A/N: I just kind of noticed that I mainly write AU - alternate universe - fanfics and that I have not written one on a very neglected, yet great for an AU story, couple that I have loved for a long while. Pansy/Hermione. Yes, Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin girl who was always picking on the Golden Trio. Yes, Hermione Granger, who always hated the boy Pansy obsessed over: Draco Malfoy.
Full Summery: A year after Voldemort winning the Second Wizarding War, Pansy Parkinson is the new Bellatrix, Harry and Ron are dead, and only Hermione remains of the Trio. Hermione is now Pansy's personal slave, a gift from the Dark Lord. What happens when the Slytherin Queen and the Gryffindor Genius become friends? What happens when they fall for each other?
Chapter One: Reluctant
Pansy was just walking out of her elaborate bedroom, freshly showered, her chin-length raven-colored bob damp and dripping onto her shoulders as exited her room and Voldemort's manor when she heard screaming down long, dark corridor.
"Pick it up, filthy Mudblood!" A voice shouted. Pansy's ears seemed to perk up at the sound and then it registered in her mind: Lord Voldemort, the man she loved, was shouting. But he never shouted, his voice barely ever rose above a whisper. Why was he shouting? What could have been dropped to make him so angry? And who was he shouting at, anyway?
Slowly, gingerly, Pansy made her way down the long corridor, the stone floor freezing her bare feet and making her shiver slightly. Finally, she made it and peered around the corner tentatively. The scene that greeted her was appalling. Hermione Jean Granger was kneeling on the floor, shards of a very expensive vase under around her, a deep gash on her pallid right cheek, tears falling down her bloody face. Lord Voldemort towered over her, his striking red eyes alight with excitement it seemed, at watching Hermione cower.
Pansy was horrified. Not only because of the treatment of Hermione, but of the brutality of her beloved. Usually he was calm, and since the war had ended he was almost never violent. Almost. A few times Pansy had worn a bruise on her face or arms as a covered accessory.
Hermione, still kneeling in the middle of the broken glass vase, gingerly reached for a rather small shard of glass, picking it up with her index and thumb fingers. In a matter of seconds, she had a handful of shards and was holding them out to the Dark Lord. He smirked and took the glass from her hand, making sure one particularly large shard cut into her palm. She cried out and glanced around wildly - for what, Pansy was not quite sure - and Pansy was sure her eyes rested on her for a moment.
Pansy gave a start, nearly jumped ten feet into the air when Hermione let out an ear-splitting scream again as Voldemort dug the claw-like nail of his index finger into her bloodied hand. Pansy didn't catch herself as she came down from the involuntary jump and twisted her ankle, landing with a loud thump on the stone floor.
The man previously known as Tom Marvolo Riddle's brilliant red eyes swiveled around and met Pansy's blue-black ones. Her heart rate increased, beating like a rabbit's as he glared at her, then, with a wave of his hand, beckoned her over to him. Shakily, she stood and gripped the smooth, black, brick wall when she nearly fell again from the throbbing in her ankle.
Slowly, Pansy made her way over to the cold-eyed, cloaked figure that was her lover and knelt before him, just out of the way of the glass encircling Hermione. She snuck a glance up at her beloved through her curtain of hand and saw him looking down at her with an expressionless face.
"Pansy," said Voldemort in his soft, yet cruel voice. Looking back at him, Pansy saw that he was pointing his bony, paper-white finger at Hermione, who sat defeated with her hair shielding her pale and dirty face from view as she cradled her injured hand to her chest.
"What?" Pansy asked, confused. Voldemort looked back over at her, glaring. The hand that had been pointing at Hermione swung around and slapped Pansy across the face. Hard. The sound of skin hitting skin ricocheted off the walls and Pansy gave a little shriek of surprise and pain.
"How many times do I have to tell you? You are to say 'Pardon me' not 'what'!" Voldemort snapped, his voice rising to a normal person's vocal volume.
"I-I'm sorry…" Pansy whispered, reluctantly looking into the Dark Lord's eyes as she felt the cheek he had just struck heat up. Voldemort, however, ignored her apology and went straight to the point.
"I believe you know this thing from your Hogwarts years, correct?" He said, pointing to Hermione, who flinched. Pansy nodded. "As you very well know, most, if not all, Muggle-borns and blood-traitors have been taken into custody and sold into slavery. Since this filth ran around with Harry Potter before I overpowered him, I figured you could have her. Train her. Do whatever you will with her, I do not care."
At this Hermione let out a choked sob and shook her head so fast Pansy wondered why it did not detach itself from her neck. Voldemort sighed in exasperation and motioned for Pansy to stand and told her that one of the house-elves would finish cleaning the bloody glass and to take Hermione up to her room. She waited until Voldemort exited the room and his footsteps disappeared down the hall before turning to Hermione.
Pansy knelt down beside Hermione and gingerly brushed the fragile girl's hair away from her face. Hermione gasped and jumped slightly at the touch but slowly relaxed. Her hand trailed down Hermione's arm and her fingertips rested on her good hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you," whispered Pansy softly. "Come upstairs. Take a shower." As she said this, she stood, pulling Hermione up with her.
When they got to Pansy's room, Hermione gasped. She stared in wonder at the large queen-sized bed, with it's dark silver Sweden headboard and the beautifully crafted poles winding up towards the high ceiling, the black-and-white silk comforter, the thick black carpet beneath her dirty bare feet, the white walls that seemed to glow.
"Um," Hermione whispered, her voice was raspier than Pansy had remembered it at Hogwarts. A sign of dehydration, she concluded. "May I have a towel for my… shower?"
"Sure." Pansy said, walking into the bathroom that was about half the size of her bedroom, which was about half the size of a mall. She walked over to the cabinets and open the one to the left of the sink, pulling out the softest and biggest towel she had. She set it on the counter and when she turned around, she saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching her. Pansy motioned for Hermione to follow her and walked over to the bathtub.
"I don't know how you like your showers, Hermione, so I'm just going to show you how it works." She explained, smiling at Hermione, who did not return the smile. "The knob on the left is hot, the one on the left is cold and the one in the middle is what you turn to activate the shower. Got it?" She glanced at Hermione who nodded.
With that, Pansy walked towards the door, then stopped and turned around when she realized she'd forgotten to tell Hermione something. "You might want to wash your hair two or three times." She muttered.
"Yes, Master." Came Hermione's quiet reply. The word Master mad her flinch. She didn't like it. It didn't feel right.
"Call me Pansy."
She closed the bathroom door and after a few moments she heard the shower start up and walked back to her bed and picked up an old Muggle book, Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice. Pansy regarded the woman as a literary genius.
About twenty minutes later, Pansy heard the bathroom door open and, looking over her book, saw Hermione standing the doorway, wrapped in the big mint-green towel, her brown hair dripping. She fixed her chocolate-brown eyes on the carpet and said quietly:
"Do you have anything for me to wear?"
Pansy smiled. Closing her book she walked over to her dresser and opening it, she pulled out a white cotton dressing gown with long, puffy sleeves. Hermione smiled slightly at Pansy and took the gown. She dropped her towel and quickly pulled the dress over her head, so quickly Pansy didn't get a glimpse at her body. Sighing, she walked back over to her bed and rolled down the covers. Patted the spot beside her, grinning.
"You can sleep in a bed, can't you? Or have you forgotten how?" Pansy teased. Hermione forced a smile, though this was not at all humoring her. She gingerly climbed into the bed, pulling the silk covers up to her chin, staring at the ceiling.
Pansy brushed a strand of damp hair away from Hermione's face, smiling softly now. "You know, I'm not like him. I won't hurt you." She whispered, knowing that Hermione would know who he was.
Hermione merely nodded, smiled slightly and closed her eyes. In a matter of seconds her breathing became rhythmic and she was asleep. Pansy fell asleep with her back to the girl who she was reluctant to make her "slave."
A/N: This chapter is literally 1,440 words, the author's notes/disclaimer/full summary not included. It took me two days because of homework and a book report I have to do on Cryer's Cross by Lisa McMann or something like that. It is the lamest book I have ever read. Seriously. Most of the emotion is shown through the dialogue, if that. I probably won't be able to update until next week or maybe next next week because I'm going on a 3-day field trip for school. In the woods. In the mud. Ew. I am not a happy bunny.