"Would I be right?" Ginny asks tentatively.
Every part of her wants to say no. Every part of her wants to run away from the table and never look back.
But instead, in a show of bravery that will baffle Hermione when she looks back on it even years later, she manages a small, stiff nod, effectively sealing her fate, whatever it may be.
She looks up to see Ginny's reaction and when she finds understanding, warm eyes still trained on her, she feels the tiniest bit of tension flutter away from her body. Because at the very least, Ginny doesn't seem to be having the same reaction as Ron.
"And can I ask if these feelings are only for your parchment pal? Or do you think you might be…?" Ginny trails off and lets the loaded question hang in the air, waiting for Hermione to supply an answer.
"I…yes," Hermione whispers. "I…I think I might be…that," she says awkwardly, still unable to say the word.
One thing at a time.
Ginny's eyes soften, but before she can reply, Hermione hurries on. "Do you agree with Ron?"
"Very, very rarely," Ginny says uncertainly, "but I'll need more specifics to be sure."
Hermione manages a small, weak smile at her reply. "Do you think it's wrong? Or…disgusting?" she asks, her voice timid.
Immediately, Ginny's eyes harden. "No," she says firmly. "Not in the slightest. Not even for a moment."
"But Ron said—"
"No," Ginny says, pointing a warning finger at Hermione. "Don't you dare finish that thought. I know he's my brother, and I love him, but basing anything in your life off of what Ronald says is a recipe for disaster."
Hermione shakes her head miserably. "How can I not? I mean, the way he looked…the way Harry looked…"
"Is something that can be changed," Ginny puts in swiftly. "I love both of them, but they're both complete idiots. Neither of them know any better. But do you know what their one saving grace is?"
Hermione shakes her head, and Ginny smiles encouragingly at her. "They're quick to learn," she says. "And they will. Honestly, they only reacted that way because they've never been faced with it before."
"And you have?" Hermione asks, raising an interested brow.
Ginny nods. "One of my mum's brothers is gay," she says, dropping her voice. When she sees Hermione wince at the word, she quickly says, "and it doesn't make a bitof difference. He's still my favorite uncle. Nothing's changed." She breaks off and frowns thoughtfully. "Well…that's not entirely true. I suppose I finally know why he's been bringing his roommate to our family get-togethers for the past fifteen years. But other than that, nothing's changed. I still love him, and I'm just happy that he'shappy. Isn't that all anyone can ask for?"
"I suppose it is, I just…sorry, I'm a bit confused," Hermione says with a frown. "If he's your uncle, then shouldn't Ron know?"
Ginny shakes her head. "I only found out before the start of this year, and it was purely accidental. And Mum said he wants to tell everyone on his own terms, so I haven't said a word to anyone." Ginny breaks off and frowns. "Suppose I have now, though," she says. She shoots Hermione a nervous look and says, "if you ever happen to meet my uncle Edward, do me a favor and don't mention this."
"I won't," Hermione says with a small smile. Then, she nervously pinches the fabric of her skirt between her fingertips and says, "you really don't think it's weird?" Normally, she'd cringe at herself for being so desperate for reassurance, but today, she needs it.
"I really, really don't," Ginny says earnestly. "Mind you, I think there are a lot of things that are weird in this world—the fact that mum still washes Ron's knickers comes to mind," she says with a smirk. "But this? No. I don't think this is weird at all. And even if I didn't know about my uncle, I still wouldn't think it was weird."
"Yes, but—"
"Hermione," Ginny says, swiftly cutting off Hermione's inevitable protest. "I think that you deserve happiness as much as the next person. And I think you deserve all the love in the world. Whether that's with a man or a woman, I don't care. All I care about is that you end up with someone who treats you well and that you're happy." Ginny reaches across the table and takes Hermione's hand. She gives it a small squeeze and says, "and for what it's worth, I think that whoever your parchment pal is, she's the luckiest witch in the entire world. Because you are absolutely amazing."
Without any warning, a potent burst of relief rushes through Hermione, filling her to the brim and leaving her completely weak. With a shuddering exhalation, she allows herself to let go of the last bit of fear lingering in her body, and in its place, she lets new emotions flood in. Freedom, hope, joy. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she laughs shakily. "Sorry, I didn't expect to…" she tilts her head up to the ceiling as a tear rolls down her cheek. She releases Ginny's hand to brush it away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying," she says, sounding bewildered.
"Relief? I'd imagine it was a difficult thing to sit with."
Hermione manages a watery laugh. "It was, but to be honest, I've barely been sitting with it at all. I feel like most people sit with this for years, but I seem to be trying to set some sort of world record."
"You didn't know before?" Ginny asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
"No. No, I…" Hermione brushes away another tear and looks back at Ginny. "I should have. But no, I didn't realize it until my parchment pal."
"Huh. You know, I'm not surprised that was what did it."
"Why?" Hermione asks, her brow furrowing in confusion at Ginny's casual statement.
"I mean, you've always taken assignments to the extreme. I suppose you heard inter-house unity was the goal and decided to try for extra credit?" Ginny asks with a smirk.
Hermione snorts in surprise. "As reasonable as that hypothesis is, I'm afraid even I'm not that dedicated to schoolwork."
"Ah. Well, whatever the reason, can you do me a favor?"
"I…suppose?"
"Don't tell anyone else it was your parchment pal that did it."
"Why not?" Hermione asks, her gaze narrowing suspiciously at the mirth shining on Ginny's face.
"Because someday, I want to be able to tell everyone that one date with Ron was enough for you to swear off men completely."
Hermione rolls her eyes but still gives Ginny a small, fond smile. "Had I known you'd be inspired to put together an entire comedy routine based on this, I'd have told you ages ago."
"Sorry, sorry. Couldn't help myself. But really, I'm glad you told me. And I meant what I said—this doesn't change anything. I still love you. Always will. And anything you want to talk about, I'm here."
"Thank you," Hermione says, her lower lip trembling just a bit at the warmth in Ginny's gaze. "I love you, too, you know."
Ginny gives her a smile and nods. Then she tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow. "So out of curiosity, am I the first person you've told?"
Hermione's mind flicks to Pansy as she considers telling Ginny the truth. After a brief hesitation, she decides against it. She's already exhausted by the conversation they've just had, and she doesn't think she can handle a thorough inquisition on how she's managed to somehow become friends with Pansy Parkinson of all people. Bizarrely, she has a feeling Ginny will have a worse reaction to that particular tidbit. So instead, she nods, hoping her face doesn't betray her by blushing.
Ginny grins broadly. "I'm honored." But something seems to occur to her, because her smile fades and studies Hermione curiously. "Wait…does your parchment pal know? I mean…does she feel the same way?"
This time, Hermione does blush. "I…yes," she murmurs, keeping her voice low. "She feels the same way. But she doesn't know that I have feelings for her. She sort of confessed to having feelings for me a while ago, but at the time, I didn't think I felt the same. So I told her we should just be friends. But she inadvertently opened the floodgates and eventually, it was all I could think about and…well, obviously, I ended up coming to a very different conclusion. But I haven't told her yet. And I don't think I will until I meet her face to face."
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I've built it up in my head. It seems more…momentous, somehow to do it in person. Do you think that's silly?"
"No, not at all. A grand declaration like that? I think it's quite romantic. I just…" Ginny trails off and twists her mouth in contemplation.
"What?" Hermione asks, watching Ginny nervously.
"Nothing, I…" she sighs and tugs on her braid. "I don't want to sound like Ron, but I just…what if she's…y'know…not very…attractive?" she says sheepishly.
"Oh. I…I don't know," Hermione says honestly. "I suppose I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, but I'd like to think it wouldn't matter. I mean, I already know everything I need to know about her and unless she's an actual troll, I can't imagine her looks would change anything."
Ginny snorts. "You say that now, but when an actual troll shows up, you'll change your tune."
"Maybe. But like I said, there's no use borrowing trouble."
"Which I agree with, but it's something you should think about. Because emotions are all well and good, but physical attraction plays a pretty big part in any relationship."
"I suppose so, but—"
"Do you have a type?" Ginny asks, leaning forward with interest.
"A what?" Hermione asks, confused.
"A type. Y'know, a type of woman you find attractive?"
"Oh. I…no. I mean, I've never really thought about it," Hermione says awkwardly, absently winding the ends of her hair around her fingers.
"Oh, come on. I know you've just figured things out, but surely there's someone at this school you've noticed before?"
Hermione opens her mouth to refute Ginny's question, but before she can say anything, a startlingly clear image of Pansy pops into her head, completely unbidden.
She freezes in place, completely taken aback. Why on earth had Pansy of all people come to mind?
Surely, it was just a coincidence. Surely, it was because she had just been thinking about Pansy a few moments ago. Surely, she didn't find Pansy Parkinson attractive.
…Did she?
No. She didn't. That would be absurd.
…But to be fair, she'd have to be blind to not notice that Pansy is attractive. Not in a way that means that she herself is attracted to her, of course. Just in a way that means most Hogwarts students probably recognize that Pansy is quite pretty.
No. Pretty is the wrong word. She's striking.
Pansy radiates a kind of alluring glamour that Hermione's only seen in old-world Muggle film stars—dark lips, perfectly shaped eyebrows, sleek, bobbed hair that never seems to fall out of place. There's something arresting about her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, her full lips, her hypnotic green eyes.
But there's more to it than that…there's an aura of regality in the way Pansy carries herself that tends to make her the center of attention in any room she's in. Every part of her physicality demands to be noticed, yet Pansy herself seems completely unfazed by the attention she receives. Somehow though, her complete indifference toward just about every person at Hogwarts has only served to make her more intriguing. And it's worked wonders for her—even Hermione can admit that even when she had hated Pansy, her eye had always been drawn toward her.
But she doesn't hate her anymore. Not by a long shot. And now that she's befriended Pansy, she's starting to notice more than she had ever noticed before. Because before, Hermione only knew Pansy as someone who looked perpetually haughty. She had only ever known cruel sneers, arrogantly quirked eyebrows, and cold hatred from green eyes. But now, she knows so much more. She knows that Pansy has a slow, beautiful smile that lights up her entire face like a sunrise. She knows that when Pansy laughs, her nose scrunches up and her eyes shine so brightly, Hermione finds it difficult to look away. She knows that when she's deep in concentration, Pansy will get the tiniest furrow between her brows as she gently worries her lower lip (which is another thing Hermione finds curiously difficult to look away from).
The realization that she's spent quite a bit of time both watching Pansy and cataloging all of her features hits Hermione hard, and she stares stupidly at the table, completely bemused by the turn of events.
Could it be that she actually thinks that Pansy is—
"Hermione?"
Hermione startles out of her thoughts and looks up to find Ginny, watching her with vague amusement.
"Shall I take that as a yes, then?"
"What?" Hermione asks. She's completely forgotten the original question that led her down this particularly strange rabbit hole.
"Is there someone here that you fancy?"
Hermione's eyes widen and she feels a flush stain her cheeks. "No," she says quickly. "No, there's…no. No. Absolutely not."
"Mm, hate to break it to you, but those are not the protestations of an honest woman. You're hiding something," Ginny says with a sly grin.
"And I hate to break it to you, but I'm not. You just…you caught me off guard. That's all."
"So the massive, all-over flush you're sporting is just…?"
Hermione lifts a hand to her cheek to find it warm. She drops it quickly and glares at Ginny, who's still grinning at her. "Don't make me regret letting you sit here," Hermione says flatly, crossing her arms.
"Oh, don't be like that! Besides, remember how good sharing the other thing felt? Maybe this'll feel just as good!"
"You're no longer welcome at this table," Hermione says, extending her leg to push against Ginny's chair.
Ginny laughs as her chair smoothly slides backward across the polished wood floor, and when she's fully out of Hermione's reach, she says, "can I guess?"
"No."
"But—"
"Guess what?"
Hermione and Ginny both whip around to find Harry and Ron, watching them with interest. They've somehow managed to appear without either girl noticing, and they're looking between Hermione and Ginny, waiting to be let in on the conversation.
"Reckon we could help," Harry says. "We did just come from Divination and if there's one thing that class is good for, it's teaching us how to make wild and completely unfounded guesses."
Hermione turns to Ginny with panic in her eyes, but Ginny is already on the case. "Excellent," she says, scooting her chair back toward the table. "Then maybe you can help me figure out what Hermione's Boggart has changed into."
The panic subsides from Hermione's gaze and instead, she stares at Ginny with complete bewilderment. But before she can open her mouth to say something stupid that contradicts the lie, Ron snorts. "What, you mean it's not McGonagall failing her anymore?" he asks as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder.
"No, it's not," Ginny says smoothly. "Apparently it changed sometime early last year. You remember when the Boggart was found in Filch's filing cabinet?"
Harry and Ron both shake their heads, looking confused. For once, it's warranted—there was no Boggart in Filch's filing cabinet last year. As far as Hermione knows, there hasn't been a Boggart in Hogwarts since third year.
"Merlin. Do you two ever listen?" Ginny asks with good-natured exasperation. "Anyway, there was a Boggart found in Filch's filing cabinet last year, and someoneasked McGonagall if she could help take care of it."
Ginny trails off and raises an amused eyebrow at Hermione. Quickly, Hermione relaxes her expression and manages a shrug. "I've never forgiven them for making me lose points on my Defense Against the Dark Arts exam third year. I wanted to prove to McGonagall that I could take care of it."
Even though it's a lie, Hermione very briefly finds herself wishing it were true—she would like a second crack at those bloody shape-shifters.
"And did you?" Harry asks with interest.
Hermione quickly nods and Harry shakes his head in wonder. "Huh…you'd think we'd remember that," he says with a far-off look. "Did you tell us about it?"
"I…no," Hermione says, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. "No, I meant to, but—"
"But after it took its new form, she was too embarrassed to say anything," Ginny puts in helpfully. "But I'm dyingto know what could be so embarrassing, you'd keep it from all of us for a year," she adds, turning to Hermione with a bright smile. "So go on. Tell us."
Hermione glares darkly at the glee on Ginny's face, but it only makes Ginny's smile brighter.
"It can't be that bad," Ron says leaning his forearms against an empty chair beside Hermione's. "I mean, I can't think of anything more embarrassing than McGonagall failing you."
Somehow, Hermione manages an unaffected shrug. "I suppose that's for me to know and you to never find out."
"Maybe she's afraid of having to listen to us discuss Quidditch again," Harry says with a grin.
"No, it's got to be something gross. Like…like not making it to the toilet in time," Ron says, looking toward Hermione as if he's cracked the case.
"Really? You think that's her worst fear? Not getting to the toilet in time?" Ginny asks dryly.
"I dunno. It could be. I mean, it's one of mine."
"Only because you wet the bed until you were eight."
"Oi!" Ron says, looking betrayed and furious, all at once.
"Just telling the truth," Ginny says sweetly. "Anyway, Iwas thinking—"
Hermione somehow finds it within herself to roll her eyes as she sits there and watches her friends try and guess her fake-Boggart, but truth be told, she's never been more relieved for anything to be a lie. Because quite frankly, if it wasn't for the conversation she and Ginny had just had, she actually would have a new Boggart—watching all her friends and family abandon her. It's all she's been panicking over for the past few days, but now, the fear seems muted. Because now, she honestly believes that she can one day make her loved ones understand. And even if the rest of the world never reaches the same understanding, she won't mind. Just as long as they do.
"That must be it!" Ron says triumphantly. "Fear of having to one day make an acronym that's not absolute rubbish!" He turns to Hermione with a broad grin and says, "well? Did we get it?"
Hermione gathers her things with dignity and stands up to start the walk to Transfiguration. "If I say yes, will you stop guessing?" she asks primly.
"Probably not, no," Harry says good-naturedly.
Harry, Ron, and Ginny spend the entire walk from the library to Transfiguration making increasingly ridiculous guesses as to Hermione's new Boggart form. (Hermione's favorites include fear of one day genuinely believing in everything Luna believes in, fear of somehow inheriting the position of Divination professor, and fear that people actually thought she looked better as the Polyjuiced version of Millicent's cat.)
When they finally reach the door to Transfiguration, they're all in high spirits. Ron and Harry both say goodbye to Ginny and enter the classroom, still making guesses, but Hermione doesn't move to follow them. Instead, she leans against the doorjamb, crosses her arm, and surveys Ginny with amusement.
"You really had to give me a new Boggart form? You know they'll never stop guessing."
Ginny shrugs. "I'd say I'm sorry, but it beats the alternative, doesn't it?"
"I suppose so," Hermione says, her thoughts traitorously turning to Pansy for a brief moment. She shakes her head and says, "all that aside…thank you again. For everything. I…I don't know how I can…"
Ginny shakes her head. "You don't have to thank me. I told you—you deserve happiness. And we'll see to it that you get it."
Hermione pushes herself from the doorway and throws her arms around Ginny. "Thank you," she murmurs in a thick voice into Ginny's ear. Ginny's arms tighten around her and she nods against Hermione's shoulder.
After a moment, they break apart. Ginny gives Hermione a fond smile, then says, "I've got to go. If I'm late for Herbology one more time, Sprout's going to use me as fertilizer. But don't think you're off the hook just yet. They're not the only ones who are going to keep guessing."
"Then I'm afraid all three of you will be wasting your time," Hermione says, shaking her head.
"Oh, we'll see about that," Ginny says with a wink. She gives Hermione a wave. "I'll see you later."
"Bye," Hermione says, watching until Ginny disappears from sight.
Hermione takes a deep breath then slowly exhales. There are still things she needs to figure out. There are still scary conversations to be had along with some new and very surprising feelings to contend with. But for the time being, she simply closes her eyes and lets herself revel in the feeling of complete ease in her body, and the idea of one day, living a life that makes her truly, honestly happy.
Because somehow, for the first time, it feels attainable.
***
Friday finds Hermione in the library after hours, writing on her parchment, waiting for Pansy to knock on the door.
Her grip around her quill tightens infinitesimally when she thinks of Pansy and she forces herself to release it, move her hands to her thighs, and exhale slowly.
Inhale. Everything is fine.
Exhale. Everything is normal.
Inhale. Everything is fine.
Exhale. Everything is norm—
There's a rap on the door—three sharp knocks, two long—and Hermione's fingers dig into her thighs. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to collect herself before slowly pushing her chair back from the table. But before she stands, she runs a hand through her hair and repeats her mantra.
Everything is fine. Everything is normal.
It's just…ever since Monday, everything hasn't feltnormal. Because Hermione's been thinking about Pansy quite a bit.
That's a lie—she's been thinking about her constantly. And not exactly in a friendly way.
It's as if Ginny's question had opened some sort of unknown dam in Hermione's mind and now, she finds herself continuously flooded with thoughts of Pansy. Pansy's eyes, Pansy's voice, Pansy's hands, Pansy's smile. And she can't catch a break. Not when she has Potions, patrols, and library research sessions with the other witch.
But it's not that the time they spend together is a problem. Far from it—the more time she spends with Pansy, the more she finds herself desperately wanting to properly befriend her. And to be honest, she thinks Pansy might feel the same way. But Hermione's reached a point where she's managed to begrudgingly admit to herself that yes, she does genuinely find Pansy attractive, and that is a problem. Because every interaction they've had since Monday has left Hermione red faced and flustered, tripping over her words like a complete fool. And even though she's spending almost all her free time with Pansy, Hermione still finds herself staring at her in the moments they aren't together. Unfortunately for her, she hasn't exactly been subtle about it—Ron and Harry have noticed her gaze turning to the Slytherin table during meals, and they've both asked her repeatedly if Pansy had done something to upset her with anger lurking on their faces.
And perhaps worst of all, Hermione has a sneaking suspicion that the boys aren't the only ones to notice a difference. She's fairly certain that Pansy's noticed all of it too, but is just too kind to let on.
All that, coupled with the fact that Hermione ludicrously feels like she's being unfaithful to her parchment pal for daring to find another person attractive has made for a very complicated few days.
But it's fine. Everything is normal.
There's just the smallest chance that Hermione has the tiniest, most inconsequential crush on Pansy.
It's fine.
She'll get through this.
She stands, crosses to the library door, unlocks it, and pulls it open. Pansy slips by her and Hermione is immediately inundated with the smell of her perfume, something expensive and intoxicating. As she closes the door, she takes a deep breath to control her nerves, but when she's hit with notes of soft rose and warm cedar, she exhales sharply and rubs at her nose furiously.
Did she really think the best way to escape the feelings brought on by a scent would be to inhale? God, she's on par with Crabbe and Goyle.
"Well? Aren't you going to congratulate me?"
Pansy's voice weaves through the air and Hermione closes her eyes tightly for just a moment.
Everything is fine. Everything is normal.
She points her wand at the door and waits to make sure it locks, then she turns to face Pansy.
"Congratulate you for what?" Hermione asks, swallowing hard when she notices the smooth, exposed skin provided by Pansy's loosened tie and open collar.
Don't look at her chest.
"For finally being on time!" Pansy says, pouting a bit. "It's the first time I've managed it."
Don't look at her lips.
"I hardly think being on time is an achievement," Hermione says, crossing her arms and forcing her eyes to stay on Pansy's. "It's more of a common courtesy."
"Well, I'm hardly common and I'm rarely courteous, so it's a wonder I achieved it at all," Pansy says, stressing the word.
Hermione rolls her eyes, but she can't help the smile that comes to her lips. "Fine. Congratulations on your monumental achievement. I'll be sure to tell Snape to give you house points for your heroism."
She starts walking back to their customary table and Pansy falls into step beside her. Hermione digs her nails into her palms at the scent of her perfume, and in an effort to distract herself, she forces herself to continue their conversation in as normal a tone as she can manage. "So Head Auror Mrs. Norris didn't give you a hard time, I take it?"
Pansy chuckles, a low, throaty, deeply frustrating sound. "No, I finally managed to escape her reign of terror. Merlin knows how, considering I'm fairly sure she's part bloodhound."
Hermione manages to laugh in return as she takes her seat. She gestures to the stack of books and says, "then perhaps we should ask her which of these books has the answer we're looking for."
They've been at it for an entire week now, and they're still no closer to finding a solution. And while Hermione's been attempting to stay upbeat for Pansy's sake, even she's starting to feel like this is a hopeless task.
Pansy sits down, eyes the stack of books warily, and says, "you know, I'm starting to rethink my stance on your Animagus plan."
"Don't. We'll find something," Hermione says, but even she can hear that she's not as confident as she usually sounds.
"Is that part of the Gryffindor stubbornness? Refusing to admit when you're wrong?"
"We just haven't found the right book yet," Hermione says, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she had before. "Something in here will help us out, you'll see. And what's more, some of my greatest breakthroughs have been when I've been on the verge of giving up, so that's all the more reason to keep trying."
"That's a long way of saying yes," Pansy mutters, reaching for a quill in her bag.
"It's a long way of saying I have hope," Hermione replies as she picks up her parchment and tucks it away in her bag for safe keeping.
"Well, I suppose that makes one of us," Pansy says, pulling a book toward her and opening it with a sigh. "Though don't think I've forgotten your promise—we're quitting if nothing happens by the end of the school year. Which means we have twenty-two days left for a miracle to happen."
"I haven't forgotten," Hermione says, frowning a bit at the accurate day count. She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, deciding to prod Pansy on it a bit. "Is spending time with me really that awful?"
Pansy looks up swiftly. "What?" she asks, concern immediately settling on her face.
"You're counting the days until the end of the year?"
Color rises to Pansy's cheeks and she puts down her quill. "No," she says quickly. "I'm not…I mean…no," she repeats, seeming flustered.
"So you just happen to know the exact number of days left in the school year off the top of your head?"
"Yes, but I…I mean, that's not why I'm…" Pansy bites her lip for a moment, lost in thought, and Hermione has to sternly remind herself to not look at her lips. Finally, Pansy says, "I'm not counting down the days because I don't want to spend time with you. Spending time with you is the only good part of this entire bloody endeavor." The pink on her cheeks darkens to red, but she doesn't stop. "I'm counting down the days because I hate pouring over books in this bloody place and never finding the answers we need. Not because I'm in any hurry to get away from you. I'm not. Not at all, actually," she says, her gaze surprisingly earnest. "I…I…" she breaks off and runs a hand through her hair, then very cautiously says, "I had actually rather hoped that we could continue to spend time together. After this is all done with, I mean. Outside of Hogwarts." Pansy must notice the way Hermione's eyes widen with surprise, because she quickly adds, "only if you want to, of course! I didn't mean to presume, and I know that you've got Potter and Weasley and a whole slew of friends, but I… I just thought that you might want me."
Hermione immediately grows warm at the unwittingly accurate word choice, but Pansy doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she grimaces and turns an even darker shade of red. "That came out wrong," she says, tilting her head back and scrunching her eyes closed. "I didn't mean…I just meant that you might want to…"
"Yes."
Pansy opens her eyes and looks at Hermione, surprised by the word. "Yes…what?"
"Yes. I'd like to continue seeing you. I'd…I'd like us to be…friends," Hermione says tentatively, wincing at how ridiculous she sounds and hoping the flush on her own cheeks isn't enough to arouse suspicion in Pansy. But if she does notice Hermione's awkwardness, she doesn't let on. Instead, her mouth opens and she stares at Hermione for a moment.
"You…would?" Pansy finally asks, seemingly completely caught off guard.
"I would. I…I've enjoyed spending this time with you, too. More than I thought I would. And I've actually been thinking about us being friends for a while now."
"You have?" Pansy asks, seeming completely incapable of anything other than asking for dumbfounded reassurances.
"Yes. I have." Hermione absently sweeps her thumb across the armrest of her chair as she thinks about how she's recently been thinking about them being a good deal more than just friends. But instead of letting her thoughts go there, she instead says, "you know, I was worried at first. About whether or not I had made a mistake in offering to help you. I thought that we'd never manage to get along for such long periods of time, just the two of us."
"And now?" Pansy asks, sounding curiously breathless.
"And now…" Hermione looks up at Pansy to find intense green eyes trained on her. "I don't remember why I was worried in the first place," she says. "I find myself looking forward to these nights with you. And if I'm being honest, I find myself looking forward to patrols and Potions, too. I…" Hermione worries her lower lip and notices as Pansy's eyes immediately track the motion. She releases it quickly with a flush and says, "I like you, Pansy. Against all odds, and as mad as it seems, I like you. I like spending time with you. And I'd genuinely like us to be friends."
Pansy stares at Hermione in stunned, frozen silence for such a long time that if it weren't for her occasional blinks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest (don't look at her chest), Hermione would be concerned that someone had snuck in and cast a Full Body-Bind on her. After what feels like ages, a very slow smile starts to dawn on Pansy's face.
"You really mean it?" she asks.
"I really do."
The smile stretches further and further until Pansy's entire face is glowing. "Well, then, that's…that's…" she runs a hand through her hair again and a laugh bubbles out of her, carefree and joyful. "Sorry, I just…you're not the only one who's been thinking about us being…friends," she says, hesitating ever so briefly over the word, as if she's not sure if she's allowed to say it. "I've enjoyed these nights, too. And patrols and Potions…all of it. But I didn't want to let myself think that it might be mutual. I mean, after what I put you through, I just…I think I assumed you were being kind. That you saw me as some sort of charity case."
Hermione shakes her head firmly. "No, it's…it's very mutual," she says.
Pansy grins again at Hermione's admission, then says, "well, if it's mutual, then what do you say to making it official?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione asks with a small, puzzled frown.
"I mean…" Pansy sticks out her hand and looks at Hermione. "Friends?"
Hermione rolls her eyes at the gesture, but she offers her hand in return. She doesn't even stop to think that it might be a mistake until the moment Pansy's hand is clasped around hers, soft and warm and firm. It's the briefest of contact, but it still makes heat prickle up the back of Hermione's neck, and she's dimly aware of a gentle fluttering sensation in her stomach.
"Friends," she murmurs, letting her eyes settle on Pansy. They gaze at each other for a long moment and Hermione finds herself absently wondering if Pansy's eyes have always been so green. It's something she had never stopped to notice before, but now, it's just one of the many things Hermione's found herself focusing in on over the past few days. Pansy's kaleidoscopic green eyes remind her of the forest—ever shifting and shrouded in mystery, full of depths that are seldom seen by the casual observer. But there are moments—beautiful, fleeting moments—where Pansy will toss her head back and laugh, and her eyes will come alive. The veil will fall away and Hermione will find herself the sole recipient of something so unexpected and so beautiful that it takes her breath away. And each time, she finds herself curiously unable to look away.
But now, gazing at Pansy, Hermione finds herself reconsidering—perhaps it's not that she's unable to look away.
Perhaps it's that she's unwilling to.
"Um…Hermione?"
Pansy pulls Hermione from her thoughts with an amused gaze. Hermione frowns, puzzled, watching as Pansy's eyes purposefully flick down toward her hand. Hermione follows her gaze to find that her hand is somehow still clasped within Pansy's.
Immediately, she releases it and looks back toward Pansy, who's now smiling fondly at her. "I'm sorry," Hermione says, the prickling heat now creeping down her chest. "I didn't notice…I mean, I was lost in thought, and I just—"
Pansy shakes her head. "It's fine," she says. "I just thought you might need it back if we're going to pull off a miracle tonight."
Right. The research. The research which is quite literally, the reason they're here. Not to hold Pansy's hand and think about her eyes like a besotted twelve-year-old.
Hermione distracts herself from the overwhelming urge to bury her head in her hands by reaching for a book. But before she can start reading, Pansy clears her throat. "Hermione?" she murmurs. "I'm…I'm really glad we had this talk. And even if we don't end up finding anything, I want you to know that I'll never think that this was a waste of time. On the contrary—I think this might be some of the best time I've ever spent at Hogwarts. And that's thanks to you." She frowns down at the table for a moment and Hermione waits a bit breathlessly to see if she's going to continue. After a brief hesitation, Pansy nods almost imperceptibly, looks up, and says, "you said earlier that you like me? And I…I just want you to know that I like you, too. Quite a bit," Pansy says. The words are delivered with a surprising amount of tenderness, and there's something soft and gentle in Pansy's eyes that makes Hermione's heart skip a beat. "I like everything about you, if I'm being honest. You're…you're really…" Pansy shakes her head and exhales sharply. "You're bloody remarkable, Hermione. And I'm the luckiest witch at Hogwarts to be able to call you my friend. Know that I'll never take that for granted."
Pansy gives her a quick smile, then she pulls a book toward her and flips it open. Hermione watches as she skims the page, finds the sentence she had left off on last time, then picks up her quill.
Pansy's movements are purposefully casual, but the flush on her cheeks betrays her. Hermione can tell that the heartfelt admission was harder for her than it appeared. Part of Hermione desperately wants to comment on it, but it's clear that Pansy's feeling vulnerable and trying to hide behind her book, so for the time being, Hermione lets her.
But as she reaches for her own book, her hand stalls uncertainly. Because now that she's finally taken her eyes off of Pansy and is focused in on her own body, she's aware of a very familiar sensation fluttering through her.
Are those…butterflies?
For Pansy?
She lowers her hand slowly and takes a deep, measured breath, trying to figure out what the sensation might mean. Because it's one thing to have some kind of physical attraction to Pansy, but to have butterflies? Especially considering those butterflies have up until now, been solely reserved for her parchment pal?
If she's having the same sensation for Pansy that she's having for her parchment pal, who she knows she has deeper feelings for, could that somehow possibly mean that she could also have…?
No.
Everything is fine.
Everything is normal.
So she's having butterflies for Pansy. It doesn't mean anything other than what she already knows—she has a crush. Butterflies are just a natural reaction to that crush, and it doesn't negate her feelings for her parchment pal in the slightest. And actually, it stands to reason—it's far simpler to develop feelings for the witch who's directly in front of her, rather than the one she still has to imagine. Hermione exhales slowly, feeling confident that that's all it is. It's just because Pansy and her annoyingly beautiful face are here in person. And once she finally meets her parchment pal, once she can finally put a face to the mysterious stranger, any residual feelings she has for Pansy will fade away.
They have to.
And so for the next two hours, Hermione distracts herself from the butterflies by diving into her book, taking copious notes, and refusing to even entertain the idea that she could have something more than a simple crush on Pansy.
It's surprisingly difficult though, because they've never worked in silence, and Hermione's not going to start tonight. Not after they had just declared themselves friends. So over the course of two hours, they make the same idle small talk and ridiculous jokes that they have for the past two weeks. Warmth and laughter fill the library, and each time Hermione finds herself smiling softly at Pansy, it becomes harder and harder for her to remember that all she has is a simple, inconsequential crush and nothing more. It's especially hard when Hermione feels herself wanting to stretch out their conversations, or to say something in a desperate attempt to make Pansy laugh out loud. It happens so often that she ends up digging her fingertips into her thighs each time she wants to give into the urge. She's sure she'll have bruises there tomorrow, but if it keeps the butterflies at bay, then it's worth it.
After what feels like a surprisingly quick two hours, Pansy groans and drops her head onto the table. "I give up. It's impossible. We've read every book in the library and we haven't found a thing."
Hermione snorts as she glances at the large stack of books that they've yet to read. "Every book might be an exaggeration?"
Pansy lifts her head and says, "almost every book, then."
"Still an exaggeration. And anyway, you can't give up. I still have you for twenty-two days, remember?"
"I remember. But think of all the better things we could be doing with those twenty-two days!"
"Like what?"
Pansy blinks a few times, clearly not anticipating the follow-up question. "We could…play…Wizard's Chess?" she hazards.
Hermione's nose scrunches with distaste. "Do you likeWizard's Chess?"
"No," Pansy says immediately. "I'm shit at it. I'm shit at that, I'm shit at research. I'm shit at everything," she groans, dropping her head down again.
"You're quite good at exaggerating, if that's any consolation," Hermione says calmly, flipping her parchment over to a clean, blank side.
Pansy rests her cheek against the table and gazes up at Hermione with a pout upon her dark lips, and Hermione can't help how endearing she finds it. "It's not," Pansy says. Then she straightens back up with a sigh and runs a hand through her hair. "But I do think it's time we face facts. I know we both wanted to find something, but we're just running in circles. We have to know when to give up."
"And we will. In twenty-two days."
"But why wait? I mean, surely you want your nights back?"
"I—"
"And every single idea we've had, we've managed to find fault with. At this rate, our best ideas are either your mad Animagus plan or brewing Felix Felicis, crossing my fingers, and hoping for the best in a duel."
"You're not dueling your father," Hermione says sharply, refusing to even entertain the suggestion.
"Fine. You can do it, then," Pansy says glumly, propping her head up with her hands. "Honestly, it might work—I'm not sure a Muggle-born has ever been in our home before. Your presence alone might end up shocking him to death."
Hermione chuckles and is about to turn the page of her book when Pansy's statement actually registers. She looks up swiftly and says, "never?"
Pansy glances at her. "Never what?"
"A Muggle-born has never been in your home?"
"I know, I'm as surprised as you are," Pansy says dryly.
Gears start turning in Hermione's head and she can feel her heart begin to race in the familiar way it does when she feels as if she's on the edge of a breakthrough. "But surely he must know something about the Muggle world?" she asks, aware of the eagerness in her tone.
"Apart from thinking it's beneath him in every way? No, I don't think he does." Pansy frowns and sits up again. "Why do you ask?"
"What do you know about a telephone?" Hermione asks.
Pansy frowns at the strange reply but tentatively says, "is that…the Muggle owl thing?"
"And a television?"
"I…I'm afraid I don't—"
"A microwave? A radio? A toaster?"
Pansy shakes her head, looking completely lost. "Are these all Muggle inventions?"
Excitement crackles over Hermione's skin as she leans forward and says, "do you know what a wire is?"
Pansy immediately flushes and her eyes drop to the table. "It's…it's…" she grimaces and mutters, "it's part of a bra, isn't it?" all while refusing to meet Hermione's eyes.
But Hermione barely registers Pansy's discomfort. Pure adrenaline is racing through her as she stands up from her chair, and she can feel her heart pounding as she turns from the table and heads toward an area of the library they've ignored up until now. Dimly, she hears Pansy call after her, "am I supposed to follow you?" but she doesn't reply. She's too focused on her mission.
She heads toward the very back of the library, searching for the often ignored rows of shelves that holds books on all-things Muggle related. Once she finds the right area, she grabs her wand, murmurs Lumos, and starts frantically searching the spines, pulling out any books that catch her eye. She's skimmed over quite a few when she hears Pansy's footsteps from behind her.
"Merlin. Has anyone ever been back here?"
Hermione doesn't even glance toward her. Instead, she continues to pull books, flipping to their indexes and tossing them aside when they don't serve her purpose.
"Have these books done something to upset you?" Pansy asks, vague amusement coloring her tone.
"No," Hermione murmurs absently as she kneels down to study the books on the bottom shelf, mouthing the titles to herself as she reads. When the shelf proves to be unhelpful, she straightens up and moves to the next.
She repeats the process twice more until the fourth shelf, when her eyes land on Understanding Muggle Surveillance Technologies: Their Origins and Applications. She yanks the book from the shelf with vigor and a puff of dust comes along with it, but Hermione doesn't pay it any attention. Instead, she quickly opens the book and flips to the index, running her finger over columns and columns of words. When she finds the term she's looking for, she inhales sharply, then flips to the page and skims the passage briefly. Only once she's sure it's what she's looking for does she let herself look up at the ceiling with a broad grin.
"We've been so stupid," she says, closing her eyes as the euphoria that can only come from solving a complex problem starts to flow through her body.
"We have?" Pansy asks, sounding completely lost.
Hermione opens her eyes and surveys Pansy, who's standing before her with a small, confused frown. "We have," she says. "This whole time, we've been wasting our time studying Wizengamot trials, Auror techniques, dark wizards, potions, spells…" Hermione shakes her head with wonder. "We've been focusing on things your father knows about. Things he's spent his whole life working to evade. It's why you were able to poke holes in every single one of our ideas. But we forgot one thing—crime happens outside of the Wizarding world."
Pansy frown deepens for just a moment, but then, as if by magic, it disappears completely. "Wait…" she murmurs. "Are you saying that…"
"I've been so entrenched in doing things the Wizarding way that I didn't even think about Muggle techniques," Hermione says, shaking her head again, but this time in frustration at her own short-comings. "It never even crossed my mind. But that's a good thing."
"Is it?" Pansy asks breathlessly.
Hermione nods. "If it didn't cross my mind, there's not a chance it'll cross your father's mind. I mean, you don't even know what a microwave is!" she says, gesturing at Pansy with delight. "If you don't know what a microwave is, there's no way your father will know what a wire is. Unless he's been secretly infatuated with Muggle technology for years, but something tells me that's not the case."
Pansy's beginning to look tentatively hopeful, but she still seems confused. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm afraid I'm still a few steps behind you, and perhaps this is a stupid question, but…how exactly will a bra be my father's downfall?"
Hermione laughs and thrusts the book toward Pansy who takes it with a small frown. "Read," Hermione instructs with a grin, lifting her still-lit wand toward the page to assist Pansy.
She stands there in silence, shifting back and forth with excitement as she waits for Pansy to fully digest the words on the page. After a few moments, Pansy looks up at Hermione with wide eyes. "This is…I mean, how does it…" she trails off and pushes her bangs back. "I don't understand. This wire…it records everything he says?"
"Everything," Hermione confirms gleefully, pocketing her wand.
"Without using any magic?"
"None."
"And he'd have no way of knowing I'm wearing it?"
"Short of searching you, no. He'd never know. He'd never even suspect it. Not when he's spent a lifetime despising Muggles." Hermione feels her smile grow impossibly wider as she says, "I knew his hubris would be his downfall. I knew it."
"And you can get your hands on one of these?" Pansy asks, awe in her voice.
"I'll have to owl my parents, but I'm sure they'll be able to help."
Pansy shakes her head, seemingly overwhelmed. "Hermione, this is…"
"I know."
"I mean, it's…it's…"
"I know."
"Merlin," Pansy breathes. She closes the book and looks up to find Hermione's eyes. "You did it," she whispers, looking completely dumbfounded. "I can't believe you actually did it. You're brilliant. I…I…" she trails off and studies the floor for a moment, shaking her head in shock. When she finally lifts her eyes back up, there's a grin on her face and an exhilarated flush on her cheeks. "We're going to take him down," she says.
"We are."
"I mean, we're actually going to take him down!" Pansy says with a short, gleeful laugh. Her face is radiating wonder and exuberance and she's looking at Hermione as if she's the most amazing person she's ever seen before. "Merlin, you did it!"
Hermione's not sure what possesses her to move forward. Maybe it's the complete joy threatening to overwhelm her system. Maybe it's the relief that she was right, that good will always prevail in the end. Maybe it's the enraptured look on Pansy's face. Maybe it's some visceral need to share this joy in a physical way with the only other person who's gone through this experience with her.
She doesn't know what it is. All she knows is that one moment, she's standing there, grinning like a fool at Pansy, and the next, she's flung her arms around the other witch.
There's a breathless moment where Hermione's sure that she's overstepped her bounds. Pansy's arms stay firmly at her side and her entire body stiffens, and Hermione's feels fear and shame settle in her chest. Of course Pansy wouldn't want Hermione hugging her. Not when she knows what she knows.
But just as she's about to let go and offer a mortified apology, Hermione feels the book drop from Pansy's hand as she slowly and tentatively brings her arms up to return Hermione's embrace. She lets herself exhale shakily as Pansy's arms wind underneath hers and up her back, and once her hands have settled near Hermione's shoulder blades, she can feel the nervous tension they've both been holding onto slowly ease from their bodies. A small sigh escapes Hermione as she tightens her hold and allows herself to pour every bit of joy and relief she's currently feeling into the embrace. "We did it," she murmurs into Pansy's hair, her voice tinged with shock. "We did it," she repeats, as Pansy tightens her grip.
It's strange—Hermione's been hugged before. She's been hugged loads of times. But in this moment, lost in her own little bubble with Pansy, she feels herself gaining a new respect for the simple act.
She notices the physical sensations first. There's the warmth, of course—Hermione can feel the heat from Pansy's body everywhere they touch. It seems to seep into Hermione and warm her from the inside, filling up every available space and making her feel safe and secure. She finds herself wishing there was a way to get closer, to absorb even more of the delicious heat radiating off of Pansy. The faintest warning bell sounds in her mind at the thought, dutifully reminding her that she shouldn't be entertaining these fledgling feelings she's harboring toward Pansy. But somehow, at this very moment, she doesn't care at all. Sod the warning bell; she wants to feel this warm forever.
Then there's the scent, that absolutely maddening scent that's been driving Hermione to distraction for the past few days. Once again, she finds herself surrounded by it. But this time, she doesn't fight it. Instead, she allows herself to breathe it in, going as far as to bury her nose into Pansy's soft hair and sneak a quick inhale. Perhaps when she lets go, the action will embarrass her, but as of right now, it just makes her crave more. She takes another breath as she moves her right hand up to cradle the back of Pansy's head. There's a moment where she thinks she feels Pansy shiver against her, but she's so busy wondering if Pansy's perfume will cling to her own clothes after she lets go that she doesn't think to question it.
Once the physical sensations fade, Hermione's struck by just how right this hug feels. It's not like when she hugs Harry or Ron and has to stand awkwardly on her tip-toes, or when Ginny pounds her back like she's just made a spectacular Quidditch play. It's not like when Neville releases her after three seconds, terrified of overstaying his welcome, or when Luna starts dreamily brushing her hands through Hermione's hair to "ward off Wrackspurts."
It's not like any hug she's ever experienced before.
Pansy fits against her body just right, as if she's been molded to fit there and only there. Her head is resting in the crook of Hermione's shoulder and she can feel each of Pansy's warm exhalations against the suddenly over-sensitive skin of her neck. Each puff sets her nerve endings on fire, and just when Hermione thinks she won't be able to take any more contact, Pansy's hands curl around the fabric of her jumper and she pulls her impossibly closer. The movement causes Pansy's fingernails to gently scratch through the fabric, and Hermione feels her breath catch. If she wasn't being held so firmly by Pansy, she's sure her legs would give out.
They stay that way for what feels like ages, thoroughly wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the outside world, before Pansy unwinds her arms from Hermione.
Slowly, Hermione opens her eyes to find that Pansy hasn't stepped back. She's still tantalizing close, and Hermione could easily reclaim the lost contact that she finds herself already desperately craving. Instead, she takes the opportunity to study Pansy's face, taking in the details she's never been close enough to see—a faded scar just under her chin, soft peach fuzz on her cheeks, the faintest hint of a dimple. She's a masterpiece up close and Hermione wants to trail her finger along every detail, tracing it all until she can reproduce Pansy by heart. Instead, she lets her eyes do the tracing, admiring every last, perfect feature. When she arrives at Pansy's full, dark lips, she lets her eyes linger and she feels her breathing change. For a wild moment, she wonders what that dark shade would look like smeared across her own mouth. She wonders if it would leave traces all over her body, proof that Pansy had been there and had thoroughly claimed every part of her. Hermione's never had a particular favorite color to wear, but something tells her that Pansy's lips could change that. She'd sport that infuriating color all over her body in a heartbeat, given the chance.
Her pulse pounds in her ears as she thinks about Pansy's lips against her body, and as she lets her gaze slowly lower to Pansy's rapidly rising chest, she lets herself entertain the idea of what would happen if she laid claim first. What if she closed the minuscule gap between them? What if she were the one to take charge and let herself give into this new, intoxicating need, this strange, overwhelming desire for something more? Heat licks across her skin like wildfire at the thought as she drags her heavy lidded gaze back to Pansy's.
Pansy is watching Hermione with a look she's never seen before. It's a potent swirl of emotions that's strangely managed to erase any trace of green from her gaze. Instead, her eyes look almost black in the dim light of the library, and something about the sight makes Hermione ache. Her heart races and her hands twitch and all she wants to do is kiss Pansy until she can't breathe. She wants to press her back into the bookshelves and feverishly trace every inch of skin she can find with her fingertips, her lips, her teeth, her tongue. She wants to hear what kind of desperate noises she can wring out of Pansy with nothing more than her touch.
She wants more.
Hermione feels herself moving forward as if an outside force is controlling her. Her logical brain has switched off, and instead, she finds herself guided by some primitive, wild instinct, pushing her to claim what she wants. It's overwhelming and fills her with a heady desire, and if there was any part of her that was thinking logically, she might stop to wonder if she's about to make a mistake. She might wonder if her newfound friendship with Pansy would even be able to survive such a colossal mistake. She might spare a thought for the repercussions; she might remember that for all intents and purposes, Pansy is straight; she might even chastise herself for having these kind of feelings in the sanctuary of the library of all places.
But for once in her life, Hermione's not thinking. All she wants to do is be reckless. All she wants to do is lose control.
All she wants to do is feel.
The air around them is charged, crackling with an invisible energy that raises goosebumps on Hermione's skin. They're close enough now that she can feel the warm ghost of Pansy's breath against her lips, coming in quick puffs, and something inside of Hermione's chest roars with approval.
She's never felt this way before. Not with Viktor, certainly not with Ron, and not even when she's alone in her bed with just her imagination. Nothing she could imagine could ever compare to this. This perfect, delicious torture. This painfully slow dance along the knife's edge, hovering between unbearable need and incredible pleasure. In any other situation, it would make Hermione scoff at herself, completely annoyed that she was so incredibly wound up over such a minor interaction. But standing here with Pansy, she feels as if there's a tightly wound coil of arousal in her stomach, and she know that even one touch will be all it takes to set it off.
Just one touch.
Her skin is tingling with anticipation as she angles her head just so in preparation of what's to come, and she's a heartbeat away from giving into the desire and brushing her lips against Pansy's when she feels the air around her change. The warmth seems to fade away immediately and when Hermione blinks her eyes open stupidly, she finds Pansy, farther away and looking at her with a small, concerned frown on her face.
The change in Hermione's body is almost instantaneous. Whatever overwhelmingly powerful fog of lust had descended on her brain seems to dissipate in an instant and now, she's left with fear and anger; fear at what she had almost done, anger at herself for getting so carried away. She can scarcely believe where her thoughts had gone and how powerless she had felt to stop them, and as she stands there, staring at Pansy with horrified eyes, she finds herself desperately wishing for a way to go back in time and take it all back.
"Hermione," Pansy murmurs, snapping her out of her thoughts. There's a new mix of emotions in her green eyes—regret, longing, and something else. Something that looks curiously like fear.
Immediately, Hermione's stomach plummets.
"Hermione," Pansy says again, rubbing her neck. "I'm sorry. I couldn't…I mean, I wanted…" she huffs a bit, then she looks at Hermione with open eyes. "I…I'm afraid I haven't been hones—"
Hermione doesn't register anything she's saying. Instead, she gives a somewhat wild laugh and says, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
Pansy shakes her head quickly. "No. No, I…you don't need to apologize, it's not like I…I mean, I…"
"If you never want to see me again, I understand."
"What?" Pansy asks, her brow creasing in confusion. "No, I…don't be mad, of course I—"
"I just got carried away. You know, the heat of the moment, and we've worked so hard, and with that hug…I just…" she shakes her head and says, "I was overwhelmed, but it didn't mean anything. I don't even know why I did it," Hermione says, desperately trying to find the right words to say to reassure Pansy. "I didn't even want to, it just sort of…happened."
Liar, liar, liar.
But if Pansy's reaction to her statement is any indication, it would seem she's struck gold immediately. She frowns and shifts on her feet. "You…you didn't want to…?" Pansy asks uncertainly.
"No," Hermione says quickly. "No, not at all. I…no."
Liar, liar, liar.
A small shadow crosses Pansy's face, but Hermione pays it no mind as she hurries on. "I really did just get a bit caught up in the moment, but I…I didn't mean to take you with me," she says, trying for a light laugh. It comes out sounding a bit strangled, so she continues, "I promise, you have nothing to worry about. I'm not secretly pining after you, or anything."
Liar, liar, liar.
"You're not," Pansy repeats flatly, her face curiously hard to read.
"No. I'm not. I mean, I have feelings for my parchment pal," Hermione says quickly, desperately glad to finally cling to something grounded in the truth.
Pansy nods seriously, seeming a bit bolstered by Hermione's latest statement. "Right. And I know that. Which is why I was going to say—"
"And honestly, you're not my type," Hermione hurries on, ignoring the now persistent voice calling her a liar that's echoing in her head.
At that, Pansy stops short and blinks at Hermione. "I'm…I'm not your type?" she repeats, sounding a bit bewildered.
"No. Not at all," Hermione says. "I mean, you're…you're…well, you know," she says, gesturing weakly toward Pansy's body.
"I'm what?" Pansy asks with a self-conscious frown.
Beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.
"You're quite…I mean…you're…you're pretty," Hermione finally manages to say, though the word sounds a bit strangled. Pansy raises her eyebrows at the delivery and crosses her arms over her chest, and Hermione quickly says, "you are, it's just…I don't want you to think I've thought of you in that way. I don't want to…"
To scare you off.
To lose this.
To lose you.
"…to give you the wrong idea," she finishes weakly.
"Right," Pansy says stiffly. "And the wrong idea would be…?"
Hermione anxiously tucks her hair behind her ears and says, "you know…that I'm interested in you," she says hesitantly. "As anything more than a friend, I mean."
Pansy stares at her for a long moment, and Hermione drops her gaze to the floor. "So…almost snogging me was…what? Just…getting caught up in the moment?" Pansy asks.
Hermione takes a deep breath at the heat behind Pansy's words. Clearly, Pansy's still upset by Hermione's blunder, but she's determined to set this right. She exhales slowly and says, "yes." She lifts her gaze to meet Pansy's eyes which are now completely closed off, and she feels her stomach twist anxiously.
Don't blow this.
"It was just the moment, I promise. I don't know why I did it, but you have nothing to worry about. I'm not interested in you. Not at all," Hermione says, trying to both look and sound as earnest as she possibly can.
"I see," Pansy says. A small, strange smile comes to Pansy's face, mingling with the frown that's already settled on her brow, and she gazes at the ground for a moment. Hermione holds her breath as she waits to see if Pansy's about to change her mind completely and decide that Hermione is wrong and broken after all. But instead, Pansy gives a small nod, then looks back at Hermione. "Right, then. Thanks for clearing that up," she says with a tight smile. "Wouldn't want me to get the wrong idea, now, would you?" she adds, her tone deceptively light but her eyes still shuttered.
"No. No, I wouldn't," Hermione says uncertainly. She's vaguely sure that the same, small shadow passes Pansy's face at her confirmation, but it's gone so quickly, she's not sure if she's imagined it or not.
"Well, then. No use dwelling on it, is there? Mistakes happen, so…best to just move on and let the moment go."
"Yes, but—"
"Hermione, it's fine. Don't give it another thought."
Pansy bends down stiffly and picks up the book on Muggle technology and tucks it under her arm. Hermione watches the process with wide, nervous eyes. After a moment, she murmurs, "are you upset with me?" She's unable to stand the strange awkwardness that's settled between them and she desperately needs the reassurance that her ridiculous physical urges haven't completely ruined their friendship before it's even begun.
Pansy shakes her head. "No. No, I'm…I'm not upset," she says. She's quiet for a few moments, but then, she exhales sharply, squares her shoulders, and turns to Hermione with what seems to be forced amusement lurking in her eyes. "Though I won't lie, my ego may never recover."
"Why?" Hermione asks, bewildered.
"I'm not interested in you? Not at all?" Pansy asks, raising her voice to mimic Hermione's as she begins to walk back toward their table. "I mean…Merlin, let a girl down easy, won't you?" Her tone is light, but something flashes in her eyes and Hermione's anxiety flares again.
"Sorry," Hermione says as she falls into step beside her. "I mean…you are pretty," she adds uncertainly.
"Mm, now I'm convinced," Pansy says with a snort.
"You are! I just…I didn't know if I could say that without making this whole thing even weirder."
Pansy shrugs lightly. "It's fine. And anyway, it'd be ludicrously narcissistic of me to assume that I'm everyone's cup of tea. I mean, honestly. I'm not Daphne," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, but—"
"So do you have a type?" Pansy asks, the words coming out a bit clipped. "I mean, it's clearly not me. But is there someone you're hoping your parchment pal will look like?" she asks, dropping the book on the table and leaning against it, surveying Hermione with a raised eyebrow.
You, Hermione thinks immediately.
Instead of vocalizing that particular thought, she sinks back into her chair and shakes her head slowly. "No, I…I hadn't really thought about it. I'm not sure I even have a type."
Liar, liar, liar.
"Oh? Well, at least you know what you don't like," Pansy says, taking her seat again. "That's half the battle."
"I didn't mean—"
But before Hermione can protest any more, Pansy quickly says, "anyway, that's enough about that. We don't need to waste time going around in circles about a mistake when we've actually accomplished something massive tonight. Well…you did," she amends, absently flipping open the book to the section on recording devices once more. "I just stood there and watched. But in any event, we have a plan. And I have more hope than I've had in years, thanks to you."
Hermione nods, a bit surprised at the whiplash change of pace to their conversation. She has a feeling Pansy's doing it to save them both from further embarrassment, but it still catches her off-guard. She hesitates for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she should let the topic drop, but Pansy, who has dropped her eyes down to re-read the section on wires, is clearly ready to move on. "Merlin…why don't Aurors use this?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "Seems like a massive oversight to me."
Hermione shrugs, trying to appear casual. She decides to ignore the anxiety still buzzing through her body and play along with Pansy's change of topic for the time being. "Who knows?" she says. "Honestly, Muggle technology is impressive. At this point, it's just pure stubbornness that keeps things as they are."
Pansy hums thoughtfully as she closes the book once more and says, "I suppose you're right. But I think you'll find that most people are reluctant to change. And even when it becomes abundantly clear it's for the better, it's still difficult."
Hermione understands the double meaning behind Pansy's words and she tilts her head curiously, forgetting about the anxiety for just a moment. "But you still think the change was worthwhile, don't you?"
Pansy nods. "I do. More than anything has ever been."
"Good. And for what it's worth, I think so, too," Hermione murmurs.
After Hermione finishes speaking, a silence descends on their table. Pansy absently fidgets with the pages of the book and after a few moments, Hermione begins to worry her lower lip, wondering if awkward pauses are going to be the new norm for them from here on out. But before she can apologize again for presumably ruining their friendship, Pansy looks up suddenly and says, "I haven't properly thanked you, have I?"
Hermione frowns. "For what?"
Pansy scoffs lightly. "Oh, I don't know…for everything? For finding a solution? For refusing to give up? For forgiving me in the first place?"
"Oh. That was…I mean, I just…" Hermione shrugs, uncomfortable at the praise. "I wanted to help you. And really, it wasn't a big deal."
Pansy snorts. "No, it wasn't, was it? You just potentially saved my life, but that's…what? Just an average Friday for you?" she asks with a teasing smile. But the smile fades as Pansy says, "but you're right. It wasn't a big deal. It was a massive deal."
Hermione flushes, but before she can work out what to say, Pansy's gaze turns serious. "I meant what I said earlier, you know," she says. "Before you told me you think I'm a hideous old crone, that is."
"I didn't—"
Pansy waves a hand and continues. "You are brilliant. I would've given up ages ago." She pauses, then says, "no, that's a lie. I wouldn't have even started. I would've lived in fear for the rest of my life. I would have let him control me. Poison me. But you," Pansy says, with eyes more open than they've been since the almost-kiss debacle. "You marched into my life, determined to change it for the better. And you have. Even after I was a complete twat to you for years. You put it all aside and you helped me and I don't…I don't know how I can ever repay you," she says. "But I'll spend every single day I'm given trying to. I'll do whatever it takes to show you how much I appreciate…" she frowns and hesitates, then quietly says, "how much I appreciate your friendship."
Disappointment seeps into Hermione's system at the word friendship, but before she can reply, Pansy says, "I should warn you, though. You're getting the short end of the stick, here. Being friends with me, I mean," she amends. "I'm nowhere near as brilliant as you are. I'm stubborn, I'm prideful. According to Daphne, I'm a complete cow most of the time…"
"And I like you in spite of all of that," Hermione says, noticing as a small, pained smile appears on Pansy's face.
"Well, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me," she says after a moment. "You're friends with Weasley, so obviously…questionable standards."
Hermione manages to roll her eyes. "You know if you're going to be my friend, you're going to have to start being nice to Ron."
Pansy's face twists with revulsion. "Is that a requirement?"
"It is."
"I see." Pansy frowns in thought, then says, "is it too late to back out of this whole friends thing?"
Hermione snorts. "It is," she repeats, this time with amusement.
"Well, then. Suppose I'm stuck with you," Pansy says with a small smile.
"Yes," Hermione says. "I suppose you are."
Pansy's smile warms at Hermione's reply, and even though there's something still guarded in her gaze, Hermione allows herself to relax. It would seem that her mistake hadn't cost her as much as she had feared. Things might be a bit strained between them, but Hermione can deal with that. She's just delighted that she'll get to keep Pansy in her life.
When Pansy drops her eyes to start packing up her things, Hermione takes a moment to make herself a promise.
She'll never get carried away like that again. She'll never do anything to make Pansy feel uncomfortable or anxious. She'll be respectful of her boundaries and content with the friendship they've created.
And anyway, she doesn't need anything more from Pansy. Not when she has her parchment pal. So what if Pansy makes her feel like her entire body is on fire? So what if she finds her mind turning to Pansy's eyes, her smile, her voice constantly throughout the day? So what if deep down inside, she's certain that this isn't just a crush, that it's turning into so much more than that?
So what if she has actual feelings for Pansy?
It doesn't matter. She'll get over it. She'll turn all her romantic attentions to her parchment pal and she'll focus on being the best friend she can be to Pansy. At the end of the day, that will have to be enough. And it will be enough.
Hermione begins to pack up her own things slowly, all the while trying to ignore the little voice chanting liar liar liarin her head.
Notes:I know. They're the most useless gays who have ever lived.