To say that seventh year was not the most stellar that Pansy Parkinson had ever endured would be an understatement.
Actually, it wouldn't be an understatement. To say that something was understated would mean that there was an aspect of truth to the original intent of the statement itself. This year hadn't come close to anything resembling good, fun, decent or fulfilling.
It had all started the previous summer. The Dark Lord had been cast down, his power broken and the champion of the light standing victorious over him. A barely seventeen year old boy, who wore glasses too thick for him and rags that looked as if they were made for someone three times the size of his skinny, and (in her view) runtish frame. With their master defeated, his followers had scattered, daring only to form the smallest of networks between each other. The ensuing witch hunt, led by the Ministry, and the casting of Lucius Malfoy through the Veil had been incentive enough for the Death Eaters to renounce their allegiance to the Dark Lord, to claim Imperius, blackmail, or just straight-faced deny it.
Pansy and her father had been some of the lucky ones. Tests by the Ministry had proven that he had, in fact, been under Imperius for an extended amount of time. What they didn't know is that it was intentional. The Dark Lord had sent him on an errand he didn't trust anyone but himself to do, yet needed to remain hidden until the right moment. Thus, with a combination of possession and the Unforgivables, he'd guided Elphias Parkinson through the stages of his mission personally.
Luckily, this simply registered as an extreme form of mental abuse to the Unspeakables, her father being released with a full apology, and compensation money from the repossessed Macnair and Bullstrode estates (which, of course, had been filtered immediately through their illicit network of finance and relation back to its original owners or heirs). They hadn't even thought to look at 'little' Pansy Parkinson, barely on the cusp of seventeen at the time of the Dark Lord's fall. The victory of Harry Potter was inconvenient for many, devastating for others. Pansy had found herself in something of a quandary. She'd always assumed that she would graduate from Hogwarts, her NEWTS at a respectable level, and immediately enter into the Dark Lord's service, as her father had planned for her since before her birth. Yes, she would be a faithful Death Eater, and she would take special pleasure in the Muggle-baiting, the torture, and the sheer power that came with such a position, being the strong arm of the Dark Lord, the emissary of his wishes…
But of course, that was all impossible now. No, perfect little Potter, his blood-traitor lapdog and that mudblood whore had seen to that. They'd taken her future away from her, taken most of her friends (well, to say friends was a stretch, associates perhaps), and taken her self-respect. It was no secret amongst the student populace that she was a blood supremacist, nor was it a secret that she was an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord. The humiliation that had followed his fall was…excruciating. Timid little Hufflepuffs and bookish, snobby Ravenclaws that wouldn't have even dared look in her direction before were flooding out of the woodwork, taunting her in the corridors and suddenly developing a backbone, now that their families weren't in danger. Racist, inbred, crup-herder, scum sucker…all of these were just labels, mere words. She'd developed a thick skin this year, and now they just bounced off her like spells off dragonhide.
No, she couldn't care less what some nobody from a useless, reject House thought of her, let alone blood traitors with no family history, no pride in themselves or their Heritage as wizards. There were larger things in motion, other events that made her sick and angry to her core, made her tap into that darkness that resides inside everyone, that pure feeling of hurt and righteous fury that allows you access to parts of you that you never thought existed. That lets you do terrible things without remorse, because it feels right.
The first blow that had weakened her came just after the school year had begun. Her year was empty, nearly. Shockingly so in fact, those who'd been proven as being Death Eaters or Pledges having been rooted out and expelled, their wands snapped in what was rapidly becoming known amongst Pureblood circles as 'The Great Betrayal'. The old families were dwindling; no longer was there a Bullstrode at Hogwarts, nor a Crabbe, a Goyle, a Zabini or a Black. Their year had been cut down the middle, those who had been bullied and coerced by the stronger members now found themselves in a position of pre-eminence. They found themselves being able to exact the vengeance they had wanted for so long, but been afraid to take for fear of reprisal. It was rare that Pansy got a decent night's sleep these days. The only shining light in all of this; was that despite the loss of her compatriots, there was still a Malfoy at Hogwarts.
Draco Malfoy. Even now, the name made her shiver. He had been the paragon of their ideals. Well-bred, educated, physically impressive…he'd been the dream of every Slytherin girl, whether they admitted it or not. And Pansy Parkinson had him, she was the envy of everyone, although the other girls found themselves far too intimidated to hex or insult her.
She had thought that this year wouldn't be so bad with Draco by her side, that she would endure this one year of Hell because they would be together, able to keep the Old Ideals alive in their love.
That had been shattered at 10.48 pm, Saturday 3rd December.
Despite the faculty's mistrust of her, and (she assumed) against their better judgement, she had retained her Prefect's badge. For all the things that may have been said about her, and her House, let it never be said that once she was given a task she didn't see it through. She patrolled her assigned area with diligence, and never missed a shift. Of course, it was more to get out of the dormitories and her common room than anything, but she still took the position seriously. Even if that old Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, had bestowed it upon her.
So, it was that she found herself on the last leg of her patrol for the evening that cold Saturday, the halls quiet around her except for the light click of her own heels. She liked the castle at night. It was silent; it was empty and tranquil. There were no jeers, no taunts, no legs for her to 'accidentally' trip over…no food to be thrown at her, no insults for her to be forced to shrug off.
It was bliss. And tonight, she decided, was the night. She would confront Draco, his avoidance of her since term had started becoming increasingly unsettling, as well as his absence from the common room at peculiar hours.
She also had questions for him, questions about where he'd been when the Dark Lord had fell, where he had been afterwards, why he had not come to the Parkinsons' aid…why he'd let his father be executed in such an undignified and dishonourable manner…
But none of that was particularly important, right now. The main thing that she was going to do when she found him, was to tell him that she was ready. That she wanted him, that she loved him, that he was a perfect match for her and that their joining would benefit both their families. They'd keep the traditions of Blood alive, leave it undiluted with the filthy mud water of Muggles and the unclean Half-Bloods. They would sanctify their union that very night, with her giving her body to him, her prize, her virtue. He would take her, they would be together…and it would all be so perfect…
Of course, it wouldn't be perfect that night. Nothing would ever be again after what she had found as she rounded the corner by the tapestry of Siobhan the Stern.
At later times in her life, she would look back on that moment and wonder if that was the point where she had truly died, where the last, twisted remains of a teenage girl that had lingered within her were finally crushed, as her heart leapt with excitement at the sight of his blonde locks, his broad shoulders.
And promptly shattered into a thousand tiny, sharp pieces as she noticed his hand threading through that cursed, unmistakeable red hair, pulling another girl to him with a passionate fervour that made her feel as if he'd stabbed her very soul, crushed her hopes and dreams with a single, fell blow. With a kiss that was meant for her…but was received, no, stolen, by Ginevra Weasley.
And it hurt. Oh god, it hurt so badly.
The ache permeated her senses, the numb shock slowly giving way to a feeling she'd never quite experienced before. It was a peculiar thing, a mix of horror, pain, revulsion, obsession, love, bitter hate, confusion and realisation. It was something she found herself unable to escape. It clawed at her, pulling her stomach into an icy pit and sending the pieces of her heart scattering to strike every nerve ending in her body, making the pain physical and so, so real.
She never knew how she managed to make it back to her dormitory that night. She was living a half-life at that point, frozen from feelings, sight, and sensation. She didn't feel as a thrown inkpot smashed against the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. She didn't feel the dull throb from where it had impacted; the warmth of the blood that leaked from the small laceration didn't transmit. She couldn't hear the derisive laughter that slowly died down as she didn't react, nor did she comprehend the uneasy silence that followed in the common room as she picked herself up, turned to the occupants, and said in an even, indifferent, cold voice.
"That wasn't very nice."
She missed the stunned silence as she retreated to her room, stepping inside and closing the door with a soft click. The only thing she remembered was murmuring the colloportus spell, and sliding gently down the wooden frame. Her body began to convulse before the tears spilled out, the only sounds that echoed throughout the room for the rest of the night being her gentle, muffled sobs and quiet sniffs as she wept, broken hearted and alone.
-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-
Of course, that hadn't been the end of it. Not by a long shot. Now not only did she have to put up with the taunts and insults from the other students, she had to deal with the knowledge that she wasn't good enough for Draco. That she wasn't pretty enough somehow, that she didn't deserve him. That he'd chosen that blood-traitor bitch over her, a woman of fine stock and class. That for some reason…he didn't love her like she loved him…
With days and weeks of brooding, the despair and loss she felt over the incident slowly changed into resentment and distaste, as these things do if left to turn around on their own. She began to despise where she hadn't cared before, began to hate with a passion that had rivalled what she thought was her ardour for Draco. She took vengeance on those that cursed her from behind, that threw heavy inkpots and books at her head. She threw herself into her studies as a form of escape. She knew all the defensive and offensive magic she would ever need already. Her father had seen fit to school her in that from a very, very early age, her magical development now so firmly rooted in the Dark Arts that it was impossible to separate where she ended and they began. And she used this to her advantage. She cast insomnambulus spells on herself to keep her awake during the endless nights of studying, she learned how to cast wandless glamours that reflected her moods, her features changing subtly to make her seem serene when she was busy, or purely terrifying when she was angry. She cast attraction spells on the men in her dorm, and delighted in turning them away, getting a perverse satisfaction out of inflicting even a fraction of the hurt that she felt onto other people. Let them suffer, she thought, let them see what it's like to feel this cold.
It was this way of life that got her through Christmas. She thought that she even scared her father when she went home, so cold and detached, and obviously up to her ears in the Dark Arts that he barely recognised her. He feigned delight, of course, but she could tell he was lying.
The fact was, she didn't care. Despite her forays into things that should stay hidden, the extra studying was paying off in a big way. Her grades had risen from the middling level they were at before, to Outstandings on nearly every assignment. Her practical work improved the best in solitary classes such as Potions, Herbology and Transfiguration, whilst her work in Defence suffered accordingly. Defence, she nearly spat the name. I don't need defending from what makes me powerful, what makes me beautiful for people.
So it was that she turned her obsession onto her Academic work, striving to be the best with the same energy that she once held striving to be with Draco. And for a time, it was working. It was all going so perfectly…
Of course, she should have known that wouldn't last. There was always one obstacle in her path now, always someone who got that fraction of a percent more than her, that person whose hand always shot up an instant before hers.
Smart, bookish, pretty, intelligent, teacher's pet and mudblood Hermione Granger. The little bitch had been an annoyance to her since First Year, but now she was more than that…she was a rival. Pansy Parkinson didn't take kindly to having a rival in anything.
And once again, the situation came to a head in a manner and setting that she never, in a million years, dreamed it would have happened.
1.45 pm, January 28th, Potions Classroom. That was when she'd heard those words that she'd come to doubly associate with failure, words that still haunted her to this day.
"An excellent improvisation on a flawed ingredient list, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Snape had pronounced, leaning over the mudblood's cauldron and peering into its sapphire contents, the smoke rising in lazy wisps around his hooked nose, somehow avoiding his dark, beady eyes.
Ten points to Gryffindor.
In her many years of knowing Professor Severus Snape, both as a Potions Master and her Head of House, she had never once known him to give points to Gryffindor, let alone be pleasant or civil to that little dirty-blooded whore. And it angered her. It filled her with a rage that seemed unreasonable in its depth, simmering just beneath boiling point inside of her.
Snape glanced at her cauldron as he passed, and she held her breath. Her mixture wasn't quite as distinctly coloured as Granger's, but the smoke was curling in the right manner. If only she'd added that Beezleroot when it had turned peach…but he wouldn't hold that again her, would he? A member of his own House?
With an appraising 'hmm', and a slight rising of his eyebrow, Snape passed on. She glanced over at Granger, who still seemed to be in shock at having received points from the loathed Potions Master. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly, her expression of shock turning to the deepest blush as Potter whispered something in her ear. She noticed him take her hand, giving it a squeeze that caused the Head Girl (Pansy still found that highly amusing) to turn an even darker shade of crimson.
She hated her. She hated her so much, and she was going to pay.
With a quick glance at Granger's ingredients list on the station across from her, she picked out the gist of what she'd added. Powdered Asphodel, Beezleroot (bitch), Essence of Newt, stirred, counter-stirred, Gumtree Bark…oh yes, she thought to herself with a smug, slightly manic gleam in her eyes. Oh yes mudblood, I know what you've been doing. Let's see what happens if this gets…accidentally thrown into the mix, shall we?
With a soft sigh of laughter, she picked up the vial that contained her liquidised Doxy wings, moving as if to access the store cupboard. The store cupboard that, conveniently, Granger and the Boy-Who-Infuriatingly-Still-Lived were sitting right next to. She could stumble; it wouldn't seem that out of place. People were so used to seeing her get hexed or tripped now that they barely took any notice.
So she did. She fell deliberately forwards, masking her actions as much as possible as the vial…slipped…out of her grasp, spinning, spinning.
Oh mudblood, let's see how that pretty face looks when it's covered in acid solution, shall we?
Once again though, it was not to be. Potter plucked the vial out of the air with a deftness that must have been borne from Quidditch. In a second, Snape was there, snatching it out of his hand and examining it before turning slowly to face Pansy, who was now lying on her back on the floor.
"Get up, Parkinson." Snape spat, his voice unnaturally cold. She complied, standing up and fighting the urge to shrink from the anger she saw reflected in his black orbs. They were silent for a few moments as the activity in the rest of the class came to a halt, some people stopping mid-stir.
"Tell me, Miss Parkinson." Snape asked, his oily voice cutting through the air and sending a shiver down her spine as he continued to look into her eyes with that penetrating gaze of his. "What would happen if I were to introduce Doxy Wing to a solution of Restorative Draught?"
"I…" She stammered, unsure of how to respond. He knew, he knew, and he was sticking up for her! WHY?
"You'd end up with an Acidic Dissolution Solution." Potter's voice suddenly came from her left. Forcing her face to remain an impassive mask, she turned her cool, grey eyes to glance at him, and actually did take a step backwards this time. His hands were trembling at his side, his viridian eyes sparking with barely-contained rage. He looked positively incandescent with fury.
The rest of the lesson passed in something of a blur. Snape had lost his patience and yelled at her, repeatedly, for a solid five minutes. Words about responsibility, desecration of a noble art, how he'd never seen a seventh year behave like this and how she was very lucky not to be expelled for attempting to kill (kill? She only meant to maim, although killing did seem to have its benefits…) the mudblood. His tirade had ended with Slytherin being docked a hundred points, setting them right back down into fourth place (his own house, he made a special point of emphasising) and she had received a month's worth of detentions (with various teachers, since apparently he was too disgusted to even look at her right now).
She'd accepted this with nods, and appropriately sycophantic, monotone responses. Eventually he'd told her to get out of his sight, and she'd left the Potions classroom.
But not before she'd thought of something else she could do. Some way to get back on all of them for putting her in this position.
She found herself moving towards the greenhouses. She'd have to act now, if not, he'd never give her the time of day after what had happened in Potions. In fact, she wasn't sure if he would now, but that was beside the point. She wasn't looking to make friends; she was looking to ruin them.
"Weasley!" She called out, her voice commanding and authoritative as she saw the shock of red hair moving off with that Longbottom boy, useless lump that he was.
"What do you want?" He asked; his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her. His companion turned too, his hand reaching inside his robes inconspicuously…or so he assumed.
Please, she thought, rolling her eyes.
"To think you could even hit the arse end of an elephant, let alone me is offensive, Longbottom." She drawled, piercing him with a cold gaze. "Put it away."
"Yeah? Well I find your face pretty offensive as well Parkinson, but you're making no effort to hide that either." Weasley retorted, taking a step forward as his friend flushed red. "What do you want?" He repeated, shifting his bag up.
"I've found out something I think you'd be…interested in." She replied, keeping her expression both detached and disinterested.
"What makes you think I have any interest in what you have to say?" He spat at her, making to turn away.
"Oh, and I thought we were getting on so well." She replied sarcastically, her voice taking on an airy, almost sing-song tone.
"The day the devil learns to ice-skate will be the day I get on with you, Parkinson." He muttered, tapping Longbottom on the shoulder.
"Winter games in the fiery depths aside, I think you'll be interested in this." She pressed. "Ever wonder where your sister goes after lights out, Weasley? Wonder why she comes back at late hours, well after curfew and any assigned prefect rounds?" Weasley turned back then, throwing his bag to the floor as he marched straight up to her, his face inches from hers. A crowd had somehow gathered around them. Hogwarts students, never ones to miss any spats or fights, seemed to particularly enjoy the Gryffindor/Slytherin altercations. It was a school tradition, to be honest.
"I don't know what you think you know, but I can assure you, you go anywhere near my sister and I will kill you. You know nothing about her, or about us." He growled in a low voice that only she could hear. It was controlled, calm, but she could almost taste the anger behind his threats, feel his conviction in what he said.
It was delicious. He'd have made a fine Death Eater, if he'd only tap into it more. She smirked in his face, batting her eyelids unconcernedly.
"So you're telling me you know that she's secretly meeting Draco Malfoy, fucking him in broom closets up and down the castle every night?" She finished triumphantly, feeling her resolve bolster at a few scattered gasps from the crowd. Obviously, this was not common knowledge.
Her bravado was suddenly smashed as he let out a sharp laugh, sounding more like a bark than anything.
"That's what you've got to tell me? That's your big secret, your bombshell?" He mocked, grinning widely.
"You…you know?" She stammered, losing her confidence for the first time. She fixed her with a glare.
"Of course I fucking know, you silly little cow. She's my sister." He replied, as if it were self-evident that he was ominiscient as to the goings-on involving her.
"But…but you hate Malfoy!" She screamed; realising that this was the first time in six years she'd called him by his last name. The irony of this whole situation was not lost on her.
"Maybe." He conceded. "But the way he helped us last year, he's a damn sight better than some of her other boyfriends. Not that it's any of your business of course. In fact…" He looked her up and down appraisingly, his nose wrinkling as if she were a bad smell. "Why are you still here?" he asked coldly, folding his arms over his chest. She picked up her bag then and stormed off, the ringing sound of laughter surrounding her bruised, battered and mocked sense of dignity.
It was then that she decided she had nothing left to lose, then that she knew she had to go to extreme measures to get her revenge.
It was then she knew she'd stop at nothing.
It had taken her several sleepless days and nights, finishing detention first with McGonagall (that had been a lesson in patience), then Vector (she still couldn't remember much about it, she assumed she'd fallen asleep marking third year papers) and then retreating to the sanctity of her room. She had sole occupancy now, her former dorm mates either in Azkaban, expelled or alienated from her. But that suited her fine, especially that fateful night when she'd finally come across what she'd been looking for in 'A Tome Moste Darke'.
The Separatum Curse
In this we describe a most wicked curse, designed for those whose hearts have been torn asunder, and seek vengeance to mend the split, or those who have been humiliated and require recompense for their shame.
The Separatum Curse is a form of the Malleus Maleficarum family of hexes and curses, their nature being distantly derived from that of the most evil of dominating magicks, the Imperius. It creates a bond between the victims, slaving their wills and emotions to each other so that if one feels, the other is compelled to experience it also. If the distance between the two objects is of too severe a length, they are overcome with a pain not far removed from that of the Cruciatus, wickedest of torture curses.
The heart of the spell lies in the key to its undoing. Even if the objects become aware that they have been slaved, and learn of this curse, the price of speaking it to their hearts' desires is eternal bondage to its will. If they are able to resist and hold their tongues for the cycle of seven nights, it will be undone.
The wand movement…
Pansy allowed herself a small, cold grin of triumph. This was it.
She had her chance the next day at breakfast, after practicing on rats the night before, endlessly, until she had the curse mastered. It was a silent incantation, thankfully, and an invisible one, its roots of course lying in that of the Imperius and the Cruciatus. With a small quiver of anticipation, the first real sensation of the sort that she'd had since that terrible December night, she watched as the mudblood and the blood-traitor Gryffin-whore sat across from each other. Perfect. The curse required that the persons to be slaved were making eye contact at the time of casting, and being situated no more than twelve feet away.
With a thrill that coursed through her, causing her heart to beat faster, but strangely also making her feel slightly ill, as if a cold, clammy hand had touched her shoulder, she cast.
-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-
"You alright?" The words, although softly spoken, startled Hermione to such an extent that she jumped in her seat, blinking rapidly as she readjusted to where she was. "Hermione?" The voice came again, from her side.
"Huh?" She asked stupidly, still…for want of a better word…waking up. She looked up to see Harry staring at her concernedly, his brow furrowed, green eyes piercing through her from behind his thin-rimmed glasses. With one hand he scratched the back of his neck, eventually turning into a rubbing motion before he dropped it.
She loved it when he did that.
"You sort of…phased out." He replied, his worried gaze not dropping from her for a second. "You okay?"
"Oh, did I?" She asked, waving it off as if it were nothing. She had lost her concentration for a moment, but she was just daydreaming. "Must not have slept very well is all." He smiled slightly at her then, his face relaxing. It sent a little thrill through her to know he cared so much, that his attention could be focused on her and her alone in the tumultuous hustle and bustle that was the Gryffindor table. She shyly returned his little grin, before attacking her plate of bacon and egg with renewed vigour.
"What in the…" Harry said suddenly. She immediately looked back over, and followed his gaze across the table to where Ginny was sat, her hand in mid air and her mouth hanging slightly open where she was about to take a bite of the sausage speared on the end of her fork. "Ginny! Snap out of it." He said sharply, causing her to jolt awake and sending a small rush of adrenaline through Hermione as well. Harry looked between the two of them suspiciously, before he sighed and shook his head, reaching for a slice of toast. "Must be something in the water…" He muttered, earning him a sharp 'Oi' from Ginny, and a noise of indignation from Hermione.
"You get away with that one Potter." She cast in his direction, narrowing her eyes in fake annoyance as she reached over and plucked a rasher of bacon from his plate. "For you have given me tribute, and I am a kindly god." Across from Harry, sat next to his sister, Ron began to laugh. The sound would have normally warmed her, were it not for the rather large chunk of hash brown that flew from his mouth and landed right in the middle of her pirated food.
"Oh, RON!" Ginny chastised sharply, before glancing with disdain at Hermione's plate. The two of them made eye contact and shuddered at the same time, a wave of revulsion washing over them both.
"That was really nasty, man…" Harry agreed, picking the offending article off of her plate and flicking it at his friend's face, grinning as it bounced off of his forehead. "Here," He said, lifting his remaining rashers and placing them next to her tomatoes. "I've had enough anyway."
"Thank you, Harry." She replied graciously, giving him a beaming smile and a wink before tucking in. Lord, she was never normally this hungry. As she was eating, she glanced up briefly whilst she chewed, catching the eye of someone on the far end of the Hall. Or to be more precise, catching the cool, grey eyes of someone across the Hall who was watching her intently.
"What does she want?" Harry broke in suddenly, with barely-contained anger in his voice as he followed her gaze and glared over as Pansy Parkinson. The incident in Potions had happened only a few days ago, as well as Ron's confrontation with her in the corridor, and Harry was still liable to hex her at any point. All of them were, actually. Hermione suddenly felt a surge of anger as she remembered the Slytherin's attempt to come between Ron and Ginny as well, the feeling only intensifying as she spared a quick glance for her friend. The girl's eyes were slits, the fists clutching her knife and fork whitening dangerously at the knuckles. As she looked back, Parkinson smiled coldly, raising her goblet to them ever-so-slightly before looking away in that disdainful manner that only a real snob can truly master.
"Bitch." Ginny muttered, the grunts that came from the two boys signifying their agreement.
"Oh, ignore her Ginny." Hermione replied, still not taking her eyes off the girl who now seemed to be pointedly ignoring them, absorbed in her Herbology text. "It's what she wants, a reaction."
"You're right…" The other girl replied distantly, picking at her food idly with her fork. "I just wish…things with Draco are…we could have done without that, anyway."
"If he dumps you over that," Ron growled threateningly, "I'll beat his pasty white face to a pulp."
"Ron," Ginny snapped, her voice so short and stern that Hermione had a sudden, startling reminder of Mrs. Weasley. "Has anyone told you that this over-protective big-brother thing isn't endearing, it's annoying?"
"She is sixteen Ronald, and Malf…Draco…oh do stop making that face, Harry, has more than proven himself trustworthy." Hermione joined in, feeling unaccountably irritable as well. Ginny flashed her a quick look of gratitude, before turning her glare back onto her brother.
"He'll always be a bloody ferret in my book…" Ron muttered mutinously, glaring back at his sister, who simply rolled her eyes
"What have you got now, Hermione?" She asked, changing the subject away from her boyfriend and onto more neutral territory. Hermione took a sip of her tea, feeling a pleasant tingle as the sweet liquid warmed her from the inside before replying.
"Harry and I have double Transfiguration first, I think." She replied, glancing at the dark-haired boy for confirmation. Although, she thought to herself, judging by the way his cheekbones as so defined now, and that slight shadow that covers his jaw today, and how his robe hangs so nicely off his shoulders…maybe boy isn't the right word. Ginny suddenly coughed loudly and Hermione looked over, both of them blushing for some reason as Ginny stared at her, slightly open-mouthed.
"Yeah," Harry replied, slightly oblivious to the exchange as he apprehensively watched Colin Creevey retrieve his camera from the depths of his school satchel, casting around for another…model. His eyes glanced back to find the two girls looking at each other intently, brows furrowed as if having a battle of wills.
"What has gotten in to you two today?" He asked, looking back and forth between them once again.
"Nothing…nothing…" Hermione replied distractedly. "What did you say you had, Gin?"
"Defence." Ginny replied in the same manner, her voice suggesting she was only really half there. Harry shook his head in confusion again, a voice that sounded remarkably like Ron's saying 'Mental' in his head.
"Come on then," He said, getting up. "Ten minutes now, and Ginny you're on the floor below, so we'll walk you there. Ron?" He said, glancing at his other best friend.
"Hah, free period, you poor, poor souls." He grinned, folding his arms over his chest in a smug manner. Harry stared blankly at him, blinking for a few seconds before turning and leaving without saying another word. Hermione stifled a smirk, and gave a quick wave to Ron before hurrying off after him, Ginny in pursuit.
"So, when are you meeting Draco?" Hermione half-whispered to her friend, loud enough for Harry to hear her use of Malfoy's first name, and getting a little bit of a kick out of seeing him grimace. Feeling a slight twinge of elation as well, Ginny smiled.
"Tonight," She whispered conspiratorially, "In the Room of Requirement. But enough about my love life, what was that all about at breakfast?" She teased, stifling a giggle at Hermione's blush.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She replied in a quiet voice, glancing worriedly up at Harry. Being somewhat afflicted by the condition known as masculinity, he'd walked ahead without really noticing they'd fallen behind.
"Oh come on Hermione, you've been in love with each other for like, years, and neither of you has said anything! When are you going to tell him? You know you have those nice, cosy Head quarters now…"
"Ginevra Anne Weasley, I have no idea where you get these ideas from, or who you're even talking about, but…"
"Harry, you dolt. Don't play stupid with me, it doesn't become you."
"Harry is my best friend."
"You love him."
"Well, yes of course, but…"
"You're in love with him."
"I most certainly am n…"
"And he's in love with you." Ginny finished pointedly, staring her in the eyes with a 'don't-bullshit-me-madam' glare.
"He doesn't…" She whispered, breaking their locked gazes and looking down at the floor, before suddenly looking back up, a little glint in her eyes that for some reason caused a feeling of hope to blossom in Ginny's chest. "Really?" She was about to answer, when she saw the subject of their discussion suddenly fall back in step with them.
"Hey, what're you talking about?" He asked amicably, throwing a companionable arm around Hermione that she involuntarily leant into, blushing as soon she realised what she'd down. Ginny felt an inward cringe. No, you fool. Go with it!
"Nothing," Ginny replied dismissively. "Girl talk." She'd learned over the years, that if there were any two words in the English language more likely to dissuade a boy from prying into conversations, it was to use the girl talk excuse. And just as she predicted, Harry blanched ever so slightly before changing the subject.
"Right…er…Hermione, I was wondering, could you help me tonight with my Transfiguration homework? I'm going to ask McGonagall about it in class today, but I can't quite get the difference between a waxing Animagus transformation and a waning one. I'm sure she said something about it, but…"
"Of course," Hermione replied cheerfully, "although you know, she did set this essay two weeks ago." Harry gave a long-suffering sigh in response.
"I know, but since when have I ever been organised?" He asked rhetorically. Hermione grinned as she chose to answer anyway.
"Good point. Alright, the difference between a waning and a waxing transformation occurs when the Pentecostal…" She began, only to be cut off by Ginny.
"Er, not that I don't care about advanced transfiguration and…wax pedestals and the like. Because I do, you know, but this is my stop." She grinned impishly at the other girl's irritated glance, knowing instinctively somehow that she wasn't really disgruntled. "So I'll see you after Defence?" She asked the pair.
"Yep, Library." Harry sighed resignedly, ignoring the look Hermione threw him.
"Cool." Ginny shifted her bag up, giving them both a little wave as she set off down the corridor. "See you in a bit."
"Bye, Ginny." They both called out, before ascending the staircase that would take them to Advanced Transfiguration. Hermione clutched several books to her chest as they walked idly, both of them slightly early, but wanting to get in before the first and second year Hufflepuffs filtered out of their common room.
"So, tonight alright for you then?" Harry asked after a few moments, one hand clutching the strap of his bag and another stuffed firmly inside his trouser pocket. She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye, smiling involuntarily as she did so.
She'd been doing that a lot, lately.
"Yeah, fine." She replied. "Although, you know, I'll have to check my busy social calendar."
"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, a smirk lighting his features and reaching his eyes. She loved it when they lit up like that. "Illegal raves in Hogsmeade, Miss Granger?"
"Oh quite." She responded dryly. "After that, a little heavy drinking and moonlight skinny dipping with the Giant Squid might be in order, you'll be coming?" To his credit, Harry didn't blush, much.
"I'm Head Boy I'll have you know, miss. Such things are below me now. Although the prospect of a pretty girl all wet and naked…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Hermione laughed, perhaps a little too loudly to be normal.
"Not now, not ever." She lied through her teeth. "In with you." With a gentle, cajoling push to his shoulder, they entered the room.
"Mister Potter, Miss Granger." McGonagall greeted, tapping her wand on the blackboard as she finished setting up her classroom for the lesson.
"Professor," They both replied, taking their usual seats in the centre. McGonagall's lips pursed slightly.
"How many times must I tell you, Mister Potter? We fill in from the front." With a sharp flick of her wrist, the chair underneath Harry disappeared, causing him to clutch onto Hermione suddenly for support. She couldn't help but laugh as he slipped anyway, falling to the floor with a resounding thump.
"Ow…" He murmured faintly. The Professor merely looked at him, the slight crinkling in the corners of her eyes giving away her amusement.
"And let that be a lesson to you. Front and centre, please!" She commanded imperiously, before turning back to her blackboard. Harry stood up, rubbing his backside tenderly as he made his way to the front.
Hermione tried her best not rub it comfortingly.
Author's Note:
Hello again all,
I've started this fic in response to the challenge "Bound Together" on the PK forums, located at http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=11422. It was set by Paladin3030 a couple of years back, so hopefully he'll see it here ;)
Anyway, I'm not sure how long this will be. A lot longer than "Non Sequitur", probably five to six chapters. I just wanted to say thank you for the response I got to NS, actually, it was more popular than I thought it would be. Hopefully you'll enjoy Ties, even though it's darker, and a lot less light-hearted. So yeah, if you read it, please review! It gives me all kind of happy, and I reply to each one I get.
- Castledown.
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