A/N: Hello all! Thank you to all those who have reviewed :) and welcome to all of the newcomers to the story. Here's the next chapter - let's see what Pansy does in response to Greengrass's threats. I hope you enjoy it and are excited to see where the plot is headed.

Pansy didn't get a wink of sleep that night. Even after the Body-Bind curse wore off and she was able to head back to her room, she wound up staring at the forest-green canopy above her head until dawn, weighing the pros and cons of staying silent against telling Granger what had happened.

Granger might not even believe Pansy if she told her what Greengrass had done. Daphne had always kept her head down before this year, and even if she could be cold to the students of other Houses, she was nonetheless rigidly polite in public, and she'd never visibly caused trouble.

She hadn't been a bully like Draco and his gang but had instead worked behind the scenes to accomplish her goals, and thus her machinations had gone largely unnoticed, preserving her reputation as one of the few morally upright Slytherins in the eyes of outsiders. Pansy wasn't sure if Granger had seen through the facade, and if she hadn't, it might prove difficult to convince her that it was a facade at all.

But even assuming that she could, Pansy thought to herself, then what would happen? It wasn't as if Granger could do anything about it, not without getting herself mixed up in house politics, and since Granger had plenty of sense, it was quite unlikely that she'd do something like that—especially when it was just to help out Pansy. Granger wasn't invincible; if she was seen mingling with the likes of Pansy, the wrong sort, and that news got out to the public, there could be backlash. At the very least, Granger would be seen as helplessly naive. At worst, she could be accused of being a sympathizer of the old ways, as ludicrous as that may sound. Pansy didn't doubt that, properly motivated, Greengrass could pull that off.

Who would risk so much for a social pariah, especially one who deserved their lot? Surely Granger's motives for seeking Pansy out wouldn't extend so far as to warrant her embroiling herself in Pansy's troubles on the girl's behalf.

And, to be quite frank, Pansy was scared. She could admit that to herself. She didn't want to wait and see what Greengrass had up those silk sleeves of hers, because it was obvious that whatever it was, Pansy wouldn't like it.

Greengrass didn't make threats lightly. That was one of the first things that the smart ones in Slytherin caught on to—only make a threat if you can deliver on it.

In the end, after wavering back and forth between options for hours, a resigned Pansy decided to give Granger the cold shoulder.

Or, maybe not the cold shoulder, she thought, but to gradually distance herself from Granger. Maybe if she did it slowly enough, Granger would get tired of Pansy's excuses and leave her alone. She could pretend she was ill at first, and then keep steadily avoiding Granger until Granger forgot about her. Surely there were enough other people vying for her attention that she wouldn't have much time to dwell on Pansy's absence.

And Pansy would go back to fending for herself. She felt tired and saddened and angry at the prospect, but resolute all the same. She'd been relying too much on Granger anyway; the Gryffindor had become a crutch for Pansy, and as soon as graduation was over and Granger went away to do whatever caught her fancy—because no doubt she could do anything she put her mind to—she would leave Pansy in the dust. It was inevitable. They weren't even really friends, for Merlin's sake!

Yes, thought Pansy as she stood under the spray of scalding water in her shower, lathering her hair as she came to her final decision. This is for the best.

An hour later, when she could stall no longer and her stomach was protesting by means of aching pangs of hunger, Pansy finally made her way down to breakfast in the Great Hall.

As she passed through the doorway into the Hall, Pansy kept her head down, hurrying to her lone place at the Slytherin table. Once seated, she fixed her eyes on her plate and the food in front of her, determined not to look at either Granger or Greengrass. Pansy poured herself a small goblet of pumpkin juice and knocked it back in one go, and then grabbed a blueberry scone and an apple, conjured a small sack to stow them away in for later, and tucked it away into her book bag.

Overcome by nervous jitters, Pansy got up from the table despite having spent less than two minutes sitting there, and instead began to walk out of the Hall in the same way as before: quickly, with her eyes downcast.

She mentally rattled off pleas to Merlin and Morgana and Circe for her exit to go unnoticed, but, as was typical for Pansy as of late, they went unanswered.

"Parkinson!" called Granger, her voice unexpectedly close, and the pumpkin juice in Pansy's stomach seemed to instantly congeal, leaving her nauseous. "Wait up a second."

Pansy refused to slow down, but it didn't make a difference. Granger was at her side in seconds, nudging her gently with her elbow. "Parkinson, have you gone deaf? I've called your name three times now."

"Oh," muttered Pansy. "Did you, Granger? Sorry, I'm a little distracted—not feeling well."

"I figured that might be it," replied the Muggle-born witch sympathetically. "I saw you didn't eat much at breakfast. Wondered if you might be feeling nauseous."

Pansy normally would have used that tidbit as an opportunity to make a snide remark about Granger not being able to take her eyes off of her, but today she didn't even acknowledge the comment beyond a jerky nod. She remained silent as she and Granger walked towards the library. Then, in a split-second decision, she stopped.

"Granger, I can't come with you to the library today. I feel fucking wretched, to be honest. I think I'm going to go back to bed until after lunch; after all, it's just free periods for me this morning."

"Oh." Granger looked a little stunned at that. "Okay, Parkinson, I'm sorry to hear that. But maybe stop by the hospital wing and get a pick-me-up from Madam Pomfrey—"

"Yeah, I will," Pansy interrupted. "Look, I have to go, Granger, I think I'm going to be sick, so...bye."

Pansy turned on her heel and ducked down the corridor leading back to the Slytherin common room, taking small, quick strides. From behind her, Granger shouted, "I'll see you later, then, yeah? Hope you feel better!"

Pansy's stomach turned in shame and suddenly, having to vomit became a very real possibility.

Pansy tried to get some work done in her room, but her mind couldn't seem to settle. She tried writing an essay, she tried drawing a starchart, she tried everything, but no matter what she did, she just kept seeing that stunned look on Granger's face and micro-analyzing it over and over again.

Why had Granger been so shocked? Circe, wasn't a girl allowed to be sick without riling up suspicion? Why had she insisted on seeing Pansy later? Had Pansy been too obvious about not wanting to see her, or was Granger actually, genuinely worried about Pansy's well-being? And what did Granger's reaction mean for Pansy's plan going forward?

And then, most importantly: how in the blazing hell was Pansy going to face Granger come Transfiguration at three thirty?

The Slytherin witch flipped a page of one of her textbooks and, after her third fruitless attempt to absorb any of what she was reading, violently slammed the tome shut and hurled it at the dormitory wall. It hit the stone with a SMACK! and thudded to the floor as Pansy buried her face in a pillow and screamed.

By midday, Pansy was completely exhausted from her sleepless night, and so she buckled and took Granger's advice, sweeping up to the hospital wing to request a Pepper-Up Potion from the matron. Madam Pomfrey had studied her distrustfully, and when she was satisfied that Pansy was actually just extremely tired and didn't intend to use the potion for nefarious purposes (though, admittedly, how one could use the Pepper-Up Potion for nefarious purposes escaped Pansy), she finally gave the student a dose of the stuff, sniffing occasionally in disdain throughout their exchange.

Pansy had to exercise impressive restraint to stop herself from asking the old biddy if she needed some of the Pepper-Up as well, seeing as the woman clearly had a runny nose.

The last thing Pansy needed at this point was detention.

After fleeing Pomfrey's scornful gaze, Pansy cast a Tempus and, seeing the time, swore and took off for Transfiguration. On the way there she was tripped twice, once by a Gryffindor sixth year and once by Fawley, who hissed at her to "remember what Miss Greengrass told you, bitch." There was the odd hex here and there, too, and while Pansy was normally good at dodging them, her scattered state of mind (Pepper-Up could only do so much) was a hindrance to her reflexes, and it cost her.

Thus, it was a thoroughly irritated and harassed Pansy that entered the Transfiguration classroom five minutes late. The new professor, a French witch named Elise Beauchamps, paused in the midst of her lecture and after scanning Pansy's disheveled appearance just shook her head sadly and told her student to quickly take a seat. The woman was kind and mercifully unbiased, and Pansy thanked her lucky stars that McGonagall wasn't teaching Transfiguration anymore.

Pansy went up the rows and felt her stomach sink when she saw that the only available spot was, of course, at the back of the class, beside Granger.

Suck it up, Parkinson, she snapped at herself silently before plunking her arse down in the open seat.

"Parkinson," Granger greeted her with a cautious smile, her voice low so as avoid drawing the professor's attention. "How are you feeling? Did you get in to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Not much better, really," Pansy muttered back. "I saw her and she took care of me, but the potions don't really seem to be helping."

"That's strange," said Granger, frowning. "Well, I'm sorry you're not feeling well, but maybe after class, we can go somewhere more comfortable than the library to study or do work or whatever—because I know you have that Astronomy assignment due that you haven't finished—"

"It's nice of you to offer, Granger," Pansy cut her off, "but I don't think that's a good idea."

"Parkinson—"

"Look, I'm not up for it today, okay Granger? So just leave well enough alone!"

"Miss Parkinson, Miss Granger, is something wrong back there?" called Professor Beauchamps, shooting them a part-annoyed, part-worried look.

"No, Professor," Granger answered calmly. "Our apologies." That was enough to assuage the Frenchwoman, who nodded and resumed her lecture for the second time.

The two girls sat in silence for the next couple hours of class. Pansy refused to look at Granger but nevertheless caught peripheral glimpses of the other witch eyeing her peculiarly. Granger didn't push though; she just took her usual meticulous notes and answered a few of the questions Beauchamps put to the class. Pansy eventually began to relax, cautiously optimistic that Granger would do as asked and just leave her alone.

She should have known better.

Eventually, the chimes of the clock tower echoed through the castle at six o'clock and Professor Beauchamps dismissed her students before bee-lining out of the classroom, muttering about an appointment with the Headmistress. As Pansy hastily cleaned off her desk and began to re-pack her bag, Granger finally spoke up.

"So, Parkinson...who got to you?"

Pansy's jaw clenched. She opened her mouth to spit out some half-formed rebuke, but the witch cut her off.

"Don't try to deny it. You're not really sick. If you were, then Madam Pomfrey would have taken care of it and you'd either be fine now or in the hospital wing. And we didn't have a spat or anything, so I know it wasn't something I did that's making you act this way." Granger glanced around and then lowered her voice from a murmur to a hiss. "That means that someone's told you to stay away from me, and they've done a good job of it, too."

Pansy scoffed at that, but even she knew that it wasn't very convincing. All of her things collected, she got up from her seat and stalked out of the classroom with Granger hot on her heels.

"Tell me," Granger demanded, her footfalls speeding up. Pansy refused to answer.

The Slytherin made it halfway down the hall before fingers circled her wrist and jerked her back. She turned and gave Granger her best heated glare, but the Muggle-born witch didn't even flinch; instead, Granger just returned the glare, her cheeks flushed red with frustration at Pansy's reticence and worry as clear in her eyes as her anger.

Confronted with Granger's impatience and feeling her own frustration mounting, Pansy suddenly felt very weary. She sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit with the motion.

Fuck it, she thought. Granger can't be deterred. She'll never stop pestering me at this rate. It's no use.

Pansy glanced around furtively, and, seeing that no one was about the corridor to witness her actions, and in one frantic move, she seized Granger's elbow and yanked her into a nearby broom closet. Granger closed the door behind them and locked it, plunging the pair of them into total darkness. Within seconds, she and Pansy had conjured several small floating lanterns so that they didn't have to have their conversation in the dark.

When Pansy had finished her bit and looked up to see Granger staring at her with one eyebrow quirked, she sighed.

"Fine, Granger," she spat, "I'll tell you what that happened. But don't say I didn't try to keep you out of it."

And so, Pansy spilled the whole miserable fucking story. She told Granger what living in Slytherin House had been like so far this year, how Daphne had taken over, about the rumours that had started about Pansy and Granger, and about Daphne's little display the night before.

By the time she was done, Granger was contemplating the floor, clearly deep in thought.

"So," said Granger with a nod, looking up at Pansy expectantly, "Daphne Greengrass." Her companion stared at her blankly.

"What about her?" blurted Pansy, baffled.

"Well, what are we going to do about her?" demanded Granger, giving her a look that seemed to say don't be absurd, Parkinson. "I don't know what the best way is to go about this, though I suppose we'll have to start with what she really wanted—"

"We?" Pansy interrupted, incredulous.

"Well, of course," replied Granger, her brow furrowing in reproach. "What, you thought you'd tell me this just to let me know that the reason why you're avoiding me isn't actually because you hate me, but because you're being threatened, and then I'd just leave you to fend for yourself?" Pansy glared at her obstinately and Granger seemed to take that for confirmation, because she scoffed, "Oh, don't act like an idiot, Parkinson, it doesn't suit you."

"Piss off, Granger," Pansy snarled, crossing her arms instinctively. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to help me if it means causing trouble for yourself? I've been a complete bitch to you and I'm scum to everyone here, now; I'm not worth it."

Pansy's breath caught in surprise as Granger took a step into her personal space, their bodies only an inch or so apart. The Muggle-born witch seemed to peer into Pansy's eyes and Pansy couldn't help but stare at Granger's in return. Gold and orange and brown and black, her irises seem to burn like embers in the soft, yellow light of the lantern overhead. They were fucking enigmatic, Pansy thought to herself, entranced and exasperated with herself all at once.

"I told you not to act like an idiot, Parkinson," Granger murmured, putting a gentle hand on one of Pansy's wrists and giving her a tiny, warm smile. "You're not scum to me. I thought I'd shown you that already, but I'm obviously going to have to hammer it into that thick skull of yours a little bit harder."

"Do you always insult a person's intelligence when you're trying to be nice to them?" asked Pansy sharply, trying to deflect Granger's attention from her flushed cheeks. "Because it's really charming, really gets the point across."

"It also seems to be the only way you can absorb a compliment, Pansy," Granger told her quietly, and Pansy felt something leap in her chest when Granger used her given name for the first time. "Every time I try to be straightforward about one, you dismiss me outright, so I have to couple them with insults to get you to listen."

"Why would you mean them, though?" asked Pansy. Her eyes were burning in their sockets, and she blinked desperately, trying to keep those scalding tears at bay.

Granger gaped at her in bemusement, and then before Pansy could react, the Gryffindor had pulled Pansy's arms away from her chest and enveloped the Slytherin in a tight hug.

"Merlin, Pansy," Granger whispered into her ear, her warm breath fluttering through the short locks of Pansy's bob, "You can be so daft." Granger withdrew slightly, not stepping out of the embrace but backing up enough so that she could look Pansy straight in the eye. "I mean them because first of all, they're true, and second of all, I like you, Pansy. I thought you knew that. I didn't at first, true. I mean, yes, you're right, you used to be horrible to me," Granger snorted. "But these past couple of weeks or so, I thought we'd become friends. Was I wrong? Have I misjudged things?"

Pansy stared at her, wide-eyed. "But you're always so...withdrawn...when we're spending time together," she spluttered, totally out of her depth with the conversation they were having. "I thought you were just putting up with me, for whatever your mysterious 'reasons' were."

Granger laughed, and it was a strange, breathy sound that seemed oddly distraught. "Oh, I've been an idiot, too," the Muggle-born said, more to herself than to Pansy, it seemed. "Of course you would think that; everyone's been horrible to you and me being nice to you is weird enough in the first place, I can understand that. Okay. Listen, Pansy. The reason I've been guarded around you is because I didn't want to push you too far too fast. I want to be your friend, but you always seem so afraid of showing any kind of vulnerability that it makes it hard to know what I can say without offending you or scaring you off.

"See, the truth is, I think you're pretty great." Pansy scrunched her eyebrows at that and Granger laughed at her. "Seriously, Parkinson, I mean it. You're hilarious, first of all. When you're not doing that weird Pure-blood mask thing that you people all seem to do, you have absolutely no filter and you swear like a trooper. You're blunt and you're honest, and that's extremely refreshing to me.

"You're also smarter than everyone, including yourself, gives you credit for. I've seen your work. You're innovative, Pansy. You might not be the best at the whole rote memorization thing, but you've got brilliant ideas, and you communicate them very clearly, which is half the battle in and of itself.

"And then, there's the fact that you're strong as hell. It just rolls off you. I don't know exactly what it is you've been through over the past few years, Pansy, but I bet it's been hell—and yet you still chose to come back this year after everything that happened, knowing full well, I'm sure, that people would hate you and try to make your life miserable.

"I really admire that you did it anyways, and part of why I came up to you in the first place was because I thought that it took real courage for you to make the decision to return to Hogwarts, and that, maybe, if you were that brave, there would be other good things about you, too."

Granger smiled at Pansy. "Turns out I was right."

Pansy's eyes stung hotly and before she knew it, she was returning Granger's embrace, burrowing her nose into that wild hair. Granger smelled like apples and cinnamon, Pansy noted absently as she tried her very best not to cry.

"I'm not letting you deal with this on your own, Pansy," Granger told her, rubbing soothing circles into the sweater over Pansy's back. "I'll help you figure something out on your terms, okay? You're going to get through this, and I'm going to be there with you as you do it."

Pansy nodded through her silent sobs of relief, laughing as a belligerent hiccough made its way up and out of her throat. She felt Granger's chest shake with gentle laughter, and for the first time since her arrival at Hogwarts, Pansy didn't feel alone anymore.

"Thank you, Granger," she whispered. "Thank you—Hermione."