Dealbreaker

Part Two.

“It’s been a month. You should tell her instead of making cow eyes at her every time she comes over.”

Millicent leaned against the kitchen counter, gesticulating with a spatula as eggs sizzled in the pan beside her. In her mind, three days was more than long enough to recover from a broken heart.

“She was left at the altar,” Pansy repeated, nibbling toast. They had had this conversation before.

“Yeah, she didn’t get married, so she’s single. What’s the problem?”

“Lots of women are single, it doesn’t mean they would be interested in me. Except as an ‘experiment’, before they run back to their shithead boyfriend…”

“Hey, don’t become a hermit because of what happened with Judy. Hermione likes you.”

“Not like that, she doesn’t.”

“She does, I swear! I’ve got gaydar. Me and Daphne quizzed her, she doesn’t like any of our heartthrobs.”

“That’s because all your heartthrobs have—”

“Don’t start with the crab eyes. They are human and they have human eyes. Except that sexy centaur who models for Barbour, but he still has human eyes.”

Pansy rolled her large, non-crabby eyes. The smell of burning albumen was making her feel sick.

“You don’t get it. I can’t tell her I fancy her, she’ll think I’m disgusting. Just because you don’t mind, it doesn’t mean other people are okay with it.”

“Oh, yeah, Hermione Granger’s so judgemental and homophobic. Racist too, I heard.”

“Shut up.”

“Look, she forgave you for being a bitch at school, she’ll forgive you for fancying her. She might be flattered.”

Millicent switched off the hob and started eating her breakfast straight out of the pan. She claimed it meant less washing up. Daphne claimed the little black bits her fork scraped off the bottom of the pan were slowly poisoning them all.

“That’s another thing, she thinks I’m nice now. I’m essentially lying to her; she doesn’t realise I’m still a bad person. I called Edgar Cummings a twat the other day.”

Millicent shrugged. “So? He is a twat.”

“Yes, but nice witches don’t go around calling people twats to their faces! Hermione likes good, kind, Muggle-loving people. Like Weasleys,” Pansy said glumly.

“Not enough to marry one though, eh? And you love Muggles. You can’t get enough of those Space Cats.”

“Atomic Kitten,” Pansy corrected. “I’m more into Avril, now.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you snogging her posters.” Millicent ducked as toast crusts flew towards her head. “I’m telling you, you should go for it.”

“No, I should go to work before Madam MacGobshite bites my head off. And wash that pan, it stinks.”

Pansy whirled out the door and apparated to the top of the cobbled high street.

She did say she liked my nose, she thought, following the route to work and totting up every time Hermione had been nice to her, considering whether any of it could possibly be construed as anything but a friendly, heterosexual way to behave.

*

She had two fittings that morning: the first was a bride whose dress had needed to be let out another inch every time she came in and appeared not to have yet twigged that she was pregnant, and the second was a bubbly blonde witch Pansy didn’t recognise with a thick Devonshire accent.

She helped her into a draped, backless dress that showed off her buxom figure but needed a few good sticking charms to keep her decent across the bust. Instead of sleeves it had two wide straps encrusted with silver jewels.

The women on the sofa oohed and aahed. The eldest, a spidery brunette witch who must have been her mother, wiped away tears.

“Oh, it’s lush! Ron will just burst when he sees you!”

Pansy dropped the veil. Madam MacGinty frowned at her severely. The beetle on her hat clicked its pincers.

“Ron… Weasley?” she asked, even though assistants weren’t supposed to speak unless spoken to.

“Yes! Her childhood sweetheart,” she gushed. Pansy had rather thought Hermione was his childhood sweetheart, but she didn’t comment. “He’s from our village. You used to go fer ice cream with him, didn’t you, Daisy May? When you were little! Lick each other’s cones, you would.”

“Licking more than that now,” muttered the bride’s teenaged sister, who was reading a thick hardback and clearly didn’t want to be there.

“This is the one,” said Daisy May triumphantly, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Definitely. Can you believe his mother wanted me to wear orange? I told her, it’s my wedding, no way am I wearing that. I’m not walking down the aisle looking like a fruit!”

Madam MacGinty moved forwards and clapped her hands. “Fabulous,” she declared. “Exquisite! A vision. Isn’t she, Pansy?”

“Lovely,” Pansy said distractedly, wondering what on earth she was going to do.

*

“If you knew something about someone that might hurt someone else, and you cared about that someone else, would you tell them that something, or keep it to yourself?”

Daphne looked at her like a dog that had been told to solve a quadratic equation.

“You’ve gotten really confusing since you swore off gossiping.”

“Daph, this is a dilemma! Do I break it to them gently, but be responsible for hurting them, or stay out of it and let them be hurt by someone else?”

“Find out what?” said Daphne. “Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t tell you, I swore I wouldn’t gossip!”

*

Pansy ordered them both a slice of cake. Cake might take some of the sting out.

She took a deep breath.

“This will be hard to hear, but I think it’s better you hear it from me rather than from someone else.”

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly. “What is it?”

“Ronald Weasley’s getting married.”

“I know,” she said, and took a chocolatey bite, licking crumbs off her lip. “What, was that it?”

“You know? And you’re not upset?”

“No. I told you we weren’t right for each other. Thanks for letting me have a breakdown in your kitchen, by the way. You helped me work things out. You were right, I should do what I want.”

Pansy didn’t understand how she could be so cheerful.

“You said you loved him.”

“Not in that way,” Hermione said sheepishly.

Pansy had thought she was worried about marriage changing their relationship; she hadn’t realised she didn’t want to be with him at all. No wonder she couldn’t stop crying.

“So you’re alright with it?”

Hermione shrugged. “I think it’s a bit soon, but if they’re happy together… They knew each other from way back when, apparently. She was homeschooled, so she sort of skipped the war,” she said vaguely. “I like her sister,” she added.

“That’s very good of you,” said Pansy, staring blankly at her slice of cake. “The Sorting Hat knew what it was doing with you.”

“I’m not sure I’m as good a person as you seem to think I am,” Hermione said wryly. “I did leave him at the altar.”

“What!? I thought he left you?”

“Actually, we both did. We ran away and ran straight into each other. It’s funny. Well, it’s sort of terrible, but you’ve got to laugh, I suppose. God, I hope I don’t have to speak to Molly at the wedding.”

“You’re never invited!” Pansy gasped. She couldn’t help herself. “You’re the ex!”

“We’re still friends. His new fiancée knows why things didn’t work out between us.”

There was a story there, but Pansy didn’t pry. She had sworn off gossip. She put it down to Gryffindors being another species.

“Thanks for the cake,” said Hermione, once their plates were clean. “How on earth do you stay so slim?”

“Genetics,” she said honestly. Madam MacGinty hated her for it.

Pansy walked her back to the nearest Tube station.

“Bye, then,” said Hermione, hovering at the top of the staircase. “And, um, thanks again. For the cake. For everything.”

She took a step down.

“I’ve got tickets,” Pansy said suddenly. “For a music festival. Saturday after next.”

Hermione turned. “Oh, that sounds like fun.”

“It’s in Cardiff, but I’ve got a Portkey. It’ll be me and Greg, and maybe Theo.”

“Right,” she nodded.

“So…?”

“So?”

“Would you want to go with me?”

“Oh!”

Hermione was turning red and looking flustered, probably trying to work out how to turn her down without being rude. It reminded Pansy that she should never, ever follow Millicent’s advice. Until—

“I’d love to,” she said.

Pansy had been mentally envisaging herself walking off a cliff and into the sea to cope with the embarrassment, and so wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

“What, really?”

“Yes, definitely! Um, I don’t know much about music, but I’m sure it’ll be fun if I’m with you.”

Pansy hugged her, squeezing tightly. When she pulled back, Hermione’s face was even redder.

“I’ll owl you,” she promised, and ran away before she did something stupid.