"You know, one of the things I like most about you is your can-do attitude," Pansy says with a smirk. Before Hermione can argue with her, Pansy says, "you'll be able to do it. Just follow my movements."
Hermione's frown deepens, but after a small hesitation, she very reluctantly starts mirroring Pansy's motions and after a few clumsy tries, she manages to find her rhythm. Pansy grins and stops moving. "Well done! That wasn't too hard, was it?"
"No, I suppose not," Hermione says as she stands still and faces Pansy. "Now can we get back to the task at hand?"
"Yes. But only after you've properly danced."
"And what was it I just did?"
"You learned the ingredients to a proper dance. But you didn't dance."
"What on earth does that mean?" Hermione says, crossing her arms once more.
"It means what you just did was akin to lining up some potions ingredients on a table and saying you've brewed a potion." Pansy shrugs. "You've got all the pieces, but you haven't put them together yet."
Hermione scoffs. "Well, it felt like proper dancing to me."
"Merlin. That might be the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"What do you mean?"
Pansy tilts her head up and studies the ceiling with a smile. "Proper dancing makes you feel like you're flying," she murmurs. "As if for one, breathless moment, you've managed to severe your ties to the earth and toss aside all your worries. It's pure, unadulterated freedom. Like you're floating on some invisible current and you never want to land." She glances back down to find Hermione watching her in a sort of mesmerized way and she smirks. "Care to try?" she asks, holding her hand out once more.
Hermione hesitates for a moment, then nods. She steps forward and takes Pansy's hand, letting her gaze linger there for a moment. Then, she looks at Pansy. "I don't know where to put my other hand," she murmurs.
"My shoulder," Pansy says, lifting said shoulder a bit to guide Hermione. She waits a moment for Hermione's other hand to lightly flutter down to her shoulder before slowly winding her own right hand behind Hermione to rest at the small of her back. Gently, she pulls Hermione closer, and she can hear the moment the other witch's breath catches just a bit. "Okay?" Pansy whispers as she watches Hermione's face carefully. Hermione bites her lower lip, then nods, and Pansy exhales. "Right, then. I'll lead," she says. She's glad she's wearing heels today. With Hermione wearing flats, their heights are relatively even, so it won't be too awkward. "We'll start slow. Just remember the step you were doing before, okay?"
Pansy takes a step forward and Hermione takes a step back. "Good," Pansy says. "Now your other foot." She watches Hermione's feet carefully as they go through the simple box step and after a few iterations, she brings her eyes up to her face.
There's a wrinkle of concentration between Hermione's brows, and she has her lower lip between her teeth. "Don't think so hard," Pansy murmurs, drawing Hermione's eyes to hers. "Just let yourself feel the beat. One two three, one two three, one two three…"
Hermione's eyes stay on Pansy as she continues to count the beat aloud. After a moment, she can feel Hermione start to relax in her arms. The hand at her shoulder settles more firmly and her footsteps become more confident. "Good," Pansy says. "I'm going to turn a bit on the next count. Just follow my lead."
It takes a few fumbling tries before Hermione lands the basic turn, but once she does, a brilliant grin spreads across her face. "Like that?" she asks, her eyes shining.
"Just like that," Pansy says, turning them once more. She feels a slow smile spread on her face as she leans forward just a bit and says, "ready for the fun part?"
"What's the—"
Before Hermione can finish speaking, Pansy starts to slowly guide them around the room. She hears Hermione's quiet murmur of surprise, and after a few slower rotations, Pansy picks up the pace, just a bit. Hermione is, as expected, a quick study, and she quickly adapts her steps to match Pansy.
It only takes a few minutes before they're whirling around the room together, lost in their own little world.
Pansy can't take her eyes off of Hermione. She watches her face the entire time, noticing the way her eyes are sparkling and how her smile never leaves her face. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion and when she catches Pansy's eyes, her smile grows even wider.
She's the most beautiful girl Pansy's ever seen.
Pansy's breath catches at the thought and as they twirl around the room, she feels a bit lightheaded. It's strange—she's danced with some of the finest partners in the Wizarding world. She's danced with elegant, proper men in starched suit coats who lead with grace and fluidity and who have made her feel as if she's flying across the room; she's danced traditional folk dances with raucous boys, full of energy and mirth who make her feel dizzy with joy; she's danced with stately older gentlemen who know how to make any girl feel like a princess. But somehow, in all her years of dance, she's never had a partner that's made her feel the way she does right now. Dancing with Hermione makes her feel something morethan just freedom—it's as if the entire world has faded away and all she's aware of is the beat of her heart, the magic in the air, and Hermione, looking more radiant than Pansy's ever seen her look before. They waltz about the room as if they're floating on a cloud, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Pansy forgets the reason they're here in the first place. She forgets the stress, she forgets the fear. Instead, the only thing she can think about is how this might be the most perfect moment of her life so far. How somehow, she and Hermione have managed to transform the plain, dark library into a dazzling, shimmering wonderland. How remarkably, Hermione, with her complete lack of experience, is the best dancing partner Pansy's ever had. How for the first time, the warmth filling Pansy's body has nothing to do with the effort she's expending leading them around the room. And how in those precious, ephemeral seconds, she feels more alive and more in love than she would have ever believed to be possible.
Slowly, Pansy starts to slow her steps and after a few more turns, she comes to a stop.
They stand there for a moment, their chests rapidly rising and falling, and after a second, Pansy whispers, "that'swhat proper dancing feels like."
Hermione shakes her head and looks up at Pansy with starry eyes. "You were right," she says breathlessly. "It felt like flying."
Pansy nods. "And that's what could have happened at the Yule Ball," she says, circling back to the conversation that had started this. "If things had been different, that is," she murmurs, completely aware that Hermione's hand is still clasped in hers.
"If we would have been friends," Hermione says, her eyes never leaving Pansy's.
"Everything would have been so different," Pansy says, absently brushing her thumb over Hermione's knuckles. "If I hadn't been so bloody stupid. If I had just seen how remarkable you were from the very start."
"And maybe we wouldn't have wasted so much time. Maybe we could have been…" Hermione trails off and looks at Pansy with eyes so full of want that it almost takes Pansy's breath away.
"Yes. Maybe we could have," Pansy says, her gaze turning intense at the unspoken implication in Hermione's unfinished statement. "If only McGonagall was still in the habit of giving out Time-Turners, we could go back and try it all over again."
"If only," Hermione echoes.
They stand there, still wrapped up in each other, closer than they've been since that night in the library. And in that moment, Pansy wants to throw caution to the wind. Because if this is potentially the last conversation she'll ever have with Hermione, she wants something tangible to remember it by.
She wants to kiss her.
But before she can lean in and let herself finally feel Hermione's lips against her own, Hermione sighs and drops Pansy's hand. "Well, there's no use thinking about what could have been," she whispers, disappointment lingering in her voice and something that looks like guilt flickering in her eyes. "Not when we have to think about what's to come. And that means figuring out this thing," she says, taking a step back and gesturing at the clunky Muggle device on the table behind them. "I fulfilled my end of the promise, so now, you have to fulfill yours."
Pansy feels regret seeping into her body at her missed opportunity, but she masks it with a quick nod. "Fine. But once we get this over with, we're looking for a Time-Turner."
Hermione gives her a soft smile as she starts back toward the table. "Deal."
They stop in front of the table and gaze down at the device. "So…" Pansy says hesitantly. "How does it work?"
She glances at Hermione to find her frowning in concentration. "I read the instruction booklet it came with. It's all fairly straightforward. And I've already put the batteries in and they're fresh, so they'll last. The hardest part is just making sure it stays hidden."
"Right. I'm supposed to wear it on my body somewhere?"
Hermione nods. "Yes. And I think it'd be a good idea to do a test run, just so you feel confident." She picks up the boxy device and holds it out toward Pansy. "This is the recording device. Whatever the wire picks up will be stored on the tape in here. When you're ready to record, just press this button," she says, pointing to a large button on the side of the device, "and when you're done, press it again." She tugs at the wire that's attached to the unit and says, "this is the microphone. It'll pick up your conversation. You'll tape it to your body. Be sure it's out of sight, and be sure this end is plugged into the unit, like this," she says, removing the wire, then snapping it back in again. "You're wearing the right robe?"
Pansy nods. Hermione had asked her to wear one with an interior pocket. "Good," Hermione says. "You'll put the device into the inside pocket, run the wire under your shirt, and tape it to your body. It should be completely hidden, but we'll need to try it out to make sure."
"Okay," Pansy says. "So…how do I do that?"
"Well, you'll have to…"
Hermione trails off and a strange look comes into her eyes as she stares at Pansy's jumper. Pansy waits, but when Hermione remains silent, she prompts her with a gentle, "I'll have to…?"
Hermione's eyes snap back to Pansy and she says, "you'll…you'll have to use the Sellotape to secure it to your skin."
"Right," Pansy says. But then, Hermione's statement sinks in. "Oh," she whispers. "You mean I'll have to…" she gently fingers the bottom of her jumper and tugs at it a bit, then raises an eyebrow. Hermione swallows heavily and manages a small, stiff nod.
She's going to have to strip off her jumper. In front of Hermione.
Merlin.
"Right," Pansy repeats. "Right, so I'll just…take it off, then?"
"I can go somewhere else, if you'd like?" Hermione says quickly, her voice about a full pitch higher than it normally is.
"No, it's…you don't have to," Pansy says. "I mean, we've both shared a room with other girls for years," she says, trying to keep her tone light and easy as she finds a justification for why this shouldn't be awkward at all. "Honestly, the amount of times I've seen Tracey starkers…" she shakes her head. "No shame, that one."
Hermione nods in quick agreement. "You're right. Of course you're right." She bites her lip for a moment, then nods firmly. "I suppose I'll just…get the Sellotape ready, shall I?"
Pansy manages a tiny smile as she shrugs off her robe and drapes it over the back of her chair. "And I'll just…take this off," she says, gripping the bottom of her jumper.
Hermione's intensely focused on the Sellotape, but at Pansy's statement, she gives a high-pitched hum of agreement as the tips of her ears turn bright red.
Pansy exhales slowly as she loosens her tie and pulls it off. She tosses it on top of her robe, then slowly, she grasps the bottom of her jumper.
It'll be fine. They're both mature enough to handle this.
With one smooth motion, she pulls it off of her body and tosses it on top of the small pile of clothing that's now built up on the chair.
Quickly, she crosses her arms in front of her to try and distract from the fact she's standing in the middle of the library in just her simple, black bra, then she awkwardly clears her throat. "Ready," she says, her voice sounding strangely strangled.
Hermione stares at the end of the Sellotape for a moment before she finally looks up.
Her eyes widen just a bit as she tracks Pansy's newly bared skin in front of her, letting her gaze skim appreciatively from Pansy's flat stomach to the gentle, small curves of her breasts. Her eyes linger there on Pansy's chest, her lips slightly parted and her cheeks red, and if Pansy wasn't feeling so bloody nervous, she might be pleased by Hermione's immediate reaction. Instead, she nods toward the Sellotape in Hermione's hand and says, "how does that work?"
Hermione's heavy gaze jumps from Pansy's body up to her eyes. "How does what work?" she asks, sounding curiously breathless.
"The…spellotape?" Pansy hazards, trying to remember what Hermione had called it.
Hermione glances at her hand and she exhales sharply. "Oh. The Sellotape," she says, looking a bit annoyed at herself. She takes another deep breath and forces her eyes back to Pansy. "It's an adhesive. Think of it as the Muggle version of a Sticking Spell."
"Is it dangerous?" Pansy asks, eyeing it carefully.
"No. No, not at all. It might pinch a bit when you take it off, but other than that, it's perfectly harmless."
"Right. So…" Pansy trails off and looks at the device on the table, then back to Hermione. "What should I do?"
"Pick up the wire and make sure the microphone…that's the rounded bit on the end…make sure it's against your stomach."
Pansy reaches for the wire on the table and holds it against her stomach, then looks back to Hermione. "Now what?"
"We'll tape it in place. Be sure to use plenty of Sellotape. You wouldn't want it to fall off halfway through your conversation." Hermione peels a long piece of Sellotape off the roll and hands it to Pansy, but the moment it's in Pansy's fingers, it somehow manages to fold up on itself and stick together.
"Erm…" Pansy frowns at the tape, then back up at Hermione. "Is it meant to do that?"
"No," Hermione says with a frown. She tears off another piece of Sellotape, passes it to Pansy, and almost immediately, it sticks to her fingers.
Pansy shakes her hand frantically and looks at Hermione with wide eyes. "Merlin…this might be stronger than a Sticking Charm," she says, once again deeply impressed by Muggle ingenuity.
Hermione doesn't seem to hear the comment, though. Instead, she looks at the Sellotape in her hand, then stares at Pansy's smooth, pale skin for a moment. After a brief hesitation, something in her eyes sets. She gives a tiny nod and says, "keep holding it in place. I'll tape it for you."
"You will?" Pansy asks stupidly.
"Well, we don't want to waste the entire roll of tape on a trial run," Hermione says with something that sounds like carefully forced amusement. She tears off another long strip of tape, then takes a step toward Pansy.
Pansy watches with bated breath as Hermione sinks to her knees. Her hand drifts closer to Pansy's stomach but she pauses just before she can touch her skin and glances up. "May I?" Hermione asks nervously, her voice a bit lower than usual.
Pansy nods dumbly. Every muscle in her body tightens as Hermione lifts her other hand and gently splays it against her stomach, holding the wire in place. Carefully, she places the tape on top of the wire and smooths it over Pansy's skin to ensure it sticks. It's a simple motion, and one that wouldn't bother Pansy if anyone else were to attempt it. But the moment Hermione's warm fingers brush across the cool skin of her stomach, she inhales sharply, looks away, and clenches her teeth together to make sure no embarrassing noises slip out of her. She's incredibly aware of a curious tingling sensation radiating across her body, and Pansy wonders for a moment if it's a side effect of the Sellotape. She glances down to ask Hermione whether or not the Muggle tape is supposed to make her like this, only to find that the other witch is still gently running her thumb over the tape to be sure it's secure, watching with a sort of hungry curiosity as goosebumps form on Pansy's skin. The look itself is enough to send a sudden spark of arousal between Pansy's legs, and she hastily shifts in place to try and distract herself from it.
"There. One done," Hermione murmurs without taking her eyes off of Pansy's skin.
Pansy shakily exhales and manages to ask, "is it holding?"
At the question, Hermione's eyes flicker away from the wire and back up to Pansy's, and she has to bite her lip a bit when she sees just how much Hermione's pupils have dilated. "So far," Hermione says. "But I'll use a few more pieces, just to be safe." She takes her hands away from Pansy's body and pulls more Sellotape from the roll. Then, she repeats the process three more times, each time letting her thumb take all the time in the world to smoothly caress the tape. By the end of the process, Pansy's knees feel a bit weak, her knickers are suspiciously damp, and more than anything, she wants to smack sense into herself.
She's been touched before. She's had sex, for fuck's sake. So there's absolutely no reason that Hermione's very gentle touch should be making Pansy feel like she's two seconds away from self-imploding.
But then again, she had felt like she might die if she didn't kiss Hermione in the library last Friday, so clearly, something is severely wrong with her reactions.
"There," Hermione says, giving the final piece of tape a last swipe with her thumb. She stands and watches to make sure the wire stays in place and when it does, she gives a small, satisfied nod. "That should hold," she says quietly, her eyes finding Pansy's. She's still standing close and when Pansy clears her throat a bit, her eyes immediately flicker down to watch her lips.
"Thank you," Pansy murmurs. She can feel the heat radiating from Hermione's body and she wants to take as step closer to feel it more fully on her skin. She wants to gather Hermione in her arms and do something, anythingto take care of the aching, heavy arousal that's managed to snake its way through her entire being. Instead, she remains where she is while Hermione reaches behind her to pluck Pansy's jumper off the chair.
"Let's see if it's covered," Hermione says, holding the jumper toward Pansy.
Pansy takes it and pulls it back over her head, feeling a bit relieved to finally be covered again. Once it's in place, Hermione hands her her robe. She puts it on, then slips the recording device into the interior pocket. As the robe flutters closed, she turns to face Hermione with her arms spread. "Well? Can you see it?"
Hermione scrutinizes her closely, looking at Pansy from every angle. She makes a full revolution around her and when she's back where she started, she smiles. "Completely hidden," she pronounces. "Try recording something," she adds.
Pansy slips her hand into the robe and presses the large button on the side of the device. "What should I say?" she asks, looking to Hermione for guidance.
"Something short. We don't want to waste the tape."
"Oh. Erm…" Pansy trails off. Her mind is completely blank, but she's aware of the tape running in her pocket. She looks to Hermione and in a rush of panic, she blurts, "you look quite nice tonight."
Hermione raises her eyebrows and Pansy has to control the urge to close her eyes in mortification. You look quite nice tonight? What is she, eleven?
"I think that'll be enough," Hermione says with amusement as she nods toward Pansy's pocket. It's only after Pansy's stopped the recording that Hermione looks up at her with a small, teasing smile and says, "and you look quite nice tonight, too."
Pansy rolls her eyes as she takes the device out. She glances at Hermione and grumbles, "how do I make it…talk?"
The corners of Hermione's mouth twitch up, and she steps forward to take the device from Pansy. "This button first," she says, pointing to one emblazoned with two arrows pointing to the left.
She walks through the entire procedure with Pansy, teaching her the different buttons until she seems satisfied that Pansy can reproduce the right sequences to make the small device talk. When she finally plays back the conversation, she grins triumphantly at Hermione. But the moment she hears her own voice foolishly say you look quite nice tonight, her grin slips away and she has to fight the urge to toss the whole contraption across the room.
They run through it a few more times until Pansy's certain she can work the device. Then, she lifts her jumper once more and slowly removes the tape. Hermione was right—each piece stings a bit as she peels it away from her skin. But when she glances up and notices Hermione's eyes are once again trained to her stomach, she finds herself wishing her entire body was covered in Sellotape. Anything to keep those hungry, hazel eyes on her for the rest of the night.
Once the device is turned off and packed away, Pansy turns to face Hermione. Their time in the library is quickly coming to an end, and she finds herself desperately looking for ways to extend it. And if the way Hermione is shifting back and forth on her feet is any indication, something tells her that she's not the only one who doesn't want this night to come to a close.
"So…" Pansy says, sticking her hands in her pockets.
"So," Hermione echoes. "Tomorrow at nine, then?"
Pansy nods, and Hermione bites her lip gently. "Will you be in the Great Hall for breakfast?" she asks. "I'd like to see you before you go."
Pansy shakes her head. "My mother wants to have breakfast together," she says, regret in her voice. Then she tries for a reassuring smile and says, "but we don't need some prolonged, sappy goodbye. I'll be back before you know it."
Worry flashes in Hermione's eyes and she shifts a bit more on her feet. "I know. I know, but just…" her brow furrows in concern and she whispers, "if it seems dangerous, don't do it. This plan isn't worth you risking your life. We can always come up with another solution."
"Can we?" Pansy asks with vague amusement. "I mean, I admire your confidence in us, but it took us ages to find this one."
"But we found it. And we can find another, if needed. Just…promise me you'll be careful," Hermione says quietly. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if…if…"
The words seem to be stuck in her throat, and Pansy's brow furrows in quiet concern. "Hermione…"
"And I know you're capable," Hermione says, quickly find her words once more. "I know you're brilliant and clever and far more collected than I'll ever be, and I'm not doubting you, I just…" she shakes her head and says, "I know how dangerous he is."
"He is," Pansy agrees. A small flicker of the fear she's been suppressing flares in her chest as she thinks about her father's cold eyes, and she hastily tries to push it down. "He is, but he won't see this coming. I'm sure of it." She tries to deliver the promise with conviction in an attempt to both reassure herself and Hermione. but if the worry still lingering in the other girl's eyes is any indication, she hasn't been as successful as she'd like.
"I'm sure you're right," Hermione says. "But just be careful. I…I…" She takes a deep breath and says, "I don't want to lose you. Not when I feel like I've just found you."
Hermione's eyes are downcast and she looks a bit nervous, and without thinking, Pansy reaches out and takes Hermione's hands in hers. Hermione looks up at her with surprise but before she can speak, Pansy says, "you won't lose me. I promise you. I'll come back to you. I have to," she adds, thinking about their planned meeting on Sunday.
But as she stands there with Hermione's hands in hers and a persistent trickle of fear dripping through her body, she lets herself think about the dark, scary thing she's been suppressing for days now—what if she doesn'tmake it home? She honestly doesn't think her father would kill her, but if the worst should come to pass, then what?
She'll never make it to that planned Sunday meeting. She'll never confess her secret to Hermione. She'll never get to tell her how she feels.
She'll never say those simple, three words that seem to be permanently stuck in her throat every time Hermione is near.
Ridiculously, that thought strikes more fear into Pansy's heart than any of the others, and she straightens her shoulders.
She can't go without telling Hermione the truth. If there's even the slightest chance of something going horribly wrong tomorrow, she needs to set the record straight.
She needs to tell Hermione that she's in love with her.
"Hermione. I…I need to tell you something," she begins hesitantly.
Hazel eyes stay trained on her as Hermione waits for Pansy to keep speaking.
"I…I should have told you this ages ago. But I didn't because I was…" she trails off and shrugs. "I guess I was scared. And I was worried that you'd be upset," she adds carefully as she drops Hermione's hand and runs her own shaky fingers through her hair. "I didn't want to make you angry with me. But if anything happens tomorrow, then I…I need to tell you." She takes a massive breath, exhales sharply, and opens her mouth to finally reveal the truth. "I—"
"No."
Pansy falters, her mouth still open. "No?" she asks uncertainly, a confused frown settling on her face.
"No," Hermione says simply. "I don't want to hear whatever it is."
"I…what?" Pansy says, completely baffled. "But… but you need to, you can't just—"
"And I will. I'll hear anything you want to tell me. Anything at all. But I'll only hear it once you're back."
"What? No, Hermione, I—"
"No," Hermione says again, her gaze intense. "Whatever it is, it can wait. Because I don't want to spend a single second being upset with you," she says with a strange fervor in her voice. "All I want to do while you're gone is worry about you. I don't want you to muck it up by telling me something that might upset me. So whatever it is…whatever you think might make me mad, you'll just have to wait."
Pansy shakes her head stupidly, trying to figure out how to get out of this ridiculous situation. "It might not make you mad," she finally says. "I don't even know why I said that, I just…"
"And anyway, if you wait to tell me, then that's just one more good reason for you to come home."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you'll have to come home if you have something to tell me. You wouldn't want to keep me in suspense, would you?"
"No, but…"
"So remember that. Hold yourself to that," Hermione murmurs, her eyes swirling with emotion. "If things look scary, just think about me. Think about me and whatever it is you need to tell me, and find the strength to make it back here."
Pansy shakes her head. "Hermione, I really—"
Before she can say anything more, Hermione suddenly leans forward and presses her lips to Pansy's cheek.
At least, Pansy thinks she was aiming for her cheek. But because she's in the process of shaking her head, Hermione's lips end up landing right on the corner of her mouth.
Both girls immediately freeze in place at the miscalculation, and Pansy holds her breath with unbearable anticipation as she waits for Hermione to pull back and start offering flustered excuses and apologies. But as the seconds slip by, the apologies never come. Instead, she feels Hermione's body relax against her as she lets her lips linger, just barely brushing the right corner of Pansy's mouth. Hesitantly, she brings up a shaky hand and gently cups Pansy's cheek, making Pansy's skin tingle and her heart pound. And as Hermione's warm thumb slowly begins to swipe back and forth over Pansy's cheekbone, lighting up her each and every nerve ending, Pansy has to remind herself to breathe.
Pansy can feel their closeness acutely, can feel the soft puffs of Hermione's breath against her cheek and the firm press of her chest against her body, and it makes the arousal that she thought was finally behind her come roaring back with a vengeance. She bites down on her lip in an attempt to center herself and to not give into temptation before she's said what she needs to say, but when Hermione's fingers tentatively curl against Pansy's cheek, Pansy's lips part to emit a soft and shaky sigh. Dimly, she wonders if Hermione had noticed the noise. She has a feeling she did; she's so incredibly close that Pansy wouldn't be surprised if she was able to hear the rapid pounding of her heart.
After a few unbearably long seconds, Hermione pulls back a fraction of an inch, but keeps her hand where it is. "Tell me later," she murmurs, her breath hot and positively maddening against Pansy's sensitive skin. Her thumb keeps idly trailing over Pansy's cheek and just when Pansy thinks she might explode, Hermione tilts her forehead against the side of Pansy's face and whispers, "just promise you'll come back."
Pansy can feel the tickle of Hermione's eyelashes against her face as the other girl's eyes flutter closed, and her breath sputters out of her inelegantly. "I'll come back," Pansy manages to whisper. "I'll come back, I promise."
Somewhere in her mind, she's aware that it's a promise she shouldn't make. But as Hermione continues to casual unravel her sanity with nothing but the gentlest of touches, she's fairly sure she'd promise her anything in the world. Anything at all, so long as it meant keeping Hermione this close for the rest of her days.
Hermione nods and drops her hand from Pansy's cheek. But instead of stepping away, she grabs for Pansy's hand, dangling limply at her side. Once she finds it, she threads her fingers through Pansy's, then gives it a long squeeze. After a moment, she presses impossibly soft lips to the same spot once more. Heat flares in Pansy's chest and something in her stomach coils tightly as Hermione lets the touch linger for a few dizzying, irresistible seconds, and Pansy's just about to turn her face to capture those maddening lips once and for when Hermione finally steps back.
They stare at each other for a moment and all Pansy wants to do is step forward, grab a fistful of Hermione's robes, and kiss her senseless. She wants to make Hermione whisper her name like it's a prayer; she wants to see those hazel eyes glaze over with lust; she wants to find out whether or not Hermione would actually be willing to give into her desire and desecrate her sacred library.
But even though Pansy wants all of these things more than anything in the world, she knows that she still needs to be honest. Because for some foolish, altruistic reason, she can't kiss Hermione until she's finally come clean.
And Merlin, does she want to kiss Hermione.
"Hermione…" she murmurs, her voice rough and low. "I…" she exhales softly and squares her shoulders. Her brain is still foggy from Hermione's lips being so achingly close to hers, but she tries to push past it. "I don't want to make you angry," she says. "Trust me, it's the last thing I want to do, but I just…I'm sorry, but I have to tell you this."
Hermione blinks a few times with surprise, clearly not expecting Pansy to still be on the same topic. After a moment, she shakes her head as if she's clearing her thoughts, and the line of her jaw sets firmly. "And you will. We already went over this. You'll tell me once you're back."
"No, I…it has to be now. I'm sorry, but it has to be."
Hermione frowns at Pansy for a few seconds, and Pansy earnestly and desperately holds her gaze. Finally, Hermione crosses her arms in front of her chest and huffs out a sigh. "Fine. Fine, if you want me to be angry at you while you're gone, then fine. What is it?"
Pansy takes a deep breath, relieved that she's finally managed to make Hermione agree. "Right. So…I…I…" she laughs a bit and rubs at her neck. "I probably should have figured out how to say this earlier. But I…I..." she gives an incredulous laugh and says, "I honestly don't know where to start."
But before she can figure it out, there's a sound at the entrance of the library.
Pansy whirls around to look toward the door and her eyes widen when she sees the heavy locks slowly spinning. She glances back to Hermione with a wild, anxious gaze. Who on earth is coming into the library at this time?
And couldn't they have waited two bloody minutes?
Hermione's face pales as she watches the movement. She turns to Pansy and urgently whispers, "you shouldn't be here. You need to hide."
Pansy hesitates and keeps her eyes on the locks. She's no longer thinking about her confession. Now she's just afraid that danger might be lurking behind the door. "But what if—"
"Pansy," Hermione pleads, glancing back to the door. They only have a few seconds before it opens. "Please?"
Pansy bites her lower lip, then nods and moves toward a nearby shelf, ducking behind it. It's sheltered enough so she won't be seen, but it still gives her a clear view of the doorway so she can protect Hermione, if needed.
After a few unbearable seconds, the door opens and a tall figure steps into the library. Pansy feels her heart rate pick up—she can't make out any facial features from this angle. It could be anybody. She grips her wand in anticipation, a Protego waiting on her lips.
Then, the tall figure speaks.
"Miss Granger?"
Pansy exhales sharply at the voice of a very confused Professor McGonagall. She slumps against the shelves, half relieved she won't be doing battle tonight and half furious at McGonagall's absolutely awful timing.
"Professor?" Hermione says, surprise in her voice.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I…I'm afraid I don't," Pansy hears Hermione admit. There's a small pause wherein Pansy assumes Hermione's checking her watch, and then she hears, "oh. Oh, I…I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was that late."
Pansy shakes her sleeve back and checks her own watch.
It's half past one in the morning.
…Whoops.
"Mr. Filch woke me. He said he heard a noise in the library," McGonagall says. "Normally, I'd tell you that you're lucky I decided to investigate, but you'll find I'm not the most pleasant person at half past one in the morning. All things considered, you may have been better off with Filch finding you."
"I'm sorry," Hermione says quietly.
"What on earth are you thinking? You know you're not supposed to stay any later than midnight."
"I know, I just…I came here after patrols and I suppose I lost track of the time," Hermione says, sounding ashamed. "But it won't happen again."
Pansy hears McGonagall sniff in displeasure. "No, I should think not. Remember, Miss Granger, your library privileges are just that—a privilege. They are not to be abused, and they can be retracted at any time."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"And even a Head Girl with special privileges shouldn't be out of bed at one in the morning. I'm afraid I'll have to take ten points from Gryffindor."
"That's only fair," Hermione murmurs.
Personally, Pansy thinks it's absurd that a school is penalizing someone for showing academic interest, but she manages to bite her tongue.
Pansy hears McGonagall give a quiet sigh. When she speaks again, her tone is much gentler. "Let me assure you, Miss Granger, of all my students, you're the last one who needs to be studying until one in the morning. And whatever it is you're working toward can wait till tomorrow. A good night's rest is more important than you might think."
"I know," Hermione says. "I promise you, it won't happen again."
"Good. I trust you. And I should hope that my trust isn't misplaced. Now, then. Gather your things and I'll lock up."
Pansy stiffens from behind the bookshelves. Is she about to be locked in the library all night? She doesn't know the spell to unlock the door, and she also dimly remembers Hermione telling her something about anti-intrusion spells that take effect as soon as she locks the library for the night. If Pansy ends up sealed inside, she'll set the spells off and get into a whole mess of trouble. Hastily, she sorts through her options, trying to decide how on earth she's going to get out of this absurd situation.
She's just decided to try a Disillusionment Charm to sneak past McGonagall when she hears Hermione's voice again.
"There's really no need for you to stay awake any longer," Hermione says, sounding a bit anxious. "Really, you can go back to bed. I can lock up."
"Nonsense. I'm already here. And to be frank, I don't trust that you won't get pulled into another book the moment I leave." McGonagall adds the last sentence dryly, and even though Pansy's panicking, she has to admit—it does sound like something that Hermione would wind up doing.
"Yes, but—"
"No buts, Miss Granger. Gather your things. Now," Professor McGonagall adds, a steely note entering her voice, subtly warning Hermione to not press her luck.
Pansy hears Hermione slowly start to gather whatever is on the table, and as she peers around the bookshelf, she sees that Hermione's already had the presence of mind to kick her bag under the table, away from McGonagall's sharp gaze.
Once she has everything, she turns to McGonagall and hesitates. "I…I…."
"Miss Granger. When you get to be my age, you'll find there are very few sentences that are worth listening to at one in the morning. I can promise you that yours will not be the exception."
Pansy sees the moment Hermione's shoulders wilt, and she holds her breath. Finally, Hermione looks back at McGonagall and says, "we can't leave yet."
Professor McGonagall exhales with frustration and draws herself up to her full height. "Miss Granger—"
"There's someone else here."
Professor McGonagall frowns at Hermione's words, and she seems to deflate a bit as she glances around her. "Who?" she asks sharply, looking back to Hermione.
Hermione sighs, then turns to where Pansy is watching. "You might as well come out. I don't want you to get locked in here all night."
Pansy hesitates for just a moment. Then, she slowly pushes off from the bookshelves and walks toward Hermione and Professor McGonagall.
"Miss…Miss Parkinson?" McGonagall whispers, sounding completely stunned.
"I…yes?" Pansy replies weakly. She glances at Hermione, then back to McGonagall. "Hello," she adds with a small, awkward wave.
Hermione rolls her eyes and gives Pansy a look of complete exasperation, and Pansy shrugs. She might be in a load of trouble, but she's not about to be rude to a professor.
"I would suggest," McGonagall says slowly, "that one of you tell me exactly what's going on. Now."
Hermione winces and opens her mouth, but Pansy steps in quickly. "It's nothing bad, Professor," she says. "I just…I've been having a bit of a…a personal problem and Hermione offered to help me with it." Pansy notices as McGonagall's eyebrow arches at the easy use of Hermione's first name, but she pays it little mind as she hurries on. "We've hit a bit of a wall, so we decided to see if the library could help. And she didn't want to let me in, but I begged," she adds quickly. "Please don't take any more points from her. It was all my doing."
"I see," McGonagall says as she carefully scrutinizes Pansy over her glasses. After a few moments, she sighs and says, "ten points from Slytherin for being out past curfew. And while I'd normally be inclined to take more points for whatever it is that's happening here, I must confess, I'm…pleasantly surprised."
Hermione and Pansy exchange a look. "You…are?" Hermione asks uncertainly as she nervously rubs at her arm.
"You and Miss Parkinson, working together? Without hexing each other or destroying the entire library? Yes, Miss Granger. I'm surprised."
"Oh," Hermione says, glancing once more toward Pansy. "I…I mean, we're not…" As Hermione surveys Pansy, her face grows impossibly soft and a gentle smile flickers around the corners of her mouth. "Things haven't been like that between Pansy and I for quite a while," she admits quietly.
Professor McGonagall raises a brow once more as she glances between them. Her sharp eyes move to the chair where Pansy's tie is still resting, then back to Pansy's slightly disheveled robes, wrinkled jumper, and mussed hair. Something that looks like understanding settles in McGonagall's eyes, and her mouth falls opens just a bit.
"Well, then!" McGonagall says, sounding more surprised than Pansy's ever heard her sound before. "I'm…I'm pleased to hear that. If only all students took inter-house unity to the same extent that it seems you two have. Well…perhaps not the same extent," she amends a bit wryly.
Pansy's cheeks burn at the accusation and she notices how McGonagall seems to be surveying them with a strange twinkle in her eyes. "I wouldn't want any other students flagrantly violating the rules in order to tend to…personal problems," she finishes with a small, almost mischievous smile.
Pansy has a sinking suspicion that she knows what that smile means, and it makes her want to melt into the floor and never reappear. But somehow, Hermione seems to be none the wiser beside her. "I'm sorry," Hermione says again. "We really did just lose track of the time."
Professor McGonagall hums and murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like youth. Then, she raises her voice and says, "For the sake of inter-house unity, I'll look the other way, just this once. But in the future, try to tend to your…personal problems outside of the library."
Pansy's going to transfer schools. She's going to leave the country. Anything to never have to see the stupid glimmer in McGonagall's eyes.
"Of course. It won't happen again," Hermione says quickly. Her mouth twists a bit as if she's contemplating something, and after a moment, she sheepishly asks, "are you taking away my library privileges?"
"No. Perhaps I should, but no, not this time. But if I find you here again after midnight, I'll be forced to reconsider. I suggest you not put me in that position."
"I won't," Hermione says earnestly. "Thank you."
McGonagall nods, then glances between the two of them. "Now, then. As delightfully unexpected as this conversation has been, I'd like to get back to bed."
"Oh! Right, of course," Hermione says sheepishly. She bends down and grabs Pansy's bag and holds it out to her. "Here you are," she says. "And don't worry, everything's in there," she adds quietly, giving Pansy a knowing look.
Pansy's gaze flickers to McGonagall to see her watching at the two of them with a raised eyebrow and curious eyes.
Merlin's pants. Now McGonagall's going to think that Hermione's shoved Pansy's knickers in the bag.
Pansy takes her bag containing the recording device and slings it over her shoulder. "Thanks," she says. She glances up to McGonagall and manages to murmur an embarrassed and clipped sorry before quickly heading toward the library door.
It's only once they're all outside and McGonagall is locking the library that Pansy realizes she still hasn't confessed the truth to Hermione. She turns to her quickly and whispers, "about that thing I was going to tell you…"
Hermione shakes her head. "Later," she says.
"No. It has to be now," Pansy pleads.
"I don't want to lose any more house points."
"I know, but—"
"Miss Parkinson, I trust you can make your way to your dormitory unaccompanied?" McGonagall asks as she turns away from the door, cutting Pansy off. "Miss Granger, I'll walk with you."
Pansy opens her mouth stupidly. "Yes, but I—"
"Good night, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall says, fixing her with a stern look.
"I—"
"Good night, Pansy," Hermione says. She glances at McGonagall for a moment, then back to Pansy. Something sets in her gaze and before Pansy knows what's happening, Hermione's taken a step forward and she's thrown her arms around her. "You can do this," she whispers into Pansy's ear. "I know you can." Her arms tighten for a moment and she murmurs, "stay safe and come home to me. Okay?"
Hermione gives Pansy one final squeeze before she lets go. She drops her hands down into Pansy's one more time as she gazes into her eyes for a moment. A dozen different potent emotions swirl in her gaze—fear, longing, guilt, want, and something else that takes Pansy's breath away completely.
Something that looks a little bit like love.
But before she can question it, Hermione squeezes her hands and murmurs, "I'll see you soon," then turns to face McGonagall, who's watching the scene with wide eyes. As soon as she notices Hermione's gaze on her though, she manages to school her face into something more neutral.
"Shall we?" McGonagall asks.
Hermione nods. She gives Pansy one more soft, nervous smile, then turns and sets off down the hall beside McGonagall.
Pansy watches her go, feeling a bit shell shocked by everything that's happened in the past five minutes. Somehow, she failed to tell Hermione the truth, all while inadvertently telling McGonagall far more than she needed to know.
She slumps against the wall and rubs her eyes with frustration. After a moment, she exhales slowly and starts down the stairs toward the dungeon, and as she walks, she thinks over the events of the night. Each memory brings a new grimace of pain or embarrassment to her face, and somehow, by the time she reaches the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she finds herself in complete agreement with Daphne—she and Hermione really might be the two thickest witches who have ever lived.
***
Pansy floos to her home at nine on the dot.
Her eyes are still a bit red-rimmed after her goodbye with Daphne, and she hopes she'll be able to blame it on the soot from the fireplace.
Daphne had opted to skip Potions, instead choosing to sit on her bed and make idle chit-chat as Pansy packed her things. It had been pleasant and distracting, but it had only lasted until Pansy had finally swung her back on her shoulder and looked at Daphne with emotional, shining eyes. Daphne had given her head a quick shake and whispered don't look at me like that before pulling her swiftly into her arms. They had let themselves linger in the overly long embrace and Pansy had found herself repeating the promise she had made to Hermione last night—I'll come back. I promise. Daphne had simply held her tighter and murmured you bloody well better. She had threatened Pansy a few more times with an Unbreakable Vow, but after a few long minutes spent stalling the inevitable, Pansy had finally left Daphne behind to use the floo in Snape's office.
And now, she's here. She's back home.
Hastily, she steps from the fireplace and shakes the ash from her robes. She double checks her pocket for the tenth time to be sure she's remembered to bring floo powder for her return journey to Hogwarts (or perhaps to the Ministry, if all goes well). Once she feels the comforting lump in her left pocket, she exhales slowly. She still has an exit strategy.
With her nerves moderately soothed, she finally manages to take in her surroundings and as she does, she feels a bolt of familiar fear enter her heart.
The Parkinsons have three fireplaces, but only one is on the Floo Network. And it just so happens to be the one in their gleaming, austere dining room.
The room that has been the centerpiece of Pansy's nightmares for the past decade.
Every corner seems to hold some traumatic memory of that night, and she shivers a bit as both the sights and smells of the awful place hit her all at once.
Being forced to live in the same house where the worst night of her life had taken place had helped her compartmentalize some, but whenever she's home, she still tries to avoid the dining room by any means necessary. But now that she's been thrust into it, she lets her gaze linger. Her heart rate picks up as she takes in the long, dark mahogany table, and she tries to ignore the memory of a terrified little girl, shivering beneath it. Her eyes sweep over the polished, dark floorboards and she sternly refuses to think about her aunt, crawling toward her, her hand outstretched and manic horror in her broken green eyes.
Of course, it's of no use. The memories flood back in and Pansy can feel her chest tightening uncomfortably. A scream starts to echo in the very back of her mind and she can feel the familiar, cold sweat beading on her brow. She digs her blunt nails into her palm, but before she can let herself get completely swept into the past, her mother walks into the room. She's clearly heard the noise from the fireplace, and once her eyes land on Pansy, she gives her a short greeting, pulls her into an uncomfortable hug, then briskly tells her to follow her to the kitchen for breakfast.
The distraction makes the scream fade away, and Pansy manages a small, relieved exhalation at her mum's order. It's one of the few things she and her mum seem to have in common—neither of them spend any time in the dining room.
Meals in the Parkinson household are always awkward affairs, but mercifully, her father doesn't make an appearance. He's sorting out last minute details for the funeral and according to her mum, won't be back until late tonight. Pansy's relieved she won't have to face him immediately, but to be honest, the alternative isn't much better. Instead of staring down her father, she finds herself fielding her mother's stiff questions about the school year. Pansy gives fairly short replies, but they seem to be good enough for her mum. And when her mum eventually brings up how pleased she is to hear that Pansy and Draco have rekindled their relationship, Pansy even manages a tight smile.
They fall into an awkward silence after that. The only noise in the room comes from their silverware, scraping against polished, expensive china, and when a house elf appears at Pansy's side to clear her plate, she immediately stands and tells her mum she's a bit tired and she'd like to rest before her father gets home.
Mercifully, her mother doesn't put up any argument. If anything, she seems a bit relieved by the suggestion and she readily agrees.
Pansy leaves the kitchen as quickly as she possibly can and heads for the spiral staircase. She takes the stairs two at a time and the moment she reaches the landing, she makes a beeline for her room. Once she's inside, she closes the door behind her, slumps against it, and exhales slowly.
Her room is just as she left it, and while there's nothing about it that she would describe as particularly homey, just being in her own space is enough to bring a tenuous sense of peace to her already jangled nerves. After a few moments, she pulls herself together, pushes off from the door, crosses to her bed, and begins to sort through her bag.
The first thing she does is pull out her parchment and tap her wand against an incredibly lengthy, pre-written message that's waiting there. There was a good chance she wouldn't be able to write to Hermione while she was here, and she hadn't wanted the other witch to worry about the whereabouts of her bard. Once the message is sent, she tucks the parchment away, hiding it between the pages of her Charms book. Then, she pulls out the wire with a slightly shaky hand.
There's really no reason to put it on now. Her father isn't even home. But as she runs her finger over the smooth, black device, she finds herself thinking that it's always better to be prepared.
First, she checks that it's still in working order. She presses the button on the side, and when the tape starts whirring inside the device, she allows herself a small smile—at least the floo didn't hurt it.
Then, she recreates everything she and Hermione had done last night. She shrugs off her robe, peels off her jumper, and lies the wire against her stomach. She makes sure the microphone is in the right place, and she uses enough Sellotape to stick herself to the wall. She even lets her thumb smooth over the tape, all the while pretending it's Hermione's fingers gently tracing over her skin.
Once she's done, she pulls her jumper back on, slips the device into the inside pocket, and slides the robe back over her shoulders. Then, she lies back on the bed and lets herself go over the plan.
Don't get emotional. Make him think you're on his side. Disparage Aunt Bea. Ask straight to the point questions.
She repeats it over and over again, letting her eyes slip closed as she snuggles a bit more into her comfortable pillow.
Don't get emotional. Make him think you're on his side. Disparage Aunt Bea. Ask straight to the point questions.
Don't get emotional. Make him think you're on his side.
She yawns and rubs her eyes.
Disparage Aunt Bea. Ask straight to the point questions.
Don't get emotional.
Hermione's eyes flicker into Pansy's mind and she manages a sleepy smile for a moment, but then she reminds herself of what she's supposed to be thinking about.
Make him think you're on his side. Disparage Aunt Bea. Ask…ask…
Pansy's thoughts seem to slow down as she sinks deeper into her mattress. She hadn't managed any sleep last night, too plagued by concern, fears, and what ifs, and her exhaustion is finally catching up to her. Desperately, she tries to hold onto her thought process.
Don't get emotional. Make him think…make him think…make him…
***
When Pansy opens her eyes again, the room is much darker. She sits up and rubs her face, squinting at the gauzy blue curtains before her with confusion. For a moment, she has no idea what time it is, or even whereshe is. Then, the familiar sights of her room come into view and she remembers—she's home.
And she's here to take down her father.
Slowly, she sits up on her bed. As she runs a hand through her hair, she checks her watch, and her eyes widen slightly. It's a quarter till five. She's been asleep for nearly six hours.
She stretches her arms over her head and frowns when she notices something heavy thump against her side at the motion.
Right. The wire.
Slowly, she stands up. She knows she'll have to go downstairs, but before she does, she checks her reflection in her full length mirror, casting a careful eye on her robes. Hermione was right—neither the device nor the wire are visible at all. Pansy manages a small sigh of relief. At least her father won't notice something is amiss before she's even opened her mouth.
She opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can manage and stands in the doorway, listening for any signs of life from the rooms below. Everything is quiet, and Pansy frowns—it's unusual for the house to be this quiet at this time of the day. Perhaps her father is still out.
She starts toward the stairs, wincing a bit as one of the floorboards creaks loudly under her foot. The groan from the wood seems to echo throughout the house, and Pansy waits for a moment, completely convinced one of her parents is going to call up to her and chastise her for sleeping for such a long time. But when the house remains completely still, Pansy exhales slowly. It would seem she's all alone.
She walks down the stairs quickly, headed for the library. All she wants to do is steal a book and sit outside for a while until she's eventually called in for dinner. It's not exactly warm out, but with her robe and jumper, Pansy's sure she'll manage.
The library is just past the dining room, and Pansy grits her teeth when she sees the still-open door. But she refuses to let herself step inside and get lost in awful memories again. Instead, she passes by quickly and only glances in. The last thing she needs right now is to get wrapped up in her emotions and caught in images of her aunt on the floor, her mum standing uselessly by, her father, seated at the head of the table with his hands calmly folded, her—
Pansy's thoughts stall as she walks by the door and she comes to a stop just beyond the doorway.
Her father seated at the table?
That wasn't part of the memory. Which could only mean that…
"No greeting for your own father?"
The silky, disdainful voice drifts to Pansy from the dining room, and she freezes at the sound.
He's here.
And he's waiting for her.
Pansy stands still in the hallway. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knows she should run. Run away from her father, run away from the dining room, and run back to the safety of Hogwarts. But instead, she finds herself curiously incapable of moving a muscle. Briefly, she wonders if her father has somehow managed to petrify her from the other room.
"Pansy," her father lightly sing-songs from the dining room.
She takes a sharp breath at the eerie tone in her father's voice and almost immediately, her mind jumps into action. Wild thoughts race by, each one passing by so quickly that she can barely keep up.
Why was her father home earlier than expected? Why is he in the dining room, of all rooms? Why was he waiting for her? Was he waiting for her? Where was her mum? Did he suspect her? How could he suspect her?
"Really, Pansy. It's been almost a year. The least you can do is come in and sit down with me."
There's no room for debate in his tone. Whatever is going to happen between them is going to happen now.
Pansy takes a deep breath, clenches her jaw, and tells herself she can do this. She can face the atrocities that happened in this room if it means never letting her father hurt anyone again.
A Parkinson never shows weakness.
She turns to enter the dining room, but at the very last minute, remembers the wire taped to her chest. Hastily, she reaches into her robe and presses the button marked with the red dot. Once she sees the tape start spinning in the device, she drops it back into her pocket, squares her shoulders, and walks into the haunted room that had plagued her memories for years.
It's just as oppressive as it was when Pansy had stepped out of the floo hours ago, but for some reason, it feels colder now, as if there's a Dementor lurking in some shadowy corner, feeding on her emotions. Instinctively, she pulls her robe a bit tighter and suppresses a shiver.
In the back of her mind, she can hear the faintest ghost of a scream starting to form, but instead of letting it grow, she focuses instead of the crackling pops of the still-lit fireplace and the steady thump of her heart in her ears. The noises help to focus her attention and distract her from the scream and it fades back into the distance once more.
Pansy swallows past the tight, painful lump in her throat and refuses to let her gaze linger on any of the familiar, awful sights of the room. Instead, she looks directly at her father. He's seated at the head of the table, and by his appearance alone, one would never think he has just lost his own father. He looks perfectly put together—his sleek black hair is slicked back and his beard and mustache look newly trimmed. There's not an ounce of grief lingering in his guarded brown eyes, and Pansy finds herself wondering if her eyes would look the same if her father had been the one to die. His fingertips are steepled together as he regards her, and Pansy notices his wand, lying just to the right of his hands on the polished wood. Fear rises in her stomach at the sight, but manages to pull her eyes away to meet her father's gaze once more.
"Well? Aren't you going to sit?" her father asks, arching a dark, heavy brow.
Pansy thinks back over her mantra, letting it center her. Don't get emotional. Make him think you're on his side. Disparage Aunt Bea. Ask straight to the point questions.
She nods, crosses to a chair, pulls it out, and sits down.
It's the first time she's sat down in this room in almost ten years.
"Father," she says, her tone every bit as stiff as her body. "It's good to see you."
"Is it?" he asks lightly. "I've been lead to believe that most fathers don't have to beg for the company of their child."
Pansy forces herself not to fidget. Instead, she keep her gaze trained on his cold eyes. "You took me by surprise. I thought I was here alone." She glances around casually, but the moment her eyes land on the last spot she can remember her aunt looking vibrant and alive, she feels her throat grow tight. Quickly, she pulls her eyes away and decides the safest course of action is to let her gaze to remain on her father. "Where'd mum go?"
"Margaret Burke dropped in. Asked your mother to tea. She wanted to wake you, but I insisted you get your rest."
"Thank you," Pansy says, a bit uncertainly.
"Mm. It only seemed right. After all, you've had a…a trying time lately."
Pansy schools her features into something that looks politely puzzled. "I have?" she asks. "I wasn't aware."
"Come now, Pansy. I'm your father," he says with a casual tone but a hard stare that implied he knew she was hiding something. "You don't have to be brave around me."
"I'm not being brave," Pansy says. "I really don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh? Your breakup with Draco?" her father asks. "Surely that took a toll."
"It did. But we're back together now," she says, folding her arms over her chest and attempting to look unbothered.
Don't get emotional.
"So I heard. That must have taken quite a bit of convincing."
Pansy shrugs. "Not really. We split up over a stupid misunderstanding," she says, idly fidgeting with her robe. "But I suppose Draco can be persuasive when he wants to be," she adds, trying to sound amused.
Make him think you're on his side.
Her father smiles tightly. "I didn't mean Draco had to convince you."
Pansy frowns, thrown by the reply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're not subtle, my dear," her father murmurs.
Pansy thinks back to when Daphne had said that in regards to her very obvious feelings for Hermione, and she feels something icy grip her heart.
Could her father know that she's…?
Panic flutters into her chest as she says, "subtle about…?"
"And of course, there was the debacle with Montague and Baddock's boys," her father says, swiftly moving on. "I'd imagine that left you a bit shaken."
"I—"
"It was all anyone could talk about for days. You caused quite the commotion."
"I didn't—"
"Tell me," her father says, leaning forward and surveying her with dark, glinting eyes. "Is it true you saved a Mudblood girl that night?"
Don't get emotional.
"I…I saved a student," Pansy says, digging her fingers into her thighs to try and stave off her flush. More than anything, she needs to keep Hermione out of her thoughts. She's never confirmed it, but she has a suspicion her father has dabbled in the art of Legilimency. And while Pansy is certainly not an Occlumens, she's had quite a lot of practice keeping her emotions at bay and forcing thoughts from her head. She takes a moment to make her mind as blank as she can, then she gazes cooly back at her father, waiting for his reply.
"Mm. How very noble of you." His eyes harden almost imperceptibly, but Pansy notices the change and crosses her arms a bit tighter. "And what was this student's name?" her father asks.
"I…" Pansy shakes her head and feels the flush darken on her cheeks. "Why does it matter?"
"It's not every day a Parkinson comes to the assistance of a Mudblood. You must have taken quite an interest in this girl. And what kind of father would I be if I didn't nurture my daughter's interests?"
Pansy uncrosses her arms and makes herself absently pick at a thread on her jumper.
Don't get emotional.
"I haven't taken an interest in anybody," she says. "I saw someone in danger, I intervened. I didn't even know who it was at the time."
Her father hums. "That's certainly not the story I heard."
"I see. And do you always take your information from disgruntled former students?" Pansy says, the faintest bit of anger lacing through her tone.
Don't get emotional.
She takes a deep breath before continuing in a much cooler tone. "Of course Baddock and Montague said I knew her. They were trying to get back at me for their expulsions."
Her father leans back in his chair and surveys her with a calculating gaze. Then, without taking his eyes off of her, he picks up his wand.
By some miracle, Pansy manages to watch the motion without flinching.
"Tea?" he asks, waving his wand lazily. A gleaming, silver tea set behind him levitates and floats toward the table. Once the tray has settled with a quiet clink, two teapots lift up and pour steaming hot liquid into two separate cups. The pots settle back down and Pansy's father flicks his wand once more. One of the cups lifts up and floats toward Pansy. She watches its progress and when it finally sets down in front of her, she gazes into the dark, clear depths with trepidation.
Pansy glances back toward her father to find him already sipping from his cup. "It's Earl Grey," he says. "I hope that's okay."
Panic claws anew at Pansy's throat. There's no doubt in her mind that her cup has been laced with Veritaserum, presumably designed to make her spill whatever secrets her father thinks she's hiding.
She won't let that happen.
Gently, she runs a finger around the rim, clears her tight throat, and says, "I'm afraid I'm not thirsty."
"Oh? It's tantamount to treason for the British to deny tea," her father says, placing his cup down and fixing her with a strange, cold stare.
"You seem to already think me a traitor," Pansy says, and while she doesn't speak the words blood traitor, it's certainly implied. "What's another sin added to the list?"
The cold lifts from her father's eyes immediately, replaced with a flash of something dangerous. "I'd tread lightly, my dear," he warns.
"Why?" Pansy asks, her temper finally getting the better of her. "Going to send me another Howler?"
"You left me no choice. What was I to think? I hear a rumor that my daughter is coming to the aid of Mudblood filth? That she took house points for simply using the word Mudblood?"
"You heard a rumor," Pansy hisses, all thoughts of her mantra suddenly gone from her mind. "I took points because a complete fool decided to use an Unforgivable Curse against a student. Nothing more."
Her father regards her in silence. Then, he takes another sip of tea, puts the cup down, and sighs. "Do drink your tea, Pansy."
Pansy shakes her head tersely. "I won't."
"I've found that tea often makes conversations like this a more…pleasant ordeal," he says.
"And I've told you I don't want it."
He picks up his cup once more and regards her over the rim. "You seem to be under the impression this is a request. Let me assure you, it isn't. You will be drinking that tea, one way or another." He takes a sip from his cup, then adds in a strangely light tone, "after all, I went through the trouble of making it for you."
"Then I'm afraid you've wasted your time."
His lips twitch up. "So stubborn," he murmurs. "Just like your father."
"I—"
"Do you know what every parent's greatest wish is, Pansy?"
"I…what?" Pansy asks, confused by the sudden shift in conversation.
"It's to see their child continue their legacy. To see their flesh and blood walk a path that makes them proud. All I wanted was for you to uphold the honor of the Parkinson family name. And I thought you would, for a time. You showed such promise. But then…that woman," he whispers, a sneer coming to his face.
"Aunt Bea?" Pansy asks, her pulse picking up just a bit.
"I could see the way she was corrupting you. Poisoning your mind with her radical views. You were so young and impressionable. You started to believe everything she said." He picks up his cup once more and finishes the remaining tea. Pansy waits, her body buzzing with anticipation as she watches her father gently place the cup down. He wipes his mouth, then turns his hard eyes back to Pansy. "I couldn't have that."
"So you killed her," Pansy says. Her hands were shaking under the table, and even though she had rehearsed it and made it a part of her plan, no part of her was currently willing to disparage the person she had loved more than anyone in the world. "You killed her because she believed that Muggle-borns were people? Because she had the audacity to be a better person than you or I could ever hope to be?" she asks, sharp vitriol entering her voice.
Her father's eyes flash at the phrase Muggle-borns, but the rage is only visible for a moment. He quickly shutters the emotions in his gaze as he idly trails a finger over his cup. "Is that what you believe?" he murmurs. "I'm afraid you've got things rather twisted, my dear."
Pansy's heart sinks. She should have known better. Of course he wouldn't admit to killing her aunt. It doesn't matter that she's wearing the bloody wire. It doesn't matter that she's putting herself through an absolute horrifying ordeal and sitting in the room she had vowed to never step foot in again. It doesn't matter that for the first time in her life, Pansy had decided to do something brave, something altruistic and right. It doesn't matter that she's risking shattering her mind beyond repair by constantly replaying that awful night, over and over again. None of it matters. She had endangered everyone she loves and she's about three seconds away from a complete mental breakdown and it was all for—
"I killed her because of you."
It takes a moment for her father's statement to register, but when it does, Pansy opens her mouth, then closes it once more. Every single thought seems to vanish from her head, and she's so surprised that she hasn't even fully realized that she's just managed to record her father's confession. The wire is the last thing on her mind when she finally manages to ask, "what do you mean?"
"I didn't kill her because she was a blood traitor, you foolish girl. I killed her because she was trying to make you one."
Pansy shakes her head. "No, I…that's not true," she says weakly. "You killed her to protect the family name. I…I heard you—"
"You heard correctly. The Parkinson family name. The name that you are meant to uphold. You," he says with simmering rage. "My flesh. My blood. I couldn't have her corrupting you, so if I took her out of the equation, then…" her father shrugs. "She couldn't continue to poison your mind if she was dead."
Pansy sits stock-still in her chair as a numb kind of dismay washes over her body. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, an erratic thump thump thump, and her vision seems to be greying a bit at the edges.
Her aunt is dead…because of her?
Pansy shakes her head. "No. No, that's not…that's not possible," she says. She stares down at the table and thinks about desperate green eyes. She thinks about how helpless she had felt in that moment. She thinks about her father telling her aunt she had left him no choice.
But before the despair can fully set in, Pansy finds herself thinking about how all her aunt had done, all she had ever done, was try to be a good person. She had tried to instill the right views in Pansy to ensure she never became a monster like her father.
And her father had killed her for it.
Her father had killed her.
Her father was the reason her aunt was dead.
Not her.
She finally manages to look up at her father. His eyes are on her and there's a small, cruel smirk on his face. She feels something inside of her break at the sight, and the numbness gives way to hundreds of feelings that seem to course through her body, all at once; the most prominent feelings are grief and rage.
"You killed her…because of me?" Pansy repeats, her voice low and shaking.
"I did. At first I thought it would be enough to tell her to stay away from you. But she seemed to take it upon herself to be your…moral compass, of sorts. She made it clear that she wasn't going to…how did she put it? Throw you to the wolves. She seemed to think there was something in you that was susceptible to her teachings," he adds with a sneer. "That you were weak-minded and weak-willed. I disagreed. But now…" he shakes his head. "Now I'm not sure what to think."
Pansy feels the moment her rage overpowers her grief and she looks up at her father with fury etched in every line of her face.
She will not be made to feel guilty over her father's crimes.
She'll avenge her aunt. She'll do it to prove that Bea's efforts weren't in vain. She'll do it in her honor.
She'll do it if she has to die trying.
"You're not sure what to think," she repeats slowly, her fingertips digging into her thighs painfully. "Well, then. Let me tell you. Everything you did was for nothing. You killed her for nothing," Pansy hisses as she leans forward in her chair. "I am your flesh. I am your blood. I am a Parkinson. And I am a blood traitor," she says, a note of pride reverberating in her voice.
She sees her father's eyes darken and a dark flush slowly steal up his neck at her words, and she laughs a bit wildly. "You thought you'd silence her and that would be that?" She shakes her head and spits out, "you're a fool. You're a pathetic, evil, foolish coward. You made her a martyr and in the process, you ensured I'd never forget a single thing she taught me." Her gaze falls on the teacup in front of her and without thinking, she picks it up and hurls it across the room. It smashes against the wall, but Pansy doesn't bother to look. Instead, she grips the table with taut arms and keeps her steely gaze trained on her father. "You want to ask me questions?" she whispers, her voice low and dangerous. "Then ask me. Ask me without your tricks."
Her father doesn't move a muscle. He simply watches her with dark, guarded eyes. After what feels like an eternity, he exhales slowly and says, "why? Why after all this time?"
Pansy frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Seven years at Hogwarts and you've never once thought to question my teachings. So what was it? Hm? What changed?"
"Nothing changed," Pansy says, almost lightly. "I just realized what a monster you are."
"Oh, no. No, something had to be the catalyst. Something had to have corrupted you." Her father leans back and steeples his hands together. "I wonder…would it have anything to do with the Mudblood girl?"
Pansy can feel the heat in her cheeks, and she knows her father has noticed when his eyes narrow. He leans forward and says, "so it does. I suspected it might."
Pansy shakes her head swiftly. "It has nothing to do with her," she says, a bit too vehemently to be believable.
"Tell me her name."
"There's no—"
"Do not lie to me, Pansy. You will regret it."
"I'm not—"
"Tell me her name."
"I don't—"
"Enough!" Her father slams his fists down onto the table in a rare display of emotion, and Pansy jumps in her chair. "Do you honestly think I don't know about your persuasions?" he hisses with a disgusted sneer. "I'm your father, Pansy. You are my business. More specifically, you continuing this family line is my business. But as I said, you've never been subtle. Not in the least." His eyes are full of cold fury as he regards her. "I had rather hoped you'd managed to put all this nonsense aside and focus on Draco, focus on protecting your family's name, but it would seem you've finally given into these…these temptations. And with a Mudblood, no less."
Pansy shakes her head. There's bile in the back of her throat and her heart is wildly pounding in her chest, but somehow, she still manages to keep her head free from thoughts of Hermione. "You're wrong," she manages, her voice weak and shaky. "I told you, I saved a student. I have no interest in her outside of her wellbeing."
"I see. Well, then, if that's true…if she's just a student, then tell me—what is her name?"
Pansy forces herself to maintain eye contact and to keep her thoughts from straying. "Why? What do you want with her?"
"What do I want?" Her father echoes with amusement. He cocks his head and smiles at her, a dreadful, spine-chilling sight. "I want to see the Mudblood bitch who corrupted my daughter. And then, I want to bleed the mud from her veins."
All thoughts of staying collected fly from Pansy's mind. "I'll kill you before I let you touch her," she whispers. The tremor from her voice is gone. Now, she just sounds positively furious.
Her father chuckles, and a small shiver goes through Pansy. "Just a student, hm?"
"I swear, I'll—"
"Really, Pansy, there's no need for such theatrics. I'll find out, one way or another. I would have known already, had Dumbledore not modified Baddock and Montague's memories to protect her," he says, his gaze narrowing.
Pansy frowns, taken aback by the information. "Then how do you know that I—"
"Goyle's boy overheard the tail end of the conversation that night. He heard Baddock complaining about Parkinson taking points away to save a Mudblood. I told Goyle his son was mistaken. That my daughter would never do such a thing." Her father absently pushes up his sleeves and sighs. "You know how much I hate to be wrong."
Somehow, Pansy manages a smile. "I'm sorry," she says, though nothing in her tone is even remotely apologetic. "I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you to know you've raised a blood traitor. But you have. And what's more, I'd do it again. I'd do anything in the world for her," she says, pleased when her voice doesn't waver.
"Including kill your own father?"
Her father regards her calmly and Pansy can feel the air around them crackling with some sort of dark, sinister anticipation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembers the promise she had made to both Daphne and Hermione—if things look dangerous, retreat. But sitting in the room that's haunted her nightmares for years, facing the man who had torn her life apart without so much as breaking a sweat, she knows that she's about to break that promise. She can't retreat. Not now. Not when the lives of people she loves hang in the balance. Not when she can finally help Beatrice.
Her father's question lingers in the air, and after a long moment, Pansy whispers, "if necessary."
Her father raises his eyebrows at her reply. "I respect your honesty," he says. Then, he tilts his head and an unnatural smile flickers to his face. "But I'm afraid, my dear, you won't get the chance."
Before she can blink, her father has reached for his wand. He throws out his arm but before he can cast a spell, Pansy's reflexes kick in. She manages to duck down under the table as a jet of red light soars above her. Her heart pounds as she grabs for her wand in her pocket and she closes a sweaty fist around it. Hastily, she pulls it out and thinks about casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself. It's a weak bit of defense, but it'll at least give her some sort of coverage as she tries to make her way to the floo. At the last minute, she decides against it.
She needs to protect the wire.
Quickly, she crawls toward the other end of the table, nearing the still-crackling fireplace. But before she can get very far, her father stoops down to look for her.
"Well, well. Isn't this familiar?" he asks, his eyes landing on her form. "Hiding under the table again. But this time, there's no one here to save you," he murmurs.
Before her father can cast a spell, Pansy casts a Shield Charm behind her, rolls out from under the table, and quickly gets to her feet. Once she's standing, she doesn't bother thinking about the Disillusionment Charm again.
Let him see her.
"I always knew you idolized Beatrice, but I never thought you'd take it to this extent," her father says cooly as he sends another curse sailing toward her. "I have to hand it to you, though. Dying in the same way is almost poetic."
"I don't plan on dying today," Pansy snarls as she fires a Flipendo toward him.
He easily blocks it and says, "and I didn't plan on burying my father and my daughter in the same week. Life is full of surprises."
He flicks his wrist and sends a Cruciatus Curse toward her.
Pansy drops once more, and the spell sails over her head. She knows she can't get hit—she can't risk losing her father's confession. From her vantage point on the floor, she fires a quick Stinging Hex toward her father's legs. He lazily flicks it away and scoffs.
"A Stinging Hex? What are they teaching you? If I paid for your tuition, I'd demand a refund."
Pansy grits her teeth as she edges backward on her hands and knees, closer to the fireplace. It's clear that he's not even trying. He's just playing with her, like a cat with a mouse. But that's fine with her. All she needs to do is survive long enough to make it to the floo.
When he raises his wand again, Pansy casts another Protego. "Two Shield Charms," her father says with amusement. "At least I know I won't be depriving the world of a fine dueler."
Pansy flushes. It's true—she's not the most adept dueler. Ever since that long ago night, any type of offensive spells have made her a bit queasy. But if there's one thing she knows she's capable of, it's defensive spells.
She takes a deep breath and refuses to let herself lose control. Instead, she straightens her shoulders and trains her eyes on her father's wand. The moment she sees it twitch, she readies herself to deflect the spell.
Unsurprisingly, it's another Cruciatus Curse.
"Two Cruciatus Cruses," Pansy says, flicking the spell away as she mimics her father's derision from earlier. "And here I thought you knew more than one spell."
And that's another thing she's good at—verbal mockery. She's certainly had enough practice over the years, so perhaps between her excellent defenses and her sharp tongue, she'll be able to escape this room and make it to the Ministry. If she can wear down his stamina and push him toward anger, she might stand a chance.
She just has to persevere.
His eyes flash a bit at the barb and Pansy clocks the moment he adjusts his stance. He tilts his body away from her, drops his hand to his hip, and flicks his wrist in an intricate, circular pattern.
It's all done in the space of a few seconds, but Pansy is prepared. The moment her father cries Diffendo, she idly steps to the side and evades the jet of vivid, orange light.
"I thought I'd be needing my wand for this," she says, raising a mocking eyebrow. "Tell me, is this why Lucius has always been Voldemort's favorite? Because you can't even land a simple spell?"
Her father's eyes grow wide at her casual use of the name, and even though it had made her uncomfortable (old habits, and all), she still feels a small victory race through her. "What's the matter?" she taunts. "Scared of a name?"
She takes advantage of her father's momentary shock and sends a quick Stupefy toward him. He blocks it and narrows her eyes. "You dare speak the Dark Lord's name?" he hisses.
Pansy shrugs as she quickly evades a stream of pale blue light from her father's wand. "One of us ought to try and get his attention. Y'know, since it'll clearly never be you."
Her father's body is taut with rage and there's a vein standing out on his forehead. "You will pay for such insubordination."
Pansy laughs wildly as she blocks the red light of another Crucio, sending it hurtling into an antique vase sitting on the mantelpiece. "You know he's not here, right? He can't actually hear this blatant arse-kissing?" She flicks her wand and sends a Langlock sailing toward her father. "I forgot, does he even have ears? I mean, we all know he blew his nose to shit, but surely he's left something." She sends a quick Relashio at him, then tilts her head in thought. "Come to think of it, does he even have an arse left to kiss?" Pure adrenaline propels her out of the way of a jet of angry black light, then she says, "oh, of coursehe does! Silly me. He is one massive arsehole, after all."
Her father practically roars in rage as he fires off three Crucios in a row. Pansy lifts her wand and lazily blocks each and every single one. "Ah, you almost had me!" she says with something like glee in her tone. "I almost thought you knew more than just the one spell, but back to your favorite, I see. Don't worry, I know spells are tricky. Maybe if you ask nicely, Lucius will help you."
Her father's eyes are glittering with rage as he continues to send spells at her, and each one, Pansy manages to block.
Neither father nor daughter are athletic duelers—they've barely moved the entire time, preferring a stationary method to the more physical one some showier types seem to prefer. But even with the lack of movement, she can see that her father is starting to slow, and it brings a small smile to her face.
Persevere.
Pansy sends another Flipendo toward him and though he manages to dodge it, his reaction is slower. "What's the matter?" Pansy says. "Getting tired? We could take a break if you like. Sit down for dinner, chat about old times, pick this up afterward?"
A curse sails over her head and explodes behind her, chipping off part of the fireplace. A fine shard of stone rips away and tears itself across Pansy's cheek, and she can feel blood start to run down her face.
She refuses to even acknowledge it.
"Merlin, fine. There's no need to get angry. You know, if you wanted to remodel, there are less violent ways to go about it."
"Silencio!" her father says, flicking his wrist in agitation.
Pansy ducks blocks the spell and laughs. "And here I thought you were enjoying our little father daughter chat."
Before she can say anything else, she sees her father's wand start moving in a very familiar pattern. He's about to cast Expelliarmus, but curiously, he's making no move to say it.
Non-verbal magic, then.
Pansy straightens her back and the moment she sees his wand complete the pattern, she draws her own wand down in front of her in a sharp, vertical line. Immediately, a powerful Shield Charm explodes from her wand, trapping the attempted Expelliarmus in its wake.
Her father's eyes widen as he takes in the massive charm before him. His wand droops a bit and his mouth opens, then closes as he glances back to her, clearly stunned by her display of non-verbal magic.
It's the opening Pansy needs.
She aims her wand toward the hideous crystal chandelier in the middle of the room, the one her father just happens to be standing under, and cries "Bombarda!"
Time seems to still for a moment. Her father's eyes grow even wider as he looks up to follow Pansy's gaze, and when he realizes what's about to happen, he looks back to her with a stupidly stunned look plastered on his slack-jawed face.
The spell hits the chandelier and in the space it takes Pansy to draw a single breath, it comes crashing down on top of her father, trapping him under the rubble.
She's done it.
She's actually done it. All that's left to do is get to the Ministry.
Quickly, she reaches into her pocket, grabs a handful of floo powder, then spins around to face the fireplace. But before she can toss the powder into the flames, she hears her father's voice from behind her.
"Well…done…"
She glances over her shoulder and her eyes widen with surprise. Somehow, he's managed to stand up from the rubble. Dust from the chandelier coats his suit, his hair is out of place, and there's a steady stream of blood trickling from a gash on his forehead, matching the abrasion on her cheek. She tears her eyes away from him as she look around frantically for his wand, and eventually, she spies it lying to his left, split into two clean, useless pieces.
She's safe for now.