A Slytherin with crushed dreams who longs to be loved and a Gryffindor with a broken heart attempt to find solace in each other, shielding themselves from the damage the war left.
[post-deathly hallows]
[pansmione]
began: march 10, 2018 [ao3.org]
en...
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They continued in a sort of peaceful bliss for a few weeks. Both knew it was unlikely it would stay like that, though. Death is the hungriest predator who always finds his prey. And the witches feared the day that he would sink his sharp, jagged teeth into their skin and rip out the threads of their soul, pulling them towards the gates of purgatory.
For now, though, they sat in the grass beside the Black Lake. Hermione's fingers were scratching a light pattern into Pansy's scalp. The latter was studying for a Potions test, which Hermione was supposed to be helping with. Pansy's books were eventually forgotten, strewn on the grass in favor of meaningless small talk with Hermione.
"Do you think - nevermind." Hermione shook her head, the question was stupid.
"What, 'Mione?"
"Oh, uh, I was going to ask if you thought that your parents might like me but it was stupid," Hermione spoke quickly, her eyes avoiding the Slytherin's.
"You want the truth?" Hermione nodded.
"No, 'Mione, I don't think they would like you. I think they would rather disown me than see me with a girl, much less a Gryffindor, much less a mud-muggleborn." Hermione flinched at this honesty, and once again at the slip of speech from Pansy. "You know what, though? Fuck them. They're traitors to the wizarding world and they were awful fucking parents. They would not like you, Hermione Granger, but I love you."
It was shocking to hear Pansy be so vulnerable. A thought struck Hermione, and it worried her. What if she didn't? The insecurity that Pansy was only being vulnerable because of how intimate the two had become, or worse, she was lying, hit Hermione like a train. It came fast and hard and took her breath away with its bone-crushing grip.
When Hermione had yet to respond to her extremely personal utterance, Pansy worried she had scared the Gryffindor. How ironic. Then, a similar fear appeared in Pansy. None of her other friends had experienced even an ounce of the healing that she believed was happening, had she simply been so emotionless and unempathetic to forget about them, or the war?
In that simple moment, both of them realised that they had never truly healed - and might not ever - at all in the presence of one another. They couldn't even tell their friends about each other in fear of the mockery and possible hatred they would face. It only took a mumble of three words to tear their entire worlds apart, feeding on the threads of happiness they had built them on.
They looked at each other, a familiar fear etched in both sets of brown eyes. Hermione reached for Pansy's hand, only to have her violently pull her appendage away. As the Slytherin packed away her things, Hermione couldn't see the tears that welled in her eyes. While her curly hair blew in the wind that had suddenly picked up, it stuck the tears that she had allowed to fall.
Pansy wanted nothing more than to sleep, her limbs and eyes drooping in a depressed exhaustion. When she saw Draco's fallen form on the velvet green couch in the Common Room, though, she knew she wouldn't get the chance. As she attempted to reach out for him, he pulled back as violently as she had with Hermione. It was only then she saw the various cuts and bruises forming on his alabaster face.
"Draco," she gently extended a finger towards a bleeding wound, "what happened?"
He pulled back again, though, not so harshly this time. A scoff left his lips, and he winced at the pain, "Potter and I...nevermind, it doesn't matter. Why should you care anyway?"
Another jolt of pain hit Pansy. After all of the work they had put in, the tears and the shaking and the breaking, Draco had regressed to the emotionless shell of a human he had become immediately following his father's imprisonment. She bit her lip to keep from yelling at him, screaming that he was better than this. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder and got up to leave.
Before she was completely out of his sight, she whispered only loud enough for the both of them to hear, "You're not alone."
It was truly ironic, how Pansy tried to be there for everyone else however she could to ensure they would never feel like she had. Yet, only Draco had ever extended the same courtesy, it felt like. Then she saw Hermione and, for the first time since the Second Battle at Hogwarts, she felt alive again. Of course, she had to fuck that up too.
She managed to hold in her tears until she reached the dormitory bathrooms. The cascading water of the shower did nothing for her anxiety and she eventually resolved to falling on the floor, her skin red from the heat of the water. In a fit of untethered rage, she scrubbed herself raw, almost as if she was trying to remove any remnants of the Granger girl. Scars that had begun to heal reopened on her pale skin, and blood flowed freely from them. Pansy didn't care, she never did. She was no better than Draco in that aspect, never caring for herself. It almost felt worse when thunder roared through the stone room, lightning pouring in through the murky waters of the lake, and in through the window.
Hermione sobbed into Ginny's frail, freckle covered arms. She was shaking aggressively, and Ginny wondered if she was witnessing a panic attack happen in her best friend. Luna sat opposite of them, watching with sympathetic eyes, the most normal she'd ever looked to the redhead. Neither girl knew the reason behind their friend's seemingly unprompted breakdown, and neither would ask. They heard but didn't see two figures enter the Common Room.
Ron's body was slow under the weight of Harry, whose face, neck, and robes were covered in blood. The brunette's glasses were broken, but in truth, that was the least of his worries. Upon seeing the dynamic duo, Luna rushed to heal Harry, her true self coming to fruition in the promises of strange healing potions. The older Weasley's face fell at the sight of his ex-girlfriend, any lingering animosity dissolved.
As the group around her engaged in the conversation of what happened to Harry, Hermione couldn't bring herself to listen. She heard the words they were saying, and the worry in their voices - which she was almost sure was actually reserved for her - but could only wonder if maybe she had deserved this heartbreak. She'd heard that it was temporary but remained unconvinced by will of the very pain in her chest. At that moment, Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson had never been so far apart, yet so much alike.
