The Astronomy Tower was silent except for the occasional whistling of the wind through the cracks in the ancient stone. Pansy sat on the ledge beneath one of the wide, arched windows, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them as though she could hold herself together by sheer force of will. The cold seeped through her robes, biting at her skin, but she welcomed it. She deserved the discomfort.
Deserved far worse, probably.
She let her head fall back against the wall, staring up at the darkening sky, dotted faintly with stars. The events of the past hour replayed mercilessly in her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Hermione's face—her shock, her anger, and the way her hand had flown to her forearm like a reflex—burned in Pansy's thoughts.
"I hate you, Granger!"
The words had been a lie, or half a lie. Pansy wasn't even sure anymore. Hate had always been easier to name than whatever this was—this sickening swirl of emotions that tugged at her chest and made her head pound. Hate didn't twist itself into knots at the taste of cinnamon on her lips. Hate didn't haunt her thoughts the way Hermione bloody Granger did.
She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block it all out. "What's wrong with me?" she muttered under her breath.
But there was no answer. Just the wind, howling faintly through the stones.
Pansy had run. Of course she had. Bolted like a coward the moment Hermione's stunned expression cut through her anger. How could she explain it? How could she even begin to apologise?
"Why do you always ruin everything?" she whispered to herself bitterly.
The click of a door echoed faintly across the tower. Pansy froze. She lifted her head, turning toward the sound, but the shadows near the entrance hid the figure from view. Her pulse quickened, her hand instinctively reaching for the wand—
Her wand.
Her heart dropped like lead into her stomach. She'd left it. Left it on the floor of the dormitory like an absolute idiot. She didn't even have a way to defend herself.
She slid off the ledge, her movements cautious as she pressed herself against the cool stone wall, half-hidden by shadow. Whoever it was, they wouldn't find her here. Not unless they were—
"Weasley."
The name escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Ginny Weasley stood at the top of the stairs, her red hair practically glowing against the dim backdrop of the tower. She looked every inch the war hero she was—confident, dangerous.
"Thought I'd find you here," Ginny said, her voice cool but edged with unmistakable irritation. "You're not exactly subtle when you're wallowing. Highest room, tallest tower, very cliché Parkinson."
Pansy scowled, forcing herself to stand straighter even though her legs felt like lead. "Come to – what was it – properly mess me up?" She asked, trying to sound a lot braver than she felt.
Ginny didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer, holding out Pansy's wand. "You left this."
Pansy stared at it for a long moment before reaching out to take it, her hand brushing briefly against Ginny's. The contact sent a strange chill up her arm—more fear than anything else.
"You didn't have to—"
"Oh, spare me the false gratitude," Ginny cut her off sharply, dropping her arm back to her side. "I didn't do it for you."
Pansy's fingers curled around the wand, the familiar warmth settling in her palm. "Then why are you here?"
Ginny tilted her head, studying Pansy with an intensity that made her squirm. "Because Hermione made me promise not to hex you into next week, and right now, I'm seriously regretting agreeing to that. But I'm not the only out there who might hex you so you should at least have your wand to hand."
Pansy snorted, but there was no real humour behind it. "Big words, Weasley."
"I mean it," Ginny said, stepping closer, her voice low and dangerous. "You're lucky she's got more kindness in her little finger than most people do in their entire bodies. After what you said—after what you did—you don't deserve it."
Pansy flinched, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. "I didn't—"
"Don't lie," Ginny snapped. "You don't get to stand here and pretend you're innocent. You're a coward, Parkinson. You're too scared to admit to yourself what's actually going on inside your head, so you lash out. You tear other people down because it's easier than dealing with yourself."
"Shut up," Pansy growled, her grip on her wand tightening.
"No," Ginny said fiercely, her brown eyes blazing. "Not until you hear this: whatever game you're playing with Hermione, it stops now. She doesn't deserve this—your insults, your tantrums, or whatever this mess in your head is."
Pansy's throat burned as she swallowed, the weight of Ginny's words pressing down on her chest. "I never—"
"You kissed her," Ginny said bluntly, cutting her off.
Pansy paled, her face draining of colour. "She—she told you?"
"She didn't really have to, it was quite easy to get to the bottom of it. You've been acting like a lunatic stalker for weeks, and now her room looks like a troll ran through it, and she's sat babbling incoherent nonsense. I've been saying for a couple of weeks now that you either wanted to do her in or do her and nobody believed me." Ginny crossed her arms, her expression hard. "So let me be crystal clear: if you do anything to hurt Hermione again, I won't hold back. I don't care what promises I made to her. You'll regret it."
Pansy opened her mouth to respond, to spit back some clever retort, but nothing came. Her throat felt tight, her words strangled.
Ginny shook her head, exhaling sharply. "Sort yourself out, Parkinson. And leave her alone until you do."
With that, she turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing as she descended the stairs, leaving Pansy alone in the darkening tower.
The wind whipped through the open window, cold against Pansy's skin, but she barely felt it. Ginny's words rang in her ears, sharp and unforgiving, but worst of all... true.
Sort yourself out.
Pansy sank back onto the ledge, her wand clutched tightly in her trembling hand. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Hermione—her wide, stunned gaze, the way her lips had felt—soft and warm—against her own.
"I'm such an idiot," Pansy whispered to herself, her voice cracking.
For the first time in years, Pansy Parkinson didn't have the faintest idea what to do next.
The morning light filtered through the gaps in the parapet, but Pansy didn't need to see the sun to know it was there. The warmth of it would right now be spilling across the edge of the bed she wasn't in. She'd been awake for hours—or rather, she hadn't slept at all.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Granger. The kiss. The look on her face afterward—shock, confusion, and something else Pansy didn't want to think about. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. What mattered was that she couldn't face Hermione.
Not today.
Throwing on the cloak she'd used as a blanket and running a hand through her messy hair, Pansy slipped out of the tower while the rest of the castle was still quiet. She avoided the Great Hall entirely, her stomach churning at the thought of facing Ginny Weasley—or worse, Hermione herself.
Instead, she wandered the empty corridors, letting the silence wrap around her like a shield. The usual confidence in her stride was gone, replaced by something more tentative. Her shoes tapped lightly against the stone, echoing faintly in the vast halls.
"Coward," she muttered under her breath.
She knew it was true. Pansy Parkinson didn't run away. She didn't hide. She didn't avoid confrontations. And yet here she was, ducking behind statues whenever she heard footsteps, her heart pounding at the mere thought of being seen.
The morning passed in a blur of empty classrooms and quiet corridors. She spent most of her time tucked into the farthest corner of the library, far away from anyone who might recognize her. She didn't touch the books on the shelves, didn't even bother pretending to study. Her mind was too loud, too chaotic.
"What were you thinking?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.
But she hadn't been thinking. That was the problem. The kiss had been impulsive, reckless, and it had left her feeling more exposed than she ever thought possible. She'd spent years building up her armour, crafting her sharp tongue and icy demeanour to keep people at a distance. And in one moment, she'd let it all crumble.
By lunchtime, the hunger gnawing at her stomach forced her out of the library. She ducked into the kitchens instead of the Great Hall, muttering a quick "Thank you" to the house-elves as they handed her a plate of sandwiches. She ate standing up in a quiet alcove, the food tasting like ash in her mouth.
The afternoon brought more wandering, more avoiding. She caught glimpses of Hermione once or twice—on the grounds with Ginny and Luna, heading into the Transfiguration classroom—but each time, Pansy turned on her heel and fled in the opposite direction.
Her heart raced every time she saw Hermione's curls, every time she heard her laugh drifting down the hall. It was maddening.
She ended up in the owlery as the sun began to set, the air cool and heavy with the scent of hay and feathers. The distant hoots of owls provided a strange sort of comfort as Pansy leaned against the wall, staring out over the rolling hills beyond the castle.
"Get a grip," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She doesn't care. She probably hates you."
The thought was both a relief and a knife to the chest.
The sound of footsteps on the stone stairs made her stiffen. She pressed herself against the wall, her wand slipping into her hand on instinct. But the steps didn't come closer. Whoever it was had stopped just outside the owlery.
Pansy held her breath, waiting for them to leave.
The footsteps resumed, softer this time, retreating back down the stairs. She let out a shaky exhale, her grip on her wand relaxing.
She stayed in the owlery until the stars began to appear, the chill in the air growing sharper. She didn't know where else to go, didn't know how to face the inevitable.
All she knew was that tomorrow, she'd have to do it all over again. Her body was already a mess from the severe lack of sleep, though, and she knew she couldn't keep this up indefinitely.
The dim light of the castle felt heavier than usual as Pansy left the Owlery, her steps dragging over the cold stone floor. Her limbs felt leaden, every muscle aching from days without proper rest, and her thoughts swirled in chaotic circles she couldn't control. All she wanted was to find another quiet corner to collapse in, just for an hour, just long enough to stop feeling like she was unravelling.
But the castle was alive in the silence. Every creak of the walls, every echo of her steps felt like a reminder that she didn't belong anywhere. The Astronomy Tower wasn't safe anymore. The Owlery wasn't either. Even now, she could feel the weight of Ginny's words in her chest: Sort yourself out.
"Easier said than done," she muttered, her voice swallowed by the empty corridor. She turned down another passage, aimless but determined to avoid the dormitory. She couldn't face Hermione. Not again. Not after everything.
The faint sound of footsteps behind her brought her to a halt. Pansy stiffened, her hand gripping her wand as she glanced back over her shoulder. At first, she thought she was imagining it—the flicker of movement, the soft scrape of a sole against stone. But then it came again, closer this time.
She turned sharply, her voice brittle. "Who's there?"
From the shadows emerged Hermione Granger, her expression unreadable but her presence unmistakable. Her wand was in her hand, though it wasn't raised, and she stepped into the dim light with purpose, her gaze fixed on Pansy.
Pansy's heart dropped to her stomach. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Hermione didn't flinch. She came to a stop a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're not easy to track down, you know."
"What do you want, Granger?" Pansy's voice was sharp, but the exhaustion in it dulled the edges. "Come to lecture me again? Or maybe hex me this time? I wouldn't blame you."
"Neither," Hermione said, her tone even. "I want to talk."
"Of course you do." Pansy rolled her eyes and turned away, her steps quickening as she tried to put distance between them. But Hermione's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"Don't walk away from me, Pansy."
The use of her first name stopped her cold. She turned back, her eyes narrowing. "Why? So you can tell me how pathetic I am? Don't waste your breath, I know."
"I wasn't planning to," Hermione replied, her voice calm but firm. "I'm worried about you."
Pansy laughed, the sound harsh and humourless. "Worried about me? Don't insult me, Granger."
"It's not an insult," Hermione said, stepping closer. "I've been watching you—for days now. You haven't eaten, you haven't slept, and you're avoiding everyone, including your own housemates. You're not okay, and it's not just about what happened in the dorm, or after Potions."
"How observant of you," Pansy snapped, though her voice lacked its usual venom. "So, what now? Are you going to save me, too? Add me to your collection of lost causes?"
Hermione's brow furrowed, her expression softening. "You're not a lost cause, Pansy. But you are running yourself into the ground, and it's only going to get worse if you keep hiding."
"I'm not hiding," Pansy lied, her voice tight.
"You've barely been back to the dorm in days," Hermione said, her tone growing sharper. "You've been camping out in the cold, avoiding meals, skipping classes. And for what? To prove something? To punish yourself?"
"Why do you care?" Pansy snapped, her voice rising. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Because I know what it feels like!" Hermione's voice broke through the tension like a hammer on glass. The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, and for the first time, Pansy saw something vulnerable in Hermione's expression—something she couldn't quite place.
"You know what it feels like to be hated?" Pansy scoffed, but the bitterness in her tone wavered. "To be the villain in everyone's story? To have nowhere to go?"
"You know I do," Hermione said softly, her right hand reaching instinctively for the scar just above her left wrist.
"I—," Pansy took a deep breath. She couldn't formulate a response. Of course Granger knew what it was like to be hated, she'd spent most of the past twelve months being hunted. Pansy had seen her face on plenty of wanted posters around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but she'd never once taken a moment to think about what it would be like to be the person in the posters.
"Please come back to the dorm and get a decent night's sleep," Hermione pleaded, "I know it's… a lot at the minute, but you're not doing yourself any favours right now, and we've got a whole year ahead of us, you can't avoid me forever."
Pansy's throat tightened as Hermione's words settled between them, soft yet weighted. The plea wasn't laced with pity or superiority, but genuine concern, and it made Pansy's stomach churn. She hated this—hated feeling exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, cared for.
"I'm not avoiding you," Pansy muttered, her voice unconvincing even to her own ears. She couldn't look Hermione in the eye, instead focusing on a loose thread in the hem of her robes.
"You are," Hermione said, her voice gentle but firm. "And I understand why. But this—" she gestured vaguely to Pansy's dishevelled state, her pale face, and the dark circles under her eyes— "isn't helping either of us."
Pansy felt her fingers twitch around her wand, a nervous habit she couldn't seem to shake. "Why do you even care, Granger?" she snapped, her voice brittle. "You should hate me. I've given you plenty of reasons."
Hermione sighed, her shoulders sinking slightly. "I don't hate you, Pansy. Believe me, it would be easier if I did. But I can't. Because I know that there's more to you than the insults and the walls you put up."
Pansy snorted, though it lacked any real venom. "Is that so? And what exactly do you think you see in me?"
Hermione hesitated, her gaze steady but contemplative. "I see someone who's scared," she said finally. "Someone who's trying so hard to push everyone away that she's forgotten how to let anyone in."
The words hit Pansy like a punch to the gut. Her carefully constructed facade cracked just a little more, and she found herself unable to meet Hermione's eyes. "You don't know me," she said weakly.
"I'd like to," Hermione replied simply.
Pansy's chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt like the walls of the corridor were closing in on her. She wanted to run, to escape this conversation and the way it was peeling back the layers she'd spent years building. But there was something in Hermione's voice—something unrelenting yet kind—that rooted her in place.
"You're relentless, you know that?" Pansy said, attempting a smirk, though it came off more as a grimace.
"So I've been told," Hermione replied with the faintest hint of a smile.
Pansy let out a shaky breath, her hands dropping to her sides. "Fine," she muttered. "I'll come back. But only because I'm sick of sleeping on cold stone floors—not because of your little pep talk."
"Whatever reason gets you there," Hermione said, stepping aside to give Pansy room to move. "I'll walk with you."
"Don't push your luck," Pansy grumbled, though her steps fell in line with Hermione's as they began the quiet journey back to the dorm.
The silence between them was thick, but it wasn't as suffocating as it had been before. And for the first time in days, Pansy allowed herself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't entirely alone in this mess.
Pansy had to admit, she did feel better after she'd peeled off her dirty robes and taken a shower. She now at least physically resembled the normal Pansy Parkinson, and the hot water had dulled the ache in her bones. When she re-entered the room she shared with Hermione, the bookish girl was sat on her bed in her pyjamas, her hair in that damn braid which Pansy was sure had started all of this mess in the first place. She held out a large square of chocolate to Pansy.
"It's Honeydukes," Hermione said, shaking it at her. Normally Pansy would refuse, but her relationship with Granger was strained enough as it was, and the chocolate did smell divine. She bit into a corner of the chocolate and felt as though a soft warmth was spreading through her. "Better?" Pansy nodded. They sat quietly for a while, each waiting for the other to break the ice. Finally, unable to bear it, Pansy spoke, her voice slightly hoarse.
"I'm… sorry for… what I've put you through the past few days."
Hermione took a thoughtful pause before responding. "It's been… a bit of an emotional rollercoaster I'll admit. I've been through worse and came out okay though."
"What's a… what did you say? A rollercoaster?" Hermione looked at her for a moment as though she'd just asked her what a teacup was before letting out a slight giggle.
"Muggles ride them, they're kind of like trains, but they go really fast, and they go up and down, and round, and sometimes loop-the-loop. A bit like the carts at Gringotts actually."
"And this is how Muggles get to the bank to access their money?" This time Granger laughed at her properly and Pansy felt the anger rising back up from the pit of her stomach.
"No, Muggle banks aren't anything like Gringotts. People ride rollercoasters for fun, Muggles have these theme parks, big places full of rollercoasters and other rides. Families go there for a day out, or for a couple of weeks in places like Disney World."
"Disney World?" Pansy asked.
"It's a huge theme park in America. Disney is a big company that makes films based on Muggle children's stories."
"So, Muggles go to the States to ride these upside-down trains for fun?"
"Yes," Hermione replied as though this wasn't at all weird. "That's where the expression a bit of an emotional rollercoaster comes from; my emotions have been up, down, and all around."
"I see," Pansy replied, and then let an awkward silence settle over them for a couple of minutes.
Pansy toyed with the corner of the chocolate square in her hand, avoiding Hermione's gaze as the silence stretched between them. The warmth from the shower still clung to her skin, but it did little to ease the knots in her stomach. Finally, she took another bite of the chocolate and muttered, "I suppose I owe you more than just an apology."
Hermione glanced up from her book, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the page. "You don't owe me anything, Pansy," she said softly. "But it might help—if you want to talk."
Pansy frowned, her fingers tightening around the wrapper of the chocolate. "Talk about what? How much of a lunatic I've been? How I managed to destroy both your room and any shred of dignity I had left?"
Hermione shook her head, her braid shifting slightly over her shoulder. "No, not that. I meant about why. About what's been going on in your head."
Pansy let out a hollow laugh, leaning back against her bedframe. "If I could explain it, I might not feel like I'm losing my mind."
Hermione set her book aside and folded her hands in her lap, her gaze steady but kind. "You're not losing your mind."
"You don't know that," Pansy muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione leaned forward slightly. "I know that whatever you're dealing with, it doesn't have to feel like the end of the world. You don't have to force yourself to be alone, you're allowed to be friendly to people."
Pansy's lips twitched into a faint, humourless smile. "And here I thought Gryffindors didn't do subtle."
Hermione smiled back, though there was a hint of sadness in her expression. "We're full of surprises."
Pansy stared down at her hands, her nails biting into the edges of the chocolate wrapper. "I don't know how to make this better, Granger. I've been… awful to you."
"You've been… challenging," Hermione admitted, her tone even, "but I've seen worse. And I'm still here, aren't I?"
Pansy pondered this for a while, before asking a question she felt she had no real rights to. "What was it like when you were… I guess, on the run?"
Hermione blinked at Pansy's question, clearly not expecting it. She hesitated, her fingers brushing over the spine of the book she'd set aside, as though grounding herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, careful, as though she was choosing each word with precision.
"It was... hard," Hermione admitted. "It felt like being trapped in a constant state of fear. Every day, every hour, we didn't know if we'd make it to the next. There were times when it felt like the whole world was against us, like there wasn't a single safe place left to go. We ran out of food a lot, we were really cut off from the Magical World for a while. We worried about our friends, and we heard about a lot of deaths on the radio. Dumbledore gave us a job to do, but he didn't really explain… it sucked, it really, really sucked." Hermione said the last part quietly, as though she was admitting a secret. It seemed to have lifted a weight from her shoulders though.
Pansy leaned back against the bedpost, her arms crossing over her chest. She'd asked the question on impulse, not really expecting Hermione to answer, but now that she had, Pansy found herself unable to look away, unable to stop probing further. "And you just… kept going?"
Hermione's lips quirked into a faint, bitter smile. "What choice did we have? It wasn't about bravery or heroics—it was survival. Harry needed me. Ron needed me. And there were moments I wasn't sure I could keep going, but I couldn't let them down."
Pansy frowned, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "That sounds... awful."
"It was," Hermione said simply. "But it also taught me a lot about myself—about what I can endure, what I'm capable of and it made me appreciate the things I have now, even the small things."
"What did your parents think?" Immediately Pansy knew she had asked the wrong thing. Hermione's body language stiffened, and her expression became one of sheer panic, her breathing quickened.
"I don't want to talk about my parents."
"Ok!" Pansy said quickly, reaching out a comforting hand and then immediately withdrawing it, "I'm sorry Hermione." The girl relaxed again, but her eyes remained teary, and she gazed at something far away.
"What was it like for you, growing up?" Hermione asked eventually.
Pansy blinked, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, she considered brushing it off with a snide comment or a sarcastic quip, but something in Hermione's tear-brimmed eyes stopped her. There was no malice in the question, no judgment—just genuine curiosity.
"Well," Pansy began hesitantly, her fingers still worrying at the loose thread on her sleeve, "it wasn't exactly... terrible. At least, not in the way you'd expect."
Hermione tilted her head, her interest clear despite the lingering tension in her frame.
"My parents are... ambitious," Pansy said carefully. "Everything in my life growing up revolved around appearances. How we looked, who we knew, what people thought of us. There were expectations. Always expectations. Being a Parkinson meant being perfect. Or at least looking perfect. We're new money compared to the Malfoy's and Greengrass's, and my parents were obsessed with proving that they belong in those circles."
"Sounds exhausting," Hermione murmured, her tone softer now.
"It was." Pansy let out a bitter laugh. "But it was normal to me. That's just how it was. I didn't know there was any other way to live."
Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. "And what did you want?"
Pansy hesitated, the question catching her off guard. "Want?"
"Yes," Hermione said gently. "What did you want? Beyond the expectations, the appearances. What did you want for yourself?"
Pansy stared at her hands, her mind racing. It was a question she'd never really let herself think about, let alone answer. "I don't know," she admitted after a long pause. "I guess... there wasn't much room for me to want anything in my parents plans for me."
"What were their plans?"
"Marry Draco, give him a son, raise him with traditional Pure-Blood values, keep up appearances, look after the family finances with Dad until he signed his mines over to Draco. That's all out the window now of course."
"Sounds like you can finally focus on what you want."
"Hah!" Pansy let out the first genuine piece of snarky laughter for days. "As soon as my father gets out of Azkaban he'll have me married off to some old Pure-Blood man and expect me to pop out a couple of children."
"Why don't you just tell him to do one?"
Pansy's head snapped up, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Tell him to do one?" she echoed, her voice tinged with incredulity. "You don't know my father, Granger. He's not exactly the kind of man who takes no for an answer."
Hermione shrugged, her expression calm but firm. "Then make him listen. You're not a child anymore, Pansy. You have a say in your life, whether he likes it or not."
Pansy laughed again, but this time it was bitter, lacking the sharp wit that usually accompanied her sarcasm. "You make it sound so simple. Just stand up to him, right? Tell the man who's spent his entire life controlling mine that I'm not interested in playing his little games anymore. I'm sure that'll go down brilliantly."
"It's not simple," Hermione acknowledged, her tone softening. "But it's possible and judging by… recent events… you don't want to be married off to some man just because he's a Pure-Blood."
Pansy's cheeks burned, flushing a darker crimson than a Gryffindor tie. "Can we not talk about it?"
"Why?" Hermione rolled her eyes, "would saying it out loud make it real? Do you not think we're a little way past that stage Pansy?"
Pansy's jaw tightened, her arms folding defensively across her chest as she avoided Hermione's gaze. "I said I don't want to talk about it," she repeated firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity. "Oh, come on, Pansy. You're the one who started smashing up my side of the room and shouting about cinnamon and braids. You don't get to just sweep this under the rug now."
Pansy's blush deepened, and she shot Hermione a glare that lacked its usual bite. "I hate you, do you know that?"
"So you've told me," Hermione replied, unperturbed. "But that doesn't change the fact that avoiding this isn't going to make it go away."
Pansy threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine! Do you want me to say it? I don't want to be married off to some well-chosen Pure-Blood man because I'm not sure I'm interested in men at all." Her cheeks burned again. What the hell was she saying? Girls don't like other girls!
"I guess it makes it doubly difficult for you to be attracted to a Mudblood then? Really goes against your upbringing."
"Don't use that word!" Pansy snapped, a feeling of deep shame rising in her throat.
"Why? You used it." Replied Hermione.
Pansy winced at Hermione's calm retort, the words landing with a weight she hadn't expected. She couldn't bring herself to meet Hermione's eyes, the shame coiling tighter around her chest. "I know I used it," she muttered. "And I've regretted it every second since."
"Then why did you say it?" Hermione asked, her tone less accusatory now, more curious, like she was genuinely trying to understand. "Why go there, Pansy? You knew it would hurt."
"Because I'm an idiot," Pansy admitted bitterly, her nails digging into her palms. "Because I panicked, alright? You were standing there, so perfect and self-righteous, and it made me feel so... so small. I wanted to lash out, and I went for the one thing I knew would cut the deepest."
Hermione studied her, silent for a long moment. "And does it make you feel better? Hurting me?"
"No," Pansy whispered, her voice barely audible. "It made me feel worse. It always does."
Hermione sighed, leaning back slightly as she considered Pansy's words. "Then why keep doing it? Why not just… stop?"
Pansy laughed, though the sound was hollow and bitter. "Do you think I haven't tried? Do you think I don't lie awake every night wondering why I'm like this? Why I can't just be normal?"
"Normal is overrated," Hermione said simply. "And, for the record, you don't have to figure this all out right now. But you do have to stop tearing me down because you can't sort through your own feelings."
Pansy finally looked up, meeting Hermione's gaze. The Gryffindor's expression was steady but not unkind, her brown eyes warm despite the hard truths she'd laid bare.
"I don't hate you," Pansy admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability she'd tried so hard to hide. "I thought I did, but I don't. I hate… this. Whatever this is. I hate feeling like I'm losing control."
"Is it really so awful that you might fancy a girl? A Mudblood too?"
"I told you to stop!"
"I won't," Hermione said defiantly. "I'm sick of being afraid too. I hear that word every night in my dreams, and I don't want to let it have any more power over me! I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable. You can be ashamed of using the word all you like, but at least you don't have to carry it around on your skin!" Saying it out loud finally broke the bookish girl and she burst into tears, her hands trying to hide her face. Instinctively, Pansy crossed over to Hermione's bed and wrapped her arms around Hermione, trying to ignore the feelings that arose from being so close.
Pansy's movements were awkward, hesitant, as though she didn't quite know what to do with her hands. Still, she pulled Hermione close, the weight of the other girl's sobs pressing against her chest. Hermione clung to her, her face buried in Pansy's shoulder, and for a moment, the dormitory was filled only with the sound of her quiet crying and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Pansy's throat tightened. She'd never been good at comfort, never been the one anyone turned to when they were falling apart. And yet here she was, holding Hermione Granger in her arms, unsure if she was doing more harm than good.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, the words barely audible over Hermione's sobs. "I didn't mean to make it worse. I—" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I wish I could take it all back. Everything I said. That word. All of it."
Hermione didn't respond, but her fingers tightened slightly on Pansy's robes, a small, instinctive gesture that made Pansy's heart ache. She could feel Hermione's tears soaking into her shoulder, the warmth of her breath against her neck. It was... intimate in a way Pansy wasn't prepared for, and she didn't know how to handle the flood of emotions it brought with it.
"I don't hate you," Pansy repeated, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. ". I just don't know what else to do. You—" She swallowed hard, her words catching in her throat. "You're everything I've been brought up to hate, everything people like me despise, but it's really difficult. You make me feel things I don't understand and that terrifies me. Every time I learn more about you, every time I'm forced to spend an hour sat next to you, my whole worldview gets ripped to shreds and I realise that I'm the villain, not you."
Hermione's sobs gradually quieted, her breath hitching as she pulled back slightly to look at Pansy. Her eyes were red, her cheeks damp, but there was something piercing in her gaze—a mixture of confusion, vulnerability, and something else Pansy couldn't quite identify. "I've met the real villains Pansy Parkinson, and you are not like them at all."
Pansy felt her breath hitch at Hermione's words, spoken with a quiet intensity that cut through her like a blade. She wanted to argue, to push back, to deny it outright—but the look in Hermione's eyes held her still. That unshakable Gryffindor conviction, so familiar yet so foreign when directed at her, left Pansy speechless.
"You don't know that," Pansy finally muttered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her hands still resting on Hermione's arms. "You don't know the things I've thought, the things I've said... done."
With a shaky hand, Hermione pulled back the left sleeve of her pyjamas, her breathing was shallow, but her gaze could have burned a hole in Pansy. In the light of dorm, Pansy could make out every detail of the wicked scar. The edges of each letter were jagged and messy. Whoever had done this had wanted to inflict considerable pain. "Have you ever done something like this?"
Pansy shook her head, bile rising in her throat.
"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me in Malfoy Manor. The Cruciatus Curse wasn't having the desired effect I guess… so she decided to do it the Muggle way. It's a little ironic really."
"Draco… never said." Pansy said weakly. How on earth did Hermione end up in Draco's house with his absolute nutter of an aunt? Looking at the scar on Hermione's arm made her feel sick. Knowing that it was carved onto the other girl in her ex-boyfriends' house made it worse, and knowing who had done it filled Pansy's mind with terrible images. Pansy had only met Bellatrix Lestrange once. She'd heard plenty of stories about her from parents and family friends about how talented she was, how she was one of the Dark Lord's favourite allies. When she had been at Draco's for dinner, Bellatrix had been there, and her excitement to meet the witch had quickly been snuffed out. Talented she may have been, but Pansy had spent the entire dinner in fearful silence as she'd watched and listened to the ramblings of a women whom it seemed that only Pansy could tell was a raving lunatic who might snap at any given moment.
"Of course he never said." Hermione snapped, bringing Pansy back to the present. "Bloody coward. He wouldn't give Harry over to Voldemort," Pansy winced, not only at the name, but at the fact she'd tried to do exactly that, "I'd hit Harry with a stinging hex when I knew we were going to be captured you see, so they asked Draco to identify him, but he wouldn't. I thought… well I thought he might finally have seen the light, but then, during the Battle of Hogwarts, he was back to his usual, trying to capture Harry. He brought Crabbe and Goyle with him, Crabbe tried to kill me, then he set the bloody Room of Requirement on fire and killed himself. Idiot."
Pansy felt another jolt in her stomach. Crabbe had been more Draco's friend than hers but being that they moved in the same circles she had known him fairly well, and he'd always been kind to her. The story of his death that Pansy had been told before his funeral didn't match what Hermione had just said in the slightest, and yet Pansy couldn't find it within herself to doubt the girl who was still wrapped up in her arms. She hasn't asked you to let go yet, a quiet voice said in the back of her head. Pansy wanted to let go of Hermione right then, but her arms wouldn't obey her, instead, she wrapped Granger tighter into her embrace.
"Draco's even more messed up than I am," Pansy admitted. "I don't think he wanted to do half the stuff he did, but a bit like me, he couldn't help himself."
"Have you seen him… since, you know..?"
"At Crabbe's funeral." Pansy felt the girl shift uncomfortably. The end of their embrace was near at hand. "We didn't have much to say to one another. He spends a lot of time at their holiday cottage on the South coast, away from the Manor. He doesn't see much of his Father either. As for Crabbe, they told the rest of us he was fighting bravely and got caught in the crossfire. The reverend didn't say which side he fought on of course, but we all knew. I assumed he'd caught a stray curse or something."
"Fiendfyre," Hermione said bluntly, "it nearly got all six of us."
"I'm glad it didn't," Pansy replied, giving the girl a gentle squeeze, "truly."
Hermione tilted her head back slightly, her hair brushing Pansy's shoulder as she let out a deep, weary sigh. "It's strange," she said quietly, her voice softer now, "to think about how close we all were to not making it. Sometimes it doesn't feel real, you know? Like it was all some terrible dream."
Pansy nodded slowly, her chin brushing the top of Hermione's head. She still couldn't quite believe the words coming out of her own mouth, couldn't reconcile the way her arms tightened protectively around the girl she'd once despised. "It feels real now," she said after a moment, her voice trembling slightly. "Too real. I used to think that it was all a big game, a game I was destined to win. Why should I care if some random Muggles get it? I'm a pureblood, one of the sacred families, I'd be the ruling elite in the new utopian society. Yet, with each day that passes I'm so glad that your lot won, even if it makes me a total outcast."
Hermione shifted slightly in Pansy's arms, her head tilting up to meet her gaze. Her expression was a mixture of exhaustion and surprise, as though she hadn't expected the raw honesty in Pansy's words. "Do you really mean that?" she asked softly.
Pansy swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I do," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm still… struggling with it. It's the opposite of what I've been taught, what my parents drilled into me about bloodlines and power. That doesn't just disappear overnight. But when I saw… when I started to understand what that 'utopia' actually looked like, it was—Merlin, it was horrific. And now, seeing you, knowing what you went through…" Her voice cracked, and she looked away, her fingers clenching into fists. "I hate myself, and I hate that I was ever a part of it."
Hermione studied her for a long moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "You didn't cast the spells," she said carefully. "You didn't hold the wand."
"No," Pansy admitted, her voice shaking. "But I stood there. I let it happen. I cheered when people like you were dragged through the mud, sometimes I dragged you through you the mud. I used that horrible word on a daily basis. I—I gave them every reason to believe I'd stand with them when it mattered most."
Hermione's hand reached up instinctively to rub her scarred forearm, her expression pained. "But you didn't stand with them," she said softly. "When it came down to it, you didn't join them."
Pansy let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Only because I was a coward. I wanted to save my own skin, not because I'd had some grand epiphany. Don't give me credit I don't deserve. I still stood up and tried to hand Potter over."
Hermione's eyes darkened, and she sat up slightly, pulling back just enough to look directly at Pansy. "Yes, you did," she said bluntly, her voice steady but sharp. "You made a mistake, a bad one. But that doesn't define everything about you unless you let it."
"I think I've made more than one bad mistake."
"At least you've started being honest about it," replied Hermione, "That's the hard part." Pansy sat silently, her arms still around Hermione, shame bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Why don't you start being honest about how you feel about Granger? The voice in head asked.
Pansy swallowed hard, her throat tightening at the intrusive thought. Why didn't she? Why couldn't she? The question lingered, heavy and unrelenting, as she stared at Hermione, her arms still loosely wrapped around the girl who had every reason to push her away.
"Honesty isn't exactly my strong suit," Pansy muttered, her voice low, almost a growl. She looked down at her hands, as if the answers might somehow be written there, but all she saw were trembling fingers clutching the edges of Hermione's pyjama top like a lifeline.
"Well," Hermione said softly, her tone lighter, almost teasing, "you've been managing so far tonight. Might as well keep going."
Pansy let out a dry laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. "You say that like it's easy. Like I haven't spent my whole life pretending, lying, bottling up everything I actually think or feel."
Hermione tilted her head, her gaze steady and searching. "You don't have to pretend with me," she said. "Actually, you can't pretend with me. Not anymore."
Pansy's heart thudded painfully against her ribs as Hermione's words settled between them. There was no teasing in her tone now, no lightness to hide behind. The raw sincerity in her voice left Pansy feeling stripped bare, as if every layer of armour she'd so carefully constructed over the years had been peeled away.
"I…" Pansy started, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap, her fingers curling and uncurling. "I don't even know where to start. Even I'm confused about my… feelings." The last word had almost brought Pansy to the point of vomiting. "One minute I sincerely hate you, and the next I… don't."
Hermione snorted with laughter, bending double in Pansy's arms. This caused Pansy to finally let her go, and she pursed her lips into a pout and folded her arms whilst Granger continued laughing at her. "Well," Hermione said through tears, although this time they were tears of laughter, "that's one way to describe that kiss!" Pansy groaned and threw herself backwards onto Granger's bed, her face buried in her hands.
Hermione's laughter continued to echo softly through the room, the sound surprisingly light given everything they'd just shared. Pansy, meanwhile, lay sprawled on the bed like a defeated duellist, her face still hidden behind her hands.
"Are you done?" Pansy muttered, her voice muffled by her palms. "Or do you want to keep humiliating me for a bit longer?"
Hermione wiped at her eyes, her laughter tapering off as she caught her breath. "I'm sorry," she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her sincerity. "It's just—you were so dramatic about it. 'One minute I hate you, and the next I… don't.'" She mimicked Pansy's voice, adding an exaggerated flair to her tone.
Pansy groaned louder, her hands dragging down her face as she peeked up at Hermione through her fingers. "I'm glad my emotional turmoil is so entertaining for you," she said dryly.
"It's not that," Hermione said quickly, sitting back against her own pillows. "It's just... I don't know. It's a relief, I guess. Hearing you say it like that, admitting you're confused—it makes this whole thing feel a little less impossible."
Pansy rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she regarded Hermione with a wary expression. "What's impossible about it?" she asked. "You're Hermione Granger. You're supposed to have all the answers."
"No answers, just theories."
"Oh?"
"I don't know everything about how you were brought up, but I'd wager that a girl liking other girls is a massive no?"
"It is," Pansy said seriously, "families have cast out sons and daughters in the past, sometimes worse."
"And I know for a fact that falling for a Mud- a Muggleborn," Hermione corrected herself at Pansy's expression, "is a definite way to get your name blasted off the family tree."
"Right," Pansy replied.
"So, it's no wonder you're a bit tetchy. You seem to have developed feelings for the most famous Muggleborn in Britain at the moment, who's dating the most famous blood traitor in Britain," Pansy's chest tightened. She'd forgotten all about Ron. Merlin what happens when he finds out?
"Who says that I've developed feelings?" Pansy said defensively, earning a pitying look from Hermione, "No, really. What if Weasley's right? What if it's all just lust?"
"So, you're lusting after me?" Hermione said, her cheeks turning pink.
Pansy's mouth opened, then shut, and she groaned, throwing herself flat onto Hermione's bed as though that might make her disappear entirely. "I don't know!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled by the quilt. "Why do you have to make everything sound so... so real?"
Hermione's blush deepened, but she refused to look away. "Well, it is real, isn't it? Whether it's feelings or... something else. You're still here, talking to me, instead of hiding out on top of the Astronomy Tower."
Pansy rolled onto her side, glaring at Hermione with as much dignity as she could muster while sprawled on the other girl's bed. "You really know how to kill the mood, don't you, Granger?"
Hermione smirked, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her composure. "What mood, Parkinson? You're the one who stormed in here throwing a tantrum about braids and cinnamon."
Pansy groaned again, covering her face with her hands. "Merlin, just kill me now."
"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice gentler now. "Because you're embarrassed? Because you might actually have to admit to yourself that you—"
"Don't say it!" Pansy cut in, sitting up so quickly that the room spun for a moment. Her hands flew up as if to physically stop Hermione from finishing her sentence.
"—care about me?" Hermione finished firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "There, I said it. What are you going to do about it?" Pansy's cheeks burned. The last time Granger had told her to do something about it Pansy had snogged the face off her and then hidden in the Astronomy Tower. It's that bloody braid Pansy thought gazing at the offending hair. It was driving her nuts. Pansy closed her eyes, as though not being able to see Granger would drive the thoughts from her mind. The pair lay side by side for a while in silence. Pansy listened to the sound of Hermione breathing softly. She could feel warmth radiating from the girl. They had just admitted an awful lot to each other, Pansy thought. She was emotionally spent.
"Do Muggles really go around on upside down trains, or were you taking the piss?"
Hermione blinked at the sudden shift in conversation, caught off guard by Pansy's question. "You mean rollercoasters?" she asked, her tone laced with mild amusement. "No, I wasn't taking the piss. Muggles really do ride them. For fun."
Pansy turned her head slightly, side-eyeing Hermione with a mixture of disbelief and incredulity. "You're telling me they willingly strap themselves into these contraptions, knowing they might flip upside down or plummet at terrifying speeds?"
"Yes," Hermione replied, her lips twitching into a smile. "It's exhilarating. They're designed to be safe, though I suppose the thrill comes from the illusion of danger."
"Mental." Pansy scoffed, stifling a yawn. Her eyelids were growing heavy. She should move really, but she felt comfortable and warm. The fire crackled slowly, and the sounds of Hermione's soft breathing relaxed Pansy in ways she couldn't quite fathom. Her head sank deeper into the pillow and her eyes closed, blotting out all of the light. She really should move.
Pansy found herself standing in the middle of a loud, chaotic space filled with bright lights and strange mechanical sounds. She glanced around, utterly bewildered. Stalls with bright banners advertised sugary confections and stuffed animals, and the air smelled of something sickly sweet—candy floss? She wasn't entirely sure what candy floss was.
Ahead of her stood the most bizarre contraption she'd ever seen. A train of sorts, but the carriages were open and brightly coloured, and the tracks twisted and turned in impossible loops. A massive sign overhead flashed in bold, neon letters: The Emotional Rollercoaster.
"What the bloody hell is this?" Pansy muttered to herself, taking a hesitant step closer.
A small figure appeared out of nowhere, tugging on her sleeve. She turned to see Hermione, grinning mischievously. Except... it wasn't exactly Hermione. This version of her wore Muggle trousers and a bright yellow shirt that read Keep Your Arms Inside the Ride. Her braid was loose, her curls bouncing wildly as she moved.
"Come on, Pansy," Dream Hermione said, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the contraption. "You said you wanted to see what all the fuss was about!"
"I never said—" Pansy started, but her protest was cut short as she was pulled into one of the carriages.
The safety bar snapped down over her lap, and Pansy's heart began to race. "Wait! I don't think I'm ready for—"
Too late. The carriage lurched forward, the tracks clicking ominously as they began to ascend a steep incline. Pansy gripped the bar tightly, her knuckles white. "This is insane! People actually enjoy this?"
Hermione, seated beside her, laughed, her face lit up with excitement. "Relax! It's just a ride. You'll love it!"
The carriage reached the peak of the incline, teetering for a moment that felt like an eternity. Pansy's breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the dizzying drop below. "I'm going to die," she muttered.
And then they plunged.
The wind whipped past her face, her stomach dropping as the carriage hurtled down the track. Loops, twists, and sharp turns blurred together, and Pansy found herself screaming—not in fear, but in something dangerously close to exhilaration. Hermione's laughter rang out beside her, and Pansy couldn't help but glance at her, her curls wild and her smile radiant.
When the ride finally came to a stop, Pansy was breathless, her heart pounding. She turned to Hermione, who looked entirely too smug. She gave Pansy a wide grin and leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Their lips touched, far too briefly for Pansy's liking, even though that was ridiculous because Pansy hated Hermione, didn't she? Pansy felt Hermione's hand pulling her out of the crazy upside-down train and back to the noisy pavilion that smelled of candy floss.
"See?" Dream Hermione said, her eyes twinkling. "Told you it'd be worth it."