author's note: Sorry sorry sorry this is taking so long. I've just started school and it's been crazy. But much love to you all and hope you enjoy.

Let it die and get out of my mind.

We don't see eye to eye

Or hear ear to ear.

Pansy could not stop thinking about her. All through the day, during classes, when she was with Daphne, at night. Especially at night. She could be working on an essay for Flitwick, and suddenly reminded of her amazing Imperturbable Charms. She could be speaking with Draco, and remember something she said about him that made her laugh.

And when it was dark, and she was trying to fall asleep with Millicent's incessant snoring, she would remember that wild hair and her smile. Remember times when she would return from seeing Hermione, and have ink stains on her fingers from holding hands with her. Pansy could not stop thinking about her, and hated her for it.

Don't you wish that we could forget that kiss

And see this for what it is?

That we're not in love.

Hermione knew that it was for the best. Pansy Parkinson was one of the cruelest girls she'd ever met, after all. What had happened between them was purely physical, a happenstance of teenage hormones kicking into gear at exactly the same time. She knew that she was not in love with her. How could such a thing be possible? Girls like Pansy weren't loved, they were tolerated. So, she knew that it was good that they had ended it. It would be better for both of them, in the long run. After all, battle lines were being drawn, and for them to try and continue would be even more thoughtless considering the sides they were on.

But sometimes, Hermione would put a finger to her lips and remember a kiss that had been earth shattering, and wonder if she had made a mistake.

The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start.

Pansy would go over it all in her head. The first time their legs grazed in Potions, the electricity that went through her. Their shared glance, quickly dropped by Hermione. Times when Pansy would tease her, just to see the heat in her eyes.

And then the library. She couldn't say what possessed her to take a book from Hermione's hand, replace it on the shelf, and brush her hair aside. Hermione had crossed her arms, assuming she was playing games. So Pansy pinned her on the bookcase, and kissed her.

It was hard to tell just how I felt.
To not recognize myself
I started to fade away.

And after all it won't take long to fall in love.
Now I know what I don't want,
I learned that with you.

Hermione didn't know what she was doing with Pansy. Words like 'relationship', 'girlfriend'-they didn't apply. For every moment that Pansy kissed her softly, smoothed her hair, held her hand, there were twice as many times that she pushed her around, snapped at her, kissed her and left her lips bleeding.

The toll it was taking on her was noticeable. She was exhausted from late nights with her, spending half their time arguing and the other half so tangled in each other it was impossible to tell who was who. She could hardly speak to Harry and Ron, terrified at their reactions if they had any inkling as to what exactly she was doing. Even her schoolwork was suffering, and that was unacceptable.

But what was truly the worst was Pansy, half-loving her, half-hating her. Maybe this was her way of loving. If it was, it was too painful to endure her moods, waiting to be loved again. Hermione had bruises and scratches, but what was aching the most was her heart. And that was why she had ended things.

The tragedy starts from the very first spark,
Losing your mind for the sake of your heart.

Pansy supposed that she should have known how things would end. Hermione was a completely different person. Hermione was ridiculous, naïve. Hermione was meant to be at the side of her friends, and eventually at the side of some bumbling man who would not be what she needed, but she would tell him he was enough.

She was good that way, in a way Pansy could never be.

Pansy had given too much of herself to Hermione. She felt stupid now, remembering the things she had said and the things she hadn't. She wished that she could take it all back-all her words, all of the kisses, all of the damned memories that kept haunting her.

The saddest part of a broken heart

Isn't the ending so much as the start.

-Let it Die, Feist