Title: What Purebloods (Don't) Do
Rating: T
Word Count: ~500
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Summary: She doesn't care much for the amendments to the law; her place in society was well above it.
A/N: Many thanks to my ever amazing beta, Skepsis66!
The room was classy; she was of a decent pureblood family. Yet, being accustomed to her surroundings was not the sole reason for her indifference to the great works of art mounted upon the walls, displayed as a mark of generations of finely traced history. The walls were painted in a light shade of chocolate, tasteful in their decor without bringing in unnecessarily bright colours.
Her bushy haired companion would have protested her description - "Brown," Hermione had sighed when Pansy had presented her bedchambers, "perhaps somewhere between brown and beige but brown nonetheless," - as if anything belonging to such a long line of power would be so dull.
With her upturned nose directed at the pages of the book in her hand, her eyes scrolled across the bared passages, hardly registering the words. Something about the issues arising from the misuse of love potions – "partaking in such promiscuous affairs, whilst proclaiming it to be an act of sublimation, artificially altering the behaviour of the victim; diverting someone's will is clearly a breach of Section Three of the Witch and Wizarding Freedom Rights 1762. Of course, the whole article needs amending, if you ask me..." – and Hermione proceeded to argue in a particularly irate manner that loop holes in the law meant inter-species people were at risk because the laws were not inclusive enough.
Material which had, of course, been suggested by none other than one Hermione Granger, who, coincidently enough, happened to be the culprit of her current misfortune. It was not as though the hand resting on her thigh was against her nature, purebloods had their little habits behind closed doors, and it wasn't as if she was really affected.
The text was simply boring, dull. Removed from her interests. Purebloods didn't have time for such things; they made laws as they saw fit, not to please plebeians. Her mother would have told her that persons of her superior linage didn't jerk – just slightly – when someone gently traced circles on their knee. The rules had never specified what would happen if said person was a girl because such things simply were not done. Not mentioned, not thought of.
Goosebumps rose on her skin, traitorously revealing the tremors which assaulted her. Warm and fuzzy would have been a good description of the feelings that suffused her body, reminding her of the smiling girl's hair. These were not characteristics of the great Parkinsons, nor of the Malfoys nor the Blacks, though, Pansy thought, she didn't really want to think about the deranged features which splayed across an insane woman's face or the blinding flashes of blond hair; reminiscent moments of messy scrambling and lack of passion in the sordid affair made Pansy decide that she didn't really want to be thinking about that at all.
She allowed herself to gaze into endless pools of hazel and remembered why she tolerated such mind-numbing reading material, why she had allowed the public to jeer at her fall from the throne. Her heart sped up to a seemingly impossible rate and her hardened features softened just a little as she became lost in her thoughts. The satisfied smirk aimed in her direction went unnoticed.