It was my fifth year during the reign of Umbridge, and I had been appointed a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.
And my "plan" to woo Granger steadily over time was going horribly.
And it was my own bloody fault, of course.
I'm a stubborn arse, a massively stubborn arse.
I simply could not convince myself to approach her, not since the disappointed look crossed her face when she saw the pin on my robes.
She absolutely loathed Umbridge. How could I blame her? I despised the witch and I was a member of her stupid squad.
But I didn't have a choice. Though Draco was protected from scrutiny simply because of his name, my parents didn't induce the same fear. In order to keep my (really their) reputation clean, I had join something that could reaffirm the assumption that I cared about blood status.
Even though I knew I couldn't bare to see her disappointed look directed towards me, I chose a family that didn't even love me - again.
And then it happened. Umbridge finally found the secret club the Golden Trio had formed as an army against the Ministry - or so she told us. And all of the sudden I was chasing Hermione through a series of hallways, finally cornering her in a washroom.
"No! No, stay away! Don't touch me, Parkinson! Take one more step, I dare you."
It was more her tone than her words that caught me off guard. Her voice was cold and hostile. The tone a victim would take to their attacker - the tone one would take to an intimidating stranger. I shouldn't have been surprised, I had been nothing but that to her. I'd been chasing her like a predator for the last ten minutes for Merlin's sake! But I couldn't stifle the hurt that coursed through me as realization struck me like a Bludger to the head. One that I should have known before. Hermione Granger did not trust me. It should have been obvious, but I was a foolish school girl in love.
So I decided to open my stupid trap.
"You really still hate me, don't you?"
I lost my composure and control as my eyes started to well with unwanted tears. Her face twitched but remained stoic. She watched with blank eyes as a single tear escaped down my cheek. I had tried to turn, but it was too late, she'd seen. I was sure she would know and I seriously contemplated effectiveness of a self-inflicted killing curse in the few seconds it took for her to start yelling so fiercely I almost fell in my haste to turn back to her in shock.
"YOU DON'T GET TO PLAY THE VICTIM!"
I knew Hermione had the deadliest quip of any witch I had ever met, but even she seemed surprised at her outburst. Neither of us dared to break the shocked silence until -
"I'm sorry."
I didn't realize I was speaking. My voice felt and sounded foreign - the words almost sour on my tongue.
"I'm sorry for everything, Hermione."
She was throughly perplexed. Her mouth gaped like a fish, her beautiful, dark eyes wide as galleons.
"I have to do this. I'm so, so sorry. I know my words mean nothing to you."
Before Hermione could reply, Umbridge appeared seemingly out of nowhere with Potter in tow.
I rushed to secure a hold on Hermione's arm without properly restraining her.
Later, horrified at Umbridges' determination to torture Potter for information, I released Hermione as she protested.
I watched, warily, as she led Umbridge Merlin knows where, barely catching a suspicious look thrown back at me.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe Some Day
FantasyPansy Parkinson was not raised in an acceptable manner. Given the choice to live up to her mother's and the wizarding society's Pureblood standards, or be disowned, Pansy always felt as though she were tiptoeing around a sleeping dragon. As she con...