FIC: Association - Pansy/Hermione - NC17
*begins the x-posting frenzy*
Title: Association
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~4140
Warnings: dark themes, peripheral character death
Summary: They say that smells trigger the strongest memories. (There's only one thing left to do when your time is up.) (Hermione/Pansy, mention of past Hr/G)
Author's Note: written for cathybites in the 2007 hpvalensmut fest; x-posted there and my LJ. :D
In the end there had been mysterious white-blossomed trees that even Hermione had never known the name of. She could hardly be blamed since she'd only ever caught sideways sight of them as she'd been cursing and killing and defending Harry. The scent though, was one she would never forget-- a curious mix of musk and sap; a sickly sweet tang that put them in a category of things that require a visceral response yet drive the mind to indecision as to whether it is good or bad. In Hermione's mind, however, the blossoms never stood on their own. Their curious scent was one she'd never remember without the smell of death intertwined throughout, whether by exsanguination or immolation; by curse or by wild half-animal. Death was a smell Hermione would never forget, and the five-petaled flowers that hung thickly on the branches above fell petal by petal to dot smoldering or bleeding corpses with fragrant spots of pure white every day in the back of her mind.
Pansy remembered the flowers, too. No one had quite known what side of the line she was on until that day, but before any of it started she'd tied a bunch to the inside of her sleeve because she knew five petaled flowers were traditional protectives. Her mother had always said she was doomed by her childhood penchant for sitting at the knee of her grandmother Parkinson, but when the smoke cleared Pansy was the one half-sitting and half-wedged between Greg's corpse and the bark of a one of the white-petal trees, alive enough to whimper and grope for her wand. The same could not be said for her mother.
***
***
"Parkinson," growled Granger, hands on her hips though they were obscured by the cloak she wore. "This had better be good." Instead of appearing fearsome, she merely made herself look as though her waist was gigantic and pointy in the dark of the basement of the abandoned Honeydukes. Pansy did not have to fake her low, disdainful laugh.
"Oh, it is," said Pansy, holding a thick parchment envelope out from under her own cloak. "Copies of documentation we intercepted on the research from His people on the continent. New potions... spells..." Pansy pressed her lips into a tight line. "It doesn't look good. At least half look like they might do what they're intended to do. There are some notes at the end from Draco on the potions, and some from me on the curses, but we haven't worked out counters yet." She huffed a disbelieving laugh and shrugged. "We certainly aren't about to test the bloody things the way they tested them." On live subjects, for the most part Muggle, if she'd understood their code correctly, and she was very certain she had.
Granger took the envelope with a stern nod that Pansy found amusing in that Granger probably thought it was covering the fear and dread evident on her face. Whatever else could be said for her, she was no wilting damsel.
"You should come in to Headquarters," said Granger as she made the information disappear into her cloak. "You, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, whoever else is with you."
"No deal Granger," Pansy said, jaw set. "We're not taking orders from you or your little friends."
"Look, we'd all be better off--" began Granger, but Pansy cut her off straightaway.
"Safety in numbers among the bastards that had already declared us the enemy at age eleven, is that it? I don't think so," she said with more than a hint of bitterness to her. "We're fine where we are, and we haven't lost anyone yet. Which is more than can be said for you."
Granger's eyes went so narrow as to appear squinty in the half-light. "I didn't declare you any such thing. You on the other hand declared me and everyone like me beneath you because I'm a Mudblood." Granger spat the word as though she'd had practice in saying it, and went on. "And you didn't sound all that different from Voldemort and his friends back then, did you?"
Pansy didn't back down, though she didn't touch the subject of her attitude as a child. Because she'd been exactly that-- a child, parroting her parents' opinions until her own began to make sense. "Your bloodline and your upbringing are a nightmare, but it's not my job to purge you from the population. We didn't start this, we don't want any part of it except to see it end."
"Then working together--" said Hermione, once again unable to finish as Pansy raised her voice.
"We are working together, you dimwit! Should you need further proof check your bloody pocket. Good day."
"Parkinson--" Hermione said more loudly as she held one hand out to stop Pansy from Disapparating. "I-- yes. Thank you," She cocked her head, eyebrows raised as though she was sincere in her concern.
"Worry about your own people, Granger," snarled Pansy, taking a large step back and finally disappearing with a muffled crack.
***
A banging on the door not two weeks later sent Hermione and the half dozen other people in the house running toward it from wherever they had been, wands in hand and trained on the charmed and warded entryway. Harry made to step forward, but Ron tugged him back by the shoulder, only looking less pleased when Hermione took his place. She put one hand on the doorknob, and held her wand hand up, mouthing, 'one, two--' and opened the door on 'three'.
Draco Malfoy was standing on the doorstep, bedraggled yet still holding his nose in the air. Behind and to his right stood Goyle, and if Malfoy was half a head taller than Hermione, Goyle was an entire head again taller than Malfoy. Though one eye appeared to be swollen shut, Goyle was carrying a sulking Pansy in his arms with what appeared to be little effort.
"I'm to understand we were offered assistance," Malfoy said, his voice not quite attaining his customary snooty drawl.
"What happened?" exclaimed Hermione, her eyes mostly on Pansy, who was studiously avoiding returning the look.
"I'd rather tell the tale from safely indoors, Granger," said Malfoy, nose automatically twitching as his eyes took in the crowd around him. "But I'll settle for your hovel, given the offer still stands."
"It-- does." Hermione stood back from the door and the people around her muttered to themselves as they shifted to make room. "Come in."
"Thank you," said Malfoy with a gracious incline of his head and walked in, clearly covering for a fresh limp.
"Put me down, Greg," complained Pansy as he made to walk in the house.
Hermione craned her neck to see around him, but there was no one else in sight. "It's only been the three of you all along?"
"No," said Draco, for once forgetting to sneer at Harry or Ron as he walked past them carefully and sat in the largest armchair nearest the fire. "But it is now."
Hermione could hear Neville quietly sending Colin to see if he could find Tonks and Justin, but for the most part the remaining Order members kept silent as they watched the scene unfold.
"Greg, please, I'm fine," Pansy said, more wheedling than demanding, but Goyle kept walking.
"Sorry. Draco said not to let you fall," he said, halfway through the room. Draco shut his eyes and set his head back against the chair.
"Go ahead and put her down," he said, managing to not sound as though he were giving an order. "We'll be all right here for now."
Nodding in assent, Greg set Pansy carefully on her feet. She immediately walked over to Draco and thwapped him on the head. "I told you I was fi--"
With that, her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out, landing on the thick rug in a careless heap.
Hermione gasped and rushed forward to check for a pulse. Malfoy sighed a sound that resembled more of a groan and muttered, "She was hit with a Fainting Curse we can't seem to counter. Bloody stupid thing to hurl at people you're trying to kill, at any rate. Could someone bring me alcohol? Please?"
***
Sitting cross-legged on an ancient stuffed ottoman pushed up against her own bed, Hermione watched Pansy sleeping in it over the top of the large book in her lap, trying to come up with a way of dispelling the curse that had hit her. Pansy's eyes blinked open and she sucked in a hard breath, peering around the room in confusion.
"Where am I? What happened? Where's Draco?"
Unthinkingly, Hermione reached out and rubbed Pansy's nearest forearm soothingly. "My room, Headquarters. You're alright. He's downstairs with Goyle. And he filled us in."
Pansy swore and hit the mattress with her other hand balled into a fist.
"I think I've almost got this curse figured out," offered Hermione. "I should be able to counter it with just a tweak to--"
"Shut up," said Pansy, scowling. "Just shut up."
"I didn't think you wanted to spend an indefinite amount of time fainting sporadically, is all," replied Hermione with an especially snotty eyeroll.
"He told you about tomorrow, didn't he?"
Hermione's jaw tightened. She nodded once and trained her wand on Pansy. "Hold still. En--"
"No!" cried Pansy, slapping Hermione's wand hand aside.
"What?" Hermione said with a violent shrug. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life passing out unexpectedly?"
"It won't matter, because I'm not going anywhere!" Pansy shouted, sitting forward to make sure Hermione took the full force of her words. Hermione watched quietly as Pansy went on. "I don't want to do any of this! This isn't my job! This wasn't supposed to be my life." Her last sentence shook in time with her lip as she added just under her breath, "I don't want to die."
Hermione dropped the book and climbed up onto the bed with Pansy, sliding her arms around Pansy's waist and ignoring her feeble protests for all of the two seconds that it took until Pansy tightened her grip hard around Hermione's shoulders. "They're all gone," said Pansy unsteadily. "All of them."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry," murmured Hermione into Pansy's hair. Hermione did know; Draco had told them-- Greengrass, Corner, Flint, Crabbe, Nott. All lost in the one completely unexpected attack that had brought Draco, Pansy and Goyle here.
"I'm not a stupid Gryffindor," Pansy said, sounding angry and scared and hurt so many times over. "I'm supposed to save my own skin."
"Hey," warned Hermione without threat, knowing not to take the insult at face value. "We get by most of the time." Her hands rubbed soothing circles along Pansy's lower back and Pansy slumped against her. "But if you don't go, you're letting them win."
It appeared that Pansy had missed Hermione's assertion due to unexpected unconsciousness. Hermione sighed and leaned back against the pillows bringing Pansy with her. A quick glance to the mantel clock told her that they had a little over eight hours before they had to be anywhere, and made a spot decision to shut her eyes and try to rest for once. Hermione couldn't quite believe it either, but with Pansy pressed against her, it seemed as though she might be able to spare ten minutes, especially if all she had left was... eight hours.
Besides, it never failed that someone would come get her if she actually fell asleep. That was the way of things around the house.
***
"Granger--"
Hermione had indeed fallen asleep wrapped up with Pansy. She blinked awake and glanced at the clock, shocked to find she'd slept for three hours straight. Moreover, she was shocked to find that Pansy was curled into her, one leg tossed over her own thigh and was talking her awake. "Oh my god," murmured Hermione muzzily. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
"Granger, counter the curse," Pansy murmured too, her mouth near Hermione's collarbone. "We don't have much time."
Rubbing the heel of one hand against her own eye, Hermione swallowed hard, then reached back to Summon her wand. "Alright." She cast the countercurse she'd devised, and Pansy shivered, though they would have no concrete proof as to whether it was going to work until Pansy stopped passing out. "I'd better g-- oh?"
Pansy's hand had moved stealthily from around Hermione's back along her waist and up her ribs, and the palm of her hand had come to a rest along the underside of Hermione's breast. Her thumb only circled the faint outline of a nipple before the outline became far less faint, and Hermione could feel what had to be Pansy's tongue lapping at her skin.
"P-Parkinson, what?" hissed Hermione, though she didn't push Pansy away. Her mind was locked in a dead heat with her pulse as they both raced along coming to entirely separate conclusions.
"I've seen you looking, Granger," said Pansy, aiming a small bite at Hermione's throat. "Don't argue with me-- we don't have time."
"You're right--" Hermione said, though the long 'i' was stilted by the smallest, involuntary arch of her back. "We don't-- after, though. We... we... could talk..."
In one swift move, Pansy's hand had drawn up Hermione's top, and tugged down the cup of her bra, and Pansy's mouth was moving to close around her exposed flesh. "No time," growled Pansy, taking as much of Hermione's breast into her mouth as she could and pulling back, letting her teeth scrape on the way.
"You should wear better clothes," Pansy said over Hermione's whispered swear, tongue swiping at her nipple between words. "You have better tits than I'd have given you credit for."
"Pansy-- Oh god- stop!" Hermione finally managed to say, her hand scrabbling from Pansy's shoulder to the side of her neck, trying to get her to look up.
"What? Why?" said Pansy. Hermione could see the look on her face-- it was a curious mix of fear and sorrow, one of determination and lust. Hermione had seen it often enough in different combinations on different faces, some of which she'd never seen again. It helped that Pansy was right - Hermione had watched her. And imagined her and touched her a hundred times in her thoughts and if either of them was going to die in five hours give or take, she was bloody well going to take this as it was handed to her.
"Granger?"
"...Shut up, Parkinson," growled Hermione as she closed the distance between them and kissed Pansy hard. Her hand closed around on the waistband of Pansy's trousers and she gave them a tug on general principle before bothering to find the button and zipper and ways of loosening them. When they were open far enough for her to be able to slip her hand in, Hermione's fingers trailed along the surface of Pansy's soft knickers, wishing she had time to stop and admire them rather than quickly find a way to bypass them for skin. Eyes shut, hips undulating lazily, Hermione hooked her finger into the damp crotch of Pansy's flimsy knickers and yanked them aside, immediately pushing two fingers just inside of her.
Pansy squirmed and moaned once, low into Hermione's mouth, the sound speaking volumes for how much she needed and wanted this. She hiked her thigh further up Hermione's hip and pushed into Hermione's hand and kissed as though she might at any moment die and had to have as much as she could take and more in every available second.
Hermione found that this was a fucking brilliant way to kiss.
"More," gasped Pansy, her hand closing around Hermione's forearm and push/pulling it in place.
Hermione never had to be told anything twice. Curving her fingers just a little, she pressed them into Pansy as far as she could, not suppressing a satisfied groan at just how wet Pansy was and how easily her fingers slid against Pansy's flesh. Nipping her approval into Pansy's lower lip, she pulled back and ran the knuckles of three slick fingers up Pansy's slit.
Suddenly Pansy's fingers were knotting through Hermione's hair and tugging-- hard enough to pull her mouth off of Pansy's. Hermione sucked in a hard breath as Pansy mouthed her jaw and gasped more than said, "Mmm. Always knew you were filthy."
"Yeah?" said Hermione, hand moving faster, knuckling over and around Pansy's clit with calculated flicks of her wrist even as Pansy's mouth moved down her throat, the hand in her hair tugging viciously in time with every gasp. "Maybe it's just you."
"God; fuck; Granger," rasped Pansy. "Who do you even practice on?"
Impatient, Hermione pulled her fingers away entirely, set her warm, wet fingers low on Pansy's stomach and shoved her onto her back. She unfastened her own jeans and sat back, straddling Pansy's thigh, though as her hand drifted directly back to Pansy, her head was jerked up again by the hair, forcibly bringing her hips up again as well. To Hermione's dismay, all it did was spark another wave of heat and desire low in the pit of her stomach and directly to her cunt. "None of your damn business," Hermione growled, tilting her head to get at Pansy's throat, nails raking along the edge of Pansy's misshapen knickers.
Pansy arched up off of the bed again, laughing breathily as she said, "Who knew the only time you shut your mouth is when you're fucking?"
"Who knew?" agreed Hermione as she scratched one more welt up along Pansy's hipbone before resuming where she'd left off, fingers working furiously to bring Pansy off, sliding easily over and around her swollen clit. Pansy clutched at Hermione's side and tightened further into her hair, every exhale a soft moan, and Hermione actually smirked as she dragged her teeth down Pansy's exposed throat. "Who knew that you never do?"
"Oh fuck!" Pansy swore, foot coming off of the bed and flailing before finally planting agianst the mattress and giving Pansy better leverage to press her hips into Hermione's hand as she whimpered and swore and shook under Hermione's hand and mouth, Hermione's teeth sinking into the soft juncture of neck and shoulder as Pansy's babbling trailed off into a high-pitched moan of, "Right there! God, don't stop-- fucking hellneverstop godthankyou."
Pansy's voice was absolutely broken, her face flushed, breathing stilted and jerky as she reached to catch Hermione in a kiss again. Hermione could feel Pansy absolutely melting into the mattress on the heels of her orgasm and kissed her hard, still stroking gently just to feel Pansy squirm and whine.
"Hermione?!" called a gratingly familiar voice from the door.
Without thinking, Hermione set her hand on Pansy's hip again and lifted her head to call out, "Ten minutes, Harry. Do not disturb."
"Ten?" breathed Pansy.
"Ten," said Hermione, examining Pansy's expression and coming up empty.
Pansy groped blindly and bonelessly for the pocket of her trousers until she came up with her wand, Hermione stroking the exposed bare skin of her stomach the whole time.
"You," murmured Pansy, carefully leaning up and muttering a spell Hermione couldn't quite make out until her jeans and knickers were gone and a draft across her arse made her shiver.
"Ginny now and then. When she's not otherwise occupied. She doesn't know that Harry watched once from under his Invisibility Cloak and it was the most arousing thing I'd ever done," said Hermione all in one breath.
It was Pansy's turn to smirk, though her eyes were still red-rimmed and it was missing much of its usual fire. "Kinky," she murmured, and in retrospect, Pansy's transfiguration spell was all too clear as something that was clearly phallic and silicone stroked up Hermione's hip.
Hermione shut her eyes and just let Pansy touch her. "Harry doesn't know that I know he brought Ron with him."
Pansy laughed, trailing off into chuckles that might have been sobs as she kissed Hermione again and whispered, "Shhh. We're probably down to nine."
***
***
Of course it was Hermione that had heard the whimpering there at the end; there weren't many others left that might have done, but it was Hermione that had been looking the hardest. The specks of white petals fell on and around her as she turned over one body and then another, in constant fear that Harry wouldn't survive the curses he'd taken After; of the possibility of finding dead Ron, dead Neville... dead Pansy. The pale, twisted faces on the bodies she found registered as names she breathed with revulsion (Goyle Senior, Carrow, Lestrange) until she found Tonks. She allowed herself one sobbing breath as she wiped Tonks' face clear of mud and flowers, levitating her body aside where Hermione could find her again once the entire area had been scrutinized. And then Hermione kept looking, because she had to.
A hulking figure laid still against a tree in the shadows and Hermione bit her lip. It couldn't be anyone but Goyle, and she knew well who he'd been with. Before she knew it, Hermione had broken into a run, stopping short of Goyle's outstretched legs and covering her mouth, not quite able to look away from his ruined chest. She hadn't known him, hadn't cared, hadn't even come close to liking him until the night before and yet he'd been there just the same as she. He'd been working against Voldemort all along and now he was dead. And she still didn't--
Hermione caught a faint movement, and as she crept closer. There was something that resembled a squeaky, whispered swear and a small, pale hand questing weakly in the area near Goyle's hip. There was a slight body wedged behind Goyle, and any bits of it protruding were mostly obscured by foliage, save the one hand that Hermione rushed to follow and grab hold of.
"Parkinson?"
Pansy's voice was weak, but there, and that was enough. "Granger," she rasped, sounding breathless and tired. "I can't move him. The great lump must have passed out on me and I can't-- I can't reach my wand and I can't seem to Summon it."
"Parkinson, he's--" Hermione couldn't bear to say more. "Hold on." Carefully using her wand to shift Goyle's body aside, Pansy was still sitting against the tree, robes torn and bloodied. "Are you hurt? Can you walk?"
"See to Greg first, idiot-- can't you see he's... he's..." Pansy shut her eyes, squeezing them tight though it didn't stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Hermione slid up next to Pansy, wrapped her arms around the other girl's shoulders and held on.
***
***
Hermione still works like mad even though Harry doesn't need her and Ron to help defeat Dark Lords anymore. She's working to defeat things like social injustice, poverty among war orphans and continued bloodline intolerance. She works to make Hogwarts try harder to integrate the houses, works at making sure the friends she has left are well taken care of. She works at making Pansy feel safe again. She had a tiny five-pointed star tattooed on her left shoulderblade --dark green with a silver lining-- and thinks maybe one day she'll feel safer too.
Hermione wishes she could outlaw the white-blossom trees that seem to be everywhere in February because they make her cold. They make her want to run home to Pansy to make sure she's still there.
Pansy kept the white-petaled flowers that were hanging on the inside of her sleeve that day and pressed them into a book older than she - one she inherited from her grandmother Parkinson who was little more than a hedgewitch before the mighty Parkinson family claimed her for their own. They turned brown and went tissue-thin but they infused the pages with a sort of earthy organic scent that makes her want to both cry and laugh, makes her want to find Hermione and pull her away from whatever work she's doing and remind herself that she's alive. Because that's exactly how thinking about Hermione makes her feel and she won't ever say it aloud.
In the end, the motivation isn't important as long as they wind up together.
***
***
They always do.
Title: Association
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~4140
Warnings: dark themes, peripheral character death
Summary: They say that smells trigger the strongest memories. (There's only one thing left to do when your time is up.) (Hermione/Pansy, mention of past Hr/G)
Author's Note: written for cathybites in the 2007 hpvalensmut fest; x-posted there and my LJ. :D
In the end there had been mysterious white-blossomed trees that even Hermione had never known the name of. She could hardly be blamed since she'd only ever caught sideways sight of them as she'd been cursing and killing and defending Harry. The scent though, was one she would never forget-- a curious mix of musk and sap; a sickly sweet tang that put them in a category of things that require a visceral response yet drive the mind to indecision as to whether it is good or bad. In Hermione's mind, however, the blossoms never stood on their own. Their curious scent was one she'd never remember without the smell of death intertwined throughout, whether by exsanguination or immolation; by curse or by wild half-animal. Death was a smell Hermione would never forget, and the five-petaled flowers that hung thickly on the branches above fell petal by petal to dot smoldering or bleeding corpses with fragrant spots of pure white every day in the back of her mind.
Pansy remembered the flowers, too. No one had quite known what side of the line she was on until that day, but before any of it started she'd tied a bunch to the inside of her sleeve because she knew five petaled flowers were traditional protectives. Her mother had always said she was doomed by her childhood penchant for sitting at the knee of her grandmother Parkinson, but when the smoke cleared Pansy was the one half-sitting and half-wedged between Greg's corpse and the bark of a one of the white-petal trees, alive enough to whimper and grope for her wand. The same could not be said for her mother.
***
***
"Parkinson," growled Granger, hands on her hips though they were obscured by the cloak she wore. "This had better be good." Instead of appearing fearsome, she merely made herself look as though her waist was gigantic and pointy in the dark of the basement of the abandoned Honeydukes. Pansy did not have to fake her low, disdainful laugh.
"Oh, it is," said Pansy, holding a thick parchment envelope out from under her own cloak. "Copies of documentation we intercepted on the research from His people on the continent. New potions... spells..." Pansy pressed her lips into a tight line. "It doesn't look good. At least half look like they might do what they're intended to do. There are some notes at the end from Draco on the potions, and some from me on the curses, but we haven't worked out counters yet." She huffed a disbelieving laugh and shrugged. "We certainly aren't about to test the bloody things the way they tested them." On live subjects, for the most part Muggle, if she'd understood their code correctly, and she was very certain she had.
Granger took the envelope with a stern nod that Pansy found amusing in that Granger probably thought it was covering the fear and dread evident on her face. Whatever else could be said for her, she was no wilting damsel.
"You should come in to Headquarters," said Granger as she made the information disappear into her cloak. "You, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, whoever else is with you."
"No deal Granger," Pansy said, jaw set. "We're not taking orders from you or your little friends."
"Look, we'd all be better off--" began Granger, but Pansy cut her off straightaway.
"Safety in numbers among the bastards that had already declared us the enemy at age eleven, is that it? I don't think so," she said with more than a hint of bitterness to her. "We're fine where we are, and we haven't lost anyone yet. Which is more than can be said for you."
Granger's eyes went so narrow as to appear squinty in the half-light. "I didn't declare you any such thing. You on the other hand declared me and everyone like me beneath you because I'm a Mudblood." Granger spat the word as though she'd had practice in saying it, and went on. "And you didn't sound all that different from Voldemort and his friends back then, did you?"
Pansy didn't back down, though she didn't touch the subject of her attitude as a child. Because she'd been exactly that-- a child, parroting her parents' opinions until her own began to make sense. "Your bloodline and your upbringing are a nightmare, but it's not my job to purge you from the population. We didn't start this, we don't want any part of it except to see it end."
"Then working together--" said Hermione, once again unable to finish as Pansy raised her voice.
"We are working together, you dimwit! Should you need further proof check your bloody pocket. Good day."
"Parkinson--" Hermione said more loudly as she held one hand out to stop Pansy from Disapparating. "I-- yes. Thank you," She cocked her head, eyebrows raised as though she was sincere in her concern.
"Worry about your own people, Granger," snarled Pansy, taking a large step back and finally disappearing with a muffled crack.
***
A banging on the door not two weeks later sent Hermione and the half dozen other people in the house running toward it from wherever they had been, wands in hand and trained on the charmed and warded entryway. Harry made to step forward, but Ron tugged him back by the shoulder, only looking less pleased when Hermione took his place. She put one hand on the doorknob, and held her wand hand up, mouthing, 'one, two--' and opened the door on 'three'.
Draco Malfoy was standing on the doorstep, bedraggled yet still holding his nose in the air. Behind and to his right stood Goyle, and if Malfoy was half a head taller than Hermione, Goyle was an entire head again taller than Malfoy. Though one eye appeared to be swollen shut, Goyle was carrying a sulking Pansy in his arms with what appeared to be little effort.
"I'm to understand we were offered assistance," Malfoy said, his voice not quite attaining his customary snooty drawl.
"What happened?" exclaimed Hermione, her eyes mostly on Pansy, who was studiously avoiding returning the look.
"I'd rather tell the tale from safely indoors, Granger," said Malfoy, nose automatically twitching as his eyes took in the crowd around him. "But I'll settle for your hovel, given the offer still stands."
"It-- does." Hermione stood back from the door and the people around her muttered to themselves as they shifted to make room. "Come in."
"Thank you," said Malfoy with a gracious incline of his head and walked in, clearly covering for a fresh limp.
"Put me down, Greg," complained Pansy as he made to walk in the house.
Hermione craned her neck to see around him, but there was no one else in sight. "It's only been the three of you all along?"
"No," said Draco, for once forgetting to sneer at Harry or Ron as he walked past them carefully and sat in the largest armchair nearest the fire. "But it is now."
Hermione could hear Neville quietly sending Colin to see if he could find Tonks and Justin, but for the most part the remaining Order members kept silent as they watched the scene unfold.
"Greg, please, I'm fine," Pansy said, more wheedling than demanding, but Goyle kept walking.
"Sorry. Draco said not to let you fall," he said, halfway through the room. Draco shut his eyes and set his head back against the chair.
"Go ahead and put her down," he said, managing to not sound as though he were giving an order. "We'll be all right here for now."
Nodding in assent, Greg set Pansy carefully on her feet. She immediately walked over to Draco and thwapped him on the head. "I told you I was fi--"
With that, her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out, landing on the thick rug in a careless heap.
Hermione gasped and rushed forward to check for a pulse. Malfoy sighed a sound that resembled more of a groan and muttered, "She was hit with a Fainting Curse we can't seem to counter. Bloody stupid thing to hurl at people you're trying to kill, at any rate. Could someone bring me alcohol? Please?"
***
Sitting cross-legged on an ancient stuffed ottoman pushed up against her own bed, Hermione watched Pansy sleeping in it over the top of the large book in her lap, trying to come up with a way of dispelling the curse that had hit her. Pansy's eyes blinked open and she sucked in a hard breath, peering around the room in confusion.
"Where am I? What happened? Where's Draco?"
Unthinkingly, Hermione reached out and rubbed Pansy's nearest forearm soothingly. "My room, Headquarters. You're alright. He's downstairs with Goyle. And he filled us in."
Pansy swore and hit the mattress with her other hand balled into a fist.
"I think I've almost got this curse figured out," offered Hermione. "I should be able to counter it with just a tweak to--"
"Shut up," said Pansy, scowling. "Just shut up."
"I didn't think you wanted to spend an indefinite amount of time fainting sporadically, is all," replied Hermione with an especially snotty eyeroll.
"He told you about tomorrow, didn't he?"
Hermione's jaw tightened. She nodded once and trained her wand on Pansy. "Hold still. En--"
"No!" cried Pansy, slapping Hermione's wand hand aside.
"What?" Hermione said with a violent shrug. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life passing out unexpectedly?"
"It won't matter, because I'm not going anywhere!" Pansy shouted, sitting forward to make sure Hermione took the full force of her words. Hermione watched quietly as Pansy went on. "I don't want to do any of this! This isn't my job! This wasn't supposed to be my life." Her last sentence shook in time with her lip as she added just under her breath, "I don't want to die."
Hermione dropped the book and climbed up onto the bed with Pansy, sliding her arms around Pansy's waist and ignoring her feeble protests for all of the two seconds that it took until Pansy tightened her grip hard around Hermione's shoulders. "They're all gone," said Pansy unsteadily. "All of them."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry," murmured Hermione into Pansy's hair. Hermione did know; Draco had told them-- Greengrass, Corner, Flint, Crabbe, Nott. All lost in the one completely unexpected attack that had brought Draco, Pansy and Goyle here.
"I'm not a stupid Gryffindor," Pansy said, sounding angry and scared and hurt so many times over. "I'm supposed to save my own skin."
"Hey," warned Hermione without threat, knowing not to take the insult at face value. "We get by most of the time." Her hands rubbed soothing circles along Pansy's lower back and Pansy slumped against her. "But if you don't go, you're letting them win."
It appeared that Pansy had missed Hermione's assertion due to unexpected unconsciousness. Hermione sighed and leaned back against the pillows bringing Pansy with her. A quick glance to the mantel clock told her that they had a little over eight hours before they had to be anywhere, and made a spot decision to shut her eyes and try to rest for once. Hermione couldn't quite believe it either, but with Pansy pressed against her, it seemed as though she might be able to spare ten minutes, especially if all she had left was... eight hours.
Besides, it never failed that someone would come get her if she actually fell asleep. That was the way of things around the house.
***
"Granger--"
Hermione had indeed fallen asleep wrapped up with Pansy. She blinked awake and glanced at the clock, shocked to find she'd slept for three hours straight. Moreover, she was shocked to find that Pansy was curled into her, one leg tossed over her own thigh and was talking her awake. "Oh my god," murmured Hermione muzzily. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
"Granger, counter the curse," Pansy murmured too, her mouth near Hermione's collarbone. "We don't have much time."
Rubbing the heel of one hand against her own eye, Hermione swallowed hard, then reached back to Summon her wand. "Alright." She cast the countercurse she'd devised, and Pansy shivered, though they would have no concrete proof as to whether it was going to work until Pansy stopped passing out. "I'd better g-- oh?"
Pansy's hand had moved stealthily from around Hermione's back along her waist and up her ribs, and the palm of her hand had come to a rest along the underside of Hermione's breast. Her thumb only circled the faint outline of a nipple before the outline became far less faint, and Hermione could feel what had to be Pansy's tongue lapping at her skin.
"P-Parkinson, what?" hissed Hermione, though she didn't push Pansy away. Her mind was locked in a dead heat with her pulse as they both raced along coming to entirely separate conclusions.
"I've seen you looking, Granger," said Pansy, aiming a small bite at Hermione's throat. "Don't argue with me-- we don't have time."
"You're right--" Hermione said, though the long 'i' was stilted by the smallest, involuntary arch of her back. "We don't-- after, though. We... we... could talk..."
In one swift move, Pansy's hand had drawn up Hermione's top, and tugged down the cup of her bra, and Pansy's mouth was moving to close around her exposed flesh. "No time," growled Pansy, taking as much of Hermione's breast into her mouth as she could and pulling back, letting her teeth scrape on the way.
"You should wear better clothes," Pansy said over Hermione's whispered swear, tongue swiping at her nipple between words. "You have better tits than I'd have given you credit for."
"Pansy-- Oh god- stop!" Hermione finally managed to say, her hand scrabbling from Pansy's shoulder to the side of her neck, trying to get her to look up.
"What? Why?" said Pansy. Hermione could see the look on her face-- it was a curious mix of fear and sorrow, one of determination and lust. Hermione had seen it often enough in different combinations on different faces, some of which she'd never seen again. It helped that Pansy was right - Hermione had watched her. And imagined her and touched her a hundred times in her thoughts and if either of them was going to die in five hours give or take, she was bloody well going to take this as it was handed to her.
"Granger?"
"...Shut up, Parkinson," growled Hermione as she closed the distance between them and kissed Pansy hard. Her hand closed around on the waistband of Pansy's trousers and she gave them a tug on general principle before bothering to find the button and zipper and ways of loosening them. When they were open far enough for her to be able to slip her hand in, Hermione's fingers trailed along the surface of Pansy's soft knickers, wishing she had time to stop and admire them rather than quickly find a way to bypass them for skin. Eyes shut, hips undulating lazily, Hermione hooked her finger into the damp crotch of Pansy's flimsy knickers and yanked them aside, immediately pushing two fingers just inside of her.
Pansy squirmed and moaned once, low into Hermione's mouth, the sound speaking volumes for how much she needed and wanted this. She hiked her thigh further up Hermione's hip and pushed into Hermione's hand and kissed as though she might at any moment die and had to have as much as she could take and more in every available second.
Hermione found that this was a fucking brilliant way to kiss.
"More," gasped Pansy, her hand closing around Hermione's forearm and push/pulling it in place.
Hermione never had to be told anything twice. Curving her fingers just a little, she pressed them into Pansy as far as she could, not suppressing a satisfied groan at just how wet Pansy was and how easily her fingers slid against Pansy's flesh. Nipping her approval into Pansy's lower lip, she pulled back and ran the knuckles of three slick fingers up Pansy's slit.
Suddenly Pansy's fingers were knotting through Hermione's hair and tugging-- hard enough to pull her mouth off of Pansy's. Hermione sucked in a hard breath as Pansy mouthed her jaw and gasped more than said, "Mmm. Always knew you were filthy."
"Yeah?" said Hermione, hand moving faster, knuckling over and around Pansy's clit with calculated flicks of her wrist even as Pansy's mouth moved down her throat, the hand in her hair tugging viciously in time with every gasp. "Maybe it's just you."
"God; fuck; Granger," rasped Pansy. "Who do you even practice on?"
Impatient, Hermione pulled her fingers away entirely, set her warm, wet fingers low on Pansy's stomach and shoved her onto her back. She unfastened her own jeans and sat back, straddling Pansy's thigh, though as her hand drifted directly back to Pansy, her head was jerked up again by the hair, forcibly bringing her hips up again as well. To Hermione's dismay, all it did was spark another wave of heat and desire low in the pit of her stomach and directly to her cunt. "None of your damn business," Hermione growled, tilting her head to get at Pansy's throat, nails raking along the edge of Pansy's misshapen knickers.
Pansy arched up off of the bed again, laughing breathily as she said, "Who knew the only time you shut your mouth is when you're fucking?"
"Who knew?" agreed Hermione as she scratched one more welt up along Pansy's hipbone before resuming where she'd left off, fingers working furiously to bring Pansy off, sliding easily over and around her swollen clit. Pansy clutched at Hermione's side and tightened further into her hair, every exhale a soft moan, and Hermione actually smirked as she dragged her teeth down Pansy's exposed throat. "Who knew that you never do?"
"Oh fuck!" Pansy swore, foot coming off of the bed and flailing before finally planting agianst the mattress and giving Pansy better leverage to press her hips into Hermione's hand as she whimpered and swore and shook under Hermione's hand and mouth, Hermione's teeth sinking into the soft juncture of neck and shoulder as Pansy's babbling trailed off into a high-pitched moan of, "Right there! God, don't stop-- fucking hellneverstop godthankyou."
Pansy's voice was absolutely broken, her face flushed, breathing stilted and jerky as she reached to catch Hermione in a kiss again. Hermione could feel Pansy absolutely melting into the mattress on the heels of her orgasm and kissed her hard, still stroking gently just to feel Pansy squirm and whine.
"Hermione?!" called a gratingly familiar voice from the door.
Without thinking, Hermione set her hand on Pansy's hip again and lifted her head to call out, "Ten minutes, Harry. Do not disturb."
"Ten?" breathed Pansy.
"Ten," said Hermione, examining Pansy's expression and coming up empty.
Pansy groped blindly and bonelessly for the pocket of her trousers until she came up with her wand, Hermione stroking the exposed bare skin of her stomach the whole time.
"You," murmured Pansy, carefully leaning up and muttering a spell Hermione couldn't quite make out until her jeans and knickers were gone and a draft across her arse made her shiver.
"Ginny now and then. When she's not otherwise occupied. She doesn't know that Harry watched once from under his Invisibility Cloak and it was the most arousing thing I'd ever done," said Hermione all in one breath.
It was Pansy's turn to smirk, though her eyes were still red-rimmed and it was missing much of its usual fire. "Kinky," she murmured, and in retrospect, Pansy's transfiguration spell was all too clear as something that was clearly phallic and silicone stroked up Hermione's hip.
Hermione shut her eyes and just let Pansy touch her. "Harry doesn't know that I know he brought Ron with him."
Pansy laughed, trailing off into chuckles that might have been sobs as she kissed Hermione again and whispered, "Shhh. We're probably down to nine."
***
***
Of course it was Hermione that had heard the whimpering there at the end; there weren't many others left that might have done, but it was Hermione that had been looking the hardest. The specks of white petals fell on and around her as she turned over one body and then another, in constant fear that Harry wouldn't survive the curses he'd taken After; of the possibility of finding dead Ron, dead Neville... dead Pansy. The pale, twisted faces on the bodies she found registered as names she breathed with revulsion (Goyle Senior, Carrow, Lestrange) until she found Tonks. She allowed herself one sobbing breath as she wiped Tonks' face clear of mud and flowers, levitating her body aside where Hermione could find her again once the entire area had been scrutinized. And then Hermione kept looking, because she had to.
A hulking figure laid still against a tree in the shadows and Hermione bit her lip. It couldn't be anyone but Goyle, and she knew well who he'd been with. Before she knew it, Hermione had broken into a run, stopping short of Goyle's outstretched legs and covering her mouth, not quite able to look away from his ruined chest. She hadn't known him, hadn't cared, hadn't even come close to liking him until the night before and yet he'd been there just the same as she. He'd been working against Voldemort all along and now he was dead. And she still didn't--
Hermione caught a faint movement, and as she crept closer. There was something that resembled a squeaky, whispered swear and a small, pale hand questing weakly in the area near Goyle's hip. There was a slight body wedged behind Goyle, and any bits of it protruding were mostly obscured by foliage, save the one hand that Hermione rushed to follow and grab hold of.
"Parkinson?"
Pansy's voice was weak, but there, and that was enough. "Granger," she rasped, sounding breathless and tired. "I can't move him. The great lump must have passed out on me and I can't-- I can't reach my wand and I can't seem to Summon it."
"Parkinson, he's--" Hermione couldn't bear to say more. "Hold on." Carefully using her wand to shift Goyle's body aside, Pansy was still sitting against the tree, robes torn and bloodied. "Are you hurt? Can you walk?"
"See to Greg first, idiot-- can't you see he's... he's..." Pansy shut her eyes, squeezing them tight though it didn't stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Hermione slid up next to Pansy, wrapped her arms around the other girl's shoulders and held on.
***
***
Hermione still works like mad even though Harry doesn't need her and Ron to help defeat Dark Lords anymore. She's working to defeat things like social injustice, poverty among war orphans and continued bloodline intolerance. She works to make Hogwarts try harder to integrate the houses, works at making sure the friends she has left are well taken care of. She works at making Pansy feel safe again. She had a tiny five-pointed star tattooed on her left shoulderblade --dark green with a silver lining-- and thinks maybe one day she'll feel safer too.
Hermione wishes she could outlaw the white-blossom trees that seem to be everywhere in February because they make her cold. They make her want to run home to Pansy to make sure she's still there.
Pansy kept the white-petaled flowers that were hanging on the inside of her sleeve that day and pressed them into a book older than she - one she inherited from her grandmother Parkinson who was little more than a hedgewitch before the mighty Parkinson family claimed her for their own. They turned brown and went tissue-thin but they infused the pages with a sort of earthy organic scent that makes her want to both cry and laugh, makes her want to find Hermione and pull her away from whatever work she's doing and remind herself that she's alive. Because that's exactly how thinking about Hermione makes her feel and she won't ever say it aloud.
In the end, the motivation isn't important as long as they wind up together.
***
***
They always do.