6.

Pansy:

Tell me what you read and I will tell you who you are.

Any teacher who saw her would say something along the lines of: "Parkinson's, get off there, it's dangerous." But there she was, breaking that rule, sitting on the railing of a small bridge that linked two parts of the castle. It was at a considerable height. Her feet could not touch the ground, so a bad move or a malicious push could cause her to lose her balance, and if that happened, she had better fall to the inside side of the bridge and not out.

It wasn't cold yet, but she did notice that the sun was getting weaker every day and her hands were consequently more and more icy. She loved the cold, even if her body couldn't handle it well. The wind on the bridge was trying to mess up her hair but at that moment she didn't care. Her head ached a bit during the afternoon so she hoped the low temperature would help stop her from feeling that hot pang in her temples. It worked for her, she hardly remembered the discomfort that overwhelmed her during the day without letting her take a nap again in Astronomy class.

Astronomy... What did that remind her of? Oh, sure! Of Granger, the impulsive Gryffindor. The one that appears from the shadows and hugs you, the one that is by your side out of nowhere and scolds you for not taking notes in class, the one that becomes the first thing you see when you wake up from your nap and you see yourself tied up to study with her . "How can I not remember her?" She snorted in disgust.

But it was all over now. Her adventure with the Gryffindor came to an end when the star map was delivered earlier today, a few hours ago. Now she was free. Free of her. She had even apologized. It was done. And what a relief! At last she felt her lungs stop being crushed with that annoying thing called guilt!

"Pansy! Hello! Hermione was just telling us about you!" Someone in the distance yelled at her.

Words could also cause her to lose her balance. She had to hold onto the concrete of the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned even paler than they were. She felt as if a ghost had appeared at that moment and was reading her thoughts, which could be summarized as such: Hermione.

A little dumbfounded, she turned her head slowly. There was the only student in all of Hogwarts who managed with kind (and accurate, to the point of being creepy) words stagger to the most solid building in England: Luna Lovegood.

"I was telling you that we turned in our astronomy work today," Hermione Granger cut in nervously. She was next to Lovegood, looking at her with a certain hatred for her big mouth that accused her of talking about the Slytherin. Granger talking about Pansy, what a scandal that was!

Also there was Ginny Weasley, who pursed her lips, holding back her laughter as she watched the interaction as a mere spectator.

Pansy straightened in her place. She did not know what to say, she was still somewhat distressed by Lovegood's innocent but revealing words. She felt like the world was making fun of her: "Freedom, you said? We pushed you to Granger again, don't sing of victory so soon. Oh, by the way, also to this slightly crazy blonde."

"How are you, Pansy?" Lovegood asked as she approached. Weasley followed her without much thought. Granger on the contrary, looked down the hall and then at her friends, hesitating, but in the end she followed them as well.

"Good," she said curtly, hoping they would see that she was fine without company.

"It's a bit cold. You aren't wearing a coat. Have you been here long?" But Lovegood was Lovegood, and of course she didn't get that. Read your thoughts? Of course, she did so with ease. But something as simple as wanting to be alone, no. She had it almost written in the middle of her forehead, but no, that was escaping her sharp mind.

The redhead seemed to be as aware as Pansy that the blonde was not planning to leave soon, so she also settled on the railing, imitating the Slytherin, with the difference that she leaned her back against one of the columns, for greater comfort. Lovegood certainly wasn't planning on going anytime soon.

"What do you read?" The clever Ravenclaw continued, having also managed to notice a couple of books that she left near her, leaning on the railing. Some were about the subjects she was studying, but the newest, which were on top of the pile, were her own, readings for entertainment. She stirred the pile of books as she replied:

"Class books... And a magazine." She took out one of her typical magazines that she always carried for when she preferred something light. "You see?"

She dropped the magazine on the pile of books, leaving Lovegood's hand dangling, just starting to reach out to grab what Pansy highlighted. The Slytherin hoped her movements had worked, she wanted to divert attention from her books, turning them around and leaving the magazine on top of everything, to prevent them from trying to read the titles (if they had not already done so). She didn't feel like talking about it. Magazines were fine, but those books... no.

"I don't think it's a good place to put your books," Granger commented.

Pansy ignored her advice. She was right, but they were her books and she left them where she wanted to leave them.

"Witch's heart," Weasley spoke, reading the name of the magazine with some antipathy. "Why do all the girls read that magazine? It's boring." With an angelic smile, which caused Pansy a certain annoyance, she looked at the brunette and added," Phlegm loves that damn magazine."

"Ginny..." Granger's voice was stern.

"What? It's true." said Weasley, now with a smile from ear to ear, which Pansy associated with her friends when they used to pull together when other girls made fun of Hogwarts.

Granger stifled a laugh, trying to be annoyed, but it was clear that teasing this "Phlegm" was amusing.

"The best magazine is The Quibbler, everyone should read it."

The three girls looked at Lovegood as if she had a third eye.

"I'm sorry Luna, but no. The best is The World of the Broom, "Weasley contradicted, the Quidditch lover.

"It would be better if they read more books and fewer magazines..." Granger complained.

Pansy smirked as she thought the brunette was like an adult fighting teenagers. She turned her head so she could see the landscape again. She felt oblivious to what that group of friends did, even if the blonde tried to include her. If she pretended not to listen to them, sooner or later they would leave.

"When is your birthday?" Lovegood asked.

After a few seconds of silence, she glanced at the girls. She found all three of them watching her. She frowned.

"Did you ask me?"

The blonde nodded, and Pansy sighed, finding no reason not to answer her question.

"The tenth of November," she muttered. And she didn't have to bother questioning the strange question that made no sense whatsoever, as Lovegood stepped forward:

"It won't be long then. Tomorrow is Hermione's birthday. Did you know? She's turning sixteen." Lovegood's gray eyes suddenly grew bored from looking at Pansy and passed to Hermione. "The truth is that I still haven't decided what to give you. What would you like?"

"You don't need to give me anything, Luna... Really."

"You don't like gifts? My birthday is February thirteenth. Almost Valentine's Day! My father says that's why I love chocolate. If you want, you can give me chocolate. On my birthday or Valentine, whenever you like."

Weasley laughed out loud, Pansy could not resist and also gave a laugh, but more controlled. Lovegood was a most curious specimen. The only bitter person there was Granger, who was uncomfortable in both her posture and the way she tried to downplay her birthday. The Slytherin suspected that her attitude was due to her not wanting to talk about the next day in front of her.

"My birthday is August 11," said the redhead. Granger questioned her with her gaze. Pansy understood the reaction, she was about to say, "Who cares about that, Weasley?" But she considered that such hostility was not necessary and that it would be looking for trouble without cause.

"I didn't want to be the only one who didn't say her birthday!" -She complained. Lovegood nodded, as if she understood her perfectly and her protest was not childish. "And I hope everyone at Hogwarts gives me a gift. Everyone!"

"Are you having delusions of grandeur?" Granger scoffed. Who knew the Gryffindor knew how to make jokes? And against Weasley at that! Pansy seemed to have an activity in common with her.

"Hahaha. How funny you are!" Said the redhead with sarcasm drenching her words, especially her laugh. Confident and boasting, she added, but this time looking at Pansy, "You'll give me a gift too, Parkinson. You're sure to find something nice in your magazines."

"Get comfortable waiting, Weasley. I don't think there is something in them that will help you look better."

"You think you're prettier than me?" She gave a laugh of feigned arrogance as she arranged her hair, trying to look flirtatious. She was playing, it was obvious. "There are many at Hogwarts who would claim that I don't need any from a magazine to look good."

"It's one thing to look good, it's another to look splendid. Do you understand the difference between you and me?" She asked as she crossed one leg over the other, tilted her head and widened her smile. She wasn't going to refuse to play. And besides, she intended to win.

"By Merlin. Can you stop talking about yourselves like you're a big deal?" Granger complained for a change. "You're not."

Pansy lost her smile. How was she not splendid? Weasley was just like her, looking at Granger with an "I can't believe you said that in front of Parkinson!"

"Do you remember what we were going to do?" Granger continued speaking, ignoring the insistent stares of the two offended.

"Oh, that's right..." Lovegood recalled, "Neville!"

"Were we going to see Neville?" Weasley was lost. "You didn't tell me that!"

"We can't make him wait any longer. We'll go see him now." Granger ended the subject, turning her body to signal her friends to leave.

"Goodbye, Pansy," Lovegood bad her farewell with a quiet smile, and skipped away. Ginny followed her as she muttered "I didn't remember anything about going to see Neville."

Granger, before turning completely around, gave her a smile. If Pansy was to be honest, she would say that she found her face looked a bit odd, like she was uncomfortable, like she wasn't sure if that kind of closeness would be okay, or like she had eaten a lemon. She smiled back. And the Slytherin must have smiled more naturally, as the Gryffindor's face relaxed, revealing a more honest and cheerful expression, before finally leaving with her friends to find Neville Longbottom.

. . .

The castle at night seemed different. If during the day it was happy, with the continuous din of the students, at night it was almost melancholic or even terrifying, with almost absolute silence.

Pansy's footsteps could barely be heard in the hallways. For the second time that day she broke the rules. Ironic that she was named prefect of her house, being someone who liked to be in the chaos. Perhaps that is why during the summer, when she received her prefect's badge, she returned it along with a letter resigning from the post. As she heard, they gave her job to her housemate Sophie Roper. Draco Malfoy was the other prefect of Slytherin.

Laughter echoed through the corridors. Pansy froze. That was surely Peeves, the poltergeist. He always took advantage of the quiet nights to prepare his jokes. Although she was curious to see what evil Peeves was up to, she changed her route to avoid it; if he was there, who knows if Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, would be around.

Pansy hadn't been back to the Slytherin dungeons since she left them in the morning for the Great Hall for breakfast, and she didn't feel like going back. Lots of thoughts buzzing around, giving her headaches and robbing her of sleep, as if she had enough energy to face Daphne, who to her great luck, was her roommate. Sleeping under the same roof with the enemy was a great irony.

One foot and then the other. Step after step. Pansy was staring at her shoes, the floor. But not in front, she did not see where she was going. And if it weren't for Lovegood, she wouldn't know the day she was standing on either: the eighteenth of September. Tomorrow would be nineteen, Granger's birthday. Pansy clicked her tongue in exasperation. Why had Lovegood said that? Now she was not getting it out of her head, one more problem.

She came by accident to the owlery. She hadn't planned on going there, but she wanted to. Being located in the highest part of the west tower of the castle, and with many windows so that the owls can circulate freely, it turned out to be a cold place. She loved that place and it disgusted her in equal measure.

Pansy didn't like animals, so she didn't have an owl of her own, or another pet. She also didn't like how disgusting and unsanitary that part of the tower was, with bird droppings and the occasional rat corpse. But at least the smell wasn't strong, and if you stayed by the windows, you couldn't feel it at all. So she went there and propped her books on the window frame (she had carried her belongings around all day). Then she put her elbows to the side of the books, leaning her weight on them. It was not long before the beginning of autumn, it was still not as cold as she would like, so she preferred not to bundle up. She wore only her white shirt, her Slytherin tie, and the regulation black skirt and shoes.

A full moon. Stars everywhere, shining brightly. It would have been an ideal sky for an astronomy class at midnight. But for now they were doing theory, not practice, so the classes were in the afternoons.

She let out a sigh. Thinking about Astronomy led her to think about...

"Stupid Granger," she muttered.

She rested her eyes on the books, trying to forget her. It irritated her to have to remember her when she had more important things to think about.

She stroked the cover of the book that was on top of everyone. She was sure that if her classmates found her at that moment, they would say that she was an idiot for not taking the time during the day to leave her books in her Common Room. What was the point of carrying all that weight?

With the tip of her index finger she traced the golden letters of the title that stood out on the cover. She heard the hooting of an owl and looked at it. His big black eyes were unsettling in the dark, but she couldn't stop looking at them. She approached the bird, reached out to try to stroke it, even though she thought it was horrible. The owl bit her finger, the same one that had previously dragged over the golden words. A drop of blood fell from her finger to the ground. Another drop fell, but now a tear.

She went back to the window, grabbed the book, and hugged it to her chest. Two more bitter drops fell down her face. More and more tears escaped.

The memory of Narcisso Parkinson haunted Pansy. She was reminiscing about the last night they were together: Pansy came out of her room, restless, and found him by accident. He was sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room, he had a glass of wine in his hand. Even though her parents didn't tell her much, she knew something was wrong and it wouldn't let her sleep, and it seemed that Narcisso didn't either. When she got to the living room, her father was unfazed. He gazed at the fire absorbed, almost fondly. Pansy nowadays thought it was almost morbid that he saw fire like this, when the next day he was consumed by it. She called him, several times, and when he finally became aware of her presence, he motioned for her to come closer to him. She clarified that she couldn't sleep, and he nodded, understanding her condition. He offered her her glass of wine with an almost boyish smile. "My father, your grandfather, used to drink with me sometimes. But not wine, he never liked it, he preferred other drinks," he told Pansy, "he used to offer me a drink when he had to speak to me honestly. We sat like two friends, and not as father and son "; He looked his daughter in the eye the entire time he spoke. The look they had was always similar: green, mysterious, cold. Narcisso was saying that now he would speak to her as a friend and not a father, so she did not question him and took the glass he offered her. As she took the first sip, she thought that he was actually always acting like a friend and not a father. When she returned the glass of wine she had shared, anger welled up from the bottom of her heart: she felt that she was not the daughter of Narcisso.

Pansy may have continued to remember that night, but at that moment, anger called her more. How was it possible to feel so angry at her father and at the same time miss him like nothing else? She cried frustrated, angry, but also from feeling very hurt.

She looked again at the title of the book, "Everything is White." She wiped the tears on her shirt sleeve and leaned against the wall. But her face was not dry for long, her crying did not want to stop. She had carried several books throughout the day because those stories soothed her. She had gotten up without strength, after a nightmare, and was aware that she could not face that day alone. She took her friends with her, the stories that had supported her many times in her life...

She closed her eyes, thinking about the contents of the book. Everything went white in her mind, just as her name indicated. The cold, the white snow. The icy air coming through her nose smelled of lavender. Pansy's body tensed. That was not how the memory she always evoked from that book used to be. It was cold, white as snow, and smelled of the sea. Of salt. Not lavender!

The Slytherin felt the urge to fling the book out of that window, make it fall from one of the tallest towers and destroy itself completely. Forget it, because it had failed her. But it would be useless, the book was not doing anything wrong. It was Granger's fault. "Everything is White" had been her salvation for years. If she felt sad or very angry, she would go to a lonely place and think about him. The night she went to the patio, to sit by the fountain while she cried, she thought about that, that the water that fell behind her was the sea; even if it was fresh water, she imagined it salty. But then Granger appeared. Had she merged with her memory?

Pansy was nervous. She looked back at the bulging-eyed owl, and it reminded her of Luna Lovegood. She looked at her book again, and thought of Hermione Granger.

She was silent, frozen, staring at the book for a long time. She didn't dare put what she felt into words. She was embarrassed to admit that Granger calmed her down. She tried to think about her book several times, but whenever she tried to relax, she thought of the cold, the snow, the sound of the waves, and the smell of lavender. She wanted to avoid that leaking memory, but the Gryffindor had trapped her in a moment of vulnerability and she allowed her to enter. Now she had no idea how to kick her out of there.

"You must be amused by all this. Right, pest?" She said, looking at the owl. The animal responded by tilting its head to one side. Its beak had a small red spot.

During the day she did not speak to Granger. She had talked to Lovegood and played Weasley's game. But Granger remained oblivious to her. Pansy was the idiot who now had an attachment to the Gryffindor. Although... She smiled at her. Before leaving, she smiled at her. That was something. Right?

She looked at the book. She felt the blood drain from her body as it crossed her mind to give Granger a birthday present. She certainly couldn't do that. Don't even think about it. She didn't have the money to buy her something, neither did she have the time because her birthday was in a few hours. They weren't friends either, it would be silly. What would the other think when she received something from her? She could imagine Granger going to find her to say, "I'm sorry, you're very nice, but I think you misunderstood me, I accepted your apology, but I'm not your friend. This is weird." Pansy gulped, embarrassed at her own simulation of the future. "It is also a very poor gift, not even my two Weasley friends gave me such insignificant gifts" she heard the Gryffindor say in her mind. Although she frowned, puzzled. That's not something she would say. It was Pansy who made fun of the Weasleys' poverty, not Granger. Her head had created a classist Hermione Granger with Slytherin attitudes. She needed to sleep, she was freaking out. Also, even though she hated it, the memory of lavender, along with her mental images from the book, had managed to ease the pain and drive away the memories of her father. At least for that night, it was enough, there were no more tears left to cry.

She moved to leave the owlery, but stopped in the middle of the room. It felt the same as when she was in the library with Granger, itchy and very hot. Was it guilt, again? No, it was more of a necessity. Desire to do so. A whim. She closed her eyes tightly, pressed the spine of her book, undecided. Damn Gryffindor tempting her to do stupid things.

"Hey, since you've hurt me, you owe me a favor, pest."

She approached the animal, and before flinching, handed it a gift for Hermione Granger.

"I don't think it's a good place to leave your books," she whispered with a half smile, now calm, walking towards her common room with one less book in her arms and leaving the owl a present to deliver as soon as the sun rose the next day.