FIC: By My Side for inell
Title: By My Side
Author/Artist: lostlikealice
Giftee: inell
Rating: A very light PG-13.
Word Count(for fic): 2722
Characters/Pairing: Hermione/Pansy; implied Ron/Hermione.
Warnings: Femmeslash. Hah. Well, character death.
Author/Artist's Notes: inell, I wanted this to be lighter, but basically you have flangst here. I apologize for that much, but I hope you like it!
Summary: Pansy finds herself indebted to Hermione.
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Can you take me with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth
Where are you going?
- By My Side, Godspell
For as long as Pansy could remember (or as long as she chose to remember), she remembered following Draco. When they were younger, this was a slight problem, because he was a boy and she was a girl, and he had to do boy things and she had to do girl things. Eventually Pansy realized she couldn't always follow him around, but whenever decorum allowed, she was right at his side. He didn't seem to mind - always talked to her and paid her attention - even the Malfoy parents liked her well enough, though her family wasn't quite as old as the Malfoys or the Blacks.
Then came sixth year, and Draco's obsession and fervor in accomplishing that one task for Voldemort. She admired his drive, cooed and cajoled, tried to relax him somehow for a few hours, but it rarely worked. It came to the point where she rarely saw him at all, instead having to put up with Zabini and Nott, or her roommates, who, after six years of being ignored for the richest snob of them all, didn't feel the need to be overly charitable to the girl.
And on the night Dumbledore was murdered, he ran.
Pansy managed not to cry or have any reaction but a shrill affirmation that Draco was in the right, and Dumbledore deserved to die. She left Hogwarts before Dumbledore's funeral, and went home, awaiting an owl from Draco. After all, he was a very prompt and polite young man, at least when it came to her and the people that mattered. He would tell her where he was, and she would be there straightway to clean his wounds and wrap her arms around him.
Eventually, he did show up at the Parkinson manor house, indulging her cooing and whining with exasperated patience (with Severus Snape looking rather unamused on the doorstep) before asking if he and the former Professor Snape could use the Parkinsons' Unplotted manor as a place of residence for just a few days.
"Of course!" She let them in and immediately ordered the house-elf to get a cup of tea of both of the men.
That night, the Aurors descended upon the house. Pansy screamed for Draco until her voice grew ragged and then hid under her pink duvet. Eventually, sobbing, she was pulled out of her bed, her wrists bound. Pansy Parkinson was arrested for aiding Death Eaters.
"That is not a crime," she snarled.
To her surprise, the warden woke her up mid-morning; he informed her that her bail was paid and she was free to go. With a self-important glower, Pansy received her wand and went to the lift to leave the premises. The lift door closed smoothly and there was a brief moment of silence before there was the sound of a woman clearing her throat. She turned.
Ratty little Weasley bitch. Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I was wondering when you'd notice me," Ginny said, lifting her head.
What luck, to be trapped in a small space with a Weasley for who knew how long? "You're not very noticeable," Pansy said primly.
Ginny gave her a look that was so Gryffindor, the one that said, I don't have time for you, I have something better to do. "A rich lady like you ought to be more gracious, don't you think? I bailed you out."
Pansy had no response for that except a glare. It was just like a Gryffindor - just, just like one of Potter's people to do something like this in order to have control. "How did you manage to afford it?"
Both of them knew that insult was too old to be insulting anymore, but Ginny's triumphant facade was at least broken. They weren't on the same side, and it was obvious. "I didn't," she said. "Don't you want to know why?"
Pansy's small mouth clenched and her voice drew into a shrill. "You want to blackmail me - well, I won't let you and Potter extort anything from me, not about Draco, not about anything! What I did - "
" - You didn't do anything, did you?" Ginny interrupted, looking almost alarmed.
Pansy wasn't sure how to take that question. She did a lot of things... "What do you mean?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You stupid cow, no wonder Malfoy likes you. You're not a Death Eater, are you?" she specified.
Pansy didn't want to say no, because that would imply she didn't believe their doctrines, which she did; no matter what she said, she was in trouble. Oh, she hated the Mudbloods for putting good purebloods in this situation! "If I were, would I tell you?"
Ginny sank back, relieved; Pansy then noted just how exhausted the girl looked. How pathetic, she thought, ignoring her own current state of being. "I knew you weren't," she said, almost smug. "You have a chance, Parkinson. Malfoy's going to get the Kiss. It's almost guaranteed. He's the only tie you have to all this, right? So you could - "
"I'm not taking your side!" Pansy whirled on the pad of numbers, wondering why the lift was moving so slowly. She glared at the number 5.
Ginny's voice was exasperation forced into gentleness. "Is his memory worth Azkaban?"
Pansy grit her teeth and said nothing to the presumptuous little blood-traitor brat. When the lift opened, Ginny strode past her, imparting one last thing to her:
"Hermione paid your bail."
Pansy stopped on the spot, but Ginny kept going. The lift doors closed, and Pansy watched it rise again, remembering that Draco was still up there.
Hermione Granger couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Ron had said, before he'd left, that he had found her collapsed into books on Founders lore; he had consequently made her tea and gave her a biscuit. But that had been a week ago and she hadn't seen Ron or Harry since. Frankly, she was worried about them. After all, they didn't know all that she'd already discovered, and it definitely fit under the label of "sensitive information" to put in post.
She ate lunch while reading, which was a careful task but one that she had mastered. Her spoon clattered into the bowl when there was a knock at the door.
"Apparate in," she said, suspicious despite that if Ron or Harry was behind the door, she'd be laughed at. There was a very specific anti-Apparation charm on the Leaky Cauldron room she had bought for convenience's sake.
"I would if I could!" A woman's voice behind her door. One she hadn't heard in some time, but Hermione had seen her face plastered on the front of The Daily Prophet.
"Pansy Parkinson?" Understandably, Hermione didn't want to open the door. No one would blame her for not doing so. She didn't move. "What are you doing here? How did you find - "
Pansy stamped her foot. "I wish people would stop thinking I'm stupid! I can find people, you know!"
Not easily; Hermione had gone out of her way to not be that easily found, but this wasn't the time to argue. "What do you want?"
Pansy hated her, hated her, hated her - she raised a delicate lady's hand and hammered on the door. "Open the door, will you?!"
Hermione sighed and stood at the door, opening the door only a little and training her wand on what little of Pansy she could see. She very nearly lowered it; she did actually look as badly as the pictures had portrayed her. "What do you want?" Hermione repeated.
Pansy's frustration grew with every question, and now tears grew in her eyes. "Let me in."
That was so ridiculous, Hermione had no immediate reaction. "Oh really, Parkinson - "
" - You paid my bail!" Pansy made this into an accusation.
Hermione supposed that was true, as soon after she and Ginny had found out about Pansy's arrest, Ginny had pointed out that Pansy was too stupid and useless to be a Death Eater. "She doesn't deserve the same fate," Ginny had said, more than a little stubborn. "Not for 'aiding.' And I haven't the money on me. I know you do."
Hermione didn't like the Ministry's tactics any more than the Death Eaters did, but she suspected that Pansy Parkinson was guilty of something. Still, she'd given Ginny the money. She was bad at saying no to Ginny.
"I technically paid your bail." Hermione gripped the door, resisting the temptation to shut it in her face. "I believe you're innocent of any real Death Eater activity, but that doesn't mean I trust you." There were tears in Parkinson's eyes, but that was no reason to trust her.
"I - I - " Pansy burst into tears, incapable of bringing across what she wanted to say. All of her 'friends' were either in hiding and didn't want to risk falling to the same fate as Draco and Professor Snape, or they were dead or injured. She had nobody, nobody, and Draco - she hated this, she hated everything and everyone except for him.
Hermione stared, then unlatched the chain that held the door shut. "Come in," she said with a weary sigh, "I'll make some tea."
The tea calmed Pansy down, though she still seemed antsy; Hermione would not have been surprised to know that this was largely because Pansy was now sitting across from a Mudblood, drinking from a Mudblood's teacup, sitting at a Mudblood's chair. After years of mental conditioning to the idea of 'filth,' Pansy had trouble even tolerating being in the same room as one without Draco there.
At the thought of him - oh, Draco! - she gave a great sniff, and took a sip, shuddering.
Pansy offered the first word since her outburst, a sneer on her swollen face. "I suppose you're all cozy here with Weasley."
Hermione gripped her teacup tightly. Always the insinuations. It was enough to make her not want him, but she did. "We're all a little too busy to waste time being cozy, Parkinson."
"Busy with what? Tipping the Aurors off to which good purebloods they can lock away?"
That was enough of that. "Parkinson, why are you here?"
Pansy's gaze directed into her teacup. "Where else can I go? The Aurors are watching my every move, my home is being ransacked - I have nowhere to go, and - "
Hermione was struck. Pansy was wretched, lost, but for some reason loyal to those who used her. Ragged, tired, and trapped, Pansy Parkinson was the underdog, the wretched, the trophy girlfriend enslaved to the Death Eaters' cause.
"You can stay here," she said, feeling rather generous.
Pansy looked up, eyes wide. "... It's small," she said, looking about with disdain at the simple suite (holding only a bedroom, two chairs, and a dining table).
Hermione ignored that. If she wanted Parkinson Manor, she could go back and take it herself; she didn't have time for this! "Did you bring anything with you?" Maybe if she treated Parkinson well, she wouldn't throw another manic fit. Hermione didn't have that much tea left.
Pansy glanced at the doorway, where what looked like a large light pink handbag stuffed to the brim squatted. "Yes," she said. "As much as I could manage."
Hermione sighed, a deep exhausted sigh. There were still Horcruxes to worry about. There was still Ron and Harry to worry about. She didn't have time for this! "Why don't you have a bit of a nap," she suggested, trying to remember that Pansy was an unfortunate and needed her help - no matter how frivolous she was. "You look dreadful."
Pansy glared, sniffing. "If I look dreadful, I suppose I should."
Hermione hadn't meant it like that, but, well, Pansy had said worse. "I'm sorry, but I've other things to do," she said gently.
Pansy shook her head impatiently and stood, marching over to seize her handbag. She hesitated once very near Hermione's chair, and Hermione sat stiffly, uncomfortable, until Pansy passed and the door of the bedroom shut with a slam.
Now semi-frantic, Hermione wrote a vague owl to Harry and sent it off, and started researching even faster than before. If Pansy was there to find out what she was doing, she had to find what she was looking for before Pansy realized what she was looking for.
The only distraction was The Daily Prophet flying in the next morning (Hermione had taken an hour's nap, again, on the books), and the headline it blared.
She opened the door; the action did not wake Pansy, nor did she stir. Pansy had changed into a silky nightgown, lying languorously on her side. Hermione was shocked to find someone who had managed the luxury of not being completely paranoid enough to wake at any sound in the middle of this war. Perhaps she was biased, as she was directly in the middle of it, but...
Hermione knelt on the bed, and jumped at the creak that ensued. With a wince, she touched Pansy's bare shoulder. "Parkinson." No response. She pushed at her shoulder gently. "Parkinson?"
Pansy groaned, and stirred. Hermione backed off as much as she could, hiding the newspaper. Pansy turned to face her, looking no less than terrified in waking, but quickly recovered. She looked less than pleased at her surroundings. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Hermione said, moving away subconsciously in order to make Pansy feel more comfortable. "If you'd like food, Tom makes an excellent breakfast."
Pansy's expression of disgust deepened further, drawing lines of disbelief in her face. "I don't know about that." She sat straight up, remembering the previous day. "Has the newspaper arrived yet?"
"... No." Hermione could allow lying in circumstances like this. Kinder to let Pansy wait until she was more conscious, right? At least she had to have something to eat first. "I really recommend breakfast - "
Pansy stared at her, and grabbed her by the front of the shirt. Startled, Hermione lost her balance, and the paper hit the floor. "You lying Mudblood bitch - " Pansy released her and scrambled for the newspaper, Hermione sitting miserably back and waiting for the reaction.
Pansy knelt on the bed, her hair in complete disarray, her face slack and blank, her nightgown yanked to the left. Last night, in a widely expected act by the Wizengamot, Draco Malfoy was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss Everything was wrong. At 7:15 AM this morning, this sentence was carried out Everything was wrong.
The words burst from her lips. "I'm sorry." Hermione knew that Malfoy had deserved it for what he'd done, what he'd allowed to happen, no matter what the circumstances were; Parkinson was a different story. She was a biased little cow, but she was innocent.
Pansy collapsed into Hermione's chest, her cheek pressed to Hermione's breast; Hermione blushed and froze, not having a clue what to do. She put her arm awkwardly around Pansy, hugging her.
Pansy shook but didn't cry, her hands gripping into Hermione's skirt. This was getting uncomfortable. She raised Pansy's chin, and the force of the former Slytherin surprised her more than her use of it. Pansy kissed her.
It was different than Ron. Ron was always trying to prove something with his kisses, like he was with everything else; Pansy wasn't pretty and she wasn't charming but here, now, she had Hermione as enchanted as if she was under Amorentia. Her hand slid up the silk nightgown, as Pansy pressed her to the bed.
The newspaper and all memories of Draco lay abandoned beside the bed.
It surprised Hermione to find that Pansy didn't leave the next morning, that she slept in the same narrow bed with her for the next few nights. It surprised her that every day, Pansy spouted less of the usual pureblood propaganda.
When Ron and Harry arrived back at the flat a week after she sent the owl informing them Pansy was there, they found the two comfortably entwined in bed.
"No bloody way," Ron whispered hoarsely, staring at the line of Hermione's bare leg uncovered by the sheets.
Hermione lazily blinked at them, then sat up, covering herself with the sheet. "Good, you're here. I have good news, and I have... other news."
Author/Artist: lostlikealice
Giftee: inell
Rating: A very light PG-13.
Word Count(for fic): 2722
Characters/Pairing: Hermione/Pansy; implied Ron/Hermione.
Warnings: Femmeslash. Hah. Well, character death.
Author/Artist's Notes: inell, I wanted this to be lighter, but basically you have flangst here. I apologize for that much, but I hope you like it!
Summary: Pansy finds herself indebted to Hermione.
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Can you take me with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth
Where are you going?
- By My Side, Godspell
For as long as Pansy could remember (or as long as she chose to remember), she remembered following Draco. When they were younger, this was a slight problem, because he was a boy and she was a girl, and he had to do boy things and she had to do girl things. Eventually Pansy realized she couldn't always follow him around, but whenever decorum allowed, she was right at his side. He didn't seem to mind - always talked to her and paid her attention - even the Malfoy parents liked her well enough, though her family wasn't quite as old as the Malfoys or the Blacks.
Then came sixth year, and Draco's obsession and fervor in accomplishing that one task for Voldemort. She admired his drive, cooed and cajoled, tried to relax him somehow for a few hours, but it rarely worked. It came to the point where she rarely saw him at all, instead having to put up with Zabini and Nott, or her roommates, who, after six years of being ignored for the richest snob of them all, didn't feel the need to be overly charitable to the girl.
And on the night Dumbledore was murdered, he ran.
Pansy managed not to cry or have any reaction but a shrill affirmation that Draco was in the right, and Dumbledore deserved to die. She left Hogwarts before Dumbledore's funeral, and went home, awaiting an owl from Draco. After all, he was a very prompt and polite young man, at least when it came to her and the people that mattered. He would tell her where he was, and she would be there straightway to clean his wounds and wrap her arms around him.
Eventually, he did show up at the Parkinson manor house, indulging her cooing and whining with exasperated patience (with Severus Snape looking rather unamused on the doorstep) before asking if he and the former Professor Snape could use the Parkinsons' Unplotted manor as a place of residence for just a few days.
"Of course!" She let them in and immediately ordered the house-elf to get a cup of tea of both of the men.
That night, the Aurors descended upon the house. Pansy screamed for Draco until her voice grew ragged and then hid under her pink duvet. Eventually, sobbing, she was pulled out of her bed, her wrists bound. Pansy Parkinson was arrested for aiding Death Eaters.
"That is not a crime," she snarled.
To her surprise, the warden woke her up mid-morning; he informed her that her bail was paid and she was free to go. With a self-important glower, Pansy received her wand and went to the lift to leave the premises. The lift door closed smoothly and there was a brief moment of silence before there was the sound of a woman clearing her throat. She turned.
Ratty little Weasley bitch. Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I was wondering when you'd notice me," Ginny said, lifting her head.
What luck, to be trapped in a small space with a Weasley for who knew how long? "You're not very noticeable," Pansy said primly.
Ginny gave her a look that was so Gryffindor, the one that said, I don't have time for you, I have something better to do. "A rich lady like you ought to be more gracious, don't you think? I bailed you out."
Pansy had no response for that except a glare. It was just like a Gryffindor - just, just like one of Potter's people to do something like this in order to have control. "How did you manage to afford it?"
Both of them knew that insult was too old to be insulting anymore, but Ginny's triumphant facade was at least broken. They weren't on the same side, and it was obvious. "I didn't," she said. "Don't you want to know why?"
Pansy's small mouth clenched and her voice drew into a shrill. "You want to blackmail me - well, I won't let you and Potter extort anything from me, not about Draco, not about anything! What I did - "
" - You didn't do anything, did you?" Ginny interrupted, looking almost alarmed.
Pansy wasn't sure how to take that question. She did a lot of things... "What do you mean?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You stupid cow, no wonder Malfoy likes you. You're not a Death Eater, are you?" she specified.
Pansy didn't want to say no, because that would imply she didn't believe their doctrines, which she did; no matter what she said, she was in trouble. Oh, she hated the Mudbloods for putting good purebloods in this situation! "If I were, would I tell you?"
Ginny sank back, relieved; Pansy then noted just how exhausted the girl looked. How pathetic, she thought, ignoring her own current state of being. "I knew you weren't," she said, almost smug. "You have a chance, Parkinson. Malfoy's going to get the Kiss. It's almost guaranteed. He's the only tie you have to all this, right? So you could - "
"I'm not taking your side!" Pansy whirled on the pad of numbers, wondering why the lift was moving so slowly. She glared at the number 5.
Ginny's voice was exasperation forced into gentleness. "Is his memory worth Azkaban?"
Pansy grit her teeth and said nothing to the presumptuous little blood-traitor brat. When the lift opened, Ginny strode past her, imparting one last thing to her:
"Hermione paid your bail."
Pansy stopped on the spot, but Ginny kept going. The lift doors closed, and Pansy watched it rise again, remembering that Draco was still up there.
Hermione Granger couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Ron had said, before he'd left, that he had found her collapsed into books on Founders lore; he had consequently made her tea and gave her a biscuit. But that had been a week ago and she hadn't seen Ron or Harry since. Frankly, she was worried about them. After all, they didn't know all that she'd already discovered, and it definitely fit under the label of "sensitive information" to put in post.
She ate lunch while reading, which was a careful task but one that she had mastered. Her spoon clattered into the bowl when there was a knock at the door.
"Apparate in," she said, suspicious despite that if Ron or Harry was behind the door, she'd be laughed at. There was a very specific anti-Apparation charm on the Leaky Cauldron room she had bought for convenience's sake.
"I would if I could!" A woman's voice behind her door. One she hadn't heard in some time, but Hermione had seen her face plastered on the front of The Daily Prophet.
"Pansy Parkinson?" Understandably, Hermione didn't want to open the door. No one would blame her for not doing so. She didn't move. "What are you doing here? How did you find - "
Pansy stamped her foot. "I wish people would stop thinking I'm stupid! I can find people, you know!"
Not easily; Hermione had gone out of her way to not be that easily found, but this wasn't the time to argue. "What do you want?"
Pansy hated her, hated her, hated her - she raised a delicate lady's hand and hammered on the door. "Open the door, will you?!"
Hermione sighed and stood at the door, opening the door only a little and training her wand on what little of Pansy she could see. She very nearly lowered it; she did actually look as badly as the pictures had portrayed her. "What do you want?" Hermione repeated.
Pansy's frustration grew with every question, and now tears grew in her eyes. "Let me in."
That was so ridiculous, Hermione had no immediate reaction. "Oh really, Parkinson - "
" - You paid my bail!" Pansy made this into an accusation.
Hermione supposed that was true, as soon after she and Ginny had found out about Pansy's arrest, Ginny had pointed out that Pansy was too stupid and useless to be a Death Eater. "She doesn't deserve the same fate," Ginny had said, more than a little stubborn. "Not for 'aiding.' And I haven't the money on me. I know you do."
Hermione didn't like the Ministry's tactics any more than the Death Eaters did, but she suspected that Pansy Parkinson was guilty of something. Still, she'd given Ginny the money. She was bad at saying no to Ginny.
"I technically paid your bail." Hermione gripped the door, resisting the temptation to shut it in her face. "I believe you're innocent of any real Death Eater activity, but that doesn't mean I trust you." There were tears in Parkinson's eyes, but that was no reason to trust her.
"I - I - " Pansy burst into tears, incapable of bringing across what she wanted to say. All of her 'friends' were either in hiding and didn't want to risk falling to the same fate as Draco and Professor Snape, or they were dead or injured. She had nobody, nobody, and Draco - she hated this, she hated everything and everyone except for him.
Hermione stared, then unlatched the chain that held the door shut. "Come in," she said with a weary sigh, "I'll make some tea."
The tea calmed Pansy down, though she still seemed antsy; Hermione would not have been surprised to know that this was largely because Pansy was now sitting across from a Mudblood, drinking from a Mudblood's teacup, sitting at a Mudblood's chair. After years of mental conditioning to the idea of 'filth,' Pansy had trouble even tolerating being in the same room as one without Draco there.
At the thought of him - oh, Draco! - she gave a great sniff, and took a sip, shuddering.
Pansy offered the first word since her outburst, a sneer on her swollen face. "I suppose you're all cozy here with Weasley."
Hermione gripped her teacup tightly. Always the insinuations. It was enough to make her not want him, but she did. "We're all a little too busy to waste time being cozy, Parkinson."
"Busy with what? Tipping the Aurors off to which good purebloods they can lock away?"
That was enough of that. "Parkinson, why are you here?"
Pansy's gaze directed into her teacup. "Where else can I go? The Aurors are watching my every move, my home is being ransacked - I have nowhere to go, and - "
Hermione was struck. Pansy was wretched, lost, but for some reason loyal to those who used her. Ragged, tired, and trapped, Pansy Parkinson was the underdog, the wretched, the trophy girlfriend enslaved to the Death Eaters' cause.
"You can stay here," she said, feeling rather generous.
Pansy looked up, eyes wide. "... It's small," she said, looking about with disdain at the simple suite (holding only a bedroom, two chairs, and a dining table).
Hermione ignored that. If she wanted Parkinson Manor, she could go back and take it herself; she didn't have time for this! "Did you bring anything with you?" Maybe if she treated Parkinson well, she wouldn't throw another manic fit. Hermione didn't have that much tea left.
Pansy glanced at the doorway, where what looked like a large light pink handbag stuffed to the brim squatted. "Yes," she said. "As much as I could manage."
Hermione sighed, a deep exhausted sigh. There were still Horcruxes to worry about. There was still Ron and Harry to worry about. She didn't have time for this! "Why don't you have a bit of a nap," she suggested, trying to remember that Pansy was an unfortunate and needed her help - no matter how frivolous she was. "You look dreadful."
Pansy glared, sniffing. "If I look dreadful, I suppose I should."
Hermione hadn't meant it like that, but, well, Pansy had said worse. "I'm sorry, but I've other things to do," she said gently.
Pansy shook her head impatiently and stood, marching over to seize her handbag. She hesitated once very near Hermione's chair, and Hermione sat stiffly, uncomfortable, until Pansy passed and the door of the bedroom shut with a slam.
Now semi-frantic, Hermione wrote a vague owl to Harry and sent it off, and started researching even faster than before. If Pansy was there to find out what she was doing, she had to find what she was looking for before Pansy realized what she was looking for.
The only distraction was The Daily Prophet flying in the next morning (Hermione had taken an hour's nap, again, on the books), and the headline it blared.
She opened the door; the action did not wake Pansy, nor did she stir. Pansy had changed into a silky nightgown, lying languorously on her side. Hermione was shocked to find someone who had managed the luxury of not being completely paranoid enough to wake at any sound in the middle of this war. Perhaps she was biased, as she was directly in the middle of it, but...
Hermione knelt on the bed, and jumped at the creak that ensued. With a wince, she touched Pansy's bare shoulder. "Parkinson." No response. She pushed at her shoulder gently. "Parkinson?"
Pansy groaned, and stirred. Hermione backed off as much as she could, hiding the newspaper. Pansy turned to face her, looking no less than terrified in waking, but quickly recovered. She looked less than pleased at her surroundings. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Hermione said, moving away subconsciously in order to make Pansy feel more comfortable. "If you'd like food, Tom makes an excellent breakfast."
Pansy's expression of disgust deepened further, drawing lines of disbelief in her face. "I don't know about that." She sat straight up, remembering the previous day. "Has the newspaper arrived yet?"
"... No." Hermione could allow lying in circumstances like this. Kinder to let Pansy wait until she was more conscious, right? At least she had to have something to eat first. "I really recommend breakfast - "
Pansy stared at her, and grabbed her by the front of the shirt. Startled, Hermione lost her balance, and the paper hit the floor. "You lying Mudblood bitch - " Pansy released her and scrambled for the newspaper, Hermione sitting miserably back and waiting for the reaction.
Pansy knelt on the bed, her hair in complete disarray, her face slack and blank, her nightgown yanked to the left. Last night, in a widely expected act by the Wizengamot, Draco Malfoy was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss Everything was wrong. At 7:15 AM this morning, this sentence was carried out Everything was wrong.
The words burst from her lips. "I'm sorry." Hermione knew that Malfoy had deserved it for what he'd done, what he'd allowed to happen, no matter what the circumstances were; Parkinson was a different story. She was a biased little cow, but she was innocent.
Pansy collapsed into Hermione's chest, her cheek pressed to Hermione's breast; Hermione blushed and froze, not having a clue what to do. She put her arm awkwardly around Pansy, hugging her.
Pansy shook but didn't cry, her hands gripping into Hermione's skirt. This was getting uncomfortable. She raised Pansy's chin, and the force of the former Slytherin surprised her more than her use of it. Pansy kissed her.
It was different than Ron. Ron was always trying to prove something with his kisses, like he was with everything else; Pansy wasn't pretty and she wasn't charming but here, now, she had Hermione as enchanted as if she was under Amorentia. Her hand slid up the silk nightgown, as Pansy pressed her to the bed.
The newspaper and all memories of Draco lay abandoned beside the bed.
It surprised Hermione to find that Pansy didn't leave the next morning, that she slept in the same narrow bed with her for the next few nights. It surprised her that every day, Pansy spouted less of the usual pureblood propaganda.
When Ron and Harry arrived back at the flat a week after she sent the owl informing them Pansy was there, they found the two comfortably entwined in bed.
"No bloody way," Ron whispered hoarsely, staring at the line of Hermione's bare leg uncovered by the sheets.
Hermione lazily blinked at them, then sat up, covering herself with the sheet. "Good, you're here. I have good news, and I have... other news."