She glances back to Hermione, who's currently peering into the girl's bathroom. After a moment, she lets the door close and turns back to face Pansy. "All clear in there," she says, then turns to continue down the hallway.
"Granger. Wait," Pansy says, quickly pushing off from the wall.
Hermione stops and turns to face Pansy, raising an eyebrow. "Change your mind about talking?" she asks dryly.
"Yes."
Hermione's eyes widen a fraction and she shakes her head. "I was just…I was joking, you don't have to—"
"I don't. But I want to." Pansy glances around, then nods to a bench outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Can we…?"
Hermione follows her gaze, then frowns. "We're meant to be patrolling," she says, sounding a bit conflicted.
"And we will. We will, I just…please?" she asks, unable to come up with a good reason. But Hermione must take pity on her, because she sighs, nods, and starts toward the bench. Pansy follows her and sits down cautiously, leaving a healthy amount of space between them. Once they're both settled, Hermione turns to face Pansy expectantly.
With a deep breath, Pansy starts talking.
"The Howler…how much of it did you hear?"
Hermione gives her a look, as if she's trying to figure out if she's joking or not. When Pansy just gazes back at her, Hermione arches an eyebrow. "All of it. Hower's aren't exactly known for their subtlety."
Pansy fiddles nervously with her skirt. "So you heard the bit about remembering the the cost of insubordination?"
Hermione nods, and Pansy sighs. "He was referring to something. A very specific moment in my life."
She stares at the wall across the way for a while as she tries to work up the nerve to speak. Hermione is quiet for a while, but when Pansy remains silent, she murmurs, "you really don't have to tell me."
"No, I…I do. I…" Pansy sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "The Parkinson family isn't the easiest family to be born into," she starts quietly, sorting through her thoughts. "You have to play by certain rules, and if you don't…" Pansy breaks off as she thinks about lifeless green eyes. She shakes her head a bit and continues, "there are consequences. And when I was a child, I found out what they were. My…" Pansy hesitates briefly, biting her lower lip. She had been on the cusp of saying my aunt, but she had quickly remembered that she couldn't tell Hermione the complete truth. After all, Hermione knows that her bard had a rebellious aunt who had died when she was eight. It certainly wouldn't take a genius to connect the dots. Even Weasley could probably manage it.
Instead, she decides to skirt as close to the truth as she can. "My grandmother," she says. "My maternal grandmother. She was different than the rest of the family. Used to tell me that Muggle-borns were just the same as us. No one can help the blood they're born with, just as you and I can't help that we were born with green eyes," Pansy says, quietly quoting her aunt's long-ago words, whispered to her in the safety of a warm, wonderful library. "She was the farthest thing from a Parkinson as you could get. I think that's why I loved her so much…she was the one bright, warm spot in what was otherwise a horribly bleak childhood. But her tolerance and acceptance infuriated my father to no end. He said she was making a laughingstock of the Parkinson name. Said he wouldn't stand for it. He and my mother started to call her a blood-traitor. They eventually banned me from seeing her altogether. I was devastated," Pansy murmurs. She takes a deep breath as she steels herself for what's to come. "She had given me this doll," Pansy finally says with a small smile. "A beautiful doll that she found in Italy. It had green eyes and black hair. She thought it was the loveliest thing she had ever seen…said it reminded her of me," she adds quietly. "I'd carry that doll with me everywhere. It was my only friend for quite a while, so of course I had it that night when my…my grandmother came over to our house. She hadn't been there in ages, but my father had invited her and I was so happy," Pansy whispers, feeling the tell-tale burning of tears in her eyes as the scene unravels in her mind. "I dropped the doll from where I was playing underneath the table and ran to her and she hugged me, and…Merlin, her hugs. No one hugged quite like she did." Pansy leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. "But my father told me that the grown-ups needed to discuss things. He told me to say goodbye to her." Pansy opens her eyes and looks toward Hermione. "Say goodbye. Not goodnight. Perhaps it should have struck me as odd at the time, but I was so young."
Hermione is watching her with troubled eyes and Pansy finds herself curiously unable to speak under her gaze. She turns away and tilts her head toward the ceiling. "Anyway. I said goodnight to her and my mum took me upstairs. Tucked me in and closed the door. And it was only after a few minutes that I realized I had left my doll downstairs. I couldn't sleep without her. I'd have nightmares," she adds with a rueful smile, thinking of the nightmare to come. "So I snuck out of bed and crept back downstairs. The back door to the dining room was open, so I knew that I could pop in without anyone noticing, get my doll, and run back to bed. And no one did notice me at first," Pansy says. "I crawled along the floor and snuck underneath the table where I had left her. And I was going to leave immediately, but I heard what my father was saying, and I…I stayed to listen," Pansy whispers. "He was saying awful things to her. Calling her all sorts of horrid, cruel names. Calling her a blood-traitor, telling her that she had brought shame to the Parkinson name. He said he had been lenient for far too long, and that she'd finally have to face the consequences of her actions. But she was never one to take things lying down, so she was yelling back at him. Goading him, taunting him. She was spirited. She couldn't have known at the time what was going to happen." Pansy closes her eyes and exhales slowly, the continues. "The first Crucio came out of nowhere. I almost thought I had misheard…he was so calm. Eerily calm," Pansy says as the ghost of her father's voice echoes in her ears. "But when she started screaming, I knew I hadn't misheard. I'd never heard screams like that before. Bloodcurdling. Like she was being ripped apart at the seams. It went on for so long. I couldn't breath the whole time. But once she was quiet, I thought that was the end. That it had just been a threat to keep her in line. But then he said I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you've left me no choice. The next Crucio was even worse. As was the one after that, and the one after that, and so on and so forth. And each time it ended, I would desperately hope that that was it. That he'd given up. But he never did," Pansy whispers, her voice breaking.
"My god," Hermione murmurs beside her, quiet and horrified.
"She tried to get away from him each time. She'd crawl a bit further along the floor, just trying to escape the pain. And eventually, she got far enough that she could see me, frozen and terrified under the table. She wasn't in her right mind by that point," Pansy says quietly. "She couldn't speak. But when she saw me, she stared at me so desperately. I don't think she even knew who I was anymore, but it didn't matter. She was begging me to do something, and I just…I couldn't," Pansy hissed, clenching her fists. "All I could do was watch." Pansy blinks away hot tears and says, "that's why I can cast a non-verbal Protego. So if I ever find myself in that situation again, I'll be prepared."
"Pansy…" Hermione murmurs, but Pansy shakes her head. She's not done, and if she stops to let Hermione ask questions or offer consolations, she'll never finish.
"My mum eventually noticed me. Gathered me up from under the table and took me back to my room. But not before I got a good look at my…my grandmother's eyes," Pansy says. "She was barely alive. I'm not even sure if she was alive, to tell you the truth. I think I just wanted to believe that she was. But she was so broken. Her body was broken, her mind was broken, and it was just…" Pansy quickly brushes away a stray tear. "She was the strongest, kindest, best woman I'd ever known. So to see her like that…" She trails off and takes a shaky breath, forcing the familiar image out of her mind. "After it was all done, my father came to talk to me. I was so sure he was going to kill me that night. I remember waiting for him to turn his wand on me. But he didn't…he just sat on the side of my bed and told me that what I witnessed was what happened when people went against pure-blood supremacy. That if I believed in the same things she did, I'd face the same consequences."
"God," Hermione says, exhaling sharply and shaking her head. Horror is etched on her face, her mouth is twisted in revulsion, and Pansy notices that her fingers are gripping the bench so tightly that the tips have turned white. After a few long, silent moments, Hermione finally glances at Pansy. "So the threat in the Howler…" she says, a question in her voice.
"Was a reminder. A reminder of that night. Of what he can do to me, if I stray from his teachings. If I dishonor the Parkinson name. I'd assume he heard that I was the reason Baddock and Montague were expelled. That I went against two pure-blood students in order to save you. A decision I don't regret, by the way," Pansy says firmly, trying to assuage the guilt lurking in Hermione's eyes. "Not in the slightest. But that decision in and of itself screams blood-traitor. And when he heard I broke things off with Draco…I suppose that was one transgression too many."
Hermione shakes her head. "I don't understand," she says quietly. "If this is the burden you've lived with all of these years…if you know what your father is capable of, then…"
"Why am I trying to change?" Pansy asks, reading the unspoken question in Hermione's eyes. Hermione nods hesitantly, and Pansy sighs.
She wants to say you, but she controls the impulse. Instead, she says, "I've spent years blocking out the details of that night. Justifying the things my father did in some mad attempt to make it make sense. And it worked. I convinced myself that he was right, that she deserved it, that she was dangerous…but recently, certain…certain things have happened that have forced me to revisit that night," she says. Her eyes dart quickly toward Hermione, the unknowing sole source of Pansy's crisis of faith, then flick back toward the floor. "And it's been difficult, to say the least. But it's something I should have done ages ago. And in the process, I've come to realize a few things."
Hermione lifts an eyebrow but stays quiet, waiting for Pansy to continue. "I've realized that as much as I desperately wanted to believe my father was acting in our best interests, he wasn't. He never was. He's been a monster all of my life, but I just wouldn't let myself see it. Mostly because I was terrified of facing the same fate as my grandmother, but also because I didn't want to believe that he was capable of such a horrifying, inhumane act without good reason. But he didn't have good reason, which was the cause for my other realization, and perhaps the one that you'll be more interested in—I've realized that she was right all along. My grandmother, that is. Muggle-born, pure-blood…it…it doesn't really matter, does it?" Pansy asks, raising her eyes to meet Hermione's surprised gaze. "She was right—no one can help the blood they're born with. But somehow, my father managed to convince me that shewas the mad one. That her words were poison and that if I believed them, that if I showed even the slightest hint toward being sympathetic toward Muggle-borns, then he'd…well. You know." She twists a bit so she's fully facing Hermione and says, "none of this is an excuse. I realize it shouldn't have taken me this long to get to here, to reach these conclusions. But I suppose…I don't know. I thought that after seven years, you deserved the full story. To know what motivated me. To know where I come from and why I believed the things I did. So…that's it. That's my story." She slumps sideways against the wall behind her, leaning her weight against her shoulder as she waits for whatever judgment Hermione might have in store for her.
Hermione takes a deep breath and exhales slowly as she pushes a hand through her hair, clearly trying to digest everything she's just heard. After a few long moments, she turns to Pansy. "Thank you," she says, her gaze clear and earnest. "That couldn't have been easy for you. I can't even begin to imagine the torment you must go through each day, being forced to live with that memory. The burden you've carried for so long," she adds, her voice laced with pain. "I'm sorry. No child should have to experience such a horrifying trauma, but to see it at the hands of someone you're supposed to trust," Hermione says, shaking her head in disbelief. "He can't get away with that, mind you. And we won't let him," she adds, her tone hard. But before Pansy can raise the same objections she did to Daphne, Hermione continues. "But really, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for you, I'm sorry for your grandmother, I…I wish I knew the right things to say to make it easier, but I just…" she trails off and shakes her head again. "I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry. But that doesn't do much, does it?"
Pansy smiles a bit and shrugs. "You don't need to say anything. Honestly, it's enough that you were willing to listen," she adds. "I'd imagine it's not the easiest story to sit through."
"No, it's certainly not," Hermione murmurs. "And I'm not even sure how I feel right now. Part of me is so horrified on your behalf that I can barely stomach it, but a bigger part of me is angry enough to march past your massive moat or whatever ridiculous thing you have guarding your mansion and arrest your father myself, rules be damned," she says, her eyes flashing dangerously in the dark.
Pansy smirks a bit at the fire in Hermione's tone, finding herself much more appreciative of it when it's not directed at her. "Well, much as I understand your reaction, I'd still recommend against it." She absently crosses her legs and says, "I can assure you, I didn't tell you the whole tragic tale in the hopes that you'd descend on him like some righteous angel of vengeance. I only told you because…" she shrugs. "I thought you deserved to know. After everything that's happened between us, I mean."
Hermione nods. "I won't lie, it's certainly helpful for me to understand where you're coming from. And to be honest with you, I've been having a hard time wondering whether or not I should trust this change of yours. And I've been having an even harder time trying to figure out if I should forgive you or not. I even asked a friend of mine," she says, bouncing her leg a bit as a slight flush comes to her cheeks.
"Oh? And what did this friend say?" Pansy asks, all the while feeling fairly confident that she's the friend in question.
"She told me to never forgive out of obligation. To only forgive if it's in my best interests."
Pansy hums thoughtfully, pretending to ponder her own words. "Good advice. Almost sounds like something a Slytherin would say," she adds, keeping her tone purposefully light.
Hermione's brow furrows just a bit, as if she's never really considered that possibility. Then she nods slowly and says, "I suppose it does. But no matter who said it, it is good advice. And I've been mulling it over for a while now."
"And?" Pansy asks. She's trying to sound casual, but her heart is in her throat as she waits to hear Hermione's verdict.
"And…" Hermione sighs and studies the empty space on the bench between their bodies, lost in thought. Slowly, she says, "I think that there is grace, dignity, and humility in changing your mind. In admitting that you were wrong." She lifts her eyes to Pansy's and says, "I think you're genuine in your remorse. I think you're trying to be a better person. And I think that kind of effort should never be ignored, or scorned, or belittled. It's never easy to change, and knowing what I know now," she shakes her head a bit. "Frankly, I'm stunned it's even happening."
"Does that mean…I mean, do you…do you," Pansy huffs at her inability to form a complete sentence, then says, "what does that mean?"
A small frown creases Hermione's brow as she considers the question. "It means I don't feel like punishing you anymore. It means I have sympathy for how you were raised, and an enormous amount of respect for the courage you're showing in pushing back. It means I trust that you won't revert to who you were before and be a horrid person to me tomorrow. It means…" she trails off and once again, studies the bench. After a moment, she lifts her eyes back to Pansy's and says, "it means…yes. I think I can very tentatively consider…forgiving you."
Pansy exhales sharply as she feels a weight lift from her shoulders. Because ever since she made the decision to try to show Hermione her real self, she's been struggling with the knowledge that there was a good chance Hermione would never forgive her. That she'd try her hardest and at the end of the day, she'd still find cold contempt lurking in Hermione's eyes. But there's no contempt in her gaze right now. Instead, there's something cautious there, something genuine, yet still tentative, and Pansy wants to fling out her arms at the sight and laugh hysterically. Relief is coursing powerfully through her system and even though she's been wrong about this countless times before, there's some part of her that feels like this might be the start of something genuinely good in her life.
Desperately, she fights off the grin that's threatening to take over her face, instead managing to school her features into something more appropriately grateful. "I…I appreciate that, Granger. Thank you," she says.
Hermione nods, then says, "for what it's worth, I really hope my faith isn't misplaced."
"It's not," Pansy says quickly. "I meant what I said in Potions last week. I am sorry. For everything. For being a twat to you for so many years, for being so cruel when you did nothing to deserve it, for calling you…well, you know," she says awkwardly, refusing to let the slur pass her lips. "I'm sorry for all of it."
"All of it, really?" Hermione asks with an arched brow. "I seem to remember you saying you should be knighted for calling me out on never admitting when I'm wrong."
Pansy fidgets uncomfortably for a second, but then Hermione says, "honestly, you were right about that bit. I'm notoriously bad at admitting to being wrong. Even Harry and Ron would probably agree with you." She shifts a bit on the bench, then says, "and for what it's worth, you're not the only one who's said some particularly nasty things over the years. I'm certainly not…entirelyblameless," she says carefully.
Pansy scoffs. "You are. Because your particularly nasty lines were always comebacks to the skirmishes I initiated."
"Well…yes, I suppose that's true." Hermione studies the floor for a moment, then lifts her head. "Why me?" she asks, tilting her head curiously. "If you don't mind me asking. Of all the Muggle-borns at this school…why me?"
"It's going to sound ridiculous," Pansy says, running a nervous hand through her hair.
"Oh? Try me."
Pansy swallows heavily, then nods. "I saw you judging me," she murmurs. "First year. We'd never even had a conversation and you were looking at me like I was two seconds away from changing into Death Eater robes at the breakfast table. It irritated me. That you'd judge me simply because I was wearing green. And I suppose I've always been a bit petty, so I decided if you were going to look at me like that, I'd give you a reason to."
"I…I don't remember that," Hermione says with a small frown.
"No, why would you? It was ages ago. And anyway, I'm sure you were right to look at me like that. I was next to Draco at the time and Merlin knows, he had probably done something stupid and worthy of judgment. But like I said, I'm a petty, spiteful fool and I didn't like you looking at me like that, so I suppose I just wanted to knock you down a peg or two. Especially once I found out how bloody brilliant you were," Pansy says with a small smile and a wry shake of her head.
Hermione stares at Pansy with a slightly open mouth, seemingly amazed that she's just willingly called her brilliant. Pansy takes advantage of her bewildered silence to continue trying to explain herself. "I think…I think it started as something of a game," she murmurs, bouncing her leg a bit as she casts her mind back to those early days between her and Hermione. "You were so righteous and such a know-it-all that all I wanted to do was make you lose your temper. And after a bit, it became a personal challenge of sorts…to gain the upper hand on the great Hermione Granger. I always wanted to see how far I could push you. But somehow, no matter what horrible things I said to you, it always seemed to backfire. You were always there with some clever retort or withering putdown and I always ended up looking like a fool. At first, I just used it as inspiration to get better. To refine my insults and sharpen my words. But the longer it went on and the older we got…" she trails off and stares at the wall across the way, letting her mind run through some of their worst encounters over the years. She winces a bit and says, "It stopped being a game. I became bitter and angry at looking like a fool in comparison, which of course led me to lash out at you more often in some mad attempt to one-up you. A stupid, vicious cycle. And obviously, I always had my father's voice in my ear, telling me that you were nothing compared to me and that if I let you have the upper hand, I'd be disgracing the family name." Pansy shakes her head and sighs. "It was all a bit of a perfect storm of my own making, but I was too stubborn and too stupid to see it."
She stops talking and looks at Hermione, who's staring at the wall, lost in thought. After a few long moments, she looks at Pansy with guarded eyes and says, "and now?"
"And now, I know what an idiotic, pathetic twat I've been," Pansy says, desperately hoping Hermione can hear the honesty in her voice.
"But why?" Hermione asks. "I can understand how reliving that night with your grandmother would make you reassess certain views, but there's nothing wrong with just disliking someone. And if you disliked me for my personality, rather than the fact I'm Muggle-born, then that's one thing. But…" she shakes her head and says, "maybe I'm wrong, but it seems like you don't even dislike me anymore."
"I don't," Pansy says, her voice low and dangerously full of emotion.
"Why?"
It's a question Pansy's been waiting for. It's also one she's been trying to figure out an easy explanation for, and she's fairly confident she's landed on something a little less shocking than I'm kind of falling in love with you, also, I'm your bard. She drops her gaze to her lap and says, "I suppose that revisiting that night…it made me rethink quite a few things in my life. One of them being my relationship with Draco," she says slowly. "At the end of the day, I knew I couldn't let him be a part of my future. That I needed to do the right thing for both of us and end it. But it wasn't an easy decision, and I was having a difficult time. Maybe you remember? It was the day you had completely convinced yourself that I was going to attack you in the middle of Potions," she says, rolling her eyes fondly at both the memory and Hermione's petulant glower. "Anyway, that was the first day that I was too tired to fight with you. It was strange—I felt mostly numb, yet at the same time, I was full of so many new thoughts that I didn't know what to do with. And I think that mix of emotions led me to talk to you like you were a person for the first time, mostly because I was too tired and confused to do anything else. And once class was over, I realized it was kind of…nice," Pansy says awkwardly. "Not having to waste so much energy being cruel, or trying to put you down. It was nice," she repeats. "So I did the same thing the next day, and the day after that, and…I don't know. It was just easier. You were easy to talk to." She glances toward Hermione and adds, "turns out, you're not so bad when some obnoxious arse isn't trying to provoke you at every turn." She hopes ending her explanation on a lighter note will be seen as a good thing and not something that irritates Hermione.
It seems to work in her favor though, because Hermione gives a small snort. "Thank you, I think," she says. Then, she leans her head back against the stone wall behind her and studies the ceiling. After a few moments, she says, "I appreciate you telling me all of that."
"Like I said, you deserved to know the whole story. Every last bit of why I've been such an unrelentingly awful person for seven years. And you also deserve to know how sorry I am. For all of it. And I know that I'll never be able to make it all up to you but I can try. And I will try."
"I believe you."
The words are delivered so simply that Pansy's certain she misheard them. She shakes her head a bit and says, "what?"
"I believe you," Hermione repeats, turning her head to look at Pansy.
"You…do?" Pansy asks, a bit stupidly.
Hermione nods. "I do. It's like I said—I believe your remorse is genuine, and your explanation for everything makes a certain amount of sense. And even if I haven't completely forgiven you for years of bullying, I can at least somewhat understand what motivated it."
Before Pansy can say anything, Hermione says, "plus, you've already realized that blood-status doesn't matter, and you've started calling me a Muggle-born. All things considered, you're making a remarkably good start. Though, actually…" she frowns, and Pansy waits nervously, wondering if she's abruptly changed her mind about forgiveness for some reason. "You've saved me twice now, you know," Hermione finally says, seemingly from out of nowhere.
"I…what?" Pansy asks, confused.
"Two times. First from Baddock and Montague, and then tonight with Peeves."
"Oh…I…yes. I suppose I have," Pansy says, still completely lost. When Hermione doesn't say anything, Pansy quirks an eyebrow. "So?"
"So I think that anyone who would risk their neck for me not just once but twice should probably call me by my name," Hermione says, tilting her head and studying Pansy with a challenge glimmering in her eyes. "My actual name."
"Oh," Pansy says, feeling completely caught off guard. "I…I suppose I can. But only if that's what you want," she adds quickly.
Hermione gazes at her with amusement. "I genuinely prefer to be called by my given name, yes. I think most people do."
"Right. Right, I can…I'll just…make that change, then, shall I?" Pansy asks. She's aware she's babbling like a complete idiot, and it makes her want to bash her head into the wall behind her. It's only when she sees Hermione's mouth lift up into a tiny smile that she feels a bit better about her sudden inability to speak English.
"Excellent," Hermione says. Then the smile fades and she clasps her hands together. "Now that we've sorted through all of that…" her gaze turns serious and Pansy feels a bit apprehensive at whatever is coming next. "Your father," Hermione says.
Oh. That.
Pansy shifts uncomfortably. "What about him?"
"What about him?" Hermione echoes with incredulity. "Pansy, you can't let him get away with…with murder," she says, lowering her voice as if someone might overhear them in this completely empty hallway. "He's an abhorrent tyrant who thinks he's above the law, but he's not. And he needs to be brought to justice. So…do you have a plan?"
"No," Pansy says, readying herself for the same conversation she's already had with Daphne.
"Why not?" Hermione asks swiftly, her back straightening.
"Because there's nothing I can do about him," Pansy says weakly. "I've already made up my mind to pretend to be the person he wants me to be. And it's actually the best option," she says. "He thinks I'm still under his thumb, and I…I get to live. As does everyone that I care about."
Hermione crosses her arms and studies Pansy, unamused. "That's not the best option, and you know it. The best option is you getting to live the life you want, all while a murderer goes to Azkaban to pay the price for his crimes."
"It's not that simple. I've already gone through this, andI've discussed it with Daphne. No matter what I think of, no matter how many ideas I have, I can always think of a way he'd sneak around them. He's got friends in the Ministry. He knows how to get around standard interrogation techniques. He's slippery," she says with a sigh. "Which is why pretending to adhere to his rules is actually the best option."
"There must be something you haven't thought of yet," Hermione says pragmatically. She taps her foot restlessly, then looks up quickly with interest glimmering in her eyes. "Have you gone to the library yet?"
Pansy stares at her, bewildered. "I…have not gone to the library, no. What, do you think I should check out some books and chuck them at his head whenever the mood strikes?"
"No," Hermione says with a scoff, then she pauses thoughtfully. "Well…yes, why not? Could be cathartic. But no, that's not what I meant. The library has records of thousands of Wizengamot trials, dating back to the 1700s. Any crime you can think of, there's a record of it in the library. And there are plenty of books about Aurors and their interrogation techniques, the most creative ways to trip up dark wizards…everything you could ask for, really. And just last week, I saw a biography written from a dark wizard from Azkaban. It details all his crimes in horrifyingly graphic detail and how he got away with them. I thought it was just disgusting and unnecessarily braggadocios pulp at the time, but it's actually perfect!"
"Is it?" Pansy asks, watching with baffled amusement as Hermione's entire face starts to glow as she discusses the wonders of the library in enraptured bliss.
Merlin, the way she feels about this ridiculous witch…
"Yes!" Hermione says brightly. "We can put ourselves in your father's shoes! Figure out how he'd avoid detection and then ensnare him using his own logic! And I'm suresome of those Wizengamot cases will be relevant. It's just a matter of sorting through them all and finding the right ones."
"So, let me just see if I'm following you," Pansy asks, leaning her head against the wall once more and uncrossing her legs. "You think the best way to defeat a dark wizard…a cold-blooded killer…is to go to the library."
Hermione glares at Pansy's light, amused tone. "Yes," she says, lifting her chin. "As a matter of fact, I do."
"Fine, fine," Pansy says, lifting her hands in a truce motion. "I'll humor you. Let's say I go to the library and find all those books. It would take me absolute ages to get through them. And even if I managed to get through it all before I turn eighty, I'd still have no guarantee that I'd find anything worthwhile. It'd be a massive, bloody nightmare. And frankly, it'd be more trouble than it's worth when I could just go on pretending that everything is fine."
"It would be a nightmare, yes," Hermione agrees easily. "But it'd be worth it."
"Would it?" Pansy asks.
"Yes. Actually, a very wise witch recently told me something that might be relevant here. She said that she was, and I quote, a firm believer that worthwhile things rarely come easily," Hermione says, adopting a lofty, posh tone as she parrots Pansy's words from Hogsmeade back at her.
"She sounds like a miserable old bat," Pansy says flatly.
"Well, she's that, too," Hermione says with both a surprised laugh and a broad, genuine smile that lights up Pansy's entire body like someone's lit off a Dr. Filibuster's Firework inside of her. It's the first time Hermione's ever actually smiled at her. Not just a slight twitch of the lips or a vaguely amused smirk, but a genuine, beautiful, honest-to-Merlin smile.
And her laugh! Merlin, her laugh. Pansy decides then and there that her future is settled. She doesn't need to take her N.E.W.T.s, she doesn't need to find a job at the Ministry. She'll simply spend the rest of her life chasing that perfect laugh and searching for that flawless smile. She'll never want for anything, so long as she can be the recipient of both those magical things for all of her days.
"But even if she's a miserable old bat, she was right," Hermione says, pulling Pansy back into the moment at hand. "Because yes…you could go on pretending. It would be easier. But you'd be miserable. And honestly, wouldn't you rather be happy? Wouldn't you rather live authentically?" she asks. As soon as the word escapes her lips, a small shadow passes over her face. Before Pansy can think too much about it, Hermione hurries on. "Plus, you'd be getting justice for your grandmother. And I for one thinks she deserves that. Don't you?"
The mention of her "grandmother" brings Pansy back down to earth, and she runs a hand through her hair. "Of course I do. And she does deserve it. More than anything. But I can't fight against him. People will get hurt. He's too strong and too clever and too crafty. I just…I can't do it on my own." she finally says, sounding weak and defeated.
"Well, obviously not," Hermione says with a scoff. "I've seen you in the library…twice? Maybe three times, if I'm being generous. You don't know it anywhere near well enough. But luckily for you, I do."
Pansy turns to Hermione, stung. "I've been in the library loads of times! Just because you've always got your nose stuck in a—" she stops suddenly as Hermione's words register, and she looks at her, completely flummoxed. "Hold on. Are you saying that you'd…you'd help me?" she asks, her eyes widening at her own words.
"I happen to love a challenge," Hermione says easily. "And I happen to be a firm believer in justice, even in the face of danger. And I also happen to be a Gryffindor. We tend to be a fairly determined lot, especially when it comes to righting wrongs."
"Annoyingly so, yes. But…I mean, you've barely decided to forgive me and now you want to help me take down my father?"
"That about sums it up, yes," Hermione says.
"Why?" Pansy asks, tapping a restless finger against her thigh as she tries to puzzle out Hermione's motives.
"Because I don't believe in letting evil cowards prosper," Hermione says simply. "And what's more, I believe that evil only holds power so long as it continues to go unchecked. If you never stand up to your father, if you spend the rest of your life living in fear of what he might do to you, then he's won. So don't. Don't let him have that power," she says, her tone even and calm. "Don't let him win."
"I…"
"And I think you're making headway at being a genuinely decent person. I wouldn't want your father to get in the way of that. We need all the genuinely decent witches we can get nowadays, so if I can help keep you on that track, then I will."
"I…suppose you're right," Pansy says uncertainly.
"I know I'm right," Hermione replies easily. "After all, I think it was you who called me the brightest witch of our age?"
Pansy snorts, remembering when she had tossed the phrase at Hermione weeks and weeks ago, intending it as an insult. Now, it just makes her smile. "And so humble, too." But just as she's about to agree to Hermione's help, she remembers her promise from this morning. She can't risk Hermione actually getting involved in this debacle, because she can't risk Hermione getting hurt. So she sighs and shakes her head. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I can't accept your help."
"Why?" Hermione asks, tilting her head curiously.
"Because," she takes a deep breath, then says, "because I wouldn't want you to get hurt. I already failed to save one person, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me," she says, honesty seeping through her voice. "And believe me, my father would have no qualms about hurting you if it got back to him that you were involved in any of this."
"I can take care of myself," Hermione says proudly, and Pansy rolls her eyes somewhat fondly at Hermione's set jaw and tilted chin.
"I'm sure you can, but it's not just you. He'd find out where your parents live. Your grandparents. Your aunts, uncles, second cousins, twice removed…it wouldn't matter to him. He wouldn't stop until he's destroyed everything and everyone you care about."
"Then we'd better make sure he never finds out."
Hermione says this as if it's the simplest thing in the world, and Pansy can't help but quietly scoff. "And how do you propose we do that? Obliviate every student in the library?"
"No, nothing that drastic," Hermione says. "We just need to use the library when no one else is around."
Pansy quirks an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we break into the library?" she asks, biting her tongue so she doesn't add how very Robin Hood of you.
"No. Well, not exactly. I…I may have special access to the library?" Hermione says, looking a bit self-conscious as she fiddles with her tie.
"You what?" Pansy asks, raising her eyebrows. As far as she knows, Madam Pince has never allowed a student to stay even a minute past closing. She can't imagine what Hermione had to offer to be allowed special access.
Perhaps Pince also demanded a cat be named after her.
"How on earth did you manage that?" Pansy asks.
"I didn't. Professor McGonagall did. She talked Madam Pince into letting me use the library after hours three nights a week. She thought it would be a far wiser academic decision for me than trying to use a Time-Turner again."
Pansy's about to absently nod to Hermione's statement when it actually registers. "I'm…I'm sorry, did you…did you just say you had a Time-Turner?" she asks, her mouth agape.
"Oh. I…yes?" Hermione says. "I mean, I haven't had it for a while now," she adds quickly. "That was when I was thirteen, and—"
"Thirteen?" Pansy echoes, her voice high and strangled.
"Well, almost fourteen, actually. I'm older than most students in our year, so it wasn't that…" She cuts her rambling off with a small shake of her head and winces slightly. "I'm actually not supposed to tell anyone about the whole Time-Turner thing, so could you maybe…forget I mentioned that?"
Pansy nods, a bit dazed. "Thirteen years old and with a bloody Time-Turner," she says.
"Pansy…"
"And McGonagall approved it! Merlin, how are any of these people qualified to be professors?"
"Pansy."
Hermione says her name a bit desperately and somehow, Pansy manages to snap out of her stupor. She nods once more and says, "right, sorry. I…mum's the word." She mimes zipping her lips, for extra effect.
She can always interrogate Hermione about the Time-Turner later.
"You were saying something about the library…?" Pansy asks, steering the conversation back into slightly safer waters.
Hermione nods, seeming grateful that Pansy's agreed to drop the topic for now. "McGonagall thought it would be a good idea to give me extra access, what with my course load and all. I think there's past precedent for it, but even so, Madam Pince was furious. And she's still furious. Mind you, it's been months now, but she still glares at me every time she sees me and whispers about how I've been manhandling her books like an ill-bred miscreant. But there's nothing she can do about it. She'd never dare go against McGonagall."
"And you'd risk your privileged status for me? What if McGonagall finds out and revokes it?"
Hermione frowns a bit. "It's a possibility," she says slowly. "She said she was counting on me not to abuse her trust. But I think even she'd agree that drastic times call for drastic measures. And anyway, we wouldn't actually be doing anything wrong," she adds quickly, as if she's trying to convince herself. "We'd simply be using it for its intended purposes—research and learning."
"Even so, I don't think you should risk it. I wouldn't want you to lose your access because of me."
Hermione huffs next to her impatiently. "Do you honestly think I'd rather keep my special access to the library for three nights a week instead of helping you bring a murderer to justice?"
"I…"
Pansy trails off and frowns, thinking carefully about the question. After a few long moments of contemplation, Hermione exhales sharply in frustration.
"Pansy!"
"I'm thinking about it, give me a minute!" Pansy says, finally breaking into a grin. "It's a tough question! I know how much you love that library. How am I supposed to know where your priorities lie?"
Hermione rolls her eyes, but there's a smile lurking around the corners of her mouth. "Well, just this once, I'm putting justice over a few extra hours spent with books." Her smile fades and she looks seriously at Pansy. "It's the right thing to do. We won't let him get away with this. We'll figure it out."
Pansy shifts uncomfortably. "I know it is, I just…I don't want anything to happen to you," she murmurs. She's aware that she sounds a bit too invested, but at the moment, she doesn't particularly care. She just wants to protect Hermione.
"I'll be fine. We just need to do our job and do it well. That way, he'll never hurt anyone again."
Pansy shakes her head weakly. "I…I'm sorry. I do appreciate it, but I really can't let you do this."
Hermione chuckles. "You're not letting me do anything. I want to. And what's more, I'm going to, whether you decide to help me or not."
Pansy looks at her swiftly. "What? You're…no, you can't—"
"I can, and I will. I told you, I like a challenge. So I'm going to right this wrong, with or without you."
"No, I…I didn't tell you the story so you'd march headfirst into battle! I just wanted you to know where I was coming from, I…" Pansy breaks off and looks at Hermione wildly, imagining all the horrid things her father could put her through. The thoughts make her frigid with terror, and she looks at Hermione with desperate eyes. "Please. Please don't do this. It's too dangerous. You could get hurt."
Hermione scoffs. "It's not like we're going to duel him, we're just going to be doing some research. What's safer than research?"
"Doing nothing!" Pansy says, feeling deeply flustered. "Doing nothing won't put you on my father's radar! Doing nothing won't get you killed!"
Hermione's eyes soften just a bit. "Pansy…I'd rather risk getting hurt in the process of doing what's right than stay safe and do nothing at all. I'm afraid that's just part of who I am, and that won't ever change."
"And as noble as that deeply misguided stance is, I'm afraid I can't—"
"If you weren't afraid of me getting hurt, would you want my help?" Hermione asks, cutting Pansy off calmly.
"I…yes, of course I would, but that's—"
"Pansy. I swear to you, I won't get hurt. I won't tell anyone what we're doing. Not even Harry and Ron. And what's more, no one will even know we're doing it. It will never get back to your father. And if we don't have a solution by the end of the year, then we'll stop, alright? I promise we will. But until then…I think we should try. For your grandmother's sake. For your sake. Can we just…can we just try and see what happens?"
Pansy stares at the ground and thinks about the empty green eyes that have haunted her nightmares for years. But before she can shake herself out of the familiar memory and tell Hermione no for the last time, she lets her thoughts wander to her father's eyes. They had been cold and devoid of anything resembling humanity. He had looked like a monster that night, because he was a monster. He was a monster who had tried his hardest to wring out whatever compassion and kindness was left in Pansy's soul. He was a monster who had controlled her past, her present, and her future with an iron fist. He was a monster who she had spent her entire life being completely terrified of.
But he was also a man. And men are not infallible.
More than anything, Pansy wants to stop being afraid of this man. She wants to be able to think about her future and actually feel optimism instead of dread. She wants to spend all of her days on this earth doing what she wantsto do, not what she's expected to do. And she wants to be able to think about her aunt again with something other than horror, guilt, and remorse.
And all things considered, Hermione's right—as long as they're careful, there's no way this will get back to her father. Because as connected as he is, he won't have spies in the Hogwarts library after hours. She's just being massively paranoid in order to protect Hermione, but when she thinks about it logically, she feels a bit foolish. They just need to avoid detection, and they'll be alright.
And as long as Hermione stays safe, she's willing to try.
Slowly, she turns to Hermione who's been watching her process in silence. "Are all Gryffindors this stubborn?" she asks, with the faintest trace of a smile.
"Only when we know we're right."
Pansy sighs the heaviest sigh she's ever managed. "Fine. We can try. But we will quit if nothing happens before the end of the year. Or if anyone finds out what we're up to," she adds, giving Hermione a stern look.
Hermione nods. "I promise," she says solemnly. Then, a small smile sneaks onto her face. "But you're making the right decision. And we'll figure it out, I swear. No one else is going to get hurt. Besides, men like your father think their success is guaranteed. He'd have no reason to think you'd fight back after a Howler. He's probably gazing over his moat right now and patting himself on the back for scaring you into submission again. His hubris will be his downfall, just you wait."
Before Pansy can reply, Hermione claps her hands together. "Anyway, now that we're finally on the same page…shall we meet in the library tomorrow around 8:30?"
Pansy still thinks it's hopeless. She thinks it's a fool's errand and that they're both going to be wasting what little free time they have. But somehow, the thought of spending even more one-on-one time with Hermione cuts through the pessimism and fear and makes her feel light with a wonderful sort of anticipation. And not only that, she'd be spending more time with a Hermione who's finally starting to talk to her in a way that feels delightfully familiar. Her tone has been wry, warm, and teasing tonight, and it all feels almost Robin-esque, if she's being honest. So even though she thinks it's a massive waste of time, she finds herself nodding in agreement.
Hermione smiles at Pansy once more, a brilliant, genuine grin, and more fireworks whizz about and explode inside of her, making her briefly forget about the trepidation and fear lingering in her heart.
It's only at that moment that Pansy realizes something with startling clarity—she'd agree to anything in the world, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous, if it meant spending time with Hermione Granger.
The thought sinks into her stomach, heavy and true, and Pansy knows immediately that she's fallen hard. Not for Robin, but for Hermione. She also knows how dangerous that could be, especially if word got round to the wrong people. It should make her immediately walk back her promise to try and trap her father. It should make her want to hold Hermione at arm's length again and to forget about those mesmerizing hazel eyes once and for all.
But right now, seated beside Hermione in a dimly lit hallway, basking in the intoxicating glow of her flawless smile, she finds it hard to remember why she should do any of those things.
"Grang—Hermione," Pansy says, catching herself at the last minute and letting herself savor the name and all the tentative trust that comes with it. "Thank you. Really. I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I certainly don't deserve your help. But I'm grateful for both. More than you know."
Hermione's eyes grow wide at the sound of her name falling from Pansy's lips, and she nods, seeming a bit shocked. "I…of course And thank you. For telling me everything. And for…for trying." She leans forward just a bit, and Pansy feels her heart rate increase at her proximity. "We will get him," she says, her voice low and fierce. "We'll get justice for your grandmother. I promise you. He won't hurt anyone again."
Pansy nods. "I hope so," she murmurs.
It's just one hope in a long string of them that Pansy seems to be collecting. But as they sit there, holding each other's gaze in the middle of the dim hallway, she lets exactly two things happen: she lets herself believe in a world where she's free from her father's tyranny, and she lets herself believe in a world where Hermione will be something to her. Whether it's a dear friend or something more, she doesn't care. All she knows is she wants this mad, brilliant, infuriatingly beautiful, devastatingly clever, lionhearted witch in her life forever.
And if she also happens to let the dream of Paris sneak back into her heart, well…
So be it.
Notes:They're finally on the same page :) Also, the letters will be back next chapter.
Thanks for reading!