her sides, her teeth chewing nonstop on her bottom lip to the point that it was chapped. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, to the point that Pansy almost felt… well, pity wasn't the right word. But, for once, Pansy felt something for the girl. She often thought about that day in the library, when she saw the true friendship between Weasley and Granger. For years after, she had been disgusted by the envy she felt over Potter's sidekicks' friendship. It had made her far crueler than normal, especially to Weasley and Granger. It took a lot for her to bite her tongue around the other girl even now, so they patrolled the corridors in silence. But when Granger brought a shaky hand up to her nose to wipe it… something inside Pansy seemed to give.

"Why are you here?"

The words came out sharp, harsh. Granger looked at Pansy in shock. Had she somehow forgotten that Pansy was there? That they were looking for students out past curfew?

"What?"

"I said," Pansy began slowly, staring back at Granger. "Why are you here?"

Granger's eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm patrolling the corridors, as per my Prefect duties."

"Yes, obviously, as am I or I'd be tucked away in bed. You shouldn't be here."

"Excuse me?"

"You're distracted. I'm rather positive a student could run circles around you right now and you wouldn't notice."

They turned a corner and Pansy glanced away from Granger, making sure they were alone still. Did she really care if a student was out of bed? No. But it was fun docking points, especially if they were Gryffindors, and she needed something to entertain her right now.

Pansy looked back at Granger and blinked, surprised by the heat of the glare Granger shot her.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm pointing out your rather disgusting concern over Weasley." Though, really, Pansy couldn't blame her. If it were Draco in that bed, or Daphne or Blaise, she wasn't sure what she'd do. Granger didn't need to know that though. "Shouldn't you be crying by his bedside? Or sobbing into your pillow?"

There had been many nights that Granger had been the cause of Pansy crying into her own pillow, curtains closed around her four-poster bed as she released her frustrations. Jealous, horrible tears would soak her pillow as she wished to be half as brilliant as the witch she mocked. Pansy remembered that suddenly and her cheeks flushed.

"Why do you care, Parkinson?"

Granger asked the question, suddenly relaxed and cool, the fury having left her as quickly as it came. She was studying Pansy as though she were a riddle, curiosity brightening her eyes. Pansy stared back. Why did she care? There was no answer to that so Pansy looked away.

"You're not nearly as fun to tease at the moment," Pansy replied, waving her hand lazily in Granger's direction. "Snotty nose, sniffling... I'd much rather do this alone."

"I thought you preferred me on the verge of tears. Or is that only allowed by your doing?" Granger paused. "I'd say you seemed a bit concerned but I'm not sure, as I've never seen you show any true emotion."

She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, though she wanted to smirk. It was so easy to get Granger to drop her goody two shoes act. And, honestly, it was something Pansy enjoyed making happen very much. Draco didn't seem able to get such a reaction from the Gryffindor anymore but Pansy… oh, she knew what buttons to push to annoy Granger. It gave her such delight.

"Concerned for who? You? Or Weasley?" she questioned, trying to read Granger's expression from her peripheral vision.

"I'm rather curious about that myself."

A choked laugh escaped Pansy and she couldn't stop herself from looking at Granger fully. The nerve of the witch! As though Pansy would ever care about them—a blood traitor and a Muggle born! Granger was serious though, her arms folded over her chest as she waited for an answer. Merlin, if Draco could hear this conversation…

"Are you such an idiot that you don't recognize an out when given one?" Pansy asked sharply, eyebrows lifting high on her forehead. "Leave. Go see your boyfriend. You look absolutely dreadful, which is saying something, as I had been forced in your company when your teeth were the size of a beaver's."

Granger clenched her fists by her side, as though to stop herself from grabbing her wand. She looked very pretty in that moment, despite the red rimmed eyes and runny nose. Pansy's mouth went dry at the realization—she had never thought Granger looked pretty before. She wasn't pretty. Just… well, perhaps, just in that moment.

"Go on, Granger. I won't tell that you've been slacking," Pansy promised silkily.

Granger blinked, as though surprised by the assurance. They held each other's gazes for a long moment and Pansy knew Granger's mind was whirling, could tell by the way her eyes narrowed slightly, by how she bit her lip gently. How many times had Pansy seen Granger wear that look during class? But then Granger turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Pansy without a backward glance.


May 5th, 1998

A collapsed Ministry. A battle won—by the good guys. Pansy didn't know where she stood, as she had taken the cowards way out and hid in Hogsmeade during the fighting. So she waited at Three Broomsticks, where Rosmerta watched her with a wary eye. Rosmerta must've regretted offering the pub as refuge to anyone with nowhere to go once she realized she was going to be stuck with Pansy but, really, Pansy didn't care. The old hag would simply have to deal with her.

Pansy picked at the table top absentmindedly, watching as students and adults filtered in and out. She thought of her friends—they were students too, but enemies to everyone around her. Draco was with his parents somewhere, being questioned intensely by Aurors. Blaise had Apparated away from Hogsmeade almost as soon as the battle begun, begging Pansy to come with him. She wasn't sure why she hadn't or why she didn't leave to find him now. Daphne had taken her little sister and had holed up in the Slytherin common room, under the care of Slughorn, who had come to Hogsmeade to bring back any students who were alone and parentless. Pansy wasn't sure why she hadn't gone with him either.

Perhaps it was because she didn't want to run away from Hogwarts, which had been her home for the past seven years, but she couldn't go back and face the consequences of what she had said several days before.

But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!

Yes, perhaps it was that. The cold rage on McGonagall's face when the words had left Pansy's mouth had said it all. The student body turning their wands on Pansy, as though she was the Dark Lord, still haunted her. Was she not allowed to be afraid? Guilt weighed so heavily in her stomach, though, that she knew the answer.

"I thought I'd find you with friends. Shouldn't be surprised you're left alone."

Pansy jumped, the voice bringing her back to reality so quickly that she had to blink several times to realize who was in front of her. Long nose, freckled face, light eyes—Weasley glared down at her as he blocked her view of the entrance.

"What?" she croaked.

She wasn't sure she had spoken at all the past few days. Weasley sneered before pulling out the seat across from her, sitting without permission. Pansy watched him, curling her hands in her lap. If he had come to hex her, she would have to let him. There was no one on her side here.

"All your Slytherin friends leave you?"

Pansy didn't respond, instead studying the boy across from her. His eyes seemed sunken in, his lips twisted horribly as he glared at her. He looked hostile, angry, malevolent. She thought instantly of the soft look he had worn when he spoke to Granger in the library all those years ago. He wasn't a horrible person, she was, which was why Weasley could smile sweetly at Granger and stare at Pansy as though he was barely refraining from cursing her.

"I have news for you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Weasley didn't say anything further. The hair on the back of Pansy's neck stood on end and she twisted her hands in her lap, waiting. Finally, when the silence stretched on too long, she snapped.

"My God, go on, Weasley. The anticipation is killing me."

The sarcasm she hoped to portray seemed lacking. Weasley's lips pressed together as he stared at her.

"Your dad is dead. His body was found out by the forest and has finally been identified."

Oh.

Her breath left her and she leaned back in her seat, staring into the blue of Weasley's eyes and wondering how she was supposed to feel. Of course, Pansy had assumed her father had died during the battle, fighting alongside the fools he had aligned himself with decades ago. Perhaps that's why she had stayed at the Three Broomsticks. A mother who was long dead and a father who was likely dead… where was she supposed to go? Home to an empty manor to await the Aurors?

"Well," Pansy managed to say, after another terrible silence stretched on between them. "I suspected that. After all, it was either that or he had opted to not look for me after the fighting finished. Either seemed likely."

Something flickered across Weasley's face, an emotion Pansy couldn't read. It seemed to shatter the intensity of his fury. She ignored it. Lifting her thumb to her lips, she chewed on her nail in a rare show of anxiety. Weasley's gaze flitted down to her mouth then back to her eyes.

"Is this how the new Ministry is doing this? Having classmates tell each other if their parents are alive or dead?" she inquired, lowering her hand back down to her lap.

"No. I heard my parents talking about. I wanted to find you and let you know myself."

The confession made Pansy's eyes widen in surprise. Her lips parted and she tried to think of something to say, something as harsh and cold and cruel, but nothing came to mind.

"Why?" she asked weakly.

Weasley seemed to be waiting for the question, for he leaned across the table, closing some of the distance between them.

"You would've turned Harry over to Voldemort given the chance. You're rotten and horrible and you were willing to sacrifice Harry for your own bloody selfishness."

"My selfishness to live?" Pansy interrupted, voice spiking wildly as she straightened in her seat.

"—all you Slytherins did this, your parents did this, he would've lived if it hadn't been for you! None of this would've happened if you weren't so—so bloody foul! He'd still be alive, I know it, I know it! You caused this!"

"What are you talking about? Potter is alive! He won the battle!"

"Not Harry!" Weasley cried out. "Fred! He'd still be alive if it weren't for all of you!"

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he glowered at Pansy. She stared back, guarded.

Ah. This all made sense suddenly. Fred was one of his twin brothers, wasn't he? He had cursed Pansy so she grew antlers at the end of fifth year. It had been horrible. How could she forget him? And he had died. That's why Weasley had so maliciously decided to deliver the news of Perseus Parkinson's death to her. Was it some sort of revenge?

Pansy licked her dry lips as she considered the boy in front of her. The noise of the pub seemed to disappear as Pansy leaned forward. There was barely any space between them now. Weasley's eyes narrowed. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

"There was an army of you Weasleys out there fighting, wasn't there? Are you really surprised one of you died?"

Weasley blinked before standing abruptly and slamming his hands down on the table. He let out a cry—or a roar or a wounded sound that seemed to come from deep inside—and Pansy flinched. He was going to grab his wand from his pocket and kill her, she knew it, and she was almost ready for it, really, when a voice distracted them from each other.

"Ron! Ron, don't! What are you doing?"

Weasley and Pansy both looked to the entrance. Granger stood there, hair tousled even more than normal and cheeks flushed. Pansy wondered if she had run here from the castle. She started towards them, dodging the other pub occupants to reach them. Weasley turned his attention back to Pansy.

"You don't deserve to be here. You're heartless and cruel—"

"You sound much more pleased by my father's death than I do about your brother's, wouldn't you say?" she hissed back. "Who's the cruel one now?

"Your dad was a Death Eater!"

"I'm not denying that, am I? Yet here you are, rubbing it in my face that my father died as if it will somehow bring back your idiotic brother. Your brother should've hidden here with me—he'd still be alive then," Pansy paused, eyebrow ticking upwards. "At least you still have other family to go to, you selfish moron."

Weasley's face flushed. Before he could speak again, Granger arrived at his side, pulling at his arm so abruptly that he stumbled away from the table.

"Ron!"

"Gerroff, Hermione!"

"Ron, tell me you didn't!" Granger turned her panicked gaze on Pansy before looking back at Weasley. "I know you heard what your parents said. Tell me you didn't say anything!"

"Of course he did," Pansy interjected, folding her arms over her chest. "Weasley has never learned to keep his mouth shut, has he?"

Granger's large eyes met Pansy's and there was something there that made Pansy's insides twist. After a second, she realized what it was: pity. That's what she had seen on Weasley's face moments ago and now Granger looked at her the same way. Did they feel bad for her? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"It's fine."

Nothing was fine, so Pansy wasn't sure why she said that. Weasley stopped trying to shake off Granger's grip on him. The pity left Granger's eyes as quickly as it had come, replaced with that intense look of calculation she often wore. Pansy hadn't seen that look in so long—she almost missed it, she realized. Her heart raced as she looked between the two of them.

"I'm… I'm sorry for your loss, Parkinson," Granger said.

"I'm not."

"Ron!"

"I'm not, Hermione! I won't pretend I am!"

"There's no need to be cruel! They lost the war, they—"

"I lost Fred! Isn't that more important? They don't deserve peace—"

Suddenly, Weasley seemed to collapse in on himself and Granger caught him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. The image burned itself in Pansy's mind and she had to blink rapidly to look away. Quickly, she slid out of her seat and darted away from the table.

They lost the war, Granger had said. They don't deserve peace, Weasley had said. Granger and Weasley grouped her in with the Death Eaters and murderers, with the Dark Lord, as if they were there to support Pansy. In that moment, she felt more alone than she ever had before.


Author's Note: This was done as a Secret Santa and became so much more than I thought it would be! Happy holidays, heyHEYohsorry! I hope you enjoy this! There will be one more chapter after this!