It's not a crush
Pansy’s perfectly-shaped brow raised high under the fringe of her bangs as she watched Hermione watch Draco who was desperately trying to not watch her back. They’d been playing this game for what felt like hours, tonight and for several nights before that.
If anyone had told a younger Pansy she’d be meeting up with swotty little Granger for drinks nearly every weekend, she would have smacked them upside the head and labeled them as barmy as Loony Lovegood.
Luna. Luna Lovegood—incidentally now also a close friend even if she drove Pansy batty with her oddly accurate observations.
But back to Hermione and Draco and this poor excuse of a staring contest.
“Why don’t you just ask him out already?” Pansy was sick of watching her friends play coy with one another, even more so because of how brash they could both be otherwise.
Hermione jerked her face around in surprise, nearly slipping off her stool in the process.
“What? Ask who out?”
Her denial was adorable. Annoying, but adorable.
“Dra-co.” Pansy enunciated his name as if speaking to a toddler, which in her estimation, Hermione was…when it came to romance.
“Wait, what? Draco? Why Draco?” Hermione sputtered, turning full on cherry in the face, her curls expanding in size with her mortification.
“Because of your not-so-subtle crush on him?” It hurt how hard Pansy had to try and not roll her eyes.
“It’s not a crush!”
Pansy continued to hold her ruffled friend in her sights, brows still raised and lip curling in what some might consider disdain. Normally, Hermione stood toe to toe with her.
But now?
Honey brown eyes slid away from her to gaze longingly across the room.
“…it’s not a crush,” she repeated, voice so soft Pansy had to lean forward to catch it.
Oh, no.
This was more than a crush. This was the stuff of love sonnets and happy endings.
Her mind made up, Pansy took their empty glasses in hand and sashayed over to the bar where Draco sat next to a couple friends.
“Parks,” Draco greeted her, before leaning in to brush a kiss to her cheek.
“How’s it going, Pans?” Neville grinned at her from where he sat next to Theo. Pansy’s breath caught for just a brief second before she took a hold of herself. That was a crush, and she didn’t have time for it right now.
“Lovely. Draco, darling, do you have a minute?”
Intrigued, he leaned in as she bent to whisper into his ear. Silver eyes widened in disbelief, darting across the room then back to Pansy as she continued to speak. She didn’t even need to turn around to know where the daggers she could feel burning into her back came from.
“You’re sure?” Doubt still laced Draco’s voice as he questioned her. Despite the uncertainty, she knew him as well as she knew the boots on the witch’s feet nearby were several seasons old, and that her Birkin was a counterfeit. Dusty rose was also most assuredly not her color.
“I’m sure.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the light that filled his eyes, reminiscent of Quidditch games and summers at Narcissa’s cottage. She loved Draco dearly, once upon a time as a lover, but now simply as a friend. Loathe as she was to ever say it, she also adored Hermione and all of her infuriating mannerisms and backwards fashion.
And what she loved most of all was seeing her favorite things come together in a tapestry of her making.
Drinks refilled, she shoved both glasses into Draco’s hands, patted him on the back, and turned to wink at a certain former Gryffindor as the two forces of nature collided.
Far be it for anyone to say Pansy Parkinson wasn’t a generous friend—generous, thoughtful, methodical, and now…hungry.
She finally let her own eyes slide over to another former Gryffindor, still seated and chatting with her former housemate. The two brunettes laughed over an unknown joke, completely oblivious to the absence in their trio or to her own consideration of their persons. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. They were incredibly fit.
The night was still young, and Pansy was in the mood to play.