Orbit

To Hermione:

I am finding advanced history thrilling. I also can’t believe you had not noticed me until now. Perhaps it is time you say goodbye to the first row? Just a thought.

-Pansy

Hermione couldn't bring herself to put away Pansy's letter. Nestled in her cloak's sleeve, it was a treasured secret, its thick paper a tender touch against her skin throughout the day. The abyss that once swallowed her whole now was anything but a distant memory. Her search for secret mirrors was fruitless, but her present life, which she thankfully had full memory of, had taken a rather thrilling turn. She had never befriended a Slytherin. She had never befriended a girl. She had never fancied a girl, or at least, not that she could remember. Pansy was all encompassing, proprietress of her mind, a constant traveller following her every thought.

She must’ve sent the owl between the time she received it at dinner and I saw her past curfew

Hermione stared at the clock, her tongue ticking to the sound of seconds passing by. Pansy had always arrived before her to detention, her classes finishing earlier than Hermione’s. But after Hermione’s morning trip to Professor Burbage’s office, the girl had found herself with an extra hour a day of muggle history. The task had been harder than anticipated. Professor Burbage had been rather reluctant to accept Pansy into her class, claiming she had never taught a pure blood student before and that she wouldn’t know what to expect. It was well known that a couple of Slytherins, notably Crabbe and Goyle, had tormented the teacher more than a few times, making sure she felt her presence was unwelcome in the castle. Hermione still shivered at the sight of her beloved friend and teacher crying as she cleaned her office the day Umbridge had become headmaster last year. Nevertheless, Hermione had convinced her.

“How was it?” Hermione had asked before Pansy had even had the time to close the door.

“It was great.” Pansy replied, suppressing a smile. She dropped her bag before falling into her seat, next to Hermione.

“I need to know more!”

“It was good but it was exhausting!” Pansy rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder for a second dramatically. While the contact had only lasted half a second, Hermione flushed without missing a beat. “There is just so much information I knew nothing about! We live in the same country as them, but it’s like they’re fighting completely different battles,”

“I mean they literally are.”

“Exactly! I can’t believe I never read about it. Not a single book in my house library has information regarding any of their history.”

“You have a house library?” Hermione asked, astonished. Transfiguration class had become an excuse to meet more than a need of Pansy’s and it could wait until the end of their conversation.

“Of course I do. It must be about three or four times the size of the Hogwarts library.”

“And you tell me that now? Do you think you may have some books surrounding magical clocks and their history? I’ve been dying to know more about them but there is just about nothing relevant regarding them here.”

“I could most definitely look into it.”

“Are they magically bound to your home, or do you think you could lend me one over the summer? I know I’m asking for a lot, but I promise there is nobody in this world that takes greater care of books than I do.”

“I will see what I can do for this summer. No Promises though.” Pansy’s eyes dimmed. “I wish you could see my library. It’s really frustrating, you know? All of those books are Heirlooms, instruments my parents used to assert their power. I’m pretty sure they have never read a single page of that treasure, yet they’d rather burn the library down than donate it to an institution that will make them accessible to the public.”
“That’s quite tasteless.” was all Hermione could utter. She hadn’t heard much about Pansy’s parents, but already harboured a deep hatred for them. She could not allow herself to think about the fountains of knowledge hidden in the manors of rich pureblood families like Pansy’s or she’d go mad.

“It’s disgusting. People like you would love some of those books.”

“People like me? You mean mudbloods?”

“No, I mean bright, intelligent, charming witches.” Pansy replied without skipping a beat.

Hermione didn't know what to reply. Staring at the carved crevasses of the wooden desk felt like the best thing to do.

“Sorry, I overstepped.”

“I liked it. I actually think all those things about you too.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Hermione finally dared to detach her eyes from the desk only to find out Pansy had been interrogating the ceiling the entire time, avoiding her as well. Hermione smiled. Perhaps drifting into lighter conversation than the burning confusing emotions she had towards her Slytherin detention partner was wise.

“We’re missing dinner” Hermione remarked after they had conversed for what felt like too little time.She hadn’t seen the hours pass.

“I thought that may happen, with my new class and all that. I passed by the kitchens before coming and grabbed us something just in case.”

“The elves let you grab food?”

“We’re friendly.” Pansy shrugged.

“Remember when you mocked me for my Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare two years ago?”

“I said a lot of stupids things. In a world full of shepherds and sheep, I am most definitely a sheep.”

“I’ll take that as an apology.”

“You should.”

“I don’t believe you’re a sheep. At least not lately. I noticed you no longer hang out with the Slytherins that bully us muggle borns the most. You’ve mostly been alone.” Hermione tried to compliment her.

“That’s not a good thing, Hermione.”

“Isn’t it better to be alone than in bad company?”

“It is, unless you are a sheep. There’s no such thing as lone sheep. Sooner or later, it will bring me prejudice.”

Hermione knew the alliances between magical families, especially in Slytherin, ran deep. How much was Pansy exactly risking by not playing by the rules that had been set for her centuries ago? The code of conduct carved into her had failed to control her. Hermione shivered. She had never realised how privileged she had been to even be able to choose who she surrounded herself with.

“What will you do then?”

“Still figuring that out. Dinner?” Pansy asked as she shoved her arm all the way up to her shoulder in her bag. Hermione gasped.

“You used an undetectable extension charm on your school bag?”

“You haven’t? Why would I go through the hassle of fitting a limited, heavy amount of things in it when I can just not?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it. I also don’t know how to do that yet.” Hermione admitted, embarrassed.

“It’s truly simple. Here’s how I did mine!” Pansy started, but Hermione wasn’t listening.

She had come to memorise every detail of Pansy’s porcelain face. Her beauty had never been concealed, or discreet. Everyone at school knew of the Parkinson family’s impeccable looks, having passed down through generations. Hermione, however, had always made an active effort of blinding herself to it. But now, as the girl explained to her how she had used the extension charm, Hermione was pretty sure she had never seen a prettier human. She didn’t allow herself to imagine what Pansy looked from the neck down, her face being enough to make her heart do somersaults.

Hermione’s breathing became heavy as she allowed herself to truly look at Pansy. How Wickedly hypnotising she was, with her straight nose and pronounced cupid’s bow. Her darting eyes that rarely made contact but were striking when they did. Those rare smiles revealed her perfectly aligned teeth and caused her eyes to close completely. The fullness of her lips and the paleness of her skin stood out against her dark hair and dancing freckles.

What did Pansy look like when she laughed at a joke so hard she had to hold her stomach? Did she apply her perfume to bed, or simply in the mornings? How often did she listen to music and cry? Hermione wanted to know everything. Be there for everything. Her conversations with Pansy had brought her back to herself. She no longer was a shadow. Pansy saw her, fully fleshed, ranting, joking, and she liked her.

“Do you eat chicken?” Pansy snapped her out of her thoughts. Hermione started laughing, enamoured by the sight of a Pansy Parkinson, holding out a lunchbox towards her, questioning her on her food preferences. How had they gotten there? “What’s so funny?” Pansy’s brows furrowed as she slowly pulled her arm back.

“No no! I love chicken! Sorry.” Hermione said, still laughing as she grabbed the box, not without making sure their fingertips touched, just to see what Pansy’s reaction would be. The girl froze for an instant, but carried on like nothing had happened.

They sat at a different desk, and resumed their eating.

“I have a question. I promise I don’t mean anything ill by it.” Pansy began.

“That’s one crazy way of starting a sentence.”

“It really isn’t anything bad. I was just in class today and learned about how muggles fought wars without wands. They just built things from scratch, sourcing raw elements from the earth and turning them into whatever they wished. It got me wondering about you. I’ve always known of magic. I’ve never known anything else, if we’re honest. What was it like for you? You essentially grew up as a muggle until you came here I assume?”

“Oh.” Hermione took a second to gather her thoughts. No one asked her about that aspect of her asides for Arthur Weasley. Pansy, a pureblood who had been taught her entire life to hate her, was now sitting next to her, asking to get to know her better. “Uhm. Yes I guess I did grow up as a muggle. In some ways I still am. It was nice. Well. Uhm. The kids at school weren’t so nice to me but I had a great time with my parents. My fondest memories are probably making cakes, and just baking generally with father. Since we don’t use charms, I guess we have to do everything. On Saturday afternoons, my mother would sit on the couch asides from the kitchen table and read us books. She’d do different voices and everything, while my father and I baked whatever I had decided I wanted my afternoon snack to be.”

“So Everytime you had to feed yourself you had to make it from scratch with ingredients? I had never thought about the fact that you have to stir every cauldron yourself.”

“We don’t actually use cauldrons!”

“What! That’s nonsense. What could you possibly use instead?”

“Well, if we need to heat something up, we use gas, or induction plates. There’s no real fire involved really unless your kitchen is old.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“I had never thought of it as fascinating, but I guess it is. There are professions for everything, and I mean, everything. Things that here would be fixed with a small charm can be somebody’s life work over there.” Hermione started telling Pansy about several professions that would never be found outside of the muggle world. The girl's gaze remained on her, except during the brief moments when their eyes met. Despite being terrible at eye contact, Hermione could tell the girl welcomed every bit of new information with the greatest interest.

Their hands laid incredibly close on the wooden bench. It took every bit of concentration Hermione had to continue her train of thought, and not obsess over their closeness. She wondered if Pansy experienced the same thing, or if once again, Hermione was tortured by her own devices.

“Curfew’s in a few minutes. We really should get going.” Pansy remarked, making a face.

“You look so disappointed. Are You going to miss me?” Hermione teased, surprised by her own confidence.

“Don’t fool yourself Granger, I’m just dreading the fact that Blaise will most definitely be waiting for me, asking for answers.”

“Now I’m the disappointed one.”

“Maybe I will also miss talking to you.” Pansy admitted, grouching.

“I knew it!” Hermione joked, grabbing her arm, earning an eye roll from Pansy.

“Wish me luck, that boy has not left me alone for the past year and it’s been a lot.”

“I didn’t know you two were so close.” Hermione replied, closing the detention classroom door. They were now in uncovered territory, exposed for anyone that wished to see.

“We were. My parents have been plotting for us to get married since before I could even walk.”

“Ah.” Hermione looked down to the floor. She couldn’t explain why, but the thought of Pansy marrying none other than Zabini upset her greatly. He was better than Crabbe, or Goyle, but he would never appreciate just how clever and brilliant Pansy was. He had had a lifetime to do it, and wasn’t getting close anytime soon.

“It’s okay Granger, I don’t feel that way for him and most definitely never will for logistical reasons.” Pansy reassured her mockingly.

“Logistical reasons?” Hermione frowned, looking into Pansy’s eyes for answers.

“Goodnight Granger. See you tomorrow.” Pansy chuckled, burrowing her hands into her pockets as she walked away.

Hermione stood there, puzzled as she stared at the girl’s back getting smaller as her steps led her further away from her. She missed her already. She hated Zabini. She didn’t know how to handle the new information thrown at her. Someone else other than her cared about Pansy. While that should’ve been a reassuring thought, it couldn't help but leave a bitter taste in Hermione’s mouth. Blaise Zabini, boy, pureblood, selected by the Parkinson family to become Pansy’s partner. He was everything she wasn’t. He was theoretically perfect for Pansy, at least to the eyes of everyone but her.

But Pansy had chosen to spend her evenings with her. Not him. And that had to count for something, right? A knot formed in her throat. She had started developing feelings for small feelings for Pansy. That was the only rational explanation for her irrational feelings. She hated how logical her brain was in times like these.

Pansy turned around and threw her a small wave, smiling at her before disappearing behind a corner.

Hermione closed her eyes.

They were going to be alright.