On Teenagers and Love

a story by anamatics

part three - the fog

Chapter 18 - On Revalations


At breakfast not long after her (mortifying) moment of insecurity with Professor McGonagall, Hermione found herself sitting between Harry and Ron, listening to Harry recount another memory Dumbledore has shown him. This one involves Slughorn directly – and probably has been tampered with, judging by the gaps Harry's describing. Hermione's recent success with a memory charm and her research into them is enough to tell her that this was a poorly preformed memory charm. There are moments when a memory can be removed through a penseive or similar process and then be effectively removed from a person's mind with a memory charm. Because the memory is extracted, ghosts remain, unlike the direct application of a memory charm. She thinks that's what the memory Harry's describing is accounting for. Hermione chews her lip and listens to what Harry's got to say – they've got a goal – they need to know more about whatever a horcrux is, and apparently Slughorn has the answer.

Harry's barely through recounting the memory when Hermione catches sight of Pansy Parkinson standing by the doorway to the entrance hall, one hand poised on the carved stone archway as she glances, almost searchingly, over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table.

"I should go look in the library," she announces.

"Hermione, if Dumbledore didn't know, I doubt you can find anything..." Harry tries, but Hermione's already shoved her things in her bag, intent on Pansy and clearing the air before the Hogsmeade weekend. She's already checked the library for horcruxes, after all. There's no record anywhere of them, and she's told Harry as much. It's easier, she supposes, to keep up the ruse of intent research in order to step away from Harry and Ron to breathe and think about what she's trying to accomplish this term. While Ginny has been sympathetic, Hermione doesn't think Ron would understand her questionable ethics and decision making when it comes to what to do about her parents and the potential danger they're in.

The library is largely empty. Madame Pince is behind the circulation desk with a card catalog and a stack of worn, destroyed books beside her. Hermione watches as she charms the books clean and spells the bindings strong once more before updating the card catalog information with the most recent date of cleaning. This is a place she's always felt safe – it's where she met Fleur – it's where she comes when she's truly upset and needs time alone.

The high windows let in patchy sunlight as a rare sunny day has blown in from a cold front moving down from the arctic, chasing away the foggy clouds that so plague northern Scotland to leave behind dappled light. Back in the shadows the stacks, before she crosses into the restricted section, she finds Pansy. She's pulled down a few books at random and is contemplating the table of contents of one of them when Hermione comes into view.

"What do you want?" she asks, snapping the book closed. She isn't bothering to whisper. It's early yet for Madame Pince's patience to be tried by talking and they're both favorites of her's anyway.

Frowning, Hermione sticks her hands in her robe pockets before realizing it looks like she's going for her wand. Instead she folds her arms over her chest and exhales slowly. "I needed to speak to you."

"If it's about arithmancy I'll not check your proofs again. Not if you're going to make stupid mistakes." Pansy sets the book down on the study table beside them and turns her attention back to the shelves. Hermione glances around, realizes where they are, in the section of the library devoted to theoretical charm work. The numbers on the side of the book are all too familiar.

Memory charms.

"It isn't about arithmancy. I actually…" Hermione swallowed, trying to rationalize her way through this conversation before it got out of hand, before she said something she regretted. "I wanted to ask you something and I understand if you don't want to say anything to me about it, as it's none of my business. But I er – noticed – and wanted to ask."

Pansy's eyes narrow. "You? A blind arrogant Gryffindor prat, notice the plight of others?" She splayed a hand over her chest, her nostrils flaring in mock dramatics. "I'm shocked Granger."

Hermione wants to hit her. Her hands ball into fists at her sides and she turns her face away. She can't look at Pansy when she asks. "Outside of my friends, you're the only person who talks to me about my relationship – about wizarding culture that I don't understand – you make a point of telling me things that I don't know and should know. I don't understand why you care. As a Slytherin, you shouldn't. I'm just a mudblood, after all, right?"

The wince in Pansy's shoulders says more than the carefully affected neutral expression on her face. "Maybe I don't want you to embarrass yourself."

"That's fine but why?" Hermione presses. She swallows, looks down at her feet, and blurts: "Are you one too?"

"Am I one what, Granger?"

"A…gay – that is – I mean – are you a lesbian, Pansy?" Hermione's cheeks are burning as she says it. She looks up and meets Pansy's gaze. "It's the only reason I can think of why you would care."

Pansy stares at her, tilts her head to one side, and then sighs. She pulls a chair out from the table and sits down heavily, pushing the book pile toward Hermione. "You've been practicing memory charms, Granger. You should read these before you muddle your whole brain entirely forgetting basic arithmancy concepts."

Hermione stares at her. "I'm sorry?"

"So what if I am?" Pansy pushes on. She sounds defensive. Hermione takes half a step back. "So what if I care about you and Delacour and your stupid star-crossed romance because it gives me some bloody hope that this won't all end in tragedy? It won't matter if you destroy yourself mucking around in your brain."

There's nothing to say then. Hermione sighs and steels herself. Pansy is like a caged animal, but her hands are out on the table, pressed so flat her knuckles are white and there are faint imprints of fog around her fingertips where her body heat has warmed the cold polished wood of the study table. Hermione steps forward and sits down across from Pansy. She glances at the two books and sets them aside. "You know far more than you let on."

"Subtly is lost on Gryffindors," Pansy counters testily. Her hair has fallen into her eyes as she looks down at her hands. "I'm not stupid. Forgetting Q-Constants was basically screaming that you charmed the concept from your brain, asking me to check your work sealed the deal."

"I'm sorry," Hermione says. "I need to learn them."

"Why?" Pansy asks. "What's this got to do with your expansion charm?"

"Nothing." She cannot tell Pansy what she plans to do with the memory charm once she masters them. Pansy cannot know for so many reasons. "Separate projects." she says lamely with a half shrug.

Pansy's eyes narrow. "I see." She taps the books. "Read these. My half-blood cousin has them. She works as an obliviator for the ministry part time. Or she did. She just moved to Australia. Saw the writing on the wall, probably."

This is entirely new information. "You have half-blood cousins?"

"Most of us do, Granger. She went to Beauxbatons, few years ahead of Delacour, that's why you don't know her. My uncle, well, my grandparents didn't like it, but they couldn't very well disinherit their firstborn son over marrying a muggleborn witch. She was still a witch and a very good one at that."

"The Blacks did," Hermione says, thinking of the burnt-out tapestry at Grimmauld place.

Pansy shakes her head. "It's too much work, Granger. Surely Delacour's told you? That's half of what Gringotts does – manage inheritance and blood purity issues. The paperwork alone could kill a person, and the fees? Absurd and far too expensive for those of us of more modest means. Families like the Blacks pay for the process because of the reputation it affords them, or, rather afforded them. I suppose they're mostly gone now save Draco's mum."

"And his aunts." Hermione says, her fingers touching the raised scar at her neck. It itches now, just thinking of Bellatrix LeStrange. She pulls the chain of Fleur's necklace away from the scar and sets it right. She doesn't want to dwell on the Black sisters and what they represent. "I had no idea you were like me Pansy."

"Don't go about advertising it, do I?" Pansy counters. "It wouldn't do to be seen as different outside of safe spaces." There's a vulnerability in Pansy's voice that Hermione knows means that this is a calculated risk on Pansy's part. Saying something is better than saying nothing at all and Hermione feels like she owes everyone an apology for panicking as she did.

"Is this…that to you?"

"So what if it is?" Pansy demands. "Precious few of them these days."