Chapter 2
Hermione had never been a violent person. Was she hotheaded at times? Yes. Quick to anger. Of course. Did she love to correct others when they were wrong? She practically did it for sport at this point. Was she self-righteous? Obnoxiously so.
Hermione did consider herself a self-aware person, which is why she was taken aback by this new sensation rooting inside her—unfettered rage.
No, Hermione Granger was not a violent person, but she knew she could always do what needed to be done in order to protect those that she loved. Even so, even during the war, she’d been uncertain if she’d be able to use an Unforgivable curse when the moment warranted it.
But Hermione thought she could Avada Pansy Parkinson in that moment.
Hermione wasn’t a prude, but it had been some time since her last sexual escapade.
If she were being honest with herself, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been on a real date.
She’d broken up with Ron—a relationship that was DOA before it had even begun, but seemed like the thing Hermione was supposed to do at the time. And if there was one thing Hermione loved doing, it was meeting others’ expectations.
And she’d had a few fun dalliances in the meantime. Viktor Krum had made a sweet, but brief appearance in the logbook that was her sex life.
She’d had a few random hookups with some Muggle men in London when she just needed to blow off some steam, but…had that really been over three years ago?
No…it couldn’t have been.
Over the years, life just seemed to happen. Hermione became swamped with work, over extending herself to the extreme between her research, shifts at St. Mungo’s, and her work as a liaison at the Ministry of Magic.
Meeting people outside of her immediate circle of friends became too difficult. And while her friends all seemed to be settling down in long term relationships, some even getting married and having babies, Hermione was…stuck.
It had gotten to the point where Hermione considered if there was something wrong with her.
After one too many shots of Firewhiskey with Ginny and Pansy one Saturday night, Pansy practically detonated when she’d heard Hermione’s synopsis of her non-existent love life and in Pansy’s words her “very neglected, practically starved pussy must be crying out for help.” And that Pansy would indeed answer that cry for help.
What Pansy had failed to mention, is that the next day when she was in Knockturn alley buying her cosmetic potions—
“I can’t believe you still do business there, Pansy.” Ginny scoffed.
“Hey,” Pansy snapped. “You know that’s the best place to get anti-aging potions with the good ingredients!”
“Yeah, because they’re illegal.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed, tossing a perfectly manicured hand up in dismissal. “I know the Parkinson family has always preached purity, but I swear we had a hag in our bloodline.” Pansy shuddered at some visual in her mind. “And I will not—NOT—end up looking like my mother.”
But now, staring at the chastened face of her friend who was explaining exactly how she’d gotten Hermione into this mess, she questioned whether she was capable of an Unforgivable in that exact moment.
“And tell me again, who was this charlatan that you met in Knockturn Alley?”
Pansy remained poised, her anger not yet set off. As a daughter of a sacred twenty-eight family, Pansy could remain composed when needed, and when seeing the absolute fury in Hermione’s eyes, it was a good guess that she was choosing her next words and her next reactions very carefully.
“He called himself the Gamemaster,” Pansy offered calmly as she tried to discern Hermione’s expression. “He explained that he could help me bring my muggle-inspired-reality-TV-dating-challenge-game-show vision to life. Honestly, Hermione, he seemed like the real deal. He was wearing a top hat and everything. He looked just like a ringmaster from the carnival.”
Pansy was beginning to ramble, which was Hermione’s signal that Pansy knew she was losing her.
The shouting match would start soon.
“And how did you go about getting…wizards to sign up for this,” she gritted her teeth on the last word, “competition?”
“Well,” Pansy wilted slightly, her red bottomed stiletto clacking against the wood floor from her nervously bouncing her foot. “You know how we heard Draco was coming to town.”
Hermione sighed, looking up toward the ceiling as if the heavens could open up and swallow her whole in that moment. “Not this again. Yes. We all know Draco’s back. It’s all I’ve heard you and every Slytherin I know talk about for months .”
“Yes, well. When Draco had confirmed his return date, Theo and I got a little excited.” Pansy swirled a dark lock of hair around her forefinger. “And you know how we are when we get excited. Naturally, we needed to celebrate—“
“Celebrate Draco’s return date? Before he even arrived back in London?” Hermione said incredulously.
“Yes! And the Gamemaster provided me with instructions on how to conduct sign ups. He gave me a goblet and told me that interested parties may only need to add their name on a slip of parchment and toss it in the fire. And…well, when we threw a party at the Zabini estate—a party that you were invited to by the way.” She threw Hermione a dark look. “If you’d attended then all this nonsense could have been avoided.” Pansy’s mouth twisted in terse irritation, seemingly riling herself up as if this was indeed Hermione’s fault.
“Pansy,” Hermione hissed.
“Yes. Fine. I invited every eligible wizard to this party and placed the goblet in the Floo parlor. Word…spread quickly. People were excited by the prospect of competing to date the brightest witch of their age.” Pansy gave a sheepish shrug and smiled at her own pathetic attempt at flattery.
“And how many added their names?”
Pansy grimaced. “We had 293 entries.”
Hermione’s mouth shot open.
“But!” Pansy interjected. “We added some stipulations to the competition. Not all 293 entries will be required to compete. We can toss out all the old men.”
Hermione’s left eye was twitching. “And who informed Narcissa Malfoy of this competition?”
Now Pansy looked annoyed, flashing her teeth. “You know she loves you.”
“Pansy!”
“What?! So I informed Narcissa. So what? Have an Auror come down and detain me if you think I’m such a monster! I just wanted to help you.” Hermione rolled her eyes at this classic Pansy deflection. “You act as if I’ve committed an atrocity against the orphans or something! Is it so unthinkable to go on a date with Draco Malfoy?!” Pansy had jumped to her feet during this little tirade, nearly spilling the entire tea service sitting between the two witches.
“Yes!”
“Why? Why do you hate him so much? You’ve never held my past against me. Or Theo’s or Blaise’s! It’s almost been a decade! Why can you seemingly forgive or get over every Slytherin’s past or family name but his?”
Hermione absentmindedly scratched at her forearm. “I don’t know. It’s different with him .”
Pansy snarled, grabbing her designer handbag, and stalked out of the room.
“Pansy! Wait!” Hermione called after her, scrambling off her couch.
“I’m leaving. Floo call me when you’ve stopped being such an unforgiving bitch.”
Hermione watched the witch disappear into green flames, trying not to let Pansy make her feel guilty over her aversion to all things Draco Malfoy.