Chapter 2
The last week had been good. Hermione had gone to class and study group. She had hung out with the other eighth years. She had done her homework and eaten meals. She had even managed to avoid Ron.
Today was not so good. She had cried until the early hours of the morning, haunted by the memory of her parents throwing her out of their home, insisting they had never seen her in their lives. Yet the sun rose anyway. Sunlight seeped through the heavy curtains, and she could hear her fellow eighth years getting ready outside her door. Her alarm had been going off for the last half hour, and her body was still heavy with sleep. Her alarm blared for the fifth time. Hermione reached to turn it off, and then buried her head in her pillow. She was glad, at least, that the Headmaster had dignified them with their own rooms, although so few had returned that there hadn’t been much reason not to.
There was a knock at her door.
“‘Mione? Are you ready to go?” Harry waited on the other side, ready for class. Hermione groaned.
“I’m skipping today, I think there’s something wrong with my alarm.” There was nothing wrong with her alarm, but what Harry didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
She went back to sleep.
—
Hermione woke up to her curtains being wrenched open, sunlight pouring into her room.
“What the fuck?” Hermione gasped and covered her eyes with her hands. “What the fuck??”
Harry sighed. “You need to get up, Hermione, eat something, go for a walk, smell the roses or something. If you stay in bed you’re gonna spiral again.”
She peered through her fingers, squinting from the harsh light. “Oh, and this was the only way you could tell me that?” Harry shrugged.
“I s’pose not. I brought you a muffin though!” He gestured toward a small package wrapped in a paper napkin on her nightstand.
Hermione offered a pinched smile. “Thanks.”
“Right, well, get dressed. We’re going for a walk so you can’t wallow.”
“Who said I want to go for a walk?”
“I did. See you in the common room in ten!” Harry flashed her a grin and closed the door behind him.
Hermione sighed. Unfortunately, he was right. She did need to get out of bed, and if she was allowed the time to wallow she absolutely would. She rolled out of bed and unwrapped the muffin. Blueberry. A good pick. She threw on some jeans and her mother's old King's College sweatshirt and walked out to the common room, mouth still full of muffin.
Despite his rude method of awakening, Hermione appreciated that Harry was there for her. He knew she could get in her own head about things, and he knew how to get her out. They walked out onto the grounds, the grass still green even as the weather had grown colder. The sun peeked between rolling clouds and leaves rustled in the wind. Hermione’s sweater was just the right weight, cozy, even though her cheeks were pink from the brisk afternoon air.
They chatted about nothing, Quidditch scores and who was going to Hogsmeade this weekend and anything that struck them when the conversation lulled. Eventually, they fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the company and autumn air.
“Y’know, Ron misses you.” Harry looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck as he broke their silence. Hermione sighed.
“I’m sure he does.” There was an edge of contempt in her voice.
“‘Mione, be nice. He was one of your best friends for how many years? You kind of owe him an explanation. You don’t have to be friends with him again, but completely ignoring him isn’t fair.”
“You don’t even know what happened, Harry, how can you say that it isn’t fair?” Hermione huffed. She was not talking to Ron again, even if Harry thought he deserved something.
“I think I know more than you think. And even if I didn’t, unless he did something actually terrible, I think it still stands. Even if you don’t like him anymore,” Hermione glared. “Not like that, you know what I mean. Even if you don’t like him anymore, it wouldn’t kill you to care about how he feels about the whole thing. You guys were so close, and you went through some crazy shit together. There is too much history for you to act like he doesn’t exist.”
“I guess so,” Hermione conceded. She had been putting it off for a while, but she would feel better with it out of the way. One less thing to overthink.
Harry nodded, seeming to say that it was settled, and they walked in silence for a bit more.
“How’re the Cannons looking this year?” Hermione asked, knowing it would keep him talking until they got back to the castle. It was nice, she felt, to be able to talk about things that didn’t really matter, to not have to be focused on an impossible task or their imminent death.
–
Voices overlapped one another in the common room; most of the eighth years had decided to stay in for the night, drinking in the company of friends rather than in a crowded bar. Harry and Hermione had ventured back up to the library to study after their walk, and their evening arrival in the common room garnered friendly greetings. After retreating to her room briefly to discard her school bag, Hermione reentered the common room in search of Pansy and a drink. Firewhiskey and mulberry wine flowed freely, and nearly everyone in the room held a glass. The largest cluster of conversation sat by the fire, and Hermione could spot Pansy’s sleek black bob from across the room. Walking over, Hermione felt her heart flutter with excitement. Maybe she was just excited to be making new friends. As she joined the circle of conversation, Pansy caught her eye, flashing her a smile. Pansy’s hair fell softly around her face and a small silver pendant necklace hung around her neck. She was in another one of those low cut tops, a deep red this time. Hermione couldn’t help but glance down. Pansy motioned her over with a wave, patting the small space next to her in her chair. Hermione smiled back, but she eyed the chair skeptically.
Hermione leaned over, whispering in Pansy’s ear. “Pansy, there is no way we are both fitting in this chair,” she laughed. Pansy’s eyes flashed with amusement.
“Oh please, hon,” she scoffed, “just sit down. I pinky promise I don’t have cooties.” She held out her pinky and raised her eyebrows, waiting for Hermione to offer her own. Hermione rolled her eyes, but locked their fingers together, sitting down next to her and shifting side to side to emphasize how tiny the space was. Pansy laughed and shifted slightly to accommodate her. She threw her arm over the back of the chair as Hermione crossed her own in feigned defiance, throwing Pansy a mock glare.
“It is a well-known fact that all Slytherins have cooties. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Pansy laughed, “It doesn’t count for anything that I’m wearing red? Maybe my Slytherin cooties are cancelled out by my heartfelt presentation of Gryffindor pride.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows, “Yeah, actually, why are you wearing red? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Slytherin in red. Isn’t that blasphemous?”
“Because I look fantastic in red,” Pansy replied. “Duh.”
Hermione had to admit, she did look really good in red.
The group had all but ignored their antics, and Hermione now sat semi-comfortably watching the conversation. This is how things were now, Hermione supposed. The cohabitation of the eighth years continued to go remarkably well, a display of inter-house unity many thought was impossible.
“It’s crazy how well everyone is getting along, even with everything that happened,” Hermione said when the conversation lulled. She gestured around the circle: Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Luna, Parvati, and Dean. “I mean this is an odd group, don’t you think?” Most of the group nodded along with her, sharing their surprise.
Dean scoffed instead, standing to go. “You know what? It is crazy. It’s crazy that we can all sit here and act like we’ve forgotten. Every time we sit out here I can't believe that we're mingling with the enemy. Do you guys seriously not care?" Parvati reached out to pat his arm.
"The war is over Dean, we can't hold on to the past. They're not the enemy," Parvati said softly, trying to deescalate the situation.
"Remember when Pansy offered Harry up to You-Know-Who to save her own ass? That is fucking crazy.” Eyes were wide around the circle, shocked at the mood change. There had yet to be a blow-up fight, and most had assumed there wouldn’t be one by that point. “And you!” Dean turned to point at Draco, who had been sitting next to Harry. “You tried to kill Dumbledore and basically everyone else. Your family kept me in your cellar for how fucking long? You let Death Eaters into the fucking school! And now you’re sitting here hanging all over Harry like he wasn’t The Chosen One that had to save us all from you and the rest of your gang.”
The room had gone silent, all eyes trained on Dean, watching to see who he’d try to fight next. Pansy’s eyes closed, and her lips tightened. Draco held his head in his hands. Harry looked as if he were ready to say something, but his mouth stayed agape, left at a loss for words.
“You lot are disgusting. I can’t believe they let you back in the school. You’re a fucking coward. And now what, you can’t even acknowledge it? You’re not even gonna apologize?” Dean’s voice rose with hostility. He looked around the room. “I can’t believe you guys don’t care about this shit. I’m sick of sitting around with Slytherin scum, acting like everything’s forgiven.” He turned sharply, hitting Blaise’s shoulder with his own as he did. Dean marched out, the door to his room slamming behind him.
Pansy’s eyes widened at the noise, but the common room stayed quiet. Without much theater, she rose and walked out. Hermione looked on, feeling helpless, watching as Blaise and Theo followed her. There was nothing she could do, not really.
Whispers began, everyone trying to piece together what had just happened. Even alcohol couldn’t blur the shock everyone seemed to feel, and the small crowd started to dissipate. Only a few stragglers remained when Hermione got up from the chair she had shared not too long ago.
Too thrown off to do much else, she put a pot of water on for tea. She pulled a mug out of a cabinet in the eighth year’s small shared kitchen and rummaged through the tea options. Peppermint was on top. After a second of pause, Hermione pulled out a peppermint, a chamomile, and a second mug. With a strange feeling lying in her chest, she thought about what she could say to Pansy that wouldn’t make everything worse.
–
Hermione stood at the door of Pansy’s room, trying to figure out how to knock. Mentally of course, but also physically because she was holding two cups of tea. She managed to tuck her own cup in between her chest and arm to free up a hand. Her heart was beating fast, and her mind raced with how Pansy might react. Taking a deep breath, she knocked, listening closely for an answer. All she could make out was sniffling.
“Pansy?” she asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper. “I brought tea.” After a few moments of shuffling, Pansy replied.
“Yeah, you can come in.”
Hermione opened the door slowly. Pansy sat in her bed in her pajamas, legs crossed in front of her. Her hair was mussed slightly and her pillow was still indented from where she seemed to have been laying down just prior.
“Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry he was so harsh. I can't imagine what got into him.” Hermione walked over to her nightstand to put Pansy’s tea down. Not knowing where to go from there, she sat on the very edge of Pansy’s bed.
Pansy gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah, he was way too harsh. I don’t deserve any ridicule for the part I played in the war. I’m completely innocent and everyone should treat me as such.”
“Pans,” Hermione objected softly. “We were kids; you can’t hold that against yourself forever.”
Pansy looked at the ceiling, attempting to subtly blink back tears. “It’s hardly been forever, and you were just a kid too. I never saw you offering up other kids to save yourself from the Dark Lord.”
“Well, yeah, that’s true,” Hermione paused. “But we were both conditioned to act a certain way. If I had your parents and friends, I probably wouldn’t have done what I did. Sure, the wizarding world thinks I’m a war hero, but I did what I had to do to survive. Just like you.”
Pansy still stared at the ceiling, but her efforts to hold back tears became futile. They streamed down her face, and she pushed them away with her palms.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. Rather than respond, she took a tissue off the nightstand and reached over to blot Pansy’s cheeks. Pansy sighed, but she didn’t say anything. Hermione grabbed the tea she had brought, handing it to Pansy.
“Peppermint. Three spoons of sugar. Hopefully it's not cold yet.”
Pansy finally looked down. “Thanks, hon. That’s really sweet.” A smile crept onto her face, ever so slightly, and Hermione’s heart soared.