Chapter 4
Granger handed over the book the next evening when they took their places in the library. Pansy meant to simply take it and start reading but the girl was practically buzzing with newfound knowledge.
"Find anything interesting?" asked Pansy, telling herself that she asked out of pity or mockery or the selfish desire to have Granger do her work for her. Definitely not to see Hermione's face light up as she opened the tome and began explaining. Definitely not that.
A few days later when Professor Snape handed back their work, Pansy was not surprised to see that she had received a perfect grade. Who knew Inferi could be so interesting?
In fact, who knew advanced summoning charms could be so interesting? Or medieval history? Or arithmacy, which Pansy didn't take but Hermione loved. Their conversations in the library were short and purely academic but Pansy always felt enriched after them, in a way her Professors had never achieved. Hermione seemed to enjoy them too, which made sense. After all, Pansy could hardly imagine Potter or Weasley criticising Hermione's understanding of relativity and its impact on levitation spells. The corner of the library that Pansy had started to think of as theirs seemed warmer than the rest of the castle, bathed in a soft yellow light that didn't come from the candles.
So wrapped up in this world was she, that Pansy almost missed the social event of the year.
"Pansy Parkinson, not off to the library again are you?" called out an arrogant voice as she headed down a corridor to, yes, the library.
"Blaise," she said by way of greeting, rolling her eyes as the ridiculous wizard caught up with her.
"Pans, you spend far too much time there. Soon you'll transform into a bookworm," he remarked, falling into step with her.
"And then what will you do? Do you even have any other friends?" asked Pansy, feigning concern.
"I'll die," said Blaise seriously.
"And then every closeted wizard in this castle will miss out," teased Pansy.
"Speaking of closeted wizards," said Blaise, "I need a date to Slughorn's little Christmas do."
Pansy frowned. "I'm no expert, Blaise darling, but I think most closeted men would hesitate before going to a party with another wizard."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Blaise. "I need you to be my date so I'm free to hook up with guys. And the occasional girl"
Pansy stalled, sure that she would give in but not looking forward to an evening of playing happy socialite. "I'm not sure, Blaise. Slughorn didn't even invite me and besides, I have so much work to do."
"Fuck your work!" Blaise exclaimed. "Please, best friend? Soul mate?"
"Why don't you take Daphne?"
"Granger will be there."
"Granger?" Pansy asked, cursing herself for her sudden change in tone. If she was a house elf her ears would have visibly perked up at the Gryffindor's name.
"Yeah, she's a slug too."
"I don't care," said Pansy forcefully, attempting to recover from her slipup. "Why would I care?"
The handsome wizard just raised an eyebrow.
"Alright I'll come with you. But only because you're unbearable and clearly need some wand action," said Pansy, not at all impressed at Blaise's perceptiveness.
"You're the love of my life, Parkinson," said Blaise blowing her a kiss and sauntering off in the opposite direction.
Pansy spent the rest of the walk to the library, and a good few hours after that, mentally sorting through her closet, frantically attempting to put together the perfect outfit. Suddenly the prospect of playing happy socialite didn't seem so dreadful.
When the day of the Christmas party arrived, Pansy dressed with utmost care. Social evenings were familiar territory. Her mother had taught her how to flirt and put together an outfit before she taught her how to read. Her role after all was to attract a wealthy suitor from one of the top pureblood families and she had been well prepared. Under an emerald green cloak so thin it was almost see through, she wore a simple black jumpsuit that fit tight around her torso and flared out as it moved down her legs. She looked stunning. Pansy knew she looked stunning. So why was she so nervous she almost felt like throwing up?
Shaking her head in an attempt to dispel the nausea, Pansy headed down the spiral staircase that led from the girl's dorm to the Slytherin common room. Blaise was lounging on a couch already dressed in a smart black dress cloak and forest green suit. Even as he lazed, he looked like an Italian sculptor's wet dream. Nonce, thought Pansy fondly as he saw her and pretended to faint.
"You look like a tart, Pans," he chirped, getting up and walking towards her.
"So do you, Blaise," she drawled. "Although I wish you'd show more skin."
The banter continued throughout their walk out of the dungeons and to Professor Slughorn's classroom, which had been enchanted so that it filled three times the space it usually did. Strings of real fairies criss-crossed the ceiling above them and platters of snacks floated serenely through the crowd. The room was full of soft music and faces that wouldn't be out of place on the front page of the Prophet. Slughorn had his flaws but the man sure did know how to throw a party.
Within half an hour, Blaise had left to chat up a Ravenclaw chaser and Pansy found herself hovering near a snack platter in a corner. There were plenty of Slytherins who she could have made idle conversation with but she wasn't in the mood, something she assured herself had nothing to do with the fact that Granger was nowhere to be seen.
Two glasses of champagne and several mini pumpkin tarts in (honestly who decided that party food needed to be small? Wasn't Christmas all about abundance?) and Pansy finally caught sight of Hermione. The Gryffindor looked breath-taking in a shimmery gold dress that made her dark skin glow, but she was acting very strangely indeed. Pansy's eyes followed Granger as she ducked through the crowd, glancing over her shoulder furtively every few seconds. In a few moments she had crossed the room and made her way to Pansy's corner. Only upon arrival did she seem to notice that it was occupied.
"Parkinson," she greeted tersely, scanning the crowd behind her.
"Granger, what on earth are you doing?" asked Pansy bemused.
"I'm... Avoiding someone."
"An avid fan?" asked Pansy with a smirk.
"No," said Hermione crossly before reconsidering. "Well actually, yes I suppose so."
Letting out an embarrassed laugh at Pansy's questioning look, Hermione took a pastry from the tray. "My date. I'm hiding from my date," she explained, biting into the treat.
Pansy ignored the tiny flake of pastry on Granger's lip, determined not to repeat the dust mote incident. "Your date can't be that bad, who is it?"
Hermione sighed heavily, "McLaggen."
Pansy almost snorted, "Cormac McLaggen? Salazar's snakes, Granger. He's pretty enough but he has all the tact of a mountain troll."
"I know, trust me I know," said Granger looking comically pained. "I asked him for, well for a specific reason but now he won't leave me alone. And this place, it's swarming in mistletoe. I'm surprised there isn't any hanging over you and I right now," Hermione finished, rolling her eyes.
Pansy fought to fight the blood rising in her cheeks and was spared a response by the arrival of the devil himself.
"Granger, there you are," boomed McLaggen, pushing past a third year to get to them. "I've been looking for you all night."
Pansy fixed him with her iciest glare. Shrinking back a little, McLaggen held out a hand to Hermione. "Shall we go then? There are a few shadowy corners that I think you'd enjoy much more than this one," he said wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Hermione looked terrified and shot Pansy a look that was as loud a cry for help as any Pansy had ever heard.
"Why would you say that, McLaggen?" asked Pansy, inserting herself between the two of them. Her voice was the kind of sweet that could burn a hole through your tongue. "Is my company not entertaining enough? Do you think your slimy tongue could entertain Granger better than a Parkinson?"
McLaggen turned an ugly puce colour. "I never said that -"
"Then what do you mean, dear Cormac? What do you want to do with Hermione that warrants disrupting our very important conversation?"
For a moment, McLaggen looked like he was about to punch her and Pansy tightened her hand on her wand but then he deflated a little.
"Fine, whatever. No rush, ladies," he said with a forced smile. "I'll see you around, Hermione."
As he left, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God he's gone."
"You don't seem like the type of witch who needs someone else to turn down a man for you."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" mused Hermione. "I just feel so guilty. Like I led him on, which in all fairness maybe I did - "
"Fuck him," Pansy said firmly, thinking of the leering eyes and groping hands of pureblood heirs that she had forgiven far too often. Some of her thoughts must have reflected in her face because Hermione nodded and a look of understanding passed between the two witches.
A look that was interrupted by a sudden commotion at the doorway. Filch walked in holding someone by the scruff of their neck. A furious, blonde someone.
"Draco," breathed Pansy, old instincts telling her to rush to his side. Luckily Snape emerged out of nowhere, taking control of the situation with his slow drawl. Pansy wasn't sure why Draco would be trying to get into a Christmas party of all things, but she had long stopped trying to understand him. She watched Snape escort a tense shouldered, angry-eyed Draco out of the room with some relief and noticed a head of messy black hair follow a few seconds later.
"Looks like your boy wonder is following mine," remarked Pansy.
"I'm sure Harry just needed to go to the bathroom," said Hermione, cheeks flushed.
Pansy almost snorted. "It's alright, I won't tell," she teased. "Anyway, Draco's the same with Potter. Utterly obsessed. Or at least, he used to be," she added with a small frown.
Hermione seemed to relax. Allowing a smile to cross her face she remarked, "You've noticed the strange intensity between the two of them too?"
"They're hardly subtle about it, are they? 'Malfoy! Get back here and give me attention or I'll knock you off your broom!'" mimicked Pansy.
"Pottah! If you don't read my hand-written note insulting your mother, my father will hear about it!" Hermione joined in, adopting a ridiculously pompous accent.
"I think you overdid Draco there. Just a little"
"I did no such thing and you know it."
Pansy's straight face lasted barely a heartbeat before she broke out into undignified laughter and then Hermione was joining in and it was the first time in a while that Pansy felt her laugh coming from her stomach.
"You know, they're not that different, the two of them," said Pansy, when the laughter died down, voicing a thought she'd never shared before.
"I'm not sure I agree with that," said Hermione. Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued, "Harry's nothing like Malfoy."
"I just mean that they're both really just figureheads, aren't they? Boys who stand for something much bigger than they are and who never really had a choice in the matter."
"There are rather large differences in what they each stand for," said Hermione. "And I happen to think that those differences matter."
"They matter, sure," said Pansy, a little frustrated that Hermione refused to see her point. "But Potter just so happened to be born on the right side, didn't he? And Draco just so happened to be born on the wrong one."
Hermione's jaw had hardened. "You say that like - like Harry's just following an easy path - the path he was put on. But he's on that path because someone killed his parents!"
God damn the girl was infuriating. "I didn't mean -"
"And he chooses to stay on that path every day," Hermione continued, the tendons in her neck drawn tight. "He could have been mediocre. He could have gone to bed with all the other first years when we found out that the Voldemort was after the Philosophers Stone, he could have left the basilisk to the professors or stepped in line when Umbridge started her regime but he didn't. He chooses to sacrifice every day-"
"And you think Draco is on an easy path?" interrupted Pansy, a fire blazing somewhere in her gut. "You think it's easy going home to a monster? You think it's fun to realize that everything you believe is just shit and blood and hatred? When last did you watch your parents be tortured? Or – or know that your mother's life depends on you doing something - something awful?"
The fire had reached a roar now. There was something about the blasted Gryffindor that made Pansy feel everything more intensely and she struggled to keep her volume low enough that only the two of them would hear, "I know Draco's done bad things. Horrible things. And some he did because he's a wanker but some he did because he didn't have a choice." At this, Pansy's voice broke. "He never has." The pain she'd felt for weeks looking at the ruins of the boy she once thought she'd marry was seeping out of the cracks that had just opened up inside her.
"I didn't know that it was like that," said Hermione after a long pause. "I'm sorry."
Pansy nodded, blinking back the wetness that threatened to spill over.
"But," said Hermione, and Pansy almost rolled her eyes because it was such a Hermione thing to do. "But the fact that this is horrible for Draco - and it is, it's awful - doesn't mean that they're the same. We can't - we should never equate the two."
"I know," said Pansy. Because the anger had burnt to ash and been replaced by grief in all its brutal honesty. "I know they're different. I've known for a while which side I should be on."
Pansy shook her head, straightening her shoulders and regaining composure. "I should go."
A silence stretched between them. Hermione was looking at her strangely, like she was a particularly difficult question McGonagall had set for homework.
"Actually, I'm kind of over this party too. Let me walk you back to the dungeons," she said finally, voice laced with concern.
Pansy nodded. Granger's kindness did not surprise her. What surprised her was how readily it emerged after anger and how easily it could be directed at her.