Heartchains

Chapter 13

Pansy Parkinson had a problem. A major problem. Before she could dwell on the problem, however, she needed to comprehend what was happening. She woke up in her bed, still in her Hogwarts uniform, save for her robes, tie, and heels. Those were folded neatly on her bedside desk. As strange as this was, it only got weirder. On closer thought, Pansy could not remember going up to her dorm last night, or whenever it was when she had fallen asleep.
She sat up in bed, intending to get up and check the time, but before she could, Hermione peeked her head from the corner of Pansy's bed.
"I see that you're up." Hermione said, taking a seat on the edge of Pansy's bed, crinkling the plush comforter.
Pansy groaned in response. "What time is it?" She asked, rubbing her eyes.
"4 am." Hermione said, pointing to a box with glowing numbers on it. Hermione saw Pansy's face and quickly added, "That's a muggle clock."
Pansy just blinked in response to the new decoration, her mind preoccupied with the fact that she was awake at 4am.
"Why are you up?" Pansy asked.
"I got up early to finish the homework I didn't get done last night."
Pansy then remembered last night's events: her telling Hermione of her family issues and promptly falling asleep on her shoulder. But that doesn't explain how she ended up here.
"You were out cold." Hermione said, seeming to read Pansy's mind. "I tried to wake you up when people started coming in from dinner but you were fast asleep. So I just, er, carried you to the dorm before people came in to see you so...vulnerable."
Pansy was flooded with admiration for Hermione Granger and slid down the bed to sit next to her. She took her hand in her own, the way Hermione had done to her just that night.
"Thank you." Pansy said softly.
"Anytime." Hermione said back.
They sat in silence for a short while after, just enjoying each other's company.
"Pansy," Hermione asked, breaking the silence. "I meant to ask you this last night but, I never had the chance."
Pansy's brain whirs with all the things Hermione could ask. Is she going to ask about her Mom? Why she was kicked out? Maybe she'll ask if she really was a Deatheater. Before Pansy had more time to worry, Hermione continued.
"What's the charm for you nails?"
Pansy was taken aback.
"What?" She asked, not sure she had understood Hermione's inquisition.
"Well," Hermione said, almost reluctantly. "Your nails are so pristine and eloquently done. And the pictures on then move so flawlessly."
Pansy wasnt supposed to admit it, but she was quite proud of her nails. That, her hair, and her eyes were the only good facets of herself. Looking at her nails, watching the snakes coil and slither along her nails, moving across the fingers, she smiled softly.
"Did you paint them and then charm them? Did you charm the art on?" Hermione was still talking, and Pansy broke her off by squeezing her hand.
"May I answer your question? Or do you want to rant some more?" She asked, coy grin tugging her lips.
Hermione flushed and nodded.
Pansy got up, walking over to her trunk and pulled out her nail art bag. She showed Hermione the polishes she preferred (the quick-dry, anti-chip, 4-week polish from Madam Puffin's Paints) and the list of charms she used for her nail designs (some she learned at the salons, some she made herself, others she learned from her friends).
Hermione listened in earnest, softly oohing at the shimmering, glowing and otherwise mesmerizing nail paints.
"Would you like me to, er, paint your nails?" Pansy asked, looking at Hermione's short, bitten nails.
Hermione smiled widely.
"I'd love that."