For a minute I was stone cold sober.
The flashing lights seemed to continue, even behind her closed lids. Hermione hated coming to the club. But Ginny and Luna showed up and dragged her out. So here she was, mid drinking contest, feeling light and ready to swear off tequila slammers for good. As if she didn’t love every minute of it.
Pansy Parkinson hated clubs. Not because of the noise, or the lights, but because of the men. So many thought that it was perfectly okay to just grab her ass while dancing, or flirt with her while she’s with her friends. Tonight was no different, except she spies a familiar mane of wild curls near the bar, surrounded by men cheering. Pansy knows that going over there would probably be a terrible decision, but damn it if she wasn’t about to make it.
Pansy was entranced by the giggling falling from Hermione’s mouth. After walking over, the two of them had spent hours dancing it seemed like. But Pansy had never felt so damn light in her life. It was like Hermione saw her. Saw her as Pansy, not as a Parkinson. Every stumble, every accidental hit, Pansy felt as though she could fall in love. And now as she holds those wild curls away from the stringent acid and liquor, she feels unmoored.
Hermione is definitely regretting all the tequila, but the woman behind her isn’t one. Knowing that you prefer women, and then being faced with one such as Pansy Parkinson, flirting and dancing with you, are two entirely different things. With toothbrush hanging from her mouth, she watches the taller girl dig through her drawers for pyjamas, turn down the bed, and placing a glass of water on the table near it. And when Pansy faces her, Hermione smiles at her in the mirror, a slight warmth blooming in her chest when Pansy looks flustered. All she wants right now is for Pansy to stay. And she says so, mouthful of toothpaste, brain still not fully caught up. Pansy flushes such a pretty pink, but comes up behind Hermione, wrapping her arms around Hermione’s waist, pulling the smaller to her chest.
“Like I said at the club, get some rest and sober up. We can talk in the morning. Or afternoon. When you finally wake. Alright?”
For a minute, I forget that I’m older.
The morning light filters through the curtains, causing Pansy to stir, blinking blearily at the offensive window. Then a soft knock draws her eyes away, to see a fully dressed Hermione, 2 cups of coffee in hand and a tray of breakfast floating behind her. The smile on her face is soft, and for a moment Pansy can’t breathe.
“Hey love. It’s pretty late, the kids are at primary already. But with how work has been, I figured you could use a lie in.”
Hermione felt her heart stutter in her chest as she watches Pansy sip her coffee, haloed by the light filtering through their window. No matter how many mornings she wakes up next to this woman. Hermione was never going to get used to it. It was as though Pansy chose to get more beautiful as she aged. And god, she could never give this up. She would give up her lungs before giving up the life she had here.
It was a rare day that the two of them were home together, without the kids. The quiet and calm settle over Pansy, bringing a soft smile to her face. Chin propped in hand, watching Hermione pad around the kitchen, making a cuppa, Pansy feels like this moment should last forever. But it isn’t quite complete.
The soft sound of music floating through the house, Hermione notes, seems to lift the feeling of love in the home. Turning to the island, cups of tea in hand, she sees Pansy at the record player. Then Pansy turns and smiles, and Hermione feels 10 years younger. She is thrown back to the start of their relationship. To being 25. The cups are left to sit on the island as Hermione goes to pull Pansy into her arms. She leads them into a swaying dance.
“You know that I love you. Just say that you won’t let go of me.” Pansy whispers into Hermione’s neck.
“I’m gonna be here until we’re old and grey. I’m gonna love you until my lungs give out. We’re gonna live here, even as ghosts. Not even death itself could pull me away from you.” Hermione whispers back, knowing deep in her very soul, that every word is a promise to the universe.