Chapter 11
Hermione woke slowly, her head pounding and her mouth dry as parchment. The room was dim, the morning light filtering weakly through the curtains, and something was... off. This wasn't her bed. Her sheets weren't this soft, and her pillow didn't smell faintly of lavender and expensive perfume.
Her heart sank as her memories started to piece themselves together. The drinking, the duel, more drinking, Dean forcing them all to do shots after Ernie's stupid games, and then… She didn't want to look, but she forced herself to glance to the side.
Pansy Parkinson.
Asleep. Peaceful. Horrifyingly close.
Hermione stiffened, becoming painfully aware of the arm draped across her waist. Her heart pounded in her chest as more flashes of the night before came rushing back: the Firewhiskey, the reckless words, and then—the kiss.
Oh, Merlin.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but they only became sharper. She remembered leaning in, her drunken mind emboldened by something she didn't fully understand. She remembered Pansy's lips on hers, the way it had felt—soft, electric, and utterly wrong in every way that mattered.
Except it hadn't felt wrong at the time. It had felt… inevitable.
Hermione bit her lip, her cheeks flaming as she carefully tried to lift Pansy's arm. Her movement stirred the other girl, who murmured something unintelligible. Hermione stayed frighteningly still, Pansy's arm hovering tentatively in her grasp. The other girl let out a groan, and shuffled closer to Hermione, her arm ripped from Hermione's grasp and tightened around her waist once more.
"I know we have to argue about it," Pansy whispered, "but can we just leave it for an hour or two? My head hurts, but otherwise I'm comfy, and you're warm, and I want to live this moment for a little longer before we go back to reality."
"Okay," Hermione whispered back before she could even think about what she was saying. Her heart hammered in her chest, her mind racing.
The word hung in the air like an unspoken truce. Okay. Simple, quiet, and impossibly loaded. Hermione couldn't believe she'd said it, couldn't believe she'd agreed to Pansy Parkinson's audacious request. Yet, here she was—lying in Pansy's bed, with Pansy's arm draped across her waist, her body betraying her mind's frantic insistence to leave right now.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Pansy shifted slightly, her arm tightening around Hermione's waist in a way that was entirely too casual, as though this was something they did all the time. Hermione's breath hitched, her heart thudding loud enough that she was sure Pansy could hear it.
What am I doing? Hermione's thoughts screamed at her. She should be angry, defensive, pulling away. Instead, she lay perfectly still, her body frozen but her mind in overdrive. She couldn't even look at Pansy, couldn't risk meeting her gaze.
But Pansy didn't say anything else. She just lay there, her breathing steady, her presence unexpectedly soothing in a way that only made Hermione's panic worse. Comfort wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not with Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione swallowed hard, her throat dry. She should leave, she knew that. She should slip out of bed, escape to her own space, and pretend this never happened. But her body refused to move, her legs felt heavy, rooted in place by something she couldn't quite name.
"Why aren't you horrible?" Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself.
Pansy let out a breathy laugh, though there was no malice in it. "Give me time. I've only just woken up."
Hermione turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Pansy's face. Her hair was a mess, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was a softness there that caught Hermione off guard. It wasn't the smug smirk or the practiced indifference she'd come to expect. It was something real, something raw.
"You don't have to stay," Pansy murmured, colour rising into her cheeks under Hermione's gaze. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I just… don't want to fight right now."
"I don't want to fight with you anymore either, but… this…" Hermione lay back onto the pillow, unable to find the words.
Pansy shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. Her dark eyes searched Hermione's face, her expression uncharacteristically open. "I know," she said softly, her voice laced with something Hermione couldn't quite place—understanding? Sadness? "It's confusing. It's a mess. Believe me, I get it."
Hermione clenched her jaw, turning her gaze to the ceiling. "It shouldn't be. You and I... we're supposed to be opposites. We're supposed to hate each other. We've hated each other for years. I'm supposed to hate being in this room with you, not…" she gestured at the tiny distance between them.
"Supposed to," Pansy echoed, her tone light but edged with bitterness. "Nothing in the last twelve months at least has gone as it's supposed to."
Hermione didn't respond. The truth in Pansy's words settled heavily in the air between them, undeniable and unwelcome. She wanted to argue, to deflect, to regain some semblance of control over a situation that felt entirely out of her hands. But she couldn't. Not when Pansy was looking at her like that, her walls down for once, her usual sharpness replaced by something softer.
"You kissed me," Pansy said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was matter of fact, but her cheeks flushed deeper, betraying her composure. "Last night. You kissed me first, not the other way around, and I kissed you back, and I don't think you hated it."
"But," Hermione's cheeks turned the same colour of scarlet as her school robes, and her eyes widened with fear, "I was drunk, and I'm not… I have a boyfriend!" She exclaimed, as though she was reminding herself as much as Pansy.
Pansy flinched slightly at Hermione's outburst but quickly masked it with a cool expression, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. She leaned back, giving Hermione space, and folded her arms. "I'm aware," she said evenly, her tone sharper now. "Weasley. Hard to forget. Especially with his sister staring holes into me wherever I go."
Ginny, Hermione thought, mortified. She'll hex me if she finds out what I was doing last night.
Hermione's stomach churned at the thought of Ginny's reaction. The redhead already hated Pansy with a fiery intensity, and if she ever found out…
"She doesn't trust you," Hermione said quietly, avoiding Pansy's gaze.
Pansy gave a dry laugh, the sound brittle and sharp. "That's the understatement of the year. Ginny Weasley would cheerfully feed me to that bloody storm pigeon if she thought she could get away with it."
"She just... cares about me," Hermione said, though the words felt hollow. "She doesn't want to see me get hurt."
Pansy turned back to face Hermione, arching an eyebrow. "And what exactly does she think I'm going to do to you, Granger? Hand you to the Death Eaters? Drag you down to the dungeons for some nefarious Slytherin plot?"
Hermione flinched at Pansy's mocking tone but didn't respond. She didn't know what to say. Ginny wasn't entirely wrong to be suspicious, but the idea of Pansy being a danger to her now felt... absurd. Confusing, but not dangerous.
"Look," Pansy said after a moment, her voice softening. "I get it. I'm not exactly high up on the list of trustworthy people around here. But I'm not trying to hurt you, Hermione. I couldn't even if I wanted to." Her gaze dropped to the floor, as if admitting the words out loud cost her something.
Hermione's heart twisted at the vulnerability in Pansy's voice. "I know," she said softly. "It's just... complicated."
Pansy let out a humourless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah, well, complicated seems to be our specialty, doesn't it?"
Hermione didn't answer, the weight of the truth in Pansy's words settling between them. Ginny's disapproval, Ron's absence, her own confused feelings—it was all one tangled, impossible knot.
"You should go," Pansy said finally, her voice low and defeated. "Before Weasley comes looking for you and starts another duel."
Hermione nodded, though she didn't move. Her eyes lingered on Pansy for a moment longer, taking in the tired slump of her shoulders and the way she avoided Hermione's gaze. "Pansy..."
"Don't," Pansy said quickly, her tone clipped. "Just—go. Please."
Hermione hesitated, then slid off the bed and grabbed her shoes, her heart heavy as she made her way to the door. She paused, glancing back one last time, but Pansy had already turned away, staring out the window as though she couldn't bear to watch her leave.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, though she wasn't sure if Pansy even heard her. Then she slipped out the door, her head spinning and her chest aching with a confusing mix of regret and relief.
Breakfast felt like a highly conspicuous affair. As Hermione entered the Great Hall, she was acutely aware that she was still in her clothes from the night before. Her hair was a mess, and she reeked faintly of Firewhiskey and… Pansy's expensive perfume. Heat rose in her cheeks, and with the smell of freshly cooked bacon hitting her nostrils, she felt like she might be sick.
"You look like shit," Ginny said cheerfully, sliding over to make room for her at the Gryffindor table.
"Good morning to you, too," Hermione muttered, sinking into the seat, and reaching for a slice of toast she had no intention of eating.
Ginny smirked, handing her a goblet of pumpkin juice. "You're welcome. Thought you might need this."
Hermione took it gratefully, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat. "You're the worst Ginny Weasley," she mumbled.
"Well, excuse me for trying to help my best mate survive her first proper hangover," Ginny said, her voice brimming with amusement. "I told you to pace yourself."
Hermione glared at her. "You're the one who convinced me to do the shots Dean was handing out."
Ginny shrugged unapologetically. "I didn't force you. I just suggested it. Strongly."
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I feel like I've been hit by the Knight Bus."
"You look like it too," Ginny quipped, earning herself a half-hearted swat from Hermione. "Oh, lighten up. You're not the only one suffering." She gestured to Seamus a few seats down, who was clutching his head and groaning dramatically. "See? Solidarity."
Hermione couldn't help but smile faintly at that, though her thoughts remained distracted. The events of the night before were a jumbled mess in her mind, and every time she tried to focus on the present, fragments of her conversation with Pansy crept back in.
Ginny seemed content to chatter on, blissfully unaware of Hermione's inner turmoil. "So, what's the plan for today? Hide in the library? Sleep it off? Or are you going to let me drag you to the Quidditch pitch?"
"Library," Hermione said automatically, though her usual enthusiasm for studying felt oddly hollow.
Ginny grinned. "Shocking. Well, at least try to act like you're alive. You're making us look bad."
Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing, focusing instead on nibbling at her toast. Ginny's teasing felt like a welcome distraction, even if it couldn't quite drown out the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind.
"Surely you aren't going through with Quidditch practice today?"
"Ah, a bit of fresh air will help, besides, it's only me on the team who was out drinking last night, and I need to set a good example."
"My hero," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Ginny clasped her hand over her heart dramatically.
"Well, we've got to keep up our winning streak, especially with the match against Slytherin coming up. Oh," Ginny leaned forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper, "have you heard the rumours about your girlfriend and that Seeker, what's his name? Harper!"
"My girl –" Hermione caught herself before she word-vomited her thoughts across the table, "Behave."
"Right, sorry. We're still not mentioning, you know –" Hermione shook her head vigorously, "Well, I needled it out of that Daphne Greengrass last night, after Ernie went down in flames trying to ask her out," Hermione giggled. Poor boy. "Silly boy trying to play with snakes. Anyway, apparently Parkinson took a very keen interest in him one night at dinner, and then he walked her back to your dorm, but they made a little stop along the way."
"Right," Hermione said, hoping her tone was neutral.
"Apparently, things were going far better than he'd dreamed of, if you catch my meaning, but then she suddenly freaked out like the maniac we know she is and bolted from the room."
"Really?"
Ginny nodded, clearly enjoying the drama. "Oh, yes. According to Greengrass, Harper was so shocked he didn't even leave the hallway for a full five minutes. Just stood there like a Confunded Hippogriff." She snickered into her goblet, clearly relishing the gossip. "Classic Parkinson, though, isn't it? Start something, make a scene, and then leave everyone else to clean up the mess."
"Classic Parkinson," Hermione echoed, though her voice was distant. Her mind raced, piecing together the timeline, and wondering if this little tidbit had any bearing on the tangled emotions she'd witnessed firsthand. The idea of Pansy with Harper left a bitter taste in her mouth that she didn't want to examine too closely.
Ginny, oblivious to Hermione's internal turmoil, continued. "Honestly, what a circus act. The Slytherins are probably thrilled to have her out of their dorm most of the time. Although…" She leaned forward again, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "It does make me wonder why she's suddenly all over you, though."
Hermione nearly choked on her toast. "She's not all over me," she said quickly, her cheeks flaming.
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "You've been spending a lot of time together lately. You're practically attached at the hip in class."
"She's my roommate," Hermione said, exasperation creeping into her tone. "I see her because I have to, not because I want to."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Mmhmm, and that's why you looked like a House-Elf caught with stolen socks when I mentioned her just now."
Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "You're seeing things that aren't there Ginny."
"And you're avoiding the subject," Ginny said brightly, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. "But fine, I'll let it go. For now."
Hermione lifted her head cautiously, eyeing Ginny as if she might pounce with another probing remark. But Ginny only smirked, clearly satisfied she'd rattled her friend.
"Good luck in the library," Ginny said, standing and stretching. "And don't forget to shower. You smell like a perfume counter that caught fire."
Hermione threw a napkin at her as Ginny strode off, laughing, and turned back to her breakfast. But her appetite was gone, replaced by a knot of confusion and irritation that no amount of pumpkin juice could wash away. She had just conceded to herself that she would, at best, get an hour of research done in the library before she would pack it in and crawl back into bed – her own bed this time – and sleep it all off, before the only thing that could make her feel worse at this exact moment arrived at the table.
Hermione's heart sank as the owl landed gracefully in front of her, its sharp eyes fixed on her as it extended its leg. The unmistakable handwriting on the envelope tied to the bird's leg made her stomach churn. Of course, this would arrive now, when her head was pounding, her thoughts were already a mess, and she was wearing yesterday's clothes.
She hesitated, staring at the owl as though ignoring it might make the letter disappear. But the owl, apparently unimpressed with her internal conflict, gave an impatient hoot and fluffed its feathers.
"Fine," she muttered under her breath, untying the letter with trembling fingers. As soon as it was free, the owl took off, leaving her alone with the weight of whatever Ron had written.
Hermione stared at the envelope for a moment, her mind racing. She hadn't thought much about Ron lately, she realized with a pang of guilt. Or rather, she hadn't let herself think about him, but last night's antics had finally brought him to the forefront of her mind.
You kissed Pansy Parkinson, her thoughts reminded her cruelly.
Shaking her head, Hermione forced herself to break the seal on the envelope. She unfolded the letter carefully, her eyes scanning the words, each one tightening the knot in her chest.
Dear Hermione,
It's good to hear from you. Things here have been a bit hectic, but nothing we can't handle. Harry and Neville are still trying to prove they can outwork anyone, but honestly, I think they're just driving Robards mad. He keeps muttering about balance and pacing yourself—two things Harry has never been good at. I've been trying to keep them both in check, but you can imagine how well that's going.
I miss Hogwarts more than I thought I would. Don't get me wrong—the work here is important, and I'm glad we're doing it, but it's not the same. The dorms, the Quidditch matches, even McGonagall's lectures—I'd trade a dozen late-night stakeouts for one more lazy afternoon in the common room with you and Harry.
I'm glad to hear things with Parkinson are… well, manageable, at least. You're braver than I am putting up with her every day. Don't let her get under your skin, alright? She's not worth the trouble.
I can't wait for the next Hogsmeade weekend. It'll be good to catch up properly, just the two of us. Maybe we can even sneak away for a bit. What do you think? London for a day? We can grab lunch, wander around Muggle London, and just forget about everything else for a while. Let me know.
Take care of yourself, Hermione. I know you're juggling a lot right now, but try to make some time for you, too. You deserve it.
Love,
Ron.
P.S. I'm not sure about Christmas yet, Kingsley talked about having the trainee's cover some of the juniors patrol routes, but nothing's set in stone.
Hermione folded the letter slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she stared down at it. A knot of guilt twisted in her chest, tight and unrelenting. Ron's words were warm and kind, exactly the sort of thing she should have wanted to hear. Yet, as she thought about his suggestion of a day in London, her heart sank further.
How could she look him in the eye after last night? How could she pretend that everything was fine when her thoughts were consumed by the soft press of Pansy Parkinson's lips and the unexpected surge of emotion that had followed?
You kissed her. You kissed Pansy Parkinson, her mind whispered again, and no amount of reasoning could drown it out.
She shoved the letter into her bag and stood abruptly, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students. Ignoring them, she slung the bag over her shoulder and made her way out of the Great Hall, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor. She needed a refuge, a quiet place where she could try and smother the guilt and confusion that was brewing inside of her. She needed the Hogwarts Library.
Hermione strode purposefully through the castle corridors, her mind a storm of emotions she couldn't quite name. The letter from Ron weighed heavily in her bag, as though the parchment itself carried all the complications of their relationship. Guilt gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting, but it wasn't the only thing—beneath it was something far more disconcerting: the lingering memory of Pansy's lips on hers and the undeniable pull she felt every time their paths crossed.
The library was quiet, as it always was in the early hours, the familiar scent of parchment and ink greeting her like an old friend. She moved toward her usual spot near the Restricted Section, tucked away from prying eyes. Dropping her bag onto the table with a heavy thud, she sank into a chair and leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.
What was wrong with her? Everything should have been simple. Ron's letter had been warm and thoughtful, and his suggestion for their day in London was something she should have been excited about. And yet, all she could think about was Pansy—Pansy and her sharp tongue, her soft smile, the way she'd looked at Hermione this morning with something almost… tender.
Hermione groaned softly, her thoughts spiralling. She had spent years fighting with Pansy Parkinson, trading insults and hexes, drawing lines between them that felt immutable. But now, those lines were blurred, and Hermione didn't know how to feel about it. Every interaction with Pansy was a minefield, and yet she couldn't seem to stay away.
She pulled out a thick tome at random, determined to distract herself with something—anything—but the words on the page refused to stick. Her mind kept drifting back to the Great Hall, to the way Ginny had teased her, to the flicker of something unspoken in Pansy's eyes when they had stood by the lake.
"You're hopeless," she muttered under her breath, shutting the book with a frustrated snap.
"I wouldn't have thought you'd be the type to sit muttering to yourself," an unfamiliar voice spoke quietly from behind her. Hermione spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Standing a few feet away, partially obscured by a tall shelf, was Daphne Greengrass. The Slytherin girl regarded her with a calm, almost bored expression, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her pale blue eyes.
"What do you want?" Hermione asked sharply, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
Daphne raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "Relax, Granger. I'm not here to duel you." She took a step closer, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her tailored robes. "You were muttering loud enough to carry halfway across the library. I got curious."
Hermione flushed, torn between embarrassment and irritation. "It's nothing," she said briskly, turning back to her book. "I'm just trying to study."
"For what? An existential crisis?" Daphne asked, her tone dry as she slid into the chair opposite Hermione without invitation. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Hermione bristled, glaring at her. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," Daphne said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. "But it's rare to see the great Hermione Granger looking so… dishevelled. I couldn't resist."
"Well, you've had your laugh," Hermione snapped, closing her book with a thud. "You can go now."
Daphne didn't move. Instead, she tilted her head, studying Hermione with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "You're really bad at hiding it, you know," she said after a moment.
"Hiding what?" Hermione shot back, her voice sharp.
Daphne smirked, tapping her fingers idly against the table. "Whatever it is that's got you so tied up in knots. I'm not blind, Granger. You've been a mess since term started."
"That's none of your business," Hermione said through gritted teeth.
"True," Daphne admitted, her smirk softening into something almost sympathetic. "But it's Pansy, isn't it?"
Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Pansy Parkinson, I'm convinced you know of her."
"Of course I know of her, we share a bloody room!" Hermione hissed, frustration creeping in.
"Yes, well, she's been acting all out of sorts too. So, are you two fighting or fucking?"
Hermione's mouth fell open, her cheeks flaming as she sputtered, "Excuse me?!"
Daphne leaned back in her chair, utterly unbothered by Hermione's outrage. "Oh, don't look so scandalized, Granger. It's a valid question. You two have been giving everyone whiplash with your little... whatever it is."
"There is no whatever it is," Hermione snapped, her voice rising despite her best efforts to stay composed. She glanced around the library, but thankfully, the nearby tables were empty. "And that's none of your business either!"
Daphne shrugged, her smirk firmly in place. "Maybe not, but you're not exactly subtle. Half the dorm has noticed how tense things are between you two. If I've noticed, then trust me, others have too."
Hermione glared at her, heat prickling at the back of her neck. "You're imagining things."
"Oh, I doubt that." Daphne tapped a finger against the table, her gaze steady and unnervingly perceptive. "Pansy's been avoiding everyone lately, snapping at anyone who so much as breathes funny, and the way she stormed into our common room the other night? Merlin, you'd think someone had hexed her favourite shoes. She's been... different."
"Different how?" Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself, instantly regretting the slip.
Daphne's smirk grew wider, as if she'd been waiting for Hermione to ask. "Touchy. Distracted. Actually caring about how she looks before she leaves the dorm, which, trust me, is not normal for Pansy. Normally, she'd just throw on a uniform and pretend she's above the rest of us, but now? She's trying."
Hermione's stomach twisted. She didn't know why it mattered—why it felt like Daphne was peeling back layers Hermione had no right to see—but it did. "I don't see what that has to do with me."
Daphne gave her a long, measured look. "Don't you?"
"I'm not..." Hermione trailed off, her words faltering as her pulse hammered in her ears. She didn't even know what she was trying to deny anymore.
"Well," Daphne said breezily, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "If it makes you feel any better, I think she's just as confused as you are, and knowing Pansy, she'll probably ruin it before she figures out what she really wants."
"There's nothing for her to ruin," Hermione said firmly, clutching her bag like it was a lifeline. "You're living in a land of make-believe nonsense."
"Am I?" Daphne's gaze softened, losing some of its sharpness. "I don't think I am. But fine, Granger. Keep pretending this is nothing. Let me know how that works out for you."
With that, Daphne stood, smoothing her robes with practiced elegance. She turned and strode away without another word, leaving Hermione frozen in place, her mind a whirlwind of denial, indignation, and something dangerously close to curiosity.
As the sound of Daphne's footsteps faded, Hermione slumped back into her chair, staring blankly at the book in front of her. She should have been angry—should have dismissed Daphne's remarks as nonsense—but she couldn't. Because deep down, a part of her knew there was truth in those words and that terrified her more than anything.
Hermione set her bag down on the desk in the 8th Year common room, her quill poised above a fresh sheet of parchment. The room was blissfully quiet, the few other students either out on the grounds or still lingering in the Great Hall. It was the perfect opportunity to write back to Ron—to reassure him that she was just as excited about their plans as he was, even if her heart was a tangled mess of emotions.
She stared at the blank parchment, her thoughts spinning. What could she say? What should she say? Every time she thought of Ron, guilt twisted in her chest, but alongside it was fear—fear of facing him, of sitting across from him in London and pretending that nothing had changed. Pretending she hadn't kissed Pansy Parkinson.
You kissed her. You kissed Pansy Parkinson, her thoughts reminded her cruelly.
Shaking her head, Hermione dipped her quill into the inkpot and began to write.
Dear Ron,
It was so good to get your letter. I've missed hearing from you—it feels like ages, even though it's only been a few days. I can picture you now, sitting in that messy office with Harry, both of you probably rolling your eyes at Robards's lectures. Honestly, it's nice to know some things never change.
Hogwarts has been… busy. Classes are as challenging as ever, and McGonagall is keeping us all on our toes. Sharing a room with Parkinson has been interesting, to say the least. But I'm managing. You know me—I always do.
I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to seeing you at the next Hogsmeade weekend. The thought of sneaking away to London for the day sounds perfect. Lunch in Muggle London? A stroll through the city? It's exactly what I need right now—a bit of normalcy, a chance to catch up properly.
You're right; it's not the same without you and Harry here. I miss our late nights in the common room, arguing about homework or just talking about anything and everything. It's strange, being back without you. Sometimes it feels like there's a piece of the puzzle missing.
I'll write again soon to confirm the details for Hogsmeade. Until then, take care of yourself, Ron, and don't let Harry work you into the ground.
Love,
Hermione.
She sat back, her hand trembling slightly as she set the quill down. The words on the page were neat and composed, every sentence carefully crafted to convey enthusiasm and affection. But as she read over the letter, all she could feel was the hollowness beneath it.
Was this really how she felt? Or was it just what she thought Ron wanted to hear? The thought made her stomach churn.
Hermione folded the letter with practiced precision, slipping it into an envelope and sealing it with a flick of her wand. She would send it later, after classes. For now, it sat on the desk, a tangible reminder of the truth she was too afraid to face.
As she stared at it, a part of her couldn't help but wonder what Pansy would say if she saw it. Probably something biting and sarcastic, Hermione thought bitterly. But beneath that, Hermione knew there would be something else—something Pansy would never admit out loud, and that thought unsettled her more than anything.
With a sigh, she pushed the letter aside and reached for her books, hoping to lose herself in the comfort of routine. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting back to Ron—and to Pansy, and the impossible question: What was she going to do? As she reluctantly made her way up to her room, she knew that she wasn't the only girl in need of answers.
Hermione set her bag down by her bed, the silence in the room broken only by the faint rustle of pages turning. Pansy was lounging on her bed, one leg crossed over the other, flipping through a glossy Witch Weekly as if she didn't have a care in the world. Her hair was immaculate, as always, and Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed by how composed she looked. Until recently, Pansy had been the anxious mess and Hermione had been the one holding it together. She didn't like this reverse in their dynamic.
"Come for another cuddling session Granger?" Pansy said, her lips forming her trademark smirk.
"Shut up," Hermione replied wearily, "I'm not in the mood."
"Well, I quite like the shoe being on the other foot for a change."
"Glad you are enjoying yourself," Hermione spat.
"So, are we going to dance around this for longer or do you want to get it over with and talk about it?"
"There's not much to talk about, is there?" Replied Hermione, "I had too much to drink and did a stupid thing."
"Sure," Pansy said, her hurt voice betraying her, "and when it happens next time?"
Hermione froze, the biting reply she had been preparing dying on her tongue. Her eyes darted to Pansy, whose smirk had slipped just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath it. It wasn't like Pansy to let her guard down, even for a moment, and it threw Hermione off balance.
"There won't be a next time," Hermione said stiffly, forcing herself to meet Pansy's gaze. "It was a mistake." Hermione could see the hurt that she had caused in the other girls eyes, and it made her insides squirm uncomfortably.
"When I kissed you it was a mistake too," Pansy replied, a hint of defiance in her voice, "but these mistakes seem to keep on happening between us." Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening as Pansy's words hung heavy in the air. The defiance in Pansy's tone was undercut by something softer, something Hermione hadn't been prepared to hear. It made her stomach churn and her thoughts spin.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Hermione said finally, her voice quieter now. She hated the uncertainty she felt, the way Pansy seemed to pull the rug out from under her every time they spoke. "I haven't been acting like myself, and I have a lot of things to sort out, but this… thing between us isn't one of them. I have a lovely boyfriend in London who I've been neglecting, and I feel terrible about… well, about betraying him."
"I'm not saying this whole thing isn't a giant mess," said Pansy quietly, "I feel bad for Weasley too, but I'm trying to be honest, and brave, like you usually are. I don't know what my feelings for you are yet, sometimes I still hate you, but mostly I like making you flustered. I like making your cheeks turn red, and making you lose your composure, and… well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't like kissing you."
Hermione's breath hitched at Pansy's admission, her mind reeling as she tried to process what she'd just heard. The blunt honesty of Pansy's words struck her harder than she cared to admit, and for a moment, she was at a complete loss for how to respond.
"Pansy…" she began, her voice unsteady, but the other girl held up a hand to stop her.
"No, let me finish," Pansy said, her tone firmer now, though her gaze was still wary. "I'm not saying I have it all figured out. Hell, I'm just as confused as you are. But I'm not going to stand here and pretend it didn't happen, or that it didn't mean anything. That's not who I want to be anymore."
Hermione blinked, stunned by the vulnerability in Pansy's voice. This wasn't the girl she remembered from years of petty insults and hexes. This was someone else entirely—someone raw and unguarded, and it made Hermione's chest tighten.
"I'm not asking you to make some grand declaration," Pansy continued, her eyes searching Hermione's face. "I'm not asking you to pick me over Weasley or whatever else is going on in your life. But I do want us to be on the same page from now on."
Hermione's stomach twisted at Pansy's words, the sincerity in her voice catching her completely off guard. She wasn't used to this side of Pansy—honest, unguarded, and almost… hopeful. It was disarming in a way Hermione hadn't anticipated, and it left her scrambling for a response.
"The same page," Hermione repeated slowly, her voice uncertain. "What do you mean?"
Pansy sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the bedpost. "I mean, if this—whatever this is—happens again, I don't want it to feel like something we're both pretending didn't exist the next morning. I can't do that, Granger. Not anymore. I know I'm one to talk, what with destroying your stuff and all, but—"
"Yes lets avoid that happening again," Hermione interjected, and some of the tension that had been building between them cracked. Hermione let out a soft giggle at Pansy's scowling face, and despite her best attempts, Pansy soon joined in her laughter.
"I'm really sorry about that," said Pansy, "I'm not the best at handling my… feelings. You didn't deserve to have all your stuff flung around the room."
"I suppose you didn't deserve drunk me clambering all over you in the middle of the night." Hermione replied sheepishly.
"I'll get over it."
"And if… if it turns out that all of this was just a few moments of madness between us—"
"Then I'll get over that too," said Pansy softly, "but it will be harder."
Hermione's chest tightened at Pansy's words, the quiet vulnerability in her tone making it impossible to look away. There was no smirk, no biting remark to shield herself this time—just honesty, raw and unfiltered, and it left Hermione feeling utterly exposed.
"I don't want to hurt you," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "I'm so afraid that's what I'll end up doing."
"Well, that makes two of us," Pansy replied, leaning back against the bedpost, and crossing her arms. She gave Hermione a small, sad smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're not the only one who's terrified, you know. This—whatever this is—it's a mess. But for some reason, I can't seem to stay away from you, and believe me, I've tried."
Hermione knew exactly what she meant. Every day Ginny had warned her off of Pansy Parkinson, and every day, sometimes every hour, Hermione's thoughts wandered back to the girl stood in front of her. Pansy occupied more of her thoughts than anyone, and truth be told, it was becoming as familiar as it was exhausting. A line had to be drawn somewhere. "Okay, some rules then."
"Oh great, another Hermione Granger lecture incoming."
"No more kissing, from either of us."
"That's a shit rule." Pansy scowled.
"No more fighting in class," Hermione continued unperturbed, "my work has suffered enough, especially in potions. If Slughorn insists on pairing us up all the time, I want your best efforts."
"Fair enough." Pansy raised an eyebrow, her scowl softening slightly. "Anything else on your list of ironclad rules, Professor Granger?"
Hermione ignored the sarcasm, determined to set boundaries even if her heart felt like it was rebelling against her brain. "Yes. We keep this—whatever this is—out of the dormitory. I can't sleep properly as it is without you adding to my stress."
Pansy smirked, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, so now I'm responsible for your sleepless nights? That's a compliment if I've ever heard one."
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she frowned. "You know what I mean."
Pansy stepped away from the bedpost and crossed the room slowly, her expression unreadable. "Alright," she said, her tone soft but laced with challenge. "No kissing. No fighting. No messing up your precious sleep schedule. Anything else, Granger?"
Hermione hesitated, her resolve faltering slightly as Pansy stopped just a step too close. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stand her ground. "That's it," she said firmly, though her voice wavered. "We need… boundaries."
Pansy tilted her head, studying her with a sharpness that made Hermione's pulse quicken. "Boundaries," she echoed, her lips quirking into a faint smile. "Sure. We can play by your rules."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I'm serious."
"So am I," Pansy said, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down Hermione's spine. "I'll follow your rules, Granger. No kissing. No fighting. I'll even be a model potions partner if it makes you happy."
"Good," Hermione said, though the look in Pansy's eyes made her feel anything but victorious.
"Now for my rules," said Pansy with her trademark smirk plastered across her face. Hermione made to reply but Pansy cut her off, "Oh, this is a two-way street you know. I can't have you making all the decisions."
Hermione folded her arms, her brows knitting together. "Alright, Pansy," she said, her voice clipped, "what are your rules then?"
"Rule number one," Pansy began, her tone turning playful but her gaze sharp. "No more guilty little monologues about Weasley. If you feel bad, go write him another letter. I don't want to be dragged into your moral crises. He's not my boyfriend."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Pansy raised an eyebrow, daring her to try. She sighed instead, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine." Hermione replied in a clipped tone.
"Number two," Pansy continued, "Weasley's sister is just dying to have a pop at me and it's tearing your friendship apart. Stop protecting me from her and her fan club."
"Pansy she will absolutely flatten you," Hermione said matter-of-factly. She didn't like to imagine the things Ginny would do to Pansy, but it was difficult not to as Ginny had spent so much time describing in acute detail the hexes and curses she would bestow upon the Slytherin girl.
"So be it," Pansy replied, "we're still in school, it's not like she can just off me in the corridor. The sooner she gets it out of her system the better."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Hermione said. She certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Ginny, and she was confident that she could outdo the redhead in a duel. Pansy could not. "You should learn the counter for the Bat-Bogey Hex, it's her favourite."
"Thanks for the tip," replied Pansy, "and number three, no more braiding your hair." Pansy's smirk was so wide it practically stretched from ear-to-ear like a cartoon villain.
Hermione blinked, taken aback. "What?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.
"No more braiding your hair," Pansy repeated, leaning against the bedpost with a self-satisfied smirk.
Hermione's mouth opened and closed as she struggled to process the sheer audacity of the comment. "That is the most ridiculous rule I've ever heard. I have to braid my hair, you've seen how it gets otherwise."
"Nope, the whole thing falls apart if you keep braiding your hair every night."
Hermione scowled, her arms crossing tighter over her chest. "My hair has absolutely nothing to do with this."
"It's everything to do with it," Pansy smirked, stepping uncomfortably close and leaning in to whisper in Hermione's ear, "You see Granger, every time I watch you braid your hair before bed I'm overcome with this strong desire to pull it."
Hermione recoiled across the room like a spring, nearly toppling onto her bed. Pansy let out a laugh that was beyond evil, and Hermione felt the heat rising in her face. "If you cant keep it in your pants over my braid then we have serious problems."
Pansy laughed harder, doubling over as Hermione's mortified response echoed in the room. "Oh, Granger, you're too easy," she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "I'm just being honest. Isn't that what you Gryffindors are all about?"
Hermione glared at her, feeling the heat creeping all the way up to her ears. "Honesty doesn't mean saying every ridiculous thing that pops into your head, Pansy."
Pansy straightened, her smirk never wavering. "Ridiculous? Maybe. But you can't deny it got a reaction out of you."
"That's because you have the sense of humour of a twelve-year-old boy," Hermione shot back, still trying to calm the furious blush that refused to leave her cheeks.
"Please, give me some credit," Pansy replied, leaning casually against the bedpost. "A twelve-year-old boy wouldn't have half my charm."
"Charm?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "Is that what you're calling this?"
"Call it what you want," Pansy said, shrugging nonchalantly. "But you're still standing there, arguing with me, instead of storming out of the room. So clearly, I've got something going for me."
Hermione groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here we are," Pansy said, grinning. She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she regarded Hermione. "So, are you going to keep braiding your hair and tempting me, or are you finally going to admit I have a point?"
"You don't have a point!" Hermione snapped, though her voice cracked slightly, betraying her exasperation.
"Denial, denial," Pansy said in a sing-song voice, her grin only widening. "It's adorable, really."
Hermione turned on her heel, flopping onto her bed and grabbing the nearest book, determined to ignore the maddening Slytherin in the room. "I'm done with this conversation."
"Suit yourself," Pansy said lightly, moving back to her own bed. "But you might want to reconsider my rules, Granger. They could save us both a lot of trouble."
Hermione didn't respond, burying her face in her book even though the words on the page swam in front of her eyes. She could still hear Pansy chuckling softly to herself, and it was all Hermione could do not to hurl a pillow in her direction.
This was going to be a long year.