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FEMMSLASH! Don't like it? Then please run along to the closest HET story, if curious, or if you like FEMMSLASHY stories, then do continue!
IMPORTANT!
Hey! It's me, HiddenSoulLover. I'm back! Well, I know that I haven't been updating or doing oneshots lately (BUT I HAVE POSTED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF A SHORT STORY 'Wooing Hermoine', which is Gin x Hermione). But here I am, inspired by Christmas, and coming up with this story due to how many people were sad that Hermione and Pansy didn't end up together in the 'Oxygen', 'If Only', '2nd Chances' series. And then the spinoff 'Gomennasai' I made about years later really seemed to depress some.
So FOR ALL OF YOU WHO ASKED ME FOR IT, WHETHER IN REVIEW OR EMAIL OR WHATEVER, HERE IT IS!
WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN OF PANSY IF SHE HAD TAKEN HERMIONE'S HAND THAT DAY?
Hope you enjoy it!
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"Are you sure that it's supposed to look like that?" I ask as with a tilt of my head as I look at the poor Christmas concoction Hermione had proudly baked that morning and placed on the table. "And what exactly is it?"
"What do you mean?" Worried frown marring her usually happy face, Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, looking at the sunken, slightly burnt thing that had an odd scent which I still cannot place. "I think it's the best I've made yet."
Considering that Hermione isn't known for her culinary talents I raise an eyebrow at that but refrain from commenting. If it had been any other person I would have told them the truth, that it is a truly pathetic creation, but just the fact that my Hermione slaved over it all morning, and is looking so cute worrying over what I think about her—could it be a cake?—I cannot help lie. "It's beautiful."
"I don't know about beautiful." She laughs, dark orbs shinning. "But I hope that it tastes like Molly's original recipe did."
Raising an eyebrow at her, I sigh. "Explain to me again why we have to invite them over for our Yule celebration?"
"Christmas." She corrects. "And, it is because they are our friends." Seeing the look I give her she sends one right back at me. "They are your friends, Pansy, even though you and Ron seem to love picking on the other."
"Picking on each other?" I ask, horrified. "Granger, your carrot of a 'friend' and I would Avada each other if you weren't always playing the mother hen."
"That is not so." Quickly placing a kiss on my lips to silence the retort she knows I am about to utter, Hermione giggles at my expression. "Why don't you just go get ready?"
Sighing I head up the stairs to our room. Throughout my bath I think about how my life has changed. My future had been planned for me ever since I was a child, I was to be Mrs. Malfoy one day, yet the day in which I was to go to the Manor to marry Draco, Hermione had appeared in the torrential rain, and offered me her hand—and a future.
A small smile rests on my face as I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, remembering how I had been so afraid that day, not knowing what to do, what path to choose, yet I'd reached for her hand and held on tightly.
The next years seemed to pass by in a blur as Hermione and I lay hidden throughout the Dark War. We'd gone to live in a small Scottish village and true to her word, Hermione had protected me. Both my parents and the Malfoys wanted me dead, not to mention He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and a little before the war ended, we came face to face with a ghost from the past who had been sent for us—Draco.
Getting out of the shower, I reach for the towel Hermione had insisted on monogramming with a large green P, and wrap it around my body, remembering how terrified I had been to come face to face with my ex-fiancé, the man I'd left at the alter. Yet I was to face yet another unexpected surprise, and it had been that Draco had come to warn us—to warn us that his parents had discovered where we were hidden and that we had to leave immediately.
The memory came back vividly.
…
"Why should we believe you?" Hermione snaps, stepping protectively in front of me, wand in hand. He'd appeared in the doorway of our home, and I still cannot believe that he is there.
"Despite what you might think, Granger," Draco drawls, barely looking intimidated by her. "I was happy when I discovered that Pansy had left with you instead of marrying me. Did you really believe that I didn't know that my fiancée was having an affaire?"
My eyes widen. "You knew?" He nods as if this is elementary. "Why didn't you tell me—tell someone else?"
"How would that be of benefit to me?" Draco snorts, irking Hermione by sitting down on her favorite seat. "You would have been killed and I would have been given another fiancée, and I really didn't like either option. Plus, you looked happy."
I am shocked silent by this confession.
"There is still one thing I do not understand." Hermione announces, relaxing against her will.
"You were always fastidious." Draco sighs with manly impatience before turning to her. "And what would that be, Granger?"
"Why are you warning us?"
He is silent for a moment, looking down at his lap, before looking up at her and answering. "I'm only doing this because Ginny asked me to."
That seems to hit Hermione like a slap to the face, she stumbles back a couple of steps. "Are you and Ginny--?"
"Nothing's officialif that's the direction you're bloody taking this conversation to." He growls, before taking in a deep breath and letting it out. "Yet we have remained in contact after Hogwarts and since I secretly work for the Order as a spy, and so does she, we see each other frequently. When we discovered that you'd been found, she wanted to come and warn you herself, but it was too dangerous, so I was voted to come." He still seems ticked about that.
Getting up he shook his head. "Do what you want; I did my part in warning you." With that he heads to the door.
"Draco?" I call, watching him turn. "I know that no Slytherin says this word, but I've lived for two years under the corruptive Gryffindor influence, so, thank you."
He smirks at that and nods, leaving.
When she is sure that he is gone, Hermione makes a face at me. "Corruptive influence, am I?"
I smirk, feeling slightly Slytherin again. Not all of my old friends want me dead or hate me for choosing Hermione. "Damn right you are."
A crooked smile appears, yet it fades rapidly. "If your snake of a friend was telling the truth, we have to go, now."
Draco saved our lives that night. We packed only the essentials and hurried away, later to hear, by rumor of word, that our house had been targeted two nights later by Death Eaters.
We continued living a nomadic existence until seven months later, when we teamed up with Harry Potter (I was very reluctant but Hermione insisted it was the right thing to do), and the Order, and battled it out, Potter finally living up to his destiny and saving the day—one more bloody time.
…
And here we are, ready to celebrate our first 'Christmas' (YULE!) in peace and happiness—I'm not very used to those feelings, but these years with Hermione have helped me come to terms with them and I am actually finding myself smiling very un-Slytherin-like, yet it is okay.
Putting on a green and silver dress—some things will never change—I apply makeup and run a brush through my hair as I hear the first of the guests arriving. From the chatter, rattle, and Hermione's agitated sound of voice, I guess that the Weasley twins must have come with their family.
Going down, I nod to the visitors, seeing pure carrot tops. Somewhere among the red I see a head of pale blonde, and smirk. Draco's engagement to the Weasley girl has been the talk of the wizarding world, much like Potter's deciding to leave the wizarding world. Hermione says that he told her that he needed to get away from memories of the War, but I remember the look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching him. It had been of desperation, of fear, anger and pain. Maybe his contact with the Dark Lord has left more permanent scars than he is letting on.
"Pansy!" Ginny exclaims, engulfing me in a hug, something I still am not used to. I send a look to Draco over the petite girl, and my smirk grows when I see him shrug, his smirk, like mine, seeming more like a smile than anything else.
"If you weren't straight I'd hex you for that hug." Hermione jokes as she joins us, and starts a vivid and lively conversation with Ginny, while keeping her arm around me, and sending me small smiles every couple of minutes.
I melt every time she does that. The doorbell rings, saving me from embarrassment, and I assure Mione that I can open the door without telling whomever it is, invited or not, to scram. She gives me another one of those smiles that make my knees weak, and I turn from Draco's mocking smirk, heading to the door.
Opening it to find Lavender (and another hug), accompanied by Ron, I let them in and am about to close the door when Longbottom and Lovegood arrive, thrusting the presents into my arms and telling me how bloody chilly it was outside before venturing into the warmth of the finely decorated cottage Mione and I are renting.
Passing the gifts to a passing Weasley twin, not sure which he is, I tell him to put them under the Christmas Tree—and not to prank them. He takes them from me and I turn to close the door, suddenly noticing someone walking away from the cottage, shoulders slumped.
Narrowing my eyes I look around before going out and closing the door behind me. The night wind is chilly, and I should wear a coat, but I know that he will have disappeared if I go inside to get one.
"Potter."
He stops, turning to look at me, shadows covering his face as snowflakes begin to fall from the sky. "Parkinson."
Catching up with him, I rub my bare arms. "Though I couldn't care less myself, Mione gets very emotional very easy, so if you just leave without coming in and saying hello after your last disappearing act, she'll spend the whole Yule sniffling in the corners and blowing her nose—not a very sexy picture."
He is silent, looking behind me at the cottage before returning his gaze to me. "I—I can't."
"It's because of him, isn't it? Though he's dead he wont let you live in peace."
His eyes widen. "How did you know?"
I sigh and look up at his scar. "You forget that I grew up in a family of Death Eaters. I know that not even in death is his power completely gone. He'll always linger."
"I just thought—that after he died--."
"For most people he is gone, but with your scar, you're always going to be connected to him. Potter, you're just going to have to grow stronger than him."
"Why me?" His voice is dark.
"Stop putting yourself down, Potter; you're not a baby anymore." I exclaim, growing annoyed by his constant depressive, self-sorry state. "You killed his body, now you're just going to have to learn how to kill his thoughts." I snort. "You're bloody Harry Potter, and while I will hate myself tomorrow for saying this, you're the most powerful wizard in the world—getting rid of someone else's memories and thoughts will be easy for you. You just have to stop being so pathetic and feeling sorry for yourself."
He is silent. "You don't know what it's like."
"I've had it." I growl. "You will get your ass in that house and you will spend the whole time at least pretending to Hermione that you are happy. I will not have you pull her down with you especially when you don't even have a good excuse! I mean, you have people who love you—not counting myself of course—but that cottage if filled with people who annoy the crap out of me, but who love you and would give their lives for you. You at least owe them a Cherry Mixtmus."
"Merry Christmas."
"Whatever."
A small smile appears on his face. "You really do love Hermione, don't you?"
"Would I be putting up with your whining butt if I didn't?" I want to know, eyebrow higher than the other.
He smiles brighter. "Maybe I should go in and say hello."
"Finally." I watch until he enters the cottage, before I turn and look up at the snowflakes falling all around me. When had I gotten so soft? I'd given advice to blinking Potter for crying out loud! Hermione had really assassinated my much beloved and hard earned bitchiness.
"Thank you."
Turning around quickly, I automatically reached for where my wand should be, but of course I wasn't wearing it, and wouldn't need it against Mione. "Don't do that again." Hand on my heart, I frown. "How long have you been out here?"
"I followed you when you came out, and I stayed hidden when I saw you talking to Harry." She admits, coming up towards me, hands clasped behind her back. "Thank you."
"Don't remind me. I'll feel sick tomorrow when I realize what I just did." Turning my back on her, I look up at the moon, closing my eyes when I feel her arms go around me from behind.
"You're such a toughie." She whispers against my back, as she rests her cheek against it. A contented sigh escapes as she squeezes tighter. "I love you, Pansy."
Hearing the shouts and hollers of happiness in the cottage, I give I sigh. "You have no idea how much I love you."
She makes a strange little sound in the back of her throat, stiffening. "Pansy? Do you ever regret having chosen to leave with me?"
I turn to look at her, frown deep. "Why would you ask something like that?"
When she will not meet my gaze I am worried, and her voice is choked when she speaks. "Well, you lost everyone you loved. You lost your family and friends, and now you have to try and be civil to all of my friends, when I know that all you really want to do is to throttled most of them most of the time. Maybe," She chokes again. "Maybe you sometimes wish you had just married Malfoy."
"Never ever think that again, do you hear me?" Grabbing her arms, I shake her into meeting my urgent gaze. "I love you, Hermione. You are my family, the only friend I need. I had never been happy before I met you, and I have never regretted taking your hand that day."
She bit down on her lip, trying to keep back tears. "Not even once?"
"No." Wiping at a crystal drop as it careens down her cheek, I manage a smile. "I'm still bored, Granger."
A small smile appears as she remembers the fateful day when we'd been locked together in Trelawney's closet, the day we gave into what we felt for each other. "Well, I can think of something I can do to entertain you."
My mouth goes dry. The last time she'd said something like that, handcuffs and satin had been involved. "What about your guests?"
Sending a mischievous glance back at the cottage, she smiles. "They'll be hanging around Harry for a while, and they know where everything is. They won't miss us."
Laughing as she pulls me towards the small shed behind the cottage, I shake my head at her absurd, yet sweet and utterly cute fear. How could I ever regret loving and leaving with her? Before Hermione I hadn't even been alive.
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I hope you like it! I'll admit that when I began writing that I had a whole different direction, but the story always takes ME along, and forces me to write what must happen—I'm rather sore. But at least I didn't have to hit my head on the keyboard for this one! REVIEW?