The Battle of Hogwarts is over, but the scars of war remain. As Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts for an unprecedented 8th year, she is determined to rebuild, heal, and move forward. But when she's forced to share a dormitory—and her daily life—with Pansy Parkinson, the sharp-tongued Slytherin who once stood against everything she believed in, Hermione finds herself drawn into an unexpected storm of tension, rivalry, and self-discovery.
Haunted by the past and burdened by their choices, both Hermione and Pansy must navigate a Hogwarts that feels both familiar and foreign. Through reluctant alliances, clashing ideals, and moments of vulnerability, they begin to unravel the facades they've built to protect themselves. But as walls crumble, they'll face questions neither of them is ready to answer: Can forgiveness mend what's been broken? And is there more to their connection than either of them is willing to admit?
Amid the chaos of rebuilding a school—and a world—they thought they knew, Hermione and Pansy must confront their differences, their shared history, and the growing storm between them. Sometimes, the only way to heal is to step into the tempest.
Enemies. Allies. Something more?
I've recently enjoyed a few different Pansmione fanfictions. Here is my take on how that relationship would evolve. I hope you enjoy it! Leave your thoughts in the comments below.
Chapter 1
The train ride back to Hogwarts had never felt so quiet. Even the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks seemed muffled, as though the train itself understood the solemnity of its passengers. Hermione sat alone in a compartment, her copy of Hogwarts: A History unopened on her lap. For once, the familiar words weren't enough to distract her from the weight in her chest. Harry and Ron were already knee-deep in Auror training, and Ginny's new duties as Head Girl had her flitting between compartments, ensuring order. Luna, meanwhile, had taken her role as Ravenclaw Prefect to heart, leaving Hermione to her thoughts. She couldn't begrudge them—it suited them both—but their absence left her feeling lonelier than she'd expected.
And, of course, there was the small matter of the Prophet's morning headline: "Hermione Granger: The Unsung Heroine of the Golden Trio?" It was the latest in a long line of dreadful puff pieces about the war from the Wizarding World's Broadsheet of Choice. For weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter had dominated the front pages of every newspaper and magazine the world over. But since her friend had no desire whatsoever to give interviews or write columns for the press, they had moved on to articles about his friends and allies.
Hermione had been asked four times this week alone to give an interview—about Harry, about her role in Voldemort's defeat, about Hogwarts, about her thoughts on the new Minister for Magic. She'd always known Harry hated the attention he got, but recently she'd gained an even deeper sympathy for her famous friend.
The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, and as Hermione stepped off, the chaos she had been bracing for greeted her immediately. A swarm of photographers stood just beyond the magical barrier that separated Hogwarts grounds from the rest of the village, their cameras flashing incessantly. Hermione barely had time to register them before Ginny appeared at her side, her badge gleaming as brightly as her determined expression.
"Bloody animals," Ginny muttered, grabbing the handle of her trunk and glaring at the photographers. "Just keep walking."
"Right," Hermione said, gripping her own trunk tighter and keeping her head down as the shouts began.
"Hermione! How does it feel to be back at Hogwarts?"
"Ginny! Any truth to the rumours that you and Harry Potter are officially a couple?"
"Miss Granger, what do you think of the new curriculum changes after the war?"
The questions kept coming, but Hermione and Ginny pushed through them without comment. By the time they reached the waiting carriages, Hermione felt the weight of the stares pressing down on her like a physical force. She climbed into one of the carriages with Ginny, grateful for the barrier of the Thestrals between them and the frenzy.
"I wish they'd stop," Hermione sighed, sinking into the seat as the carriage began its journey up to the castle.
Ginny nodded her agreement. "The second I step outside of the wards at the Burrow, it's like a feeding frenzy." Her voice held an edge of exhaustion, but her tone quickly brightened. "But hey, it could be worse. At least they're not allowed in here."
"Thank Merlin for that," Hermione muttered. The thought of photographers roaming the castle halls made her shudder.
The castle came into view, and Hermione felt her breath catch. It was still Hogwarts, still the place that had shaped her life in countless ways, but the scars of the battle were everywhere. Sections of the walls were covered in scaffolding, enchanted tools floating in mid-air as they worked to restore the damage. The sight was both comforting and jarring—a reminder of resilience, but also of how much had been lost.
Hermione and Ginny entered the Great Hall together, the familiar hum of student chatter mingling with the rustling of robes and the clinking of goblets. The enchanted ceiling reflected a crisp, clear night sky, and the tables were arranged as they always had been, though the student body was noticeably smaller.
They took their seats at the Gryffindor table, where a few younger students were already whispering and pointing. Hermione could feel their eyes on her, but she focused on the Sorting Hat perched on its stool. The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin, and she welcomed the distraction.
"Do you think they'll ever pack it in?" Ginny asked quietly, nodding toward the distant flashes of cameras that could still be seen from the windows of the Great Hall.
"Maybe they'll get sick of us by Christmas," Hermione replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't imagine what it's like for the boys going into the Ministry every day."
Ginny let out a dry laugh. "Harry threatened to curse a journalist who followed him into the bathroom last week. I'd love to have seen the guy's face when Harry drew his wand and backed him into a cubicle."
Hermione couldn't suppress a grin. "That sounds exactly like Harry."
"It was brilliant," Ginny said fondly. "Though I'm pretty sure Kingsley gave him an earful for it. Told him the Auror trainees were supposed to maintain some level of decorum."
"Harry, Ron, Neville, and decorum," Hermione murmured with a smile. "There's a combination."
The Sorting began, and Hermione allowed herself to get lost in the familiar rhythm of names and houses being called. She applauded politely as each new Gryffindor joined the table, but one particularly nervous-looking first-year caught her attention. The boy stumbled slightly as he sat a few places down, his eyes darting around the room before landing on her. He froze, his mouth falling open.
"Are you…?" he began, his whisper far too loud for a whisper. "Are you Hermione Granger?"
A ripple of laughter spread down the table, but Hermione smiled warmly. "I am."
"My mum says you're brilliant," the boy blurted, his cheeks turning crimson as the older students chuckled.
Ginny leaned closer, her smirk playful. "Well, she's not wrong."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a laugh bubbled up despite herself. For a moment, the weight in her chest lifted, replaced by a fleeting but welcome sense of normalcy.
When the Sorting ended and the last of the applause died down, Headmistress McGonagall rose to her feet. The room fell silent almost instantly, every eye fixed on her commanding presence.
"This year marks a unique chapter in Hogwarts' history," she began, her voice steady and resolute. "We gather here today not just to continue our education but to rebuild what was lost. The scars of war are still fresh, but Hogwarts endures—as do we. It is my hope that this castle will remain what it has always been: a place of learning, growth, and unity."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the room. "For the first time, we welcome returning students who have already completed—or attempted to complete—their seventh year. These 8th Years, as they shall be known, will reside in a shared dormitory and common room, a measure intended to foster cooperation and understanding among the houses."
Hermione felt the weight of the room's attention shift toward her and the other returning students. Whispers rippled through the hall, curiosity and skepticism mingling.
"The dormitory is located near the Astronomy Tower," McGonagall continued. "I expect those of you returning to set an example for the rest of the school. Together, we shall rebuild." Her sharp gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment before moving on. "Let the feast begin."
With a wave of her hand, the tables filled with food, and the Hall erupted into conversation. Hermione felt the familiar tug of hunger, but as she reached for a plate, her mind lingered on McGonagall's words. Together, we shall rebuild. It sounded so simple, yet the weight of it pressed heavily on her shoulders.
The warmth of the Great Hall lingered as Hermione and Ginny walked together through the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, the echoes of chatter and laughter fading as the castle settled into the night. The journey to Gryffindor Tower was one Hermione could have done blindfolded, but tonight it felt different. The castle walls, still scarred in places, seemed to hum with an energy that was both comforting and solemn.
Ginny glanced sideways at Hermione as they ascended a moving staircase. "How are you feeling about all this?" she asked, her voice low.
"All this?" Hermione repeated, arching an eyebrow.
"Being back here," Ginny clarified. "Without Harry and Ron, I mean."
Hermione hesitated, running her fingers along the cool stone railing. "It's strange," she admitted. "Part of me feels… lighter, knowing we're not fighting for survival anymore. But it's also—"
"Empty?" Ginny offered.
Hermione nodded, her expression softening. "Yes. Empty."
They turned a corner, and the Fat Lady's portrait came into view, her gilded frame catching the dim light of the corridor. The portrait swung open without a word as Ginny whispered the password, and the two girls stepped into the Gryffindor common room. The space was as warm and inviting as ever, the fire crackling in the hearth and the chairs clustered together in small, familiar groups. Several younger students were already settling in, their voices hushed as they stole glances at Hermione and Ginny.
"Well," Ginny said, turning to face her. "This is where we part ways, isn't it?"
"It seems that way," Hermione replied, her lips curving into a wry smile. "I'm sure you'll manage without me."
"Oh, I don't know," Ginny teased. "Who's going to help me rewrite my Charms essays at two in the morning?"
"I'm sure Luna will be thrilled to help if you can get her down from Ravenclaw tower," Hermione shot back, grinning.
Ginny laughed, but her tone softened as she reached out to squeeze Hermione's hand. "Seriously, though. If you need anything, just find me, okay? I'll keep you updated with our passwords so you can come and go as you like."
"I will," Hermione promised.
They lingered for a moment longer before Hermione turned and made her way back into the corridor, her footsteps echoing softly as she followed the path toward the Astronomy Tower. She felt the weight of the castle settle around her—its long history, its resilience, and the memories it held. By the time she reached the door to the 8th Year Dorm, her chest was tight with anticipation.
The door was unmarked save for a simple brass plaque that read, Eighth Year Dormitory. Hermione pushed it open to reveal a circular common room unlike anything she had seen at Hogwarts. The space was expansive, with tall, arched windows offering a breathtaking view of the Black Lake. Furniture in neutral tones was scattered in small clusters, blending the styles of all four houses. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, games, and enchanted trinkets that glimmered faintly in the soft, golden light of floating candles.
Hermione's gaze swept the room, landing briefly on the other 8th Years who were already settling in. She caught sight of Dean Thomas laughing with Ernie Macmillan and Padma Patil, their voices blending into the low hum of conversation. Daphne Greengrass sat by the window, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. Hermione noted with mild relief that most seemed preoccupied with their own unpacking.
Hermione approached the staircase at the back of the circular common room, where doors branched off into individual sleeping quarters. Each door bore two sets of initials rather than house crests, and Hermione scanned them carefully until she found hers: H.G. and P.P.
Her stomach dropped.
"Of course," she muttered under her breath. "Of all people…"
She opened the door cautiously, bracing herself for whatever waited on the other side. The room was empty save for two beds, two desks, and two wardrobes. The space was surprisingly cozy, with warm lighting and thick rugs giving it an intimate feel, but Hermione barely noticed as she set her trunk down at the foot of the bed closest to the window. She began unpacking with brisk, precise movements, hoping to focus her mind and ignore the tightness in her chest.
The door swung open behind her with a creak, and Hermione turned to see Pansy Parkinson stride in, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The other girl stopped in her tracks when she saw Hermione, her dark eyes narrowing in clear disdain.
"You've got to be joking," Pansy said, her voice sharp and cutting.
Hermione straightened, refusing to flinch under Pansy's glare. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual."
Pansy snorted and dropped her trunk onto the other bed with an audible thud. "Honestly, Granger, I thought you'd at least have enough pull to get a room to yourself. Or are you too busy giving interviews to care where they're shoving the rest of us?"
Hermione's jaw tightened as she turned back to her unpacking. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, don't play coy," Pansy sneered, tossing a set of robes into her wardrobe with deliberate force. "Half the Wizarding World is outside the castle gates trying to catch a glimpse of the Hermione Granger. What's it like being Saint Potter's second-in-command? Must be exhausting, all those owls begging for exclusive interviews."
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, determined not to take the bait.
When her silence stretched too long for Pansy's liking, the other girl's sneer deepened. "And how's dear Weasley? Or is he off being Harry's shadow, too? I suppose you've been too busy basking in the spotlight to notice."
Hermione spun around, her eyes blazing. "You don't know the first thing about me or Ron. So, if you think—"
"Oh, spare me the Gryffindor indignation," Pansy interrupted, her tone mocking. "It's not like anyone expected a real love story out of the two of you. Just another chapter in the 'Golden Trio' fairy tale, isn't it? Conveniently timed for the cameras."
Hermione took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her voice. "Is this what you came back for, Parkinson? To make petty comments and stir up trouble? Because if it is, I'm not interested."
Pansy raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. "Oh, I'm very interested, Granger. This year's going to be… enlightening."
Without another word, she turned back to her trunk, leaving Hermione standing there, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Forcing herself to calm down, Hermione returned to her unpacking, her movements stiff with barely contained frustration.
It was going to be a long year.
Hermione turned back to her trunk, determined to ignore the smug expression Pansy wore like a badge of honour. She focused on unpacking, her hands moving with brisk precision as she arranged her books on the desk. The silence between them was thick and heavy, broken only by the occasional clatter of belongings.
"So," Pansy began, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, "you didn't deny it."
Hermione froze mid-motion. "Deny what?" she asked, keeping her tone even.
Pansy perched on the edge of her bed, crossing her legs as she inspected her nails. "That all those reporters are here for you. That they're desperate to hang on your every word. Or maybe you're just saving the good stuff for an exclusive?"
Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose and continued arranging her books. "I have no interest in talking to them."
"Hmm. Strange, isn't it?" Pansy continued; her tone laced with mock curiosity. "The Hermione Granger I remember always had something to say. About everything."
Hermione's grip on her books tightened, but she refused to rise to the bait.
"And then there's Weasley," Pansy added casually, tossing a pair of green silk robes into her wardrobe. "I suppose it makes sense. You were both just… there. Convenient. Not everyone can find a Chosen One to cling to, after all."
Hermione slammed a book onto the desk, the sound echoing in the small room. She turned to face Pansy, her brown eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "If you're trying to rile me up, Parkinson, you'll have to try harder. I'm not interested in playing whatever game this is."
"Oh, I think you're very interested," Pansy said, standing and walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps. She stopped just short of Hermione's desk, tilting her head as though sizing her up. "But fine, I'll make it easy for you. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."
Hermione crossed her arms. "That's fine by me."
Pansy smiled—a sharp, humourless thing. "Good. Because the last thing I need is your sanctimonious Gryffindor act ruining my year."
"Likewise," Hermione shot back, her voice low but steady.
For a moment, the two of them stood there, the air between them crackling with tension. Then, with a dramatic sigh, Pansy turned on her heel and resumed unpacking, muttering something under her breath that Hermione chose not to decipher.
Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed, willing herself to take deep, calming breaths. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, not from fear, but from sheer frustration. She had known sharing a space with the Slytherins would be a challenge, but this was already worse than she'd imagined.
Across the room, Pansy was humming softly as she arranged her vanity, the sound as infuriating as the woman herself. Hermione forced herself to look away, her focus landing instead on the window. The view of the Black Lake, dark and still in the moonlight, did little to soothe her frayed nerves.
"It's going to be a long year," Hermione muttered to herself again, the words almost a prayer.
After unpacking her belongings, Hermione couldn't stand to be in the room any longer—not with Pansy's sharp comments still echoing in her mind. She stepped out into the circular common room, grateful to find a familiar face in Dean Thomas. He was seated near the fireplace with Ernie Macmillan and Padma Patil, his easy smile dimmed slightly as they spoke in hushed tones. Spotting Hermione, he waved her over.
"Hermione! Come join us," he called, gesturing to an empty seat.
She hesitated, her nerves still frayed from her encounter with Pansy, but the warmth in Dean's expression was hard to refuse. She crossed the room and sank into the chair beside him, offering a small smile.
"First night not going as planned?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You could say that," Hermione replied, sighing. "I'm sharing a room with bloody Pansy Parkinson."
Dean let out a low whistle. "Ouch. That's… unfortunate."
"That's one word for it," Hermione muttered. "What about you?"
Dean grimaced, leaning back in his chair. "I've got Blaise Zabini. Didn't say much, but the way he looked at my West Ham poster, you'd think I'd hung up a bloody Troll Rights campaign."
Padma snorted softly, tucking her legs beneath her. "At least you're not stuck with Daphne Greengrass. She spent the last hour rearranging her half of the room because, and I quote, 'the energy flow is off.'"
Ernie chuckled. "She might have a point. You Ravenclaws always were a bit unbalanced."
"Oh, and you're perfectly centred, are you?" Padma shot back, her tone light but sharp.
The group chuckled, and Hermione felt some of the tension in her chest begin to ease. The shared grumbling over roommates, while trivial, was oddly comforting.
"She didn't waste any time, you know," Hermione said after a moment, her voice quieter. "Pansy, I mean. She went straight for the jugular—reporters, Ron, you name it."
Dean frowned. "Still playing the same game, then?"
"Apparently," Hermione replied, the frustration clear in her tone.
"Maybe it's all she knows," Dean said, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Slytherin self-preservation and all that."
"Or she's just a spiteful cow," Padma offered dryly.
Hermione gave a weak smile, but Dean's words lingered in her mind.
The next morning, Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, absently stirring her tea as Ginny slid into the seat across from her. The Great Hall was buzzing with activity, students chatting excitedly as they prepared for the first day of classes. Ginny set her plate down and leaned forward, her Head Girl badge catching the morning light.
"Alright," Ginny said, grinning. "Spill. What's the infamous 8th Year Dorm like?"
Hermione set her spoon down with a sigh. "I'm sharing a room with bloody Pansy Parkinson."
Ginny froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. "You're joking."
"I wish I were," Hermione muttered, taking a sip of her tea.
Ginny blinked, then let out a low whistle. "How are you still standing?"
"She's trying her hardest to make me lose my mind, believe me," Hermione replied, recounting the previous night's exchange. By the time she finished, Ginny was shaking her head.
"Merlin. I thought my dorm mates were bad. One of them snores like a hippogriff, but at least she's not Pansy Parkinson."
Hermione managed a wry smile. "It's going to be a long year."
The crisp morning air was thick with anticipation as the students gathered around Hagrid, who stood proudly beside an enormous, reinforced cage. The low hum of chatter stilled as he began his usual enthusiastic introduction.
"Right then!" Hagrid boomed, his grin stretching beneath his tangled beard. "Today, I've got a real treat for yeh lot. All the way from North America—never thought I'd see one in the flesh myself—a Thunderbird! Very sensitive creatures, so don't go upsetting him. They can sense danger, and summon huge rainstorms as they fly. The Americans also use their tail feathers as wand cores, though I'm told Ollivander isn't keen on the idea. Anyway, lets meet Elvis!"
He threw back the heavy tarp and unlatched the cage door, revealing a majestic creature with glimmering golden and blue plumage that seemed to shimmer as if catching light from another world. Its intelligent eyes swept the group, and a low rumble, like distant thunder, emanated from its chest. The air around the cage grew heavy, electric, as though the atmosphere itself acknowledged the Thunderbird's power.
Hermione's breath hitched. "A Thunderbird," she murmured, her voice laced with awe. "They're incredibly rare. I can't believe he managed this."
Ginny glanced sideways at her. "Rare or not, I bet it's really dangerous. Hagrid does love a bit of danger."
"Dangerously beautiful," Luna said dreamily. "Look at how its feathers glow. It's as if it's carrying a storm within."
"Lovely," Pansy Parkinson drawled from the edge of the group. "Just what we need—another of Hagrid's 'harmless' creatures. Wonder how long it'll take before it starts trying to kill us."
Hermione turned sharply. "Thunderbirds aren't aggressive unless provoked."
"Oh, really?" Pansy arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Then I suppose it's a perfect match for you. Isn't that what you're good at, Granger? Provoking things?"
Ginny shot her a warning look. "Back off, Parkinson."
But Pansy was just getting started. She strolled closer, her tone laced with mock curiosity. "Tell me, Hermione, do you ever get tired of being such a know-it-all? Or do you just live for the sound of your own voice?"
Hermione clenched her fists, her heart pounding. "Maybe if you paid attention instead of making snide comments, you'd actually learn something."
"Oh, I'm learning plenty," Pansy said sweetly, her eyes glinting with malice. "Like how easy it is to get under your skin. What's the matter? Ron not around to defend you? Or are you too busy playing teacher's pet to notice he's moved on?"
"Shut up, Pansy," Hermione snapped, her voice trembling with anger.
The Thunderbird let out a sharp cry, its wings spreading wide as the air around it grew heavier. The rumble in its chest deepened, resonating through the clearing.
"Pansy, stop," Ginny hissed, glancing nervously at the agitated creature. "You're upsetting it."
"Oh, please," Pansy scoffed. "It's a bird, not a bloody seer."
As if in response, the Thunderbird flared its wings and let out an ear-splitting screech. The sky above them darkened unnaturally fast, and a sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, sending leaves and twigs spiralling through the air.
"Everyone, back!" Hagrid bellowed; his voice nearly drowned out by the rising storm. "Stay calm!"
But calm was the last thing on anyone's mind. The Thunderbird took flight, its massive wings creating a powerful downdraft that knocked several students off their feet. Lightning crackled across the sky, and rain began to fall in sheets, turning the ground into a muddy mess.
"Run for cover!" someone shouted, and the students scattered, their shrieks mixing with the roar of the wind.
Hermione shielded her face from the rain as she stood her ground, her wand in hand. "Hagrid! What do we do?"
Hagrid, wrestling with the cage to keep it from toppling over, shouted, "We need ter get it back down! It's panicked!"
"Brilliant," Ginny muttered as she ran to Hermione's side, her wand drawn. "What now?"
"Try to calm it!" Hermione shouted over the storm, her hair whipping around her face. She raised her wand, sending a stream of sparks into the air to catch the Thunderbird's attention. "It's not dangerous—it's scared!"
Luna, soaked but calm as ever, stepped forward and began singing softly, her voice carrying strangely through the chaos. The Thunderbird's flight slowed, its movements faltering as it circled overhead.
Hermione seized the moment, casting a powerful charm to create a glowing barrier in the sky. The Thunderbird hesitated; its sharp eyes fixed on the shimmering light.
"Keep it steady!" Hagrid yelled, moving to stand beside them. "Yer doin' great!"
The storm began to subside, the wind dying down as the Thunderbird hovered, its screeches softening into low, rumbling chirps. Finally, with a graceful descent, it landed in the clearing, its feathers slick with rain but its stance calm.
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging with relief. "It's okay," she said softly, stepping closer to the Thunderbird. "You're safe here, just ignore that silly girl."
The creature regarded her with an almost curious tilt of its head before folding its wings and letting out a quiet chirp.
"Well done, Hermione," Luna said, her serene smile unshaken by the chaos.
"Yeah," Ginny added, though her glare quickly shifted to Pansy, who stood drenched and fuming nearby. "Unlike some people."
"What?" Pansy said, tossing her wet hair back. "It's not my fault the stupid bird can't take a joke."
Hermione turned; her eyes blazing. "Your constant needling nearly got people hurt, Pansy. Why don't you try thinking about someone other than yourself for once?"
"Oh, spare me the lecture," Pansy shot back, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She turned on her heel and stalked off, muttering something Hermione couldn't hear.
"Unbelievable," Ginny muttered, shaking her head. "How do you put up with her?"
"I don't," Hermione said tightly, her gaze lingering on the retreating figure. "But I'll figure it out."
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Hagrid dismissed them, his booming voice filled with equal parts pride and apology. "Sorry 'bout the commotion, everyone! But yeh handled yerselves well—really well! Thunderbirds are tricky beasts, an' yeh all did great."
Hermione, Ginny, and Luna lingered behind as the other students trudged back toward the castle, muddy and damp. Hagrid bent down to secure Elvis the Thunderbird back into his reinforced cage, humming to the creature softly as it settled with a ruffle of its feathers.
"I'll catch up with you later," Hermione said to Ginny and Luna, her gaze fixed on Hagrid. "I want to make sure everything's alright."
"Don't be too long," Ginny said, brushing a strand of wet hair out of her face. "You've still got to change before Transfiguration."
Luna gave the Thunderbird one last admiring look. "I hope it has a good rest. Poor thing—it must be exhausted after all that."
Hermione nodded absently as her friends walked away, then turned to Hagrid. "That was… intense."
"Ah, they're grand creatures," Hagrid said, his voice softening as he closed the cage door. "But sensitive, yeh know? I shouldn't've brought it out with the group feelin' so on edge."
"It's not your fault," Hermione said quickly. "Pansy was the one who kept pushing and stirring things up. She completely ignored your instructions."
Hagrid chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeh know, Hermione, sometimes it's the ones makin' the most noise that need the most help. Pansy's not a bad kid. She's just… complicated."
"That's one word for it," Hermione muttered. She couldn't help the flare of frustration rising in her chest. "All she ever does is antagonize people. It's like she enjoys being cruel."
"Maybe," Hagrid said thoughtfully, leaning against the cage. "Or maybe she's just tryin' ter figure out where she fits in. War changes people, Hermione. Some more than others. It must be hard realizing you were on the wrong side."
Hermione frowned, her thoughts swirling. She wanted to argue, to point out that everyone else was trying to move forward while Pansy seemed determined to drag them back. But Hagrid's words lingered, nudging at something in the back of her mind.
"Anyway," Hagrid said, clapping her on the shoulder and causing her feet to sink into the mud. "Don't let her get ter yeh. Yeh've got a good heart, Hermione, and a good head on yeh shoulders. You concentrate on getting yer exams passed, and try'n have a year without getting into too much trouble. Should be a bit easier without having to look after Harry and Ron."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Hermione said, offering a small smile. "And thank you for trusting us with the Thunderbird. It was incredible."
Hagrid's grin returned, brightening his face. "That it was. Now go on—get yerself warmed up."
Hermione nodded and turned to leave, her boots squelching in the damp grass as she made her way back to the castle. She barely noticed the chill seeping through her robes; her thoughts were too preoccupied with Hagrid's words and the lingering tension from the lesson.
Back in the 8th Year common room, the mood was subdued. Most students had cleaned up and settled into their own spaces, their voices low as they recounted the chaos of the morning. Hermione dropped onto one of the sofas by the fire, her damp hair clinging to her face as she pulled off her boots.
Dean Thomas appeared, holding two steaming mugs of tea. "Figured you could use this," he said, handing one to her.
"Thanks," Hermione said gratefully, wrapping her hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into her fingers, chasing away the chill.
"Crazy lesson," Dean said, sitting beside her. "Leave it to Hagrid to bring in something that can summon a thunderstorm."
"It wasn't the Thunderbird's fault," Hermione said quickly. "It was—"
"Pansy?" Dean finished, smirking. "Yeah, I figured. She's got a knack for riling people up."
"She's impossible," Hermione muttered, blowing on her tea. "Every time I try to ignore her, she finds a new way to provoke me."
Dean leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "You know, I always thought there was more to her than meets the eye. Not saying she's a saint or anything, but people like her… they usually have a reason for being the way they are."
"Maybe," Hermione said, though her tone was skeptical. "But that doesn't excuse her behaviour."
"No, it doesn't," Dean agreed. "But it might help you deal with her. If you figure out what makes her tick, you'll have the upper hand."
Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't want an upper hand. I just want her to leave me alone."
Dean chuckled softly. "Good luck with that."
By the time Hermione returned to her dormitory, the castle was shrouded in quiet. The day had felt impossibly long, each class dragging as Pansy's presence grated on her nerves. From Potions to Defence Against the Dark Arts, the Slytherin had found endless ways to needle her—smirking whenever Hermione raised her hand, muttering under her breath, and occasionally making loud, pointed comments just within earshot.
Hermione dropped her bag heavily by the desk, her shoulders aching from the weight of both her books and the simmering frustration she'd carried all day. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and shut out the world.
Unfortunately, her roommate had other plans.
"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Pansy drawled, lounging on her bed with her legs crossed. She was polishing her wand, her movements slow and deliberate. "Rough day, Granger? You look positively ragged."
"Leave me alone, Pansy," Hermione said, her voice flat as she rummaged through her trunk. She grabbed her Transfiguration textbook, determined to focus on something—anything—other than her insufferable roommate.
"Touchy, touchy," Pansy said with a mock sigh. "I was just trying to make conversation. It's not my fault you're so… sensitive."
Hermione slammed her book onto the desk, turning to face her. "Do you ever get tired of this? Of constantly provoking people just for the sake of it?"
Pansy smirked, tilting her head. "Oh, but where's the fun in being agreeable? Someone has to keep things interesting."
"Interesting?" Hermione repeated, her voice rising. "You've spent the entire day trying to make my life miserable. What is your problem?"
Pansy set her wand down, her smirk softening into something colder. "My problem," she said lightly, "is that you're exactly who everyone thinks you are. Hermione Granger—the perfect, untouchable Gryffindor. Always right, always adored. Honestly, it's nauseating."
Hermione stared at her, anger bubbling beneath her exhaustion. "And you're exactly who I thought you were," she snapped. "Bitter, petty, and completely incapable of letting go of the past."
For a moment, something flickered in Pansy's eyes—an emotion Hermione couldn't quite place. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by her usual mask of indifference.
"Well," Pansy said, shrugging. "We can't all be saints, can we?"
Hermione shook her head, turning back to her desk. "Unbelievable."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the scratch of Hermione's quill as she pretended to focus on her notes. Pansy, meanwhile, resumed polishing her wand, humming softly to herself in a way that was maddeningly self-satisfied.
As the minutes stretched on, Hermione felt her initial anger ebb into something quieter but no less intense. She thought of Hagrid's words earlier that day: Sometimes it's the ones making the most noise that need the most help. Was there any truth to that when it came to Pansy? Or was she simply cruel for the sake of it?
It didn't matter tonight, Hermione decided. Her head throbbed, her patience was gone, and she needed sleep more than answers. With a flick of her wand, she extinguished the lights and climbed into bed, tugging the covers up to her chin.
Across the room, Pansy's voice broke the darkness. "Sweet dreams, Granger."
Hermione exhaled sharply, biting back a retort. She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts a jumbled mess as the events of the day replayed in her mind. Sharing a room with Pansy Parkinson was going to be more challenging than she'd ever imagined.