Chapter 1
Pansy Parkinson did not believe in love. In her opinion, it was a silly dream sold to girls to make them feel better about the arrogant men they would marry one day. Pink frosting on a cake that tasted like forgotten anniversaries, the family name and too much wine on a weekday night. In fact, the only thing she believed in less than love, was God, but that wasn't saying much because what kind of moron looked at the pile of garbage that was the world and decided that it was all part of someone's plan?
Truthfully, Pansy didn't believe in much anymore. When Draco ignored her owls all through summer and came back to Hogwarts with a dark mark and a closet full of long sleeved shirts, she stopped believing in him too. Draco and Slytherin and the Dark Lord, they used to excite her in a frightening sort of way but now they just made her feel tired. Deeply, terribly tired.
Today was a tired day too. The light in the dungeons was grey instead of green and Pansy knew that the Great Hall would be covered in a blanket of dull clouds. She preferred it this way. People were always a little quieter, a little more sombre in weather like this. It meant she didn't have to pretend quite as much. Angsty rubbish, she knew it as soon as the thought crossed her mind, but she was a teenager who knew war was coming long before everyone around her and she reasoned she was allowed a little angst. Pansy settled in to the day ahead, joining Blaise and relaxing into the stream of meaningless gossip he shared.
The day was going well - uneventful, unbothered, blissfully dull - until Transfiguration. Unlike the other Slytherins, Pansy didn't mind Transfiguration. McGonagall was sensible, severe and competent (maybe even a little brilliant, although Pansy wouldn't admit that out loud). If her nose wasn't so high up Dumbledore's arse, Pansy might even have liked McGonagall. The downside to Transfiguration was that it was the first class of the day that sixth year Slytherins had with -
"Bloody hell, Harry. What does she want me to do? What Lav and I have is special."
The Gryffindors. Who would no doubt be more insufferable than ever after winning the last Quidditch match. Pansy didn't care about house rivalry anymore, children's games all of it, but she did care about having her quiet, boring day disrupted by the Weasel's jokes (which were only sometimes funny) and Granger's insufferable questions. But it would be over in an hour so Pansy resolved herself to the disruption.
Only, it didn't come. Granger didn't ask a single question. She didn't answer any either. She kept her bushy head down and made notes like everyone else. And it bothered Pansy. After years of schoolgirl rivalry and cruel barbs, Pansy liked to think that she knew the young lioness reasonably well - in the way that one knows an opposition Quidditch team or opposing army - and this was not normal behaviour. She spent the entire lesson glaring across the classroom at Granger's side profile (okay, partial side profile, okay, mostly the back of her neck because of course, Granger's seat was at the very front of the class). But no window opened up to let her in and the rest of the class passed without a single word from the precocious Gryffindor.
When the sixth years filed out of class, Pansy noticed that Granger rushed out, pink cheeked and eyes downcast, before her dimwitted sidekicks had even left their chairs. Even McGonagall looked a little surprised. Normally Granger spent at least a few minutes talking to the Professor, asking something about homework or an extra essay she wanted to write. Pansy's eyes narrowed. Granger never missed a chance to preen for McGonagall. Something was up and in the midst of her suspicion, Pansy didn't notice that for the first time in a while, she was feeling something other than fatigue.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Not caring much for her friends or pureblood politics or parties anymore had given Pansy's academics a much needed boost and she found herself easily grasping most of the content they covered in class, even with only half of her attention on her professors. Granger and the boy wonders often fought, that wasn't new, but Granger not being a sycophantic know-it-all? That was definitely new.
Granger wasn't at the Gryffindor table at lunch. Nor was she there at dinner. This in and of itself wasn't strange. She often skipped meals or ran out with a sandwich to spend her time in the library. Pansy was sure that she would find Granger in between the shelves somewhere, if she bothered to look - which, of course, she wouldn't because she didn't care enough to go looking for a Gryffindor. But when three days came and went with Granger being silent in class and not showing up at meals, Pansy grew more and more frustrated and felt that it was her solemn Slytherin duty to investigate.
Sure enough, it only took a few minutes in the library for Pansy to find Granger sitting at a table surrounded by stacks of books towards the back of the library. Pansy had half a mind to walk up to her and demand to know what was happening, but Slytherins were nothing if not strategic and so she picked a spot a table or so away from Granger and took out her homework. Pansy spent the next few hours drafting an essay for Professor Snape, looking up every now and then to make sure the bushy head was still buried in a book.
When Granger finally left the library at around one in the morning, Pansy was almost sorry to go. The shelves and shelves of heavy tomes had formed a comforting cocoon around her, and the sound of Granger occasionally flipping a page or getting up to find a new book had lulled her into an almost trancelike state of productivity. She had finished the essay which she had only meant to draft and that night Pansy fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow - hands covered in ink smudges, neck a little stiff and mind blissfully clear of images of skulls and snakes.