Chapter 14

Pansy Parkinson had learned long ago that the best way to handle whispers was to pretend she didn't hear them. She entered the Great Hall with her head high, shoulders back, and her usual air of effortless confidence. But she wasn't stupid. She could feel the weight of their stares, the quick, sharp glances as she passed, the barely muted murmurs behind hands and newspapers.

This time, it wasn't just the Gryffindors watching her like a hawk. It wasn't just the usual distrustful glares from Hufflepuffs or wary glances from Ravenclaws. No, today even some of her own housemates hesitated before making room for her at the Slytherin table.

Which meant the Prophet had done its job.

Daphne Greengrass looked perfectly at ease as she sat stirring her tea, but there was something knowing in the way she smirked up at Pansy and pushed the paper toward her. "Have you seen this morning's entertainment?"

Pansy ignored her at first, taking her time pouring herself a cup of coffee. She'd play it cool, act unbothered. That was how you survived in a place like this. Show them nothing, and they'd eventually get bored. She took a careful sip, then lazily reached for the paper. The headline confirmed her suspicions.

Death in Hogsmeade.

Her eyes skimmed over the article, reading fast. Travers and Selwyn. A coordinated attack on Harry Potter's inner circle. Ginny Weasley, tragic fiancée, smuggled away to safety by an unknown individual. And then, of course, her own name—bold, damning, tied neatly into the mess.

Pansy forced her expression to remain blank.

It was worse than she expected. The Prophet hadn't accused her outright, but they didn't need to. The insinuation was clear: where did Pansy Parkinson disappear to during the attack? How convenient that she, the daughter of known Death Eater financiers, was unaccounted for while one of her father's former associates wreaked havoc on Hogsmeade.

Daphne watched her with mild interest. "Well?" she prompted. "Nothing to say?"

Pansy folded the paper and placed it neatly on the table. "Oh, please," she drawled. "It's Skeeter. She wouldn't know a fact if it hexed her in the face."

Daphne gave a soft hum, tapping her nails against her teacup. "Your parents are going to love this."

Pansy's grip on her coffee tightened.

Daphne, perceptive as ever, smirked. "Oh, right," she said lightly. "They don't get the Prophet in Azkaban, do they? There's no way this might reach them."

Pansy exhaled slowly through her nose. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," Daphne said smoothly. "But the rest of the school does. This," she gestured to the paper, "has everyone asking questions. You should be prepared for that."

Pansy didn't answer. Instead, she let her gaze flick up, scanning the Great Hall.

The whispers weren't subtle. Some were open stares, some were sideways glances over breakfast plates. At the Ravenclaw table, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil were deep in conversation, casting occasional looks in her direction. Even some Slytherins—Merlin, Theodore Nott of all people—were whispering behind their hands.

Across the hall, Pansy's gaze caught on the Gryffindor table.

Hermione Granger sat beside Ginny Weasley, both of them frowning at a copy of the Prophet, their heads tilted toward each other in hushed conversation. Granger's fingers were tight around her spoon, and Ginny looked particularly furious, muttering something under her breath.

Pansy didn't know what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't that.

She had been prepared for Granger's usual self-righteous and pitying stares, for Weasley's obvious distaste. But something about their expressions made her stomach turn in a way she didn't like.

"They're talking about you, too," Daphne murmured.

Pansy tore her gaze away. "Obviously."

Daphne studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I hope you've got a plan, Pansy. This mess isn't going to clear itself up."

Pansy didn't dignify that with a response. She merely picked up her coffee again, taking a slow sip as if none of it mattered. It was fine. It had to be fine. Because if she let herself think about how quickly public perception could turn, how easily the narrative had shifted, how much worse things could get—she might just go mad.

"Can you at least tell me what happened?"

"Maybe," Pansy replied, "Later on. I have lessons first, and so do you."

"Pansy-"

"Later." Pansy cut her off with a tone of finality. She needed to talk to Granger and Weasley first, and she wasn't looking forward to that one bit.

The morning mist still clung stubbornly to the damp grass, curling low over the paddock where Hagrid's students had gathered. A familiar bite of autumn lingered in the air, crisp against Pansy's skin as she stood a little apart from the others, arms folded tightly across her chest. The grounds felt too open today—too exposed. The whispers had followed her all morning.

It wasn't just the usual murmuring she'd grown used to over the years, the hushed gossip that came with being Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin's Queen Bitch. No—this was something new. Something harsher. Rita Skeeter had done her job well.

She could feel the eyes on her, some lingering too long, some darting away the second she met them. Even from across the paddock, she caught the occasional glance cast her way—the unmistakable flicker of curiosity, suspicion.

She clenched her jaw, keeping her expression neutral. The old instincts kicked in, as automatic as breathing. Shoulders back, chin high, face unreadable. You are unbothered. You are in control.

She was neither, of course. She hadn't been in control for quite some time now and, as if things couldn't get any stranger, standing next to her—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed—was Ginny Weasley. Pansy flicked a sidelong glance at her. Weasley, for her part, seemed entirely unbothered, her hands shoved into her robes, her eyes fixed on the Thunderbird's enclosure.

"You look awfully chipper for someone who's apparently dying in St. Mungo's," Pansy muttered.

"Oh, I'm just putting on a brave face for all my adoring fans," Ginny replied, "I doubt I'll last the week."

"Right after you got engaged too. Tragic. I assume Potter is suitably devastated?"

"Inconsolable."

"Good, I'll be sure to let all my scary Death Eater friends know." Pansy said, pushing the envelope a bit.

"I'm sure they'll be really pleased. I'm a pretty big feather in their cap I would imagine."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," replied Pansy, "You're not in the Golden Trio, they're the real headliners. The big names, you know?"

Ginny hummed, her lips twitching at the corners. "I suppose you're right. I'll just have to settle for being Harry's tragic fiancée instead."

"Rita Skeeter really did you a favour with that one," Pansy drawled. "Next, she'll be writing about how you heroically clung to life just long enough for Potter to sob over your hospital bed before dramatically proposing."

Ginny snorted. "Well, that explains why I don't have a ring yet. He must be waiting to see if I pull through."

"Well, it would save him a lot of money if you snuffed it before he had to go and buy one." Ginny smirked, but held back any laugh that might have appeared. The two girls had exhausted their forced banter, but Ginny still did not move from Pansy's side, a fact not lost on the crowd of students watching them uneasily.

The air around the paddock felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. Pansy had been keeping track of every glance, every sideways whisper, every moment someone's attention lingered too long before flicking away. Hogwarts had always thrived on gossip, but today, it felt different. More dangerous.

She focused on the steady presence of Ginny beside her. It was absurd, really—this unspoken truce. Just a few days ago, Weasley would have rather hexed her than stood beside her like this. But something had changed since Hogsmeade. Pansy wasn't sure what to do with it.

"I'm going to handle Skeeter's nonsense," Ginny said quietly, "and I'm going to try and do it without putting you in danger from... you know who from. You're not everything I thought you were Pansy Parkinson, but I still don't trust you around Hermione."

Before Pansy could respond, Hagrid cleared his throat, his massive presence looming over the students as he addressed them. "Right, listen up! This'll be our last lesson with Elvis 'fore he heads back ter Arizona. So yeh best show 'im some proper respect."

There were a few murmurs of disappointment among the students, but Pansy barely reacted. She turned her attention to the Thunderbird, its powerful frame shimmering under the early morning light. Ginny was already reaching into a bucket for strips of fish, holding them out for the creature to snap up with precise movements.

Pansy hesitated, then mirrored her actions, holding out a piece of fish. The Thunderbird watched her for a moment, its bright, intelligent eyes unblinking before it took the offering with an elegant snap of its beak.

Just as she was about to straighten, a curse ripped through the air.

It happened too fast for Pansy to react. A sharp, crackling whoosh of magic zipped past her shoulder, missing her by inches. She spun on instinct, heart hammering, hand flying to her wand—

But she wasn't the only one who reacted.

A piercing cry tore through the paddock, splitting the air like a thunderclap. The Thunderbird, sensing the attack before anyone else, reared back in a frenzy, wings spreading wide, the sheer force of its movement sending a gust of charged air through the class.

The students gasped, some staggering back, shielding their faces as the bird let out another furious screech.

Pansy spun wildly, eyes darting across the sea of students, but no wands were raised—whoever had cast the curse had already hidden their hand.

And then—chaos.

The Thunderbird let out a deafening screech, its massive wings unfurling fully as it launched into the air with a powerful thrust. The sheer force sent a shockwave through the paddock, knocking several students off their feet. The sky darkened almost instantly, storm clouds rolling in as though summoned by the creature's rage. Within seconds, the first bolt of lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the horrified faces of the gathered students.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the paddock, tearing at cloaks and sending straw and loose debris flying. The rain followed in an instant, a torrential downpour so fierce it blurred vision and soaked them to the bone in moments. Thunder rumbled overhead, the ground trembling with each furious boom.

Pansy staggered back, shielding her face from the driving rain. The students were in full panic now, some scrambling for cover, others frozen in shock. Ginny, however, held her ground, wand clenched in her hand, her face twisted in fury.

"Who did that?!" she bellowed over the storm, her fiery hair whipping around her face. "Coward! Show yourself! Get out here and deal with what you've caused!"

Another bolt of lightning split the sky, this one striking alarmingly close to the paddock's edge. The air hummed with raw electricity, the magic thick enough to taste.

Pansy barely had time to think. The storm raged around her, and she knew without a doubt that the Thunderbird had fully given in to its instincts now. It wasn't just reacting—it was hunting. Searching for whoever had dared to strike first.

Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the horror on the faces of the students. The wind was howling now, so strong that Pansy had to plant her feet firmly to avoid being thrown off balance. Her sodden robes clung to her, heavy with rain. The storm was unnatural, pure magical fury given form.

Another bolt of lightning streaked down, this time striking closer, making several students scream and dive for cover. Pansy felt her heart hammer against her ribs, her breath coming fast. The Thunderbird had never lashed out like this before—it had trusted them and now it felt betrayed.

Her fingers curled around her wand, though she knew spells wouldn't be the answer. Magic had started this. More magic wouldn't end it.

The Thunderbird screeched again, an ear-splitting sound that sent another wave of force through the paddock. A particularly vicious gust of wind sent a group of Hufflepuff students sprawling. Pansy's hair whipped wildly around her face, water dripping from her lashes as she forced herself to stand her ground.

She could feel it—the Thunderbird's fury was directed at all of them, but beneath it, there was something else. A test. A challenge, and for some unfathomable reason, it felt like the creature was staring right at her.

Pansy inhaled sharply, stepping forward before she could stop herself. The Thunderbird's head twitched, its feathers still crackling with energy. Another pulse of lightning rippled through the storm clouds above, but the bird did not strike.

Hagrid's booming voice finally cut through the mayhem. "Inside! All of yeh! Now!" He was shoving students towards his hut on the edge of the forest, trying to break through their panic, but the storm wasn't letting up.

A particularly violent gust of wind sent several students tumbling, and the rain lashed against them like a living thing, its force unrelenting. Pansy barely managed to stay on her feet, every muscle in her body taut as she watched the Thunderbird circle above them, its golden eyes still trained on the crowd. It wasn't just rage—it was calculation.

Another crack of thunder split the sky, so loud and so close that Pansy felt it reverberate through her bones. Lightning struck the paddock fence, splintering wood in all directions. Students screamed. Someone tripped behind her. Pansy turned instinctively, her wand drawn even though she had no idea what spell would be useful against a rampaging Thunderbird and a raging storm.

Ginny was still refusing to back down, her stance defiant despite the chaos. "Enough!" she roared into the wind, her voice barely audible over the storm. "You've made your point!"

The Thunderbird didn't seem to care. Its wings beat harder, sending another blast of wind through the paddock. The rain came down even harder, an almost impenetrable curtain, and the world narrowed into little more than movement and sound.

Pansy swore under her breath. This was madness. Hagrid was still calling for them to retreat, but something about the Thunderbird's gaze held her rooted in place. Her pulse was a relentless hammering in her ears. Then, as if sensing her hesitation, the Thunderbird dived.

It was fast—too fast. One moment it was circling, the next it was plummeting toward the paddock, its talons outstretched, its entire form crackling with uncontained power. The air around it hummed, the magic so dense it was suffocating. For the first time that morning, Pansy felt a flicker of fear.

Hagrid was moving, shoving students towards safety, but Pansy couldn't look away. The Thunderbird was nearly upon them, its wings stretched wide, the storm twisting and bending around its form and then—at the last possible moment—it pulled up.

The downdraft knocked her flat. She landed hard, breath stolen from her lungs as mud and rain splattered across her robes. All around her, students were doing the same; scrambling, shielding their heads, crying out in fear. Ginny had barely kept her footing, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wild.

The Thunderbird ascended once more, another sharp cry ripping through the sky, but something was different now. The anger had not faded, but the energy around it had shifted. It was still watching them, still judging them, but it had not attacked. It could have. It should have.

Pansy pushed herself up on her hands and knees, coughing up bits of mud and grass, her eyes squinting against the rain. Her vision swam, but she forced herself to her feet. The Thunderbird had tested them. It had chosen to hold back—at least, for now.

Hagrid's voice boomed again. "That's enough! All of yeh, inside!" This time, there was no argument. The students fled, pushing and shoving through the storm, desperate for shelter.

Pansy didn't move immediately. Her eyes were still locked on the Thunderbird, still hovering, its storm still raging, but something about it made her hesitate.

Then she felt a firm grip on her wrist, yanking her backwards with surprising force. "What the hell are you doing?" Hermione hissed, her voice sharp and breathless. Pansy barely had time to react before Hermione tugged her again, trying to drag her toward the others retreating toward Hagrid's hut.

"Let go, Granger!" Pansy snapped, wrenching her arm free. She turned to glare at Hermione, rain running down both their faces, but Hermione only stared at her in frustration, her curls plastered to her forehead.

"Are you insane? You can't just stand there like—like some kind of storm-worshipping lunatic! That bird could kill you!"

Pansy scoffed, ignoring the way her heart was still pounding. "Oh, please. The Thunderbird isn't going to strike me without reason. Unlike your lot."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Pansy you are part of my lot." Her voice wavered between anger and exasperation, but there was something else beneath it—something that almost sounded like worry. "Whoever cast that spell is cowering in Hagrid's Hut from the raging Thunderbird orbiting our heads ready to hit us with lightning. You can't fix this by just standing here and trying to stare it down!"

Pansy faltered, just for a moment. It was rare to hear Hermione say her first name like that—like she wasn't just another problem to be solved. Like she meant it. A distant roll of thunder reminded them both that the Thunderbird was still there, circling high above, watching. Judging. Waiting.

Pansy swallowed, forcing herself to look away from Hermione's gaze. "Fine. But if you ever grab me like that again-"

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped closer to Pansy. "I won't take lectures from you on grabbing people inappropriately during an argument. Now move."

With one final glance at the Thunderbird, Pansy turned and followed Hermione back toward the shelter of Hagrid's hut. In one great, final crack of thunder, Elvis the Thunderbird wheeled away, vanishing into the clouds above.

The storm did not stop immediately, but its fury lessened. The rain softened, the winds eased, and though lightning still flickered in the distance, the worst had passed. Students began to murmur amongst themselves, hushed voices filled with uncertainty and fear.

Pansy exhaled, finally allowing herself to move. She turned to Ginny, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "We need to find out who did that," Pansy muttered, voice hoarse.

Ginny nodded once, slow, and deliberate. "Yeah. We do."

As soon as the last of the students were inside, dripping wet and shivering from the storm, Hagrid slammed the door shut behind them with enough force to rattle the windows. His usual warm expression was gone, replaced with a thunderous glare that rivalled the storm outside.

"What in Merlin's name were yeh thinkin'?!" he bellowed, his massive hands planted firmly on his hips. "Attackin' one of yer own classmates, an' in the middle of me lesson, no less!" His voice boomed, rattling the windows. Pansy hadn't seen Hagrid look so furious before, and it was quite alarming, "Elvis is gone! Disappeared he has! Probably terrified. I 'ope you lot are right proud of yourself!" The group of students shuffled nervously as Hagrid towered over them imposingly. "Why would anyone go and mess about like that eh?"

"Didn't you read the papers this morning Hagrid?" Pansy said, her voice sounding a lot tinier than she'd hoped.

"I never do, the ruddy Prophet hasn't printed anything true in about five years. That Rita Skeeter's only interested in tearing down decent people." Pansy couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, I'll give you the condensed version. Ginny's currently lying dead in St. Mungo's after getting attacked in Hogsmeade yesterday, and I masterminded the whole thing because the Death Eater who killed her used to work for my dad."

"Do yeh honestly think Professor McGonagall would let anyone dangerous walk freely around this school?" Hagrid continued, his voice filled with disappointment. "She gave Pansy Parkinson a second chance, just like the rest of yeh got. A clean slate. An' this is how yeh repay her?"

His keen eyes swept over the gathered students, lingering on a few who wouldn't even look up from the floor. "Whoever cast that curse, yeh better step forward now." His voice dropped, low and full of warning. "Cause I swear on me life, if I find out later who did it, yeh'll wish yeh'd owned up here an' now."

Silence. The only sound was the distant rumble of thunder and the rain still pelting the hut's roof.

Hagrid exhaled, shaking his head. "Fine. If none of yeh've got the spine to admit it, then the whole lot of yeh'll be servin' detention. Every single one of yeh." His tone left no room for argument. "Except for Pansy an' Ginny, since they were both right next to Elvis when it happened."

A ripple of discontent ran through the students, but no one dared speak up. Pansy, however, wasn't done. She stepped forward, tilting her chin up defiantly. "If any of you have a problem with me, at least have the decency to curse me to my face," she said coolly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Not like a coward hiding in the crowd."

A few students shifted uncomfortably, while others narrowed their eyes, but no one answered.

Hagrid let the silence stretch a moment longer before grunting, "That's settled, then. Detention starts tomorrow night. An' yeh can thank whatever snake-hearted coward among yeh for it. Now get outta me house."

Pansy was wet and cold by the time she trudged up the hill and into the castle, her boots squelching with each miserable step. Her robes were drenched, her hair plastered to her face, and she could already feel the damp seeping into her bones. Under normal circumstances, she would have been furious—complaining, sneering, making a dramatic fuss about the whole ordeal.

But she wasn't. Instead, there was a spring in her step, a warmth curling in her chest that not even the freezing rain could dampen.

Pansy, you are part of my lot.

Hermione had said it in the heat of the moment, but Pansy couldn't stop turning the words over in her mind, letting them settle into place like a particularly satisfying puzzle piece. Her lot. It was ridiculous how much she liked the sound of that.

She bit back a smirk as she walked, her fingers tightening around the damp sleeves of her robes. Hermione Granger—self-righteous, insufferable, brilliant Hermione—had claimed her. Not in the dramatic, grand way Pansy might have once imagined someone laying their claim to her, but in a casual, almost exasperated way. As if it were obvious. As if it had always been obvious, and Merlin, wasn't that just the best thing she'd heard in years?

She wasn't deluded enough to believe Hermione had meant it that way—Granger wasn't quite there yet—but it was something. A start, and if Pansy Parkinson was anything, she was an opportunist. She'd take this moment, this little win, and tuck it away for safekeeping. Because if Hermione Granger wanted her to be part of her lot, then who was Pansy to argue?

Only Daphne Greengrass could bring Pansy down from her cloud, and unfortunately, she nearly walked straight into her as she rounded the next corner. Pansy barely had time to register the familiar figure before Daphne stopped short, looking her up and down with a slow, assessing stare.

"Pansy—" She exhaled sharply, her gaze narrowing. "What happened to you?"

Pansy sighed, flicking some water from her sleeve. "It rained."

Daphne didn't react to the deflection. Her arms folded, her weight shifting onto one foot, and when she spoke again, her tone was even. "You look like you've been through hell."

Pansy smirked. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Daphne didn't return it. "No. Not really."

Something about the way she said it made Pansy pause. Daphne wasn't exasperated, wasn't scolding her like she usually would when Pansy was being difficult. She was watching her. Studying her the way she always did when she knew there was something Pansy wasn't saying.

Pansy exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back. "It was just Care of Magical Creatures," she said, keeping her voice light. "Nothing worth getting worked up over. How many of Hagrid's classes have I nearly died in over the years?"

Daphne hummed. "Except, of course, that this time a Thunderbird nearly electrocuted half the class and somehow, you and Weasley were in the centre of it." She paused. "Again."

Pansy's fingers twitched at her sides. She knows. How does she always know?

Daphne tilted her head slightly. "You're keeping things from me." It wasn't an accusation—just a statement of fact.

Pansy forced an easy smile. "You say that like I never keep things from you."

Daphne didn't return it. "This isn't like before."

That, more than anything, made Pansy falter. She swallowed, shifting her weight. "Daphne—"

"I know things have changed," Daphne cut in smoothly, unreadable as ever. "I know you and Granger have some… understanding now." A slight furrow appeared between her brows. "I encouraged it, didn't I?"

Pansy said nothing.

"But I think you're in deeper than you realize," Daphne continued. "Or maybe deeper than you want to admit."

Pansy scoffed, more out of habit than anything. "Oh, don't be dramatic."

Daphne's expression didn't change. "I'm not. But you are."

That was the thing about Daphne —she never pushed exactly, never demanded answers outright. But she would lay them in front of you, forcing you to acknowledge them. Pansy inhaled slowly, then looked her friend square in the eye. "I'm fine."

Daphne held her gaze for a moment longer, and for the first time, Pansy wasn't sure if she believed her. Then, finally, Daphne exhaled, the sharpness easing from her expression. "Just… don't get reckless."

Pansy arched a brow. "You're worried about me?"

Daphne scoffed lightly. "Hardly. If you go and get yourself killed by gallivanting around with one third of the Golden Trio, I'll have to find someone else to sit with at lunch."

Pansy smirked, the tension breaking just slightly. "Tragic."

Daphne didn't respond, only shook her head, and stepped aside, letting Pansy pass. But even as Pansy walked away, she could still feel her watching.

The dormitory was blissfully warm, a stark contrast to the damp chill that clung stubbornly to Pansy's skin. She exhaled slowly as she shut the door behind her, rolling her shoulders, feeling the weight of the past hour settle over her like an old, ill-fitting cloak. She'd never been one for theatrics, but she swore she could still feel the lingering electricity of the storm buzzing faintly under her skin, a restless, unseen thing. She needed to peel these wet clothes off.

The moment she reached the centre of the room, she wasted no time shrugging off her sodden robes, letting the heavy fabric pool onto the floor in an unceremonious heap. A shiver ran down her spine as the air hit her damp skin, but she barely noticed. Her fingers were already working at the buttons of her blouse, movements deft and precise as she freed herself from the cling of wet fabric, rolling her stiff shoulders as she let it slide down her arms and fall to the floor.

She hadn't even reached her skirt before the door swung open behind her.

"Oh—!"

The sound that left Hermione Granger's mouth was not a word, but something caught between a gasp and a strangled breath, the sharp inhale of someone who had walked straight into something they had not prepared for. Pansy turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder, and there, standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, was Granger.

Pansy blinked. For a moment, Hermione didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even seem to breathe. Her brown eyes—normally sharp, always too full of opinion for Pansy's liking—were locked onto her, and then, just for a second, they flickered lower, passing appraisingly over Pansy's body.

Ah.

The moment passed quickly, so quickly that if Pansy hadn't been watching closely, she might have missed it. The tiniest movement of her gaze downward. The flash of realization before she forcibly snapped her attention back up, her entire face flushing scarlet with horror at herself. Pansy's lips curled, ever so slightly. The realization slid down Pansy's spine like honey, slow and sweet, pooling somewhere dangerously close to satisfaction. Hermione had looked. Hermione had been flustered.

"Granger," she said, her voice silk-smooth, "you're staring. See something you like?"

Hermione flinched.

"No—I—!" She jerked her gaze toward the floor so violently that Pansy wondered if she'd given herself whiplash. "I wasn't—I just—why are you—? Put some clothes on!"

Pansy bit back a smirk, tilting her head ever so slightly. This was new. Hermione Granger, speechless, flushed red from the tips of her ears to the base of her throat, tripping over her own words like she'd just walked into an unspeakable horror, when in reality, she'd just walked in on Pansy Parkinson getting changed out of her wet robes. Hermione Granger, flustered by the sight of her. How fascinating.

Pansy arched an elegant brow. "Merlin, Granger, I knew you were a prude, but surely you've seen a half-naked girl before."

Hermione made a choked sound, one that might have been a response if it weren't so comically strangled and turned her back so fast she nearly slammed into the door. "I—I wasn't looking! I just—warn me next time you decide to—!" She made a wild, frustrated gesture behind her, unable to even say the words.

Pansy chuckled. Oh, she was going to enjoy this. She stretched languidly, taking her time as she turned away, as if she had all the time in the world, as if she was entirely unbothered—because she was. But Hermione wasn't, and Pansy? She liked that just a little too much.

"Next time I decide to get changed in my own room? You're acting like I hexed you," Pansy drawled as she reached for a fresh blouse, tugging it over her shoulders at an unhurried pace. "It's just skin, Granger. No need to panic. All the exciting parts are still hidden away from your wandering eyes."

"I am not panicking," Hermione hissed, still very purposefully facing the door, though her hands had curled into fists at her sides. "And my eyes aren't… wandering."

Pansy finished buttoning her blouse, amused at how utterly unconvincing that was. She took a step forward, watching the way Hermione's shoulders tensed just slightly. "If you say so," Pansy whispered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. She placed her hands gently on Hermione's shoulders, and the Gryffindor girl went completely rigid. This was a big risk, Pansy knew that, but she couldn't help herself. "Would you like some help getting your wet robes off Granger?"

Hermione gasped, drawing in breath sharply. Her cheeks went redder still, and she refused to turn her head and look at Pansy. She let the silence stretch, watching the rise and fall of Hermione's breath, the way her shoulders were pulled so taut they might snap. She didn't need to say anything—Hermione's reaction was saying it all.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she stepped back, giving Hermione the space she so clearly desperately needed. Hermione exhaled hard, as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time. Her hands fluttered at her sides, restless, like she was still trying to process the interaction.

Pansy tilted her head. "Shame. I thought you might want the help."

Hermione recoiled so violently at the suggestion that she nearly tripped over the edge of the rug, her hands coming up as if to physically ward off the very idea of it.

"I—no! Absolutely not!" she sputtered, eyes wide with something bordering on horror. "That is—that is never happening—ever."

Pansy smirked, watching her flounder, watching her grasp for composure like a drowning woman reaching for driftwood. "Relax, Granger," she said smoothly, turning away to retrieve her wand from the nightstand. "It was only a suggestion."

"It was a terrible suggestion."

Pansy chuckled, glancing at her over her shoulder. "Was it? You seem very flustered for someone who supposedly finds the idea so appalling."

Hermione let out a strangled noise, pressing her fingers to her temples as if this entire conversation was giving her a headache. "New rule," she declared abruptly, voice still slightly unsteady.

Pansy arched a brow. "Oh?"

"From now on," Hermione said, squaring her shoulders, doing her best to channel some authority despite the way her face was still pink, "we always change in the bathroom. Always."

Pansy couldn't help it—she laughed. A sharp, delighted sound that made Hermione bristle even further. "You're actually making a rule about this?"

"Yes," Hermione snapped, clearly desperate to regain control. "Non-negotiable."

Pansy smirked, crossing her arms. "Afraid you won't be able to help yourself, Granger?"

Hermione made a choked sound, turned so fast that she nearly knocked over the chair beside her, and stormed toward the door.

"This conversation is over," she declared, voice far too high to be taken seriously.

Pansy grinned. "For now."

The door slammed behind Hermione, and Pansy exhaled, stretching lazily, letting the thrill of the moment settle in her chest. This is going to be so much fun Pansy thought to herself, if only I'd worn one of my fancy bras, that would've really got Hermione worked up. Making a mental note that when she next planned on breaking Hermione Granger's latest rule she'd be sure to wear something far more scandalous.

Pansy practically skipped down to Charms class in her fresh robes, each step impossibly light, as though her shoes barely touched the stone floor beneath her. The remnants of the storm—both literal and figurative—had faded entirely, replaced by something infinitely more satisfying. Hermione Granger had openly claimed her as part of her lot, had blushed scarlet at the mere sight of her changing, and now stood a few steps ahead, dripping a trail of rainwater onto the ancient stone.

Unable to resist, Pansy lengthened her stride, leaning in just close enough to murmur teasingly into Hermione's ear. "I didn't think I'd fluster you so badly you'd forget how to perform a simple drying charm," she whispered, voice dripping honeyed satisfaction.

Hermione stiffened immediately, her posture turning rigid. A telltale flush crept steadily up from her neck to the tips of her ears, betraying her embarrassment despite her silence. Pansy smirked, withdrawing slightly and allowing her gaze to linger appreciatively on the soaked robes still clinging to Hermione's frame.

Before she could press the advantage any further, however, a quiet voice intruded smoothly from her left.

"Well, you certainly seem pleased with yourself."

Pansy nearly jumped, turning sharply to find Daphne Greengrass leaning against the wall near the classroom door, arms crossed elegantly, a perfectly arched brow lifted in amusement. Her expression, however, quickly sobered into something more cautious as her eyes flickered meaningfully toward Hermione, who had hurriedly stepped away to slip inside the classroom.

"Daphne," Pansy replied smoothly, quickly recomposing herself. "I'm always pleased with myself."

"Indeed," Daphne drawled softly, stepping closer and lowering her voice as other students filed past, taking their seats ahead of them. "Especially when you've got Granger dripping puddles all over the castle and blushing like a first year. You're like a cat playing with its food."

Pansy shrugged lightly, feigning nonchalance even as she felt the subtle tension return to her shoulders. Daphne was her closest friend—one who knew her far better than anyone else—but she wasn't quite ready to explain her recent developments with Hermione. Not yet.

"It's just a bit of harmless fun," Pansy offered breezily, meeting Daphne's knowing gaze with practiced ease. "No need to make something more out of it."

Daphne hesitated, briefly searching Pansy's expression, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. "I'm not judging you," she said gently, eyes carefully neutral. "But you seem to have been in a lot of danger recently Pansy, and I'm worried about you."

"Don't be so dramatic, Daphne," Pansy said, rolling her eyes, flicking her wand lazily toward her textbook as though utterly unbothered. "I hardly think a little storm and a wayward hex qualifies as a lot of danger."

Daphne exhaled sharply. "Funny. I thought nearly getting killed in Hogsmeade counted as a lot of danger."

Pansy stiffened, just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Daphne had always been sharper than most.

"Everyone knows the Prophet got half the story wrong," Daphne continued, flipping open her textbook with an air of forced nonchalance. "But I was supposed to meet you that afternoon, and instead I spent the rest of the day wondering if you were dead. Then I find out from the Daily bloody Prophet that you either saved Weasley or tried to lure her to her death. Then, you and Weasley are apparently the best of chums this morning until a bloody bird nearly fries half the year, and despite this I catch you trying to get into Granger's knickers." She gave Pansy a pointed look. "So, forgive me if I'd really like to know what the hell actually happened."

Pansy exhaled sharply through her nose, flicking her wand at her feather without actually bothering to cast the charm. The damn thing just sat there, unmoving, much like Daphne's unwavering stare drilling into the side of her head.

"You're so dramatic, Daphne," Pansy murmured, tilting her head as if bored. "Honestly, I expected you to be more impressed. The Daily bloody Prophet says I'm either a noble heroine or a conniving villain. I'd have thought you'd appreciate the duality."

Daphne did not look impressed. "Pansy."

Pansy rolled her eyes, tapping her wand against her desk as she debated just how much to say.

"Fine," she said, voice low and clipped. "Weasley was the target. Some absolute dregs of society came after her, and somehow I ended up in the middle of it. Which, you'll be pleased to know, was not part of my plan."

Daphne arched a brow. "And what, exactly, was your plan?"

"To drink elf-made wine, make passive-aggressive comments about the Halloween decorations, and endure your presence for an hour or two," Pansy replied dryly. "But instead, I got blown up and ended up saving a Weasley. A real red-letter day for me."

Daphne watched her carefully. "So, you did save her."

Pansy sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Yes, and she was ever so grateful. Jammed a wand in my face and started threatening to do me in, at least until Kibley—" Damn. Pansy hadn't meant to let that little detail slip, and Daphne seized upon it immediately.

"Kibley!" Daphne hissed, her eyes widening sharply. Pansy could practically see the pieces slotting together in Daphne's sharp mind. "You took Weasley to Foxglove? That's where you disappeared to? Merlin, Pansy!"

"Keep your voice down," Pansy murmured, calmly sending her feather drifting lazily through the air, pretending complete disinterest in the subject. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Daphne's whisper was fierce, incredulous. "Foxglove Grange is your home. What if your parents find out?"

"They won't," Pansy replied coolly. "I told Kibley not to tell another living soul. Problem solved."

Daphne hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "Look, I know Kibley wouldn't ever intentionally betray you, but if your parents suspect anything—if they get even the slightest inkling that something happened—they'll find a way around your order. You know how resourceful they are."

Pansy faltered briefly, tightening her grip on her wand. Daphne was right; her parents had ways—creative, cruel ways—of getting exactly what they wanted. She'd given Kibley a perfect, ironclad instruction, but even house-elf obedience had its loopholes. Pansy knew that too well.

"They won't suspect," she replied stiffly. "They have no reason to."

Daphne leaned closer, lowering her voice further. "And what if Weasley slips? What if someone else finds out and it gets back to your parents? You're risking everything, Pansy."

Pansy lifted her chin stubbornly. "Weasley won't talk, when is she ever going to meet my parents?"

Daphne's eyes narrowed sceptically. "And you're certain of that?"

Pansy didn't hesitate this time. "Yes," she said simply. "I'm certain."

Daphne drew in a long breath, exhaling slowly as she considered. "I hope you're right," she murmured. "Because if your parents find out, you know as well as I do that there'll be hell to pay. If you're going to run around helping Mudbloods and Blood Traitors alike you can't be caught Pansy."

Pansy said nothing more, eyes fixed stubbornly on her feather, unwilling to concede the point further. But beneath her composed exterior, unease was beginning to coil tight in her stomach. Because Daphne was right—if her parents found out about Foxglove and Ginny, it wouldn't matter how well she'd commanded Kibley. They'd find a way to get the truth, and when they did, she'd pay dearly for it.

"Why did you take her there anyway?" asked Daphne.

"Because she was unconscious, bleeding really badly, and Travers was about kill both of us. It was the first place I thought of that I might manage to get us too. Of course I've never taken anyone side-along before, but I didn't have much time to think about that."

"You disapparated?" Daphne's eyes had gone wide again. "Pansy that's… quite impressive actually. That must be at least three-hundred and fifty miles! You didn't splinch?" Pansy shook her head.

"The threat of imminent death does wonders for ones abilities." Pansy chimed sarcastically. "I patched her up a bit and got her to send word to the Chosen One. Then she jammed her wand in my face and start accusing me of being part of the setup."

"What a bitch!"

"My sentiments exactly." Pansy smirked, "But Kibley knocked her down a peg, and to be fair, she did stick up for me today in class."

"What happened in class? I could hardly miss the biggest lightning storm anyone's ever seen, but what set that thing off?"

"Some idiot tried to curse me in the back while I was feeding the pigeon and missed. Dunno who. Hagrid went absolutely mental, I was more scared of him to be honest. Oh, and the bird is gone. Vanished into a storm cloud."

"Oh, I hope he's safe. There's a really bad poaching gang about at the minute." Daphne said, "Who cursed you?"

"Dunno," Pansy said truthfully. "Whoever did won't own up to it."

Daphne frowned, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of her desk as she processed this. "So, someone just took a shot at you in broad daylight, with half the class watching, and no one saw who did it?"

Pansy flicked her wand at the feather again, watching it spin lazily. "Apparently not. Either they're exceptionally lucky, or half the school suddenly developed selective blindness."

"Unbelievable," Daphne muttered, shaking her head. "And Hagrid? You said he lost it?"

Pansy let out a short laugh. "Oh, completely. He was shoving students toward his hut, yelling about how McGonagall wouldn't let a dangerous student walk free in her school and demanding the attacker own up. When they didn't, he put the entire class in detention—except for me and Weasley, obviously."

Daphne blinked. "The entire class?"

Pansy smirked. "All of them."

"Even Granger?" Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Yes, even Granger."

"Seems unfair if you ask me, she's hardly to going to curse her girlfriend." This time Pansy rolled her eyes so dramatically they almost went all the way into the back of her head.

"Oh, please," Pansy drawled, flicking her wand with unnecessary flourish and making her feather soar a little too aggressively into the air. "One flustered moment in the corridor and now you're writing our wedding invitations. Get a grip."

Daphne smirked, leaning back in her chair. "It's not just one moment, though, is it?"

Pansy gave her a flat look.

"I mean, let's review," Daphne continued, tapping a finger against her desk as though listing off academic points. "She lets you get away with murder in Potions despite the fact that Granger lets nothing get in the way of academic success, and apparently you are joined at the hip in Care of Magical Creatures. You both moon at each other across the Great Hall during meals," Daphne waved off Pansy's latest round of eye rolls and pressed on, "and you two were very tense at Dean's little gathering in the common room. Now I catch you whispering sweet nothings into Grangers ear in the middle of the corridors for anyone to see."

Pansy let out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, Daphne, you've cracked the case. I'm secretly madly in love with Hermione Granger and have been plotting to elope with her since first year. Congratulations."

"Oh no," Daphne shook her head, "your panting after Granger is a recent development. If I had to make a guess –"

"Nobody is forcing you," Pansy interjected.

"If I had to make a guess," Daphne continued, completely ignoring her, "I'd say the flashpoint was when you went walkabout for a couple of days and skipped all those classes. So, was that when you snogged Granger, or did that come later?"

Pansy stiffened, only for a fraction of a second—but that was just long enough for Daphne, who clamped a hand over her mouth, presumably to stop herself from screaming out loud.

"So that was it." She whispered, her voice giddy.

Pansy scoffed, flicking her wand too hard and sending her feather floating sideways. "You're delusional."

Daphne ignored her. "And now, you're grinning whenever she flusters. You're deliberately winding her up. You're practically purring whenever she reacts." She leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "So, be honest, Pansy—was it good?"

Pansy said nothing, but it was impossible to hide the colour rapidly rising in her cheeks.

Daphne grinned, practically bouncing in her seat. "Oh, it was, wasn't it?"

Pansy took a deep, slow breath, willing herself to remain composed. She didn't have to give Daphne anything. She didn't have to react. She could just ignore her. But unfortunately, Daphne knew her too well. So instead, Pansy lifted her chin and smirked, forcing herself into indifference. "I'd rather snog Filch."

Daphne laughed. "Pansy, please, you're halfway in love with her already."

Pansy flicked her wand again, this time with precision, and sent her feather smacking Daphne directly in the face. Daphne howled with laughter, swatting it away.

Pansy huffed, muttering, "You are the absolute worst."

"And you," Daphne said smugly, "are absolutely gone for her."

Pansy refused to dignify that with an answer. Instead, she turned back to her notes, pretending to study the page in front of her, but the words blurred together, meaningless. Her heart was beating too fast, her cheeks still warm, and she hated the way her skin prickled with the undeniable truth of it. Because the most infuriating thing? Daphne wasn't entirely wrong, and that realization was starting to feel dangerous.