Chapter 10
The Great Hall was alive with flickering candlelight and the first signs of Halloween festivity. Floating pumpkins carved with intricate designs bobbed gently above the tables, their toothy grins casting playful shadows on the enchanted ceiling. Bats flitted overhead in choreographed swoops, and a faint, ghostly breeze rustled through the air, adding a chill to the otherwise warm room.
Pansy Parkinson sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate with the tip of her fork. The chatter of her housemates buzzed around her, but none of it registered. Her mind was elsewhere—back in the library, back in Hermione Granger's infuriating presence, and back to Daphne Greengrass, who had just plopped herself down beside her.
"You've been awfully quiet lately," Daphne remarked, her tone light but probing. "Uncharacteristically so. No screaming matches in the corridors, no gossip, nothing. I told you to smooth things over with Granger, but I'm stunned you actually seemed to have managed it. How?"
Pansy's grip tightened on her fork, her eyes narrowing as she turned to glare at Daphne. "If by 'smooth things over,' you mean she's stopped actively hexing me with her eyes, then sure. Let's call that progress."
Daphne's smirk widened, clearly unimpressed by Pansy's deflection. "Oh, don't downplay it. People are noticing, you know. Whispers all over the table. Granger doesn't look at you like she wants to set you on fire anymore. It's almost like… she tolerates you. Maybe even likes you."
Pansy sighed heavily and dropped her fork onto her plate. "What exactly are you getting at, Daphne? I made a mess of things but I'm trying to sort it. Isn't that what you wanted?."
Daphne leaned in conspiratorially, her voice low enough to be drowned out by the chatter around them. "I'm just putting the idea out there that this could be useful. If Granger's warming up to you, it wouldn't hurt to... capitalize on it. She's Potter's right-hand girl. You know what that kind of connection could do for us."
"Us?" replied Pansy, "Does this mean I'm part of you and Blaise's little gang again? Oh goody!"
Daphne rolled her eyes, flicking a piece of imaginary lint off her sleeve. "Oh, don't be dramatic, Pansy. You've always been part of 'our little gang,' as you so charmingly put it. You just needed a reminder of where your priorities should be."
"And my priorities should be what, exactly?" Pansy said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Winning Gryffindor's golden girl over so you lot can ride my coattails to redemption after leaving me in the cold for weeks? Forgive me if I don't leap at the opportunity."
Daphne's smirk didn't falter. "Think of it less as redemption and more as… damage control. You've got to admit, it's not a bad idea. A little goodwill from Granger could go a long way."
Pansy scoffed, crossing her arms. "Goodwill from Granger? You make it sound like she's handing out sweets."
"Maybe she is," Daphne quipped, nodding toward the floating pumpkins above them. "But seriously, Pansy. If you're making progress with her, why not use it? Merlin knows we need something to tip the scales back in our favour."
"First of all," Pansy said sharply, "Granger isn't a pawn to use in your game of societal chess, and second, what makes you think I have any sway over her? She's as stubborn as they come. Trust me, I would know."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "And yet, here we are, with people noticing that she doesn't hate you anymore. Rumour has it you are even working closely together in class, and not one argument since your… unfortunate outburst. If that's not sway, I don't know what is."
Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat. She hated how easily Daphne's words got under her skin, how they made her question the very thing she was trying to make sense of herself. "I'm not doing it," she said finally, her tone firm. "If you want Granger's goodwill so badly, go grovel at her feet yourself."
Daphne tilted her head, studying Pansy with an expression that was equal parts amusement and curiosity. "Touchy, aren't we? Could it be that you don't want to risk ruining this little… connection of yours?"
"Drop it, Daphne," Pansy snapped, her voice low and warning. "Whatever you think is going on, it's not like that."
"Oh, I'm sure it's not," Daphne said sweetly, rising from the bench with a flick of her long, blonde hair. "But you might want to figure out what it is, Pansy. Before someone else does."
Pansy watched her walk away, her jaw tight and her fists clenched under the table. Around her, the Great Hall buzzed with laughter and chatter, oblivious to the storm brewing in her chest. She hated that Daphne had a point, even if she would never admit it out loud.
As her gaze wandered to the Gryffindor table and landed, unbidden, on Hermione Granger, Pansy felt a surge of frustration. At Daphne, at the tangled mess she'd found herself in—and, most of all, at herself.
By the time she returned to the 8th Year Common Room, there was already a small party in full swing. Dean Thomas had taken to smuggling in a couple of bottles of Firewhiskey on Friday nights, and each week his crowd had gotten a little bigger. Padma Patil was a regular at his side; she liked him, and he was a bit oblivious. The pompous but otherwise fairly affable Ernie Macmillan sat on an adjacent sofa next to… Blaise. Cleverly played, Pansy thought. Blaise enjoyed the company of the old Dumbledore's Army crowd about as much as he liked eating Hippogriff testicles, but clearly he was trying to play the same game as Daphne.
Pansy ignored him for the time-being and padded her way up to her room. She was still feeling a bit put out that Daphne had asked her to… Pansy wasn't sure exactly what, but she wasn't about to send Hermione off into the clutches of Daphne Greengrass. Pansy liked Daphne, she had done for a long time, but she was well-versed in Daphne's tendencies to pick up and put down people when it was convenient to her.
Pansy made her way up the stairs, her heels clicking softly on the stone. The noise from the common room faded as she climbed, but the thoughts swirling in her head were anything but quiet. Daphne's suggestion—or whatever that veiled command had been—still lingered like an unpleasant aftertaste. She hated how easily Daphne manoeuvred people into doing her bidding, always with that polished smile and the promise of shared gain.
But this wasn't a game Pansy wanted to play. Not with Granger. Not now.
Reaching her room, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting out a low sigh as she leaned against the closed door. The familiar sight of Granger's immaculately kept bed and perfectly organized trunk greeted her, a sharp contrast to the chaos in her head. She crossed the room, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing against the green and silver comforter.
Daphne's words replayed in her mind, her tone deceptively casual. "If Granger's warming up to you, it wouldn't hurt to capitalize on it."
As if Granger was some pawn to be moved across a chessboard. As if Pansy hadn't already complicated her life enough by trying—and failing—to keep her distance from her infuriating roommate.
"I don't owe her anything," Pansy muttered under her breath, though the words felt hollow.
She didn't owe Daphne anything either, but she'd always had a knack for staying on her good side. It had been easier to navigate Slytherin politics that way, to keep herself safe and relevant. But now, for the first time in years, she wasn't sure she wanted to keep playing the game. At least, not by Daphne's rules.
The thought of handing Hermione over to Daphne's schemes left a sour taste in her mouth. Hermione was… different. Unpredictable, yes, and maddeningly stubborn, but different. Daphne's charm and subtle manipulation wouldn't work on someone like her—not for long, anyway. But for some reason, Pansy couldn't bear the thought of watching Daphne try.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Pansy whispered, rubbing her temples. She felt a pang of something she couldn't name, a tightness in her chest that wouldn't ease no matter how hard she tried to shake it.
The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the common room below, a reminder of the party still in full swing. Blaise was probably down there, enduring Macmillan's endless stories with the same bored patience he reserved for tedious Ministry functions. Pansy briefly considered going back down, but the thought of sitting among those faces, pretending to care, made her stomach twist.
Instead, she stood and crossed the room to her desk, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook. It was an old habit, one she hadn't indulged in for months, but tonight, it felt like the only way to quiet her thoughts.
Flipping open the notebook, she picked up a quill and began to write. The words came slowly at first, disjointed and hesitant, but soon they spilled onto the page in a torrent of frustration, confusion, and something dangerously close to vulnerability.
She wrote about Daphne, about Blaise, about the party downstairs. But most of all, she wrote about Hermione. About the way her hair looked when she put it into that bloody braid, the way the colour rose in her cheeks when Pansy managed to make her flustered, and the way she had held onto Pansy—really held onto her—on that impossible night.
Pansy stared at the words on the page, her chest tightening as the truth stared back at her in black ink. She slammed the notebook shut, shoving it back into her desk drawer as though hiding it could erase what she'd just written.
But the words were still there, etched into her mind, and for the first time, Pansy Parkinson couldn't pretend she didn't care.
Pansy leaned back in her chair, staring at the desk drawer as though it might burst open and reveal her secrets to the world. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the room, but none of them were as dark as the tangled mess of emotions she was trying to shove aside.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Hermione Granger was supposed to be an annoying do-gooder with a penchant for rule-following and sanctimonious speeches—not someone who occupied her thoughts so thoroughly it was becoming impossible to think about anything else.
Pansy ran a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. She needed to pull herself together, but every time she tried to rationalize her feelings, they only seemed to grow more unruly. The way Hermione had looked at her earlier, the way she had whispered that teasing remark near the paddock, had sent a thrill coursing through her that she couldn't explain and definitely didn't want to acknowledge.
Now Daphne's voice was in her head, pushing her to use Hermione for her own benefit. It had been so easy in the past to follow Daphne's lead, to play the game and come out on top. But this wasn't just a game anymore, and Hermione wasn't just a piece on the board. Hermione Granger was special. The thought felt shameful to Pansy. She couldn't allow herself to develop feelings for a girl, especially a Muggle-born girl. If and when Pansy's parents got out of Azkaban, and if they found out, Pansy would be disowned, Hermione would be in danger, and Pansy wouldn't allow Hermione to be in danger.
She needed to get out of this room, away from her thoughts and the suffocating weight of her own admission. Maybe if she went back to the common room, she could drown it all out with meaningless chatter and Firewhiskey-fuelled laughter.
Or maybe Blaise would smirk knowingly at her from across the room, and she'd feel the same suffocating knot of frustration all over again.
With a groan, Pansy stood and paced the length of her room. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was too late to go wandering the castle aimlessly, and the idea of spending another night sleeping on a cold stone floor, tucked away in some broom cupboard made her stomach churn.
She was saved – if only briefly – from her thoughts by a sharp knock on the door. "Pansy are you up here brooding?" Daphne called from the other side of the door.
"I'm not brooding." Pansy lied. The door clicked open, and Daphne entered uninvited.
"No, you're pacing. Come downstairs and have a drink."
"I'm really not interested, and neither are they. I am Pansy Parkinson, public enemy number one, remember?"
"Yes, well, you won't change it hiding up here whilst everyone else is having fun. I mean, I had to force myself at first," Daphne said, rolling her eyes dramatically, "But that Dean Thomas isn't actually too bad for a Muggle-born."
"Well, you can let me know how your pursuit of him goes tomorrow."
"Oh, I'm not pursuing him," Daphne replied, scandalized, "I just mean he's at least got a bit of personality."
"Right."
"Oh, Pansy stop wallowing!" Daphne snapped. "Granger's down there too." Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and her voice had become softer. "I'm sure she'd be pleased to see you."
"Well now I'm even less interested."
Daphne rolled her eyes, stepping further into the room and folding her arms. "You're exhausting, you know that? Sulking in here like some tragic heroine in one of those awful Muggle romance novels."
"I'm not sulking," Pansy snapped, throwing herself dramatically onto her bed. "I'm brooding. There's a difference."
"I thought you said you weren't brooding," Daphne teased, grasping the doorknob, and making her way back out of the room, "I'll see you downstairs."
"No, you won't," Pansy called after her.
Daphne paused in the doorway, turning just enough to cast Pansy a knowing smirk. "We'll see," she said lightly, her tone dripping with infuriating confidence. Then, with a swish of her robes, she was gone, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Pansy scowled at the empty space where Daphne had stood, resisting the urge to throw a pillow at the door. It would only give Daphne the satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten under her skin—again.
She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as her mind churned. Why did Daphne have to mention Granger? It was bad enough that Hermione had been occupying her thoughts all evening without Daphne bringing her up like some kind of challenge.
Her gaze drifted toward the open door. She could hear the faint hum of chatter from the common room, the occasional burst of laughter. The idea of facing all those people—and potentially Hermione—made her stomach twist, but the alternative was stewing up here alone with her thoughts.
Pansy groaned and rolled onto her side, burying her face in her pillow. Why couldn't she just stay detached? Why couldn't she keep Hermione Granger in the neat, tidy box of people she loathed? It would make everything so much simpler.
But no. Hermione had to go and be clever and brave and infuriatingly kind, and now, thanks to Daphne's meddling, Pansy couldn't shake the image of her sitting downstairs, perhaps laughing at some joke, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire and the company.
"Fine," Pansy muttered to herself, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. "I'll go, but not for her."
She tugged on her robes and made her way to the door, hesitating for just a moment before stepping out into the hallway. The sound of laughter grew louder as she approached the common room, and her pulse quickened despite herself.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. It's just a party. Just people. Just... Granger.
And with that thought, Pansy squared her shoulders and walked into the room.
It was a mistake. Pansy knew that the moment she walked into the crowded common room. The air was thick with laughter and the tangy-sweet smell of Firewhiskey, but all of it felt distant as Ginny Weasley's eyes locked onto hers, brimming with barely concealed disdain. The redhead leaned back in her seat like a coiled spring, poised to pounce at the slightest provocation. Beside her, Luna Lovegood sipped delicately from a goblet of something brightly coloured, her serene expression a sharp contrast to Ginny's tension.
Hermione sat beside Luna, dressed in comfortable Muggle clothes—a soft jumper and faded jeans. The sight of her made Pansy's stomach twist in a way she didn't care to analyse. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly Granger could pull off that casual, carefree look. Pansy was still in her crisp uniform, and Daphne, seated nearby, had gone for her usual flair, donning a set of midnight blue robes that shimmered subtly under the flickering light. They were probably from some exclusive Parisian boutique, of course. Trust Daphne to dress like she was attending a gala instead of a casual dorm party.
Pansy's eyes flicked over the room, noting the source of the raucous laughter at its centre. Dean Thomas, clearly the mastermind behind the revelry, was leading a drinking game involving enchanted cards that glowed and pulsed as they flipped through the air. The rules seemed deliberately nonsensical—something about choosing partners or shouting out absurd magical incantations—but it didn't matter. The real point was the drinks, which were flowing freely from the assortment of bottles scattered across the tables.
"Parkinson," Ginny drawled, her voice cutting through the noise as Pansy made her way toward Daphne. "Didn't think this would be your scene."
Pansy hesitated for half a beat, forcing herself not to flinch under Ginny's glare. "It's not," she replied smoothly, tilting her chin up. "But Daphne insisted, and I'd hate to disappoint."
Daphne smirked, raising her goblet in mock salute as Pansy took the seat beside her. "Oh, don't pin this on me. I just knew you'd be bored moping upstairs."
Luna glanced between them, her head tilted slightly as though trying to read something in the air. "Do you like drinking games, Pansy?" she asked, her tone genuinely curious. "They're quite good for breaking the ice."
Ginny snorted. "Parkinson's more likely to freeze the ice solid."
"Don't tempt me," Pansy quipped, grabbing an unoccupied goblet, and pouring herself a splash of Firewhiskey. She ignored Ginny's glare as she leaned back in her chair, the fiery liquid burning its way down her throat. "What's the game?"
Dean, overhearing the question, grinned broadly. "This should be right up your street. Muggles call the game arrogance." The crowd of students murmured conspiratorially at Dean's thinly veiled insult. Pansy felt a tinge of colour in her cheeks but was determined not to rise to the bait. "When it's your turn, you draw a card from the deck. Each card has a rule attached to it, and if you draw it, you must follow the rule."
"And if I don't follow the rule?
Dean grinned wickedly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "If you don't follow the rule, you drink twice. Simple as that."
"And if the rule is something absurd?" Pansy asked, arching an eyebrow, her fingers lightly tapping the rim of her goblet.
"Well," Dean replied, spreading his hands, "that's where your arrogance comes into play. Do you think you can handle it? You follow the rule. If not, you pass, but you still drink twice for being a coward."
The murmurs around the room grew louder, a mixture of laughter and groans as a few students shared stories of previous humiliations in the game. Ginny leaned back, smirking. "This ought to be good."
"Fine," Pansy said, lifting her chin defiantly. "I'll play. Let's see what passes for entertainment in your little clique."
Dean dealt the first card, which landed in front of Ernie Macmillan. The Hufflepuff read it aloud, his ears turning pink. "Sing the Hogwarts anthem. If you refuse, down your drink."
Laughter erupted as Ernie groaned but stood, clearing his throat. His half-hearted rendition of the anthem was met with cheers and playful boos, and by the time he sat down, his cheeks were as red as the Gryffindor banners.
Next, the card went to Padma Patil, who had to share an embarrassing childhood story. She blushed but recounted an incident involving a Vanishing Spell gone wrong during a family dinner.
The game continued, and when it was Pansy's turn, all eyes turned to her. Dean slid a card across the table, his smirk still firmly in place. "Your turn, Parkinson."
Pansy picked up the card, her expression unreadable as she read it aloud. "Ask someone here to be your partner for the next three rounds. If they refuse, you both drink."
The room went silent, all eyes darting between Pansy and the other students. Pansy's gaze flicked to Daphne, who raised an eyebrow but made no move to volunteer. Ginny's smirk widened her eyes flicking between Pansy and Hermione.
"Weasley." The redhead's neck practically snapped with how quick she turned and locked eyes with Pansy, glaring as though she wanted to burn a hole straight through her. The crowd of students murmured excitedly, and Pansy knew that Ginny Weasley's pride would not permit her to refuse. Without saying a word, she nodded, still glaring at Pansy.
The tension in the room was palpable as Ginny scooted her chair closer to Pansy's, her movements stiff with indignation. "You've got some nerve, Parkinson," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Pansy to hear.
Pansy leaned back in her chair, her expression calm but with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You looked bored, Weasley. I thought I'd help liven up your evening."
Ginny's glare could have set the enchanted pumpkins ablaze, but she said nothing further, her jaw clenched tight.
Dean, clearly loving the drama, slid the next card toward Daphne with a flourish. "Your turn, Greengrass."
Daphne picked up the card with an elegant flick of her wrist, her smirk widening as she read it aloud. "Find the person to your left and sit on their lap for one round. Refuse, and you both drink."
A ripple of laughter ran through the group as Daphne arched an eyebrow at Blaise, who sat to her left. He rolled his eyes but nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat. With a dramatic flourish, Daphne plopped down onto his lap, her movements exaggerated for the audience. Blaise sighed, sipping his drink with practiced indifference, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.
"Charming," Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes as the game moved on.
The next card landed in front of Seamus, who had to mimic a professor of the group's choice. After some deliberation, the group chose Professor Trelawney, prompting a hilariously over-the-top impression that left everyone in stitches.
Finally, it was Ginny's turn. Dean slid the card across to her, and she snatched it up, glancing at Pansy with narrowed eyes before reading it aloud. "Whisper a secret to your partner. If you refuse, down your drink."
The room went silent again, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Ginny's grip on the card tightened, her knuckles white as she stared at Pansy.
Pansy tilted her head, her smirk firmly in place. "Well, Weasley? Got a secret worth sharing?"
Ginny's nostrils flared, but she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke into Pansy's ear. "I think you're up to something awful with Hermione, and I'm going to find out what it is and rake you over the coals. Mark my words, whatever scheme you and your little snake pals are cooking up, it's going to end far worse for you than it is for her."
Pansy's expression didn't falter, but inside, her stomach twisted. She met Ginny's glare with a measured look, keeping her tone light. "Is that your secret? I was expecting something juicier."
Ginny leaned back in her chair, her lips pressed into a thin smile. "Your turn, Parkinson."
Dean slid another card Pansy's way, the eyes of the group locked on her as she picked it up. She read it aloud, her voice steady. "Choose someone to dare you to do something. Refuse, and you drink twice."
The room erupted with murmurs, and Ginny's grin turned predatory. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
Pansy raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping idly against her goblet as she met Ginny's predatory grin with a calm, if not slightly amused, expression. "Go on, Weasley," she drawled. "Let's see what that Gryffindor bravery translates to when it comes to dares."
Ginny leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she considered her options. The room had grown quieter, the group's attention now firmly focused on the brewing tension between the two girls.
"All right, Parkinson," Ginny said finally, her voice low and deliberate. "I dare you to kiss someone in this room. Your choice."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a mixture of laughter and scandalized whispers. Pansy's smirk faltered for the briefest of moments before she recovered, her expression shifting to one of amused defiance.
"Is that the best you've got, Weasley?" Pansy asked, her voice dripping with nonchalance. "How terribly predictable."
"Go on, then," Ginny shot back, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Unless you'd rather be a coward and drink." Pansy eyed the girl with what she hoped was a look of petty loathing before turning and planting a kiss on a slightly stunned Daphne, who giggled and wiped her lips.
The room buzzed with laughter and playful jeers as Daphne, ever the showwoman, dramatically fanned herself. "I swear, Pansy, if you weren't so melodramatic, you might just sweep me off my feet," she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Pansy smirked, tilting her head. "Careful, Daphne. Keep talking like that, and people might start to think we're more than just friends."
Daphne rolled her eyes but played along, placing a hand over her chest in mock swoon. "Oh, the scandal!"
The laughter around the room grew louder, with even Dean shaking his head in bemusement. Only Ginny remained stony-faced, her narrowed eyes flicking between Pansy and Hermione, who was conspicuously quiet, her gaze fixed on the table as she fiddled with her goblet.
Another point to me, Pansy thought smugly, settling back into her chair. She could feel Ginny's glare burning a hole in her, but she refused to give her the satisfaction of looking her way.
Dean slid the next card across the table to Padma, who eagerly took it, her cheeks pink from a mix of laughter and Firewhiskey. The game moved on, the focus shifting away from Pansy for the moment, though she could still feel the tension in the air. Daphne stood up, finally allowed to leave Blaise's lap, much to his disappointment.
Daphne let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as she stood, smoothing her robes and casting Blaise a teasing glance. "Don't look so heartbroken, Blaise," she said with a smirk. "You'll survive without me."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I thought you and Pansy were an item now anyway?"
The group laughed, and Dean grinned as he slid the next card toward Luna, whose dreamy demeanour hadn't wavered all evening. She picked up the card with delicate fingers, tilting her head as she read it aloud.
"Perform a spell of the group's choosing, but you must do it blindfolded. If you refuse, drink twice."
The students erupted into a mix of laughter and excited suggestions, ranging from harmless levitation charms to more complex Transfiguration spells. Luna merely smiled, unbothered by the commotion. "I suppose that sounds fair," she said serenely.
Padma, sitting beside her, produced a scarf from her bag and tied it gently around Luna's eyes. The group finally settled on a simple Accio, deciding it was less likely to end in catastrophe. Luna waved her wand with practiced ease and summoned Dean's goblet from across the table, catching it neatly in her hand despite the blindfold.
The crowd cheered, and Dean clapped her on the back as he reclaimed his goblet. "You're too good at that, Luna."
Luna untied the scarf, her dreamy smile never faltering. "I've always been good at catching things."
The game moved to Blaise, who rolled his eyes at the card he drew. "Take a drink every time someone says the word 'Hogwarts' until your next turn." His resigned sigh drew more laughter, and the word Hogwarts was suddenly on everyone's lips.
As the game continued, Pansy found herself leaning back, observing rather than participating. The buzz of conversation and laughter filled the room, but her thoughts kept circling back to Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the start of the game. She caught a glimpse of Hermione smiling faintly at Luna's antics, but the expression didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Your turn, Parkinson," Dean called, sliding another card her way and breaking her reverie. Pansy picked it up, scanning the words quickly before reading aloud.
"Swap an item of clothing with someone in the room. Refuse, and drink three times."
The room erupted in catcalls and whistles, and Pansy groaned inwardly, her eyes instinctively flicking to Daphne, who was already grinning like a cat with cream. "Oh no," Pansy muttered. "Don't even think about it."
"Oh, I'm thinking about it," Daphne replied, her tone saccharine as she began loosening the clasp of her shimmering robes. "You'd look so good in blue Pansy."
"What about Ginny?" Ernie reminded everyone, "They're still partners?"
The room collectively turned to Ginny, who froze mid-sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she set the goblet down with deliberate care. "Absolutely not," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.
"Rules are rules, Weasley," Dean said with a grin, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Pansy has to swap with someone, and you're her partner."
Ginny glared at him, then at Pansy, who was doing her best to look unimpressed by the whole ordeal. "Oh, for Merlin's sake," Ginny muttered, pulling out her Gryffindor scarf and throwing it across the table. "Here. Swap this and call it done."
The room groaned in disappointment, though a few people chuckled as Pansy caught the scarf mid-air, examining it with mock disdain. "How generous," she drawled, untying the green and silver tie from around her neck and tossing it back to Ginny. "I suppose this counts."
Ginny snatched the tie, her expression sour as she looped it loosely around her neck. "Don't get too attached to it," she snapped, earning a round of laughter from the table.
Pansy smirked, wrapping the red and gold scarf dramatically around her own neck. "I think it suits me, actually," she said, flicking one end over her shoulder with exaggerated flair.
"You wish," Ginny muttered, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile.
The game moved on, the attention shifting to the next unlucky participant, but the tension between Pansy and Ginny lingered in the air. Hermione, who had been silent through the exchange, watched the interaction with a faintly amused expression, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—concern? Curiosity? Pansy couldn't quite tell, but she felt the weight of Hermione's gaze and found herself fiddling with the scarf absentmindedly.
It's just a stupid game, Pansy told herself, though her chest tightened when she caught Ginny's glowering glance once more. One more round she told herself, you can survive one more round with her.
"Hermione!" Dean said, tossing her a card.
Hermione caught the card with a practiced ease, her expression composed but her eyes flicking toward Pansy for the briefest of moments. She read the card aloud, her voice steady despite the growing buzz of anticipation in the room.
"Truth or dare. Choose one, and the person to your right will give you the challenge. Refuse, and drink four times."
The room erupted in cheers and jeers, everyone leaning forward eagerly. To Hermione's right sat Luna, who smiled serenely, seemingly unfazed by the pressure.
Hermione sighed, setting the card down on the table. "Truth," she said finally, her tone firm, though the faintest hint of a blush crept up her cheeks.
Luna tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "What's one thing you've done recently that surprised even yourself?" she asked, her voice lilting and curious.
The chatter in the room quieted slightly, the question hanging in the air. Hermione's gaze flicked to Pansy involuntarily, her lips pressing together as if she were trying to stop herself from speaking.
"Well?" Ginny prompted, her tone sharper than necessary.
Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of her goblet. "I... extended an olive branch to someone I never thought I'd get along with," she said, her voice measured, though her eyes darted briefly to Pansy.
The room was silent for a beat before Blaise chuckled softly. "That's the dullest answer I've ever heard."
Padma snickered, and Dean shrugged. "It counts," he said, dealing the next card. But the ripple of laughter and resumed conversation didn't mask the tension that lingered between Hermione and Pansy, who sat rigidly in her chair, the scarf around her neck suddenly feeling far too tight. Hermione picked up her goblet and took a long sip, avoiding Pansy's eyes. But Pansy could feel the weight of her unspoken words as clearly as if they'd been shouted across the room.
The cards inched closer to Ginny, each turn feeling longer than the last. Pansy sipped from her goblet to distract herself, but the burning sensation in her throat did little to dull the buzzing tension. Across the table, Hermione seemed intent on studying her drink, her fingers absently tapping the side of the goblet.
Finally, the card landed in front of Ginny, and Dean slid it over with an exaggerated flourish. "Your move, Weasley."
Ginny picked up the card, her eyes scanning it quickly. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face as she read aloud, "Challenge someone to a duel. Loser downs their drink."
The room erupted in cheers and laughter, several students immediately suggesting their picks for a dramatic showdown. Ginny's eyes, however, locked directly onto Pansy and glared at her savagely.
"Parkinson," Ginny said, her voice dripping with challenge.
Pansy raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair with practiced ease. "You sure about that, Weasley? You might not like the outcome."
Ginny leaned forward, her grin sharpening. "Oh, I think I'll manage."
The crowd grew louder, the students eagerly clearing space between the furniture for an impromptu duel. Blaise smirked from his corner, clearly enjoying the unfolding spectacle, while Daphne sipped her drink with a look of mild amusement.
Hermione's voice cut through the noise. "This is ridiculous," she said sharply, standing up. "We're not actually doing this, are we?"
Ginny's gaze flicked to Hermione, her grin faltering slightly. "It's just part of the game, Hermione. Don't worry, I'll go easy on her."
Pansy smirked, rising slowly to her feet. "Oh, please don't. I'd hate to think you weren't giving it your all."
The room erupted in a mixture of laughter and gasps, and Dean stepped forward, clearly relishing his role as unofficial referee. "Alright, alright, keep it clean. No Unforgivable Curses, obviously, or anything really nasty, or anything we'll have to explain to Madame Pomfrey or McGonagall. First to disarm wins."
Pansy rolled her eyes but drew her wand, her stance relaxed. Ginny mirrored her movements, her jaw tight as they faced each other. Hermione crossed her arms, her frustration evident as she muttered something under her breath about Gryffindor bravado.
Dean raised his hand dramatically. "On my count. Three... two... one... duel!"
The wands moved almost simultaneously, sparks flying in a flash of light as spells collided mid-air. The room buzzed with energy, the line between playful rivalry and genuine tension blurring with each flick of a wand. Pansy's smirk deepened as she blocked Ginny's second spell with ease.
"You'll have to do better than that, Weasley," she taunted, her voice smooth and infuriatingly calm.
Ginny's face reddened, her grip on her wand tightening. "Oh, I plan to," she shot back, firing off another spell that narrowly missed Pansy's shoulder.
Pansy retaliated with a swift disarming spell, but Ginny countered, their wands crackling with energy. Around them, the students cheered and jeered, the atmosphere electric.
Hermione, however, stood apart from the crowd, her arms still crossed, and her expression torn between exasperation and something else—something that Pansy couldn't quite place but made her heart race, nonetheless. She sent another Expelliarmus Ginny's way, but the Gryffindor was too quick for her. For what seemed like an hour they ducked and weaved, becoming increasingly desperate in the quest for the others wand. Pansy was an adequate duellist, but she was finding Weasley an incredibly difficult challenge.
The crowd cheered and booed as the two girls duelled, sending the cards flying across the room, and charging the atmosphere around them with electricity. Pansy briefly searched out Hermione, whose eyes darted between the pair of them with a worried expression. In that brief moment, Pansy hesitated at the look on Granger's face, and the next moment her wand was spinning out of her hand. Ginny Weasley plucked it out of the air with savage triumph plastered across her face. Cheers rang out across the room as Pansy's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Now drink." Ginny commanded, her wand trained on Pansy. Sighing deeply, Pansy grabbed her goblet and raised it towards Weasley before throwing it back and draining its contents. The Firewhiskey burned in her throat, and she was left wishing desperately she'd mixed it with something to dilute it. Hermione, at least, seemed to have relaxed considerably now that the duel was over, and to her credit, Ginny handed Pansy her wand back without fuss.
"Fun though that was," Daphne said, smoothing out her robes as she took a seat, "Could we perhaps try a game that doesn't involve duelling next?" The students laughed and many nodded their agreement.
"What about Never Have I Ever?" Ernie Macmillan piped up, drawing a few groans from those who knew the game. Pansy wasn't a fan of the way he was eyeing up Daphne as he explained the rules. It was a simple enough game, each person would take a turn stating Never have I ever, before stating something they hadn't done, and those who had, drank. It was exactly the type of game that would turn dirty in a hurry and Pansy was half mortified, half intrigued.
"Brilliant idea!" Dean said with a grin, clearly keen to keep the party rolling. "We'll keep it tame to start with, yeah?"
"Until someone gets too many drinks in them," Daphne muttered, smirking as she leaned back in her chair. "This should be good."
Pansy, still nursing the burn of her last drink, crossed her arms. "Fine. But I reserve the right to veto anything absurdly personal."
"Goodness, I wonder what absurdly personal things Pansy Parkinson doesn't want us to know," Ginny said, her grin almost predatory. Pansy shot her a foul glare but said nothing, knowing any protest would only make her look weak, and raise questions she did not want to answer.
The group settled into a rough circle, the room buzzing with anticipation. Dean took the lead, naturally. He held up his goblet and declared, "Never have I ever... fallen off my broom."
A ripple of laughter went through the group as several people, including Ginny and Ernie, took long sips from their goblets. Pansy remained still, her smirk firmly in place. Of course she hadn't fallen off her broom—she'd always been too cautious for that sort of thing.
Next, it was Padma's turn. "Never have I ever... used magic outside of school before my O.W.L.s," she said, her tone playful but with a knowing edge.
Half the group drank, including Hermione, who looked vaguely sheepish. Pansy raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Hermione caught her eye and shrugged. "It was for a good reason," she said defensively.
"Oh, I'm sure," Pansy replied, her smirk widening. "Probably saving elves or bailing Potter and Weasley out of some mess they made."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
As the game went on, the questions became increasingly bold, as Pansy had predicted. Blaise, ever the smooth operator, threw out a sly "Never have I ever kissed someone from another house," which prompted a cascade of drinks from nearly everyone, including a flustered Ernie and a laughing Ginny.
Pansy stayed quiet, her goblet untouched. She wasn't about to reveal her secrets—not yet.
When it was Ginny's turn, she looked directly at Pansy, her grin turning mischievous. "Never have I ever... kissed someone in this room."
The group erupted in gasps and laughter, all eyes darting between the players. Pansy felt her stomach drop, her smirk faltering for the briefest moment. She didn't reach for her goblet, and neither did Ginny, but Hermione's cheeks turned an alarming shade of red as she looked down at her lap.
Pansy recovered quickly, raising an eyebrow. "Subtle, Weasley."
Ginny leaned back, her smirk widening. "Just keeping it interesting."
Pansy's heart raced, but she forced herself to stay composed. This was a game, she reminded herself, and games were about strategy. If she was going to survive the night, she'd need to play it carefully.
Hermione, on the other hand, looked as though she might bolt from the room at any moment. Thankfully, Daphne was fairly quick on the uptake. She clinked glasses with Pansy, and the pair took a deep swig of their drinks. Dean, Ginny, Blaise, Ernie, Padma, Hermione, and a Ravenclaw boy that Pansy thought was called Michael all drank.
The room erupted into murmurs and suppressed laughter as goblets clinked and drinks were swallowed. Ginny's smirk deepened, her gaze flicking between the players as if gauging the fallout. Hermione, still avoiding eye contact, took the smallest possible sip from her goblet, her cheeks now practically glowing.
"Well," Daphne said, setting her goblet down with a theatrical sigh, "at least I'm in good company. Who knew this room was so full of romantics?"
"Romantics," Blaise echoed dryly, swirling his drink. "That's one way to put it."
Dean grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Alright, alright, next round. Let's keep it rolling. Blaise, you're up."
Blaise took his time, his expression cool and calculating as he considered his options. "Never have I ever... been caught sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library."
The response was immediate. Hermione's goblet was halfway to her lips before she froze, realizing she'd given herself away. Her sheepish expression was met with a ripple of laughter, including a low chuckle from Pansy.
"Granger," Pansy said, her tone teasing, "breaking the rules? I'm shocked."
Hermione finally looked up, her blush deepening. "It was for research," she said defensively, though the corners of her mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Some of us prioritize our education."
"And some of us," Pansy countered, leaning back with a smirk, "know how to have a little fun."
"Oh, I think Hermione knows how to have fun," Ginny cut in, her tone sharp. Her eyes locked on Pansy with a pointed look, and the undercurrent of her words was clear: tread carefully.
The group shifted uneasily, sensing the tension between the two. Daphne, ever the diplomat, raised her goblet with a dazzling smile. "Let's not get bogged down in debates. Who's next?"
"You are," said Dean. The crowd hushed immediately, waiting on Daphne to give them a juicy question. Pansy rolled her eyes, Daphne smirked, clearly revelling in the attention. She leaned forward, letting the suspense build as her fingers tapped rhythmically against her goblet. "Alright," she said finally, her voice silky and teasing, "Never have I ever... fantasized about someone I shouldn't have."
A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by scattered laughter and groans. Several students exchanged wide-eyed glances, and a few shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"Oh, come on," Daphne said, her grin widening as she lifted her goblet. "Don't pretend you're all saints. We're among friends, aren't we?"
Pansy's goblet froze halfway to her lips. She glanced around the room, noting the mix of amusement and awkwardness on everyone's faces. Ginny was glaring at Daphne, her cheeks pink. Dean and Padma had both raised their glasses, and even Blaise, usually unreadable, took a measured sip.
Pansy hesitated, her thoughts racing. She could feel Hermione's presence across the room, could almost sense her reaction without needing to look. Slowly, deliberately, Pansy lifted her goblet and drank, keeping her expression neutral despite the heat rising in her cheeks.
The group erupted into a mix of laughter and teasing shouts. Ginny muttered something under her breath, taking a sip as well, her eyes darting between Hermione and Pansy.
"Well, well," Daphne said, raising an eyebrow at Pansy. "I wasn't expecting that."
"I'm full of surprises," Pansy replied coolly, setting her goblet down with a faint clink. She caught Hermione's eye for the briefest moment, and her heart skipped a beat at the look of startled curiosity she found there.
"Your turn, Parkinson," Dean said. But Pansy barely registered it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, caught up in the implications of the night's revelations and the unspoken tension that lingered between her and a certain Gryffindor across the room. Crap, what do I say? Something clever, something safe, she thought. But every potential statement that crossed her mind felt either too revealing or painfully dull.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice steadier than she expected. She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on Ginny's challenging smirk, Daphne's expectant grin, and, of course, Hermione's wide, curious eyes. "Never have I ever... skipped a class intentionally."
The room erupted in laughter, a mixture of relief and amusement at the comparatively tame question. A few students immediately raised their goblets and drank—Dean, Padma, Blaise, and even Ernie, who muttered something about an overdue Herbology essay.
"Oh, come on, Parkinson," Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes. "That's the best you could come up with? Not exactly scandalous."
"Not everything has to be scandalous, Weasley," Pansy retorted smoothly, her confidence returning with each passing second. "Some of us have layers."
"Layers of what? Pretension?" Ginny shot back, prompting a round of laughter.
Pansy ignored her, her attention drifting back to Hermione, who had hesitated before lifting her goblet and taking a small sip. It was a subtle action, but it sent Pansy's thoughts spiralling again. What had Hermione Granger skipped a class for? And why did she care?
Things were beginning to take a real dive by the time Pansy excused herself, her head fuzzy and her dry throat in dire need of some fluids that didn't contain any alcohol. Ernie's line of questioning had begun to get more and more seedy, clearly trying to weed out some naughty details from Daphne, who would happily lead him a merry dance for her own twisted amusement. Daphne thrived on being desired by people whose affections she wouldn't return. Blaise had clearly exhausted his patience for the crowd of Dumbledore's favourites too, as he departed the room at the same time Pansy had.
She filled herself a glass of water and searched her bedside cabinet for an anti-nausea potion. She might need it later and it would be a good idea to have it at hand. She changed swiftly into her pyjamas and laid back on her bed, thinking about the events of the evening. She was mad at herself for losing the duel to Weasley, even more-so because she'd lost by letting herself get distracted by Hermione. Again.
Pansy sighed, staring up at the ceiling as the flickering light of the candles played across the stone walls. The taste of Firewhiskey still lingered faintly in her mouth, and she sipped her water, willing the haze in her mind to dissipate. It wasn't just the alcohol clouding her thoughts, though. It was everything—Daphne's meddling, Ginny's sharp glares, the stupid game, and most of all, Hermione.
She groaned, pressing her palms against her face. Get it together, Parkinson, she thought. But it wasn't that simple. Every time she thought she had a handle on her emotions, Hermione managed to disarm her—sometimes with a look, sometimes with a word, and sometimes without doing anything at all.
Her mind replayed the way Hermione had hesitated during the game, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she took that sip. It wasn't just the action; it was the meaning behind it. Hermione wasn't perfect, wasn't untouchable. She had secrets, vulnerabilities—just like everyone else. Just like Pansy.
And that kiss with Daphne. Pansy scowled at the memory. It had been calculated, a move to get under Ginny's skin, but the moment Daphne had turned it into a spectacle, it had felt cheap and hollow. Not that it mattered. Hermione hadn't reacted at all—no hint of jealousy, no flicker of anything beyond mild amusement. That should've been a relief, but instead, it twisted in Pansy's chest like a blade.
She rolled onto her side, her gaze drifting to her desk drawer where she'd hastily shoved her notebook a few hours earlier. For a moment, she considered pulling it out, scribbling down the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in her head. But no—she couldn't bear to see the truth staring back at her in black ink again.
The door banged open, granting Pansy a temporary reprieve from her thoughts as jumped out her skin, scrabbling for her wand. Hermione stumbled in. Clearly, she had been a lot more drunk than she looked downstairs, or she had drank a lot more since Pansy left.
"Hermione?" Pansy blurted, lowering her wand as her heart thudded against her ribs. Hermione was leaning heavily against the doorframe, her cheeks flushed and her usually composed demeanour entirely absent. "Merlin's sake, Granger, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Hermione blinked at her, swaying slightly. "Sorry," she slurred, her voice soft and a little too loud all at once. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Pansy set her wand down on the nightstand and crossed her arms, taking in the dishevelled state of her dorm mate. "What are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be downstairs with your... fans?"
Hermione frowned, the expression making her look more confused than annoyed. "Needed to get away," she mumbled, stumbling towards Pansy. "Too loud... too much."
"Can't say I disagree. Is that hopeless boy still trying to get into Daphne's knickers?" Hermione nodded.
"She won't let him though," Hermione slurred, "she's too clever for that. Does she enjoy playing with boys?"
"She does," Pansy smirked, "She knows exactly how desirable she is, and she enjoys running rings around them, seeing how they react. Only Blaise sees through her games, that's why they're friends."
"You don't like playing with boys." Hermione said accusingly, her legs looking wobbly beneath her.
"Not recently," Pansy admitted.
"You," she said, pointing a finger at Pansy with great difficulty, "like playing with me."
Pansy froze, Hermione's words hanging heavy in the air between them. Her gaze darted from the finger Hermione was weakly pointing at her to the slightly glassy but unmistakably serious look in her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" Pansy asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Hermione swayed slightly, leaning against the bedpost for support. "You like... making me flustered," she said, her words slow but pointed. "You like it when I don't know what to say."
That's it! Pansy thought with a mix of embarrassment and triumph, a smirk creeping across her face. Granger had cracked the code for her. She's absolutely right! "I hate that you're always so composed," Pansy admitted, "I like to get under your skin, to make you… react."
Hermione blinked, clearly caught off guard by Pansy's honesty. Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she leaned more heavily against the bedpost, her brows knitting together in a way that made Pansy's smirk falter.
"And why does that matter to you?" Hermione asked finally, her voice quieter but still insistent. "Why do you care if I... react?"
Pansy hesitated, her smirk fading entirely. She could feel the weight of Hermione's gaze, searching, probing, as though trying to pry the truth out of her. "I don't know," Pansy admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "It just... does. I – I can't help myself."
"I'm good at making you react too," Hermione said groggily. She clearly hadn't meant to say that thought aloud, but her drunken brain had betrayed her. A fact clearly written across her face. She dropped herself onto Pansy's bed, causing Pansy to shrink backwards as though she could blend into the headboard. Her heart was pounding in her chest. "See?"
Pansy stared at Hermione, her throat dry as the other girl sprawled across her bed with an infuriatingly unintentional confidence. The heat rising in Pansy's face was impossible to ignore, and she hated how easily Hermione could turn the tables without even trying.
"See what?" Pansy said, her voice sharper than she intended. She crossed her arms tightly, as if that might shield her from whatever was happening in this room.
Hermione propped herself up on one elbow, her eyes half-lidded but her smirk oddly perceptive. "You're reacting," she said softly, her words slurring slightly. "You always do. Even when you're pretending not to care, you do."
Pansy's jaw clenched. "You're insufferable," she snapped, though the edge in her voice wavered. "You're drunk, Granger. You don't know what you're talking about."
Hermione laughed softly, the sound low and unexpected. "Maybe," she said, crawling towards Pansy, who was now trapped against the headboard with nowhere to run. "But you just admitted you like it when I react. Maybe I like it when you react too."
Pansy pressed herself further into the headboard, willing herself to melt through it, her heart hammering in her chest as Hermione inched closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The hazy look in Hermione's eyes was both disarming and unsettling, and Pansy hated how much power the girl seemed to have over her in this moment.
"You're imagining things," Pansy said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her usual sharpness was absent, replaced by a tremor that betrayed her nerves. "Go back to your bed, Granger."
But Hermione didn't stop. She paused just inches away, her head tilting slightly as she studied Pansy with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You're doing it again," Hermione said softly, her voice almost teasing. "Reacting."
"I'm not," Pansy said quickly, though the flush creeping up her neck told a different story.
Hermione's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Liar."
Pansy's resolve crumbled under Hermione's gaze, and she hated how exposed she felt, like Hermione could see straight through the layers of sarcasm and indifference she'd so carefully built around herself. "You're drunk," Pansy said again, her voice firmer this time, though it still lacked conviction. "You don't mean any of this."
"Maybe," Hermione murmured, her voice barely audible as she leaned in just a fraction closer. "But you're not drunk, Pansy. At least, not as drunk as me. What's your excuse?"
Pansy's breath hitched, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. She could feel the warmth radiating from Hermione, could hear the faint hitch in her breathing, and she was acutely aware of how close they were.
"I – I don't have one," Pansy admitted finally, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Hermione's eyes softened, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Pansy's mouth fell open of its own accord, her eyes terrified to look into Grangers, but unable to look anywhere else. She couldn't breathe, she could barely think. Her heart raced, hammering against her chest so hard that she felt it might burst out.
The space between them disappeared as if drawn together by an invisible force. Hermione's hand moved tentatively, brushing against Pansy's cheek, her touch light and hesitant. Pansy shivered, her breath catching as she felt the warmth of Hermione's palm against her skin.
Then it happened.
Hermione closed the gap completely, her lips capturing Pansy's in a kiss that was soft at first, exploratory, before deepening into something fervent and urgent. Pansy's mind blanked as she responded instinctively, her hand slipping to Hermione's waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was electric, a rush of emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave—desire, confusion, exhilaration, and fear, all tangled together.
For a moment, nothing else existed. The world outside the four walls of their dorm faded away, leaving only the sensation of Hermione's lips against hers, the faint taste of Firewhiskey lingering, and the intoxicating heat radiating between them. Pansy hooked her legs around Hermione, rolling her onto her side, and losing herself completely in the moment. Hermione was running her hand through Pansy's hair. She liked that. She really liked kissing Hermione Granger. Pansy began to let her hands wander, through Granger's hair, around her neck, and then towards places she hadn't even dared think about in her dizziest daydreams.
But then reality came crashing back.
Pansy's eyes flew open, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Hermione was drunk—unsteady, vulnerable, and clearly not in her right mind. This wasn't right. Not like this.
"Stop," Pansy said suddenly, breaking the kiss and pulling back as if she'd been burned. Her breathing was ragged, and she could see the confusion flicker across Hermione's face, her brows furrowing as she tried to process what had just happened.
"Pansy?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper, her tone soft and questioning.
"You're drunk, Granger," Pansy said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound firm. "This… whatever this is… it can't happen. Not like this."
Hermione blinked, her gaze clouded and unfocused. "But I—"
"No," Pansy interrupted, her heart aching at the hurt she could see in Hermione's expression. "You don't mean it. Not really. Not right now."
Hermione frowned, her shoulders slumping as exhaustion began to catch up with her. "I do mean it," she mumbled, though her words were slurred and heavy with sleep.
Pansy sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," she said gently, pushing Hermione off of her and into a more comfortable position on the bed. "When you're sober."
Hermione didn't protest, her eyelids drooping as she struggled against the pull of sleep. Pansy pulled the blanket over her, brushing a stray curl from her face, her own emotions swirling in a storm she couldn't contain. Hermione reached out and grasped Pansy's hand before rolling onto her side and pulling Pansy's arm with her. Pansy shuffled closer and wrapped the other girl into an embrace.
"You're a good person Pansy," Hermione yawned, "you should stop trying so hard not to be." Pansy gave Hermione's hand a squeeze and smiled to herself, but didn't respond. Hermione would have a huge change of heart when she woke up tomorrow. It would probably hurt, but in amongst the confusion and the pain, Pansy would have something real to cling to. Hermione Granger just jumped into my bed and kissed me. She initiated this, not me. She's just as confused as I am. Perhaps, Pansy thought, she could permit herself to have feelings for Hermione Granger after all.