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The first time Pansy saw Granger after the war was at the Ministry of Magic, in January. She wasn't especially surprised; even if she hadn't known Granger worked there now, it figured.
Granger seemed shocked, though. When she saw Pansy she dropped the stack of papers she had been carrying; one of the quills took the opportunity to escape, whizzing vengefully down the corridor.
"Hiya, Granger," said Pansy. It seemed only polite now that Granger had made a mess on her behalf. She didn't help to pick the papers up, though. She stood there and watched Granger do it.
"Pansy," Granger said. "What are you doing here?"
"That's not an information I wish to disclose at the moment," Pansy said, in preparation for later. She'd watched enough Muggle TV shows that she could even have said, I plead the fifth. "You work here."
It hadn't been a question, but Granger answered it anyway. She nodded. "I'm the Deputy Director for Protection of Endangered Magical Species," she said.
"Hm," Pansy said. "That's quite a mouthful."
"I never really thought of it that way," said Granger, frowning. "Anyway, it's a fascinating job. Professor MacGonagall kept saying I should try wizarding medicine, maybe the training program at St Mungo's, but no offense to her, her generation wasn't really involved in the protection of species because they were still too busy discovering them, triaging between the legends and the real creatures. There's a lot to do."
"I'm sure," said Pansy, trying to telegraph how much she didn't care. She kept up with the important news, knew the gist of what was going on, and it was enough for her.
Granger colored. "Well," she said, "what are you doing here?"
Pansy could have repeated that she didn't care to answer, but she took pity on Granger. "I'm here for a deposition."
Granger frowned harder. She was probably going to be one of those women who ended up with deep wrinkles of laughter and worry on her cheeks and forehead, still beautiful despite them. "It's been years," she said. "I thought they'd stopped the depositions five years ago. I didn't hear anything about it."
Her friends were with the Auror Department, Pansy remembered. She didn't think about the Potter Posse much these days. "They did. They're re-opening the investigation on Goyle. There was an accident with a Muggle and a dragon; they want to see if they can't make an example out of him, soothe the radical anti-Death Eaters groups and quiet public opinion at the same time. Everyone loves to see justice served." The sarcasm in her voice was almost second nature now.
"Oh," Granger said, and Pansy could see in her face that she was going to talk to someone about this, "I see."
"Well," Pansy couldn't help but make it mean, "good to see you again, Granger."
The sarcasm flew right over Granger's head. She nodded, her head bowed. "Likewise," she whispered.
When Pansy was halfway down the corridor, Granger called for her.
"Hey," Pansy let Granger run up to her until they were elbow to elbow, Granger's face red from the exercise, "do you want to get a coffee afterwards?"
Pansy stared at her. "Why?"
"You know," Granger said, looking uncomfortable, and Pansy wanted to say, no, I don't know, "catch up."
Pansy thought about it for a second. "No," she said, at the same moment that Granger said, "Forget it, it was a bad idea anyway, I…"
Granger's face fell. "Well," she said. "Okay then."
She had no reason to be disappointed, Pansy thought. They really had never been friends, or anything approaching it. At best they had been circumstantial allies, for a second.
"Okay," she said.
"Well, I'll —see you around, I suppose," Granger said.
Unlikely, Pansy thought, if we've managed not to cross each other's paths for fifteen years.
—
Pansy refused to believe in something as uncertain and volatile as the universe, but if it had indeed existed she would have said it conspired to put her and Hermione Granger in the same place. After that first encounter they bumped into each other everywhere: in Diagon's Alley, in the Ministry again, random places in London. Their eyes even met in a vegan restaurant Pansy usually wouldn't have been caught dead in while she was waiting for Padma to finish her shift. She would have believed that Granger was stalking her if for the fact that she seemed regularly mortified whenever one of those encounters took place.
When Pansy saw her at the bar of the Lady Love, a Muggle club in West London which Pansy occasionally patronized because Muggle meant nice clothes and the certainty that there would be no Celestina Warbeck at any point of the night, she decided to do something. She walked up to Hermione, jostling the pretty blonde who was trying to chat her up. Hermione looked mildly chagrined, though she was too polite to say anything.
"Granger," Pansy said peremptorily, "we should have that drink now. Maybe then we can go back to ignoring each other's existence in peace."
At that point Granger looked like she just wanted to be rid of Pansy too. "Alright," she said. "I'll get us drinks."
"So you're a dyke now," Pansy said after they'd settled at a table far from the pounding noise, sipping on a mai tai.
Hermione winced. "Don't use that word."
"It seems you're never quite done policing what I can and can't say," Pansy said.
"It perpetuates the ostracization of a minority group," Hermione said earnestly, "and it—"
"Save it for someone who actually cares," Pansy said, not unkindly.
Silence fell on them. Pansy sighed. "Granger," she said, "you must have had a conversation topic in mind when you invited me to have coffee the other day."
Hermione stared down at her drink.
"If it's about being here," Pansy continued —this was excruciating, really—, "I'm here too."
"I already knew that," Hermione said. "That you were…" Pansy could see her choosing the word in her head, "a lesbian."
"Really."
"I saw you and Cho Chang kissing once," Hermione said. Pansy smiled. It was a good memory. "In the Room of Requirement."
"I thought it didn't reveal what was going on in it," Pansy said.
If Hermione had been anyone else she would have pointed to herself and said, brightest witch of her time. But she just explained, "There's a charm that works on intermittent places like the Room. Not just a simple Revelo… it has to do with quantum theory, because those places are ubiquitous, in a sense. You have to anchor them in two points in time simultaneously." She shrugged. "I was curious."
"I can imagine," Pansy said.
"Can you?" Hermione asked honestly.
"Probably not," Pansy admitted. She liked honesty. In Hogwarts she had used to wield it like a weapon; now it just made people uncomfortable.
"I wasn't—" Hermione said brutally, after a while, "in Hogwarts, I wasn't… attracted. To girls. Not that there's anything wrong with it, actually Ron and I went to the Wizarding Pride in London the summer after our graduation, it was—" Something closed on her face. "I only started coming here after I got divorced."
Pansy didn't really want to know, but she asked anyway. "Was that a long time ago?"
"Not really," Hermione said.
"So no happy ever after for our heroes," Pansy said. She didn't mean for it to be mean, but it came out that way anyway. Probably it was just habit. "Figures."
"I'm surprised you haven't read about it in the paper," Hermione said. She was drinking something green and tame, that smelled strongly of lemon.
"I don't read the paper," Pansy said.
"No? Why?"
Because that's the sort of thing that's in it, Pansy thought. "I travel," she said instead.
Hermione's eyes lit up a little. "Really? Do you travel for your job? Where?"
"Japan mostly," Pansy said.
"I've never been to Japan," said Hermione. "I've never really gone traveling. I always thought I would, but I'm working all the time. After graduation… but then it was moving to London, and getting married, and that position at the Ministry, and there are so many things broken in the system… it all adds up, you know?"
She looked at Pansy like she was really asking for her opinion. "Not really, no," said Pansy. She didn't know. After graduation Draco and her had spent a year in the United States to wash the bad taste of seventh year out of their mouths. They had rented a car —a Muggle car.
"What did you do?" Hermione asked. Pansy was done talking about the past, though. They had lived through it once, and that was enough.
"Did you come here to dance?" she asked, nodding at the dance-floor.
Hermione flushed. "Not really," she said. "Usually I just—"
"People pick you up," Pansy translated matter-of-factly. "You're beautiful, you're famous."
"Do you? Dance, I mean?"
Pansy shrugged. "Sometimes. I like Muggle club music." She caught Hermione's surprised expression and rolled her eyes. "It's been ten years, Granger. Trends fade."
"You can call me Hermione," Hermione said reflexively. "You think Voldermort's army was a trend?"
Pansy didn't flinch at the name. "Of course. Everything is."
"You don't think there's anything that's… more important? Essential? Values, bravery, justice?"
"Bravery is your thing, Granger, not mine," Pansy said. "You want to dance or not?"
Hermione made a surprised me? noise that Pansy didn't bother responding to. She seemed to hesitate for a handful of seconds, then downed what was left of her drink and stood up. She took Pansy's hand. The song had sad lyrics set to a poppy beat, the bass heavy and pounding. Pansy pulled Hermione closer out of habit.
About ten minutes into it Pansy looked at Hermione's face and saw that she was talking —shouting, probably—, her fingers digging into the meat of Pansy's shoulder. Pansy fought the urge to roll her eyes again. No wonder she didn't dance.
"Don't ruin the moment, Granger," she said. Hermione probably didn't hear her over the loud music but she seemed to get the message and shut up. A few minutes later her body started relaxing in increments. It was nice. It had been a long time since Pansy had danced with someone she knew.
—
When they got tired of dancing —Pansy saw a couple of young women with bright lipstick throw them curious looks, either that they recognized Hermione or that they were contemplating their age— Hermione was the one to suggest they go outside. They stopped at a Muggle shop and got vodka.
"I feel like I'm seventeen again," Hermione said, frowning down at the bottle.
"Weren't you too busy saving the world at seventeen to drink in parks?"
Hermione looked stricken. "Probably," she admitted.
Pansy hadn't drunk in parks when she was seventeen either, so it worked out. They sat down on a bench where mercifully no bum was sleeping. Hermione searched for a plaque with the name of the park but couldn't find it. They had to hop over the fence to get in, but despite what Pansy had thought, Hermione didn't protest.
She was the first to take a sip, actually, her lips stretched around the neck of the bottle, brazen. She looked nice in the darkness, like someone else entirely, not Hermione Granger, Co-Savior of the Wizarding World, but more like any girl Pansy might have picked up at the Lady Love. It was reassuring, at least. Maybe Pansy didn't look like herself anymore either, if you looked at her in the right light.
They drank in silence. When it got cold Hermione moved closer, unprompted, her side hot against Pansy's. After a while she let herself fall backwards in the damp grass. She sighed.
"Do you feel ashamed of what you did?" she asked when the bottle was halfway empty. Pansy was shaking a cigarette from her pack into her hand.
"No," she said. "Should I?"
Hermione's lips twisted, like she was really thinking about it. "I don't know. You did some horrible things."
"I didn't," Pansy said, lighting her cigarette.
"You tortured us," Hermione said.
"No. I taunted you a little for a while, but no more than the average bitchy teenager. Draco was obsessed with you and your friends, I was obsessed with Draco. Otherwise I probably wouldn't even have noticed you."
"It was racism!" Hermione said, her eyes bulging slightly out of her head.
"It was. I didn't know how to think for myself. But it was far from warcrimes."
That was a low blow, because Hermione had been at the trial and Pansy remembered with startling precision what she had looked like: her face drawn, shoulders dropping, voice rote as she gave damning testimony after damning testimony. Pansy hadn't had it in her to pity her, though. Those were her friends who were being condemned and jailed.
Hermione didn't say anything. She drank more vodka. Her cheeks were red. Pansy kept smoking. She wasn't mad, just annoyed. There was no way to keep the past at bay.
There was a sudden flapping noise near them, like wings unfolding, and one of the bushes shook. Hermione let out a shriek and pressed closer to Pansy.
"It's just a bird," said Pansy even as she draped an arm around her shoulders. The bird's ample silhouette was cutting into the night sky, black over dark blue.
"Sorry," Hermione said. She didn't move away.
She was comfortable, Pansy noticed, and she had gotten prettier since school, more confident: she dressed in fitting clothes, tamed her hair, put on make-up. She seemed more accessible.
All those things were probably part of why Pansy leant down and kissed her. There was something else, too, which she wasn't in a hurry to investigate. Hermione's mouth was cold against hers, her cheek hot in Pansy's palm. Blood rushed to it; she was surprised. For a while she didn't move, frozen. Then she kissed back.
It wasn't as if Pansy hadn't fantasized about it a few times in school, but this was different: Hermione was singularly ungentle and her mouth tasted of vodka and something sweeter, sugar and lemon from her drink at the club. She pushed Pansy back so that she was lying in the grass, Hermione leaning on her elbows over her. It wasn't a position Pansy liked; she felt trapped. But she didn't move away.
It was only when the kiss got more heated and Pansy slipped a hand under her silky top that Hermione pulled back. She seemed torn. She licked her lips.
"I can't do this," she said. "Not right now."
Pansy hoisted herself on her elbows. "Why not?" she asked, annoyed.
"We just… I know you," Hermione said.
"That's not usually an impediment," Pansy said, getting on her feet and brushing grass off her trousers. When Hermione gave her a look she relented, "but okay. I understand." She hesitated for a second, then extended her hand for Hermione to take, pulled her up. "Another time."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, sounding it. Pansy thought it must be exhausting to be so earnest all the time.
"It's fine," Pansy said. "You can buy me dinner next time if you want. But it will happen."
For a second, Hermione looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Then she asked, "How do you know?"
"I know." She added, "I've always wondered," even though she hadn't. She did now, and besides, it might make the whole thing easier.
—
She was surprised when she saw Hermione in her Floo a week later. Her face was small and embarrassed in the confines of the fireplace, but all she said was, "I'm surprised you managed to get a fireplace in a London flat."
"I'm made of money, Granger," Pansy said boredly.
"Call me Hermione. I thought all Death Eaters assets had been frozen until further notice."
That had turned out to mean: forever. That money had gone into roads, tax relief and, ironically, Floo networks. "I had some money on the side," Pansy said. It was all she was willing to disclose. "Are you here to interrogate me or to ask me out? Because if it's the first, I'm afraid the Ministry beat you to it."
Hermione didn't seem put off by her rudeness. Maybe she was getting used to it. "Yeah," she said. She flushed a little. "There's an Indian not far from my flat if you're interested."
Pansy arched an eyebrow. "How forward," was all she said.
"Convenient."
Which was true: even though it didn't always seem that way, they were both adults. Things changed. Pansy was the first to say it but sometimes she had to remind herself.
They met at the Indian restaurant an hour later. Pansy had considered whether to dress up, but in the end it was more of an innate compulsion than something she did for other people. She put on spike heels and a menacing black dress. She wanted to see if Hermione would be afraid.
She wasn't. She looked comfortable, looking down at a picture in her wallet while she waited. Pansy saw the moving corners of Ron Weasley's smile before she put it away.
"Maybe this isn't necessary," she said, somewhat stung. When Hermione looked at her inquisitively she nodded at the wallet in her hands. "I don't want to intrude on anything."
Hermione laughed. Pansy tried to be insulted, but it was a nice laugh. "Oh, no, it's—" She took out the photo. It was the whole Potter Posse, some of whom Pansy recognized and some she didn't, plus children. They all looked old —older at the very least— except for a Veela girl Pansy vaguely remembered from the Triwizard tournament.
"That's Fleur," Hermione said when she saw where Pansy was looking. "She's Bill's —Ron's brother's— wife."
"Okay," Pansy said. She didn't have pictures of her family in her wallet. "Let's go inside."
In the end it was surprisingly nice. Pansy was used to being bored on dates, which was why she didn't go on them, but Hermione was smart and funny, mostly smart, and after a few mishaps she understood that Pansy didn't want to talk about the past. Sometimes she stopped talking and titled her head, looking at Pansy through her eyelashes. She didn't do the seducing shtick very well, but it was charming. Pansy could understand not being used to dating after a long time being married. Draco had been the same. The first time they'd gone out after his divorce he had been stiff and halting, his fear making him even more insufferable than usual, and it had taken too much alcohol to loosen him up.
At some point Hermione asked, "Are you an only child?"
"Yes," Pansy said. "All Slytherins are only children; didn't you know?"
"You're not a Slytherin anymore." Of all the things to say.
"Aren't I? The rest of the world seems to disagree."
Hermione frowned. "Well, they're…"
"Wrong? Probably. Though there is an argument to be made for the fact that a rumor, repeated enough times by enough people, becomes true."
Hermione didn't like that theory. "People don't talk about us anymore," she said.
That's wishful thinking, Pansy thought. "Maybe. They remember, though. And we —well, you at least— are going to be in the history books forever, now. Binns is probably teaching your exploits as we speak."
Hermione made a face. "Binns is dead," she said.
"Right. Well, the next one. It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it?"
"Not to me. I didn't know him."
"How can you say that?" Hermione looked vaguely horrified, though she looked interested most of all. Pansy supposed that had come when she'd grown up: she'd lost the judgment and kept the curiosity. Good choice.
"I can," she said. "If I died you and your friends wouldn't care, and you would be right not to."
"I'd care," Hermione said.
"Maybe now," Pansy said. "But you wouldn't have cared two weeks ago. I'm not judging you; it's just how it is."
Hermione didn't insist, but Pansy could see she didn't understand. It was fine, though. It was good, in a way: it proved that you could have different opinions and still be there, sitting at the same table, trying.
Hermione told her Harry and Ginny were having problems and Pansy said something about it not being a very good idea to get married when you'd just come out of a war, high on the adrenalin of victory. The truth was that you never won in a war, and Hermione seemed to know that.
"Still," she said, "I don't regret doing it."
Pansy doubted she regretted doing anything; she thought it might have something to do with her children, but she didn't ask. Pansy didn't deal very well with emotional topics; didn't care enough to, probably.
"How's Draco?" Hermione asked over dessert, her mouth pink and shining with sugar. Pansy had to make herself stop looking.
"Better. He works for the Ministry now." She couldn't keep some measure of scorn out of her voice.
Hermione didn't notice. "I know," she said. "I mean, how is he? We don't talk."
"You should. He always admired you."
Hermione laughed. Then she stopped, blanching a little. "…really?"
He had been so mean to her. Had she really never noticed? "He hated how clever you were in school. He thought all the smart ones ought to be on our side. It didn't make sense to him." Pansy licked her spoon thoughtfully. "I think he was even smitten with you at some point, whenever he took two seconds' rest from mooning over Potter."
"Harry," Hermione corrected absently. "I didn't know that."
"Of course you didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Just… you were busy in school, don't you remember? Always something going on. Maybe that's why you didn't have time to figure your shit out."
A smile quirked Hermione's mouth. "I did kiss Ginny once."
"Hm?"
"On a dare. It was nice. I think she liked it." Her eyes were full of sparks.
"I did wonder once or twice," Pansy snickered, "what with all that sports-playing."
Hermione gave her a look, don't stereotype. Pansy thought, with what felt singularly like panic, that it probably wouldn't be hard to get used to that look.
Which didn't explain why she spread her palms on the table and pushed herself up to kiss Hermione on the lips. Hermione didn't seem to mind, though. She was smiling while they kissed. She tasted like honey. The few times Pansy had wondered about it at school she'd always thought the skin behind her ears would smell like parchment and that there would be inkstains on her fingertips like tattoos. But it was different now. When she finally pulled away Hermione licked her lips.
"Was that for something in particular?"
Pansy shrugged; blushing wouldn't do. "I wasn't interested in your recriminations," she said.
Hermione just laughed.
—
Hermione's house was a small cottage-type thing in the middle of the city. In the hesitant light of morning every single appliance seemed gilded, their golden glow soft and smooth. Pansy realized she didn't mind that she'd spent the night. After sex Hermione had put on a T-shirt and made them tea; she'd said she didn't mind if Pansy smoked and they'd reclined against the headboard and talked. Still, it didn't mean Pansy was going to make breakfast.
She filled a glass of water at the sink. Outside was a small garden, with a cat which Pansy supposed was Hermione's, ginger with brown stripes. Hermione was rich too, Pansy remembered, but it didn't show. It didn't show at Pansy's either but that was because she preferred to spend her money on trips and commodities like good food in gourmet restaurants and rare books with precious lettering.
She heard noise behind her. Hermione was leaning against the doorjamb, yawning. Her pajamas were blue and too big for her, cloth pooling at her feet.
"You're up," she said, in a tone that meant, you're still here. Pansy didn't think it was disapproval, just surprise.
Pansy nodded. She didn't really get it either.
Hermione grinned. "And you're naked."
Pansy looked down at herself, then back up. Hermione was holding out her hand. She titled her head.
"I brushed my teeth," she said.
Pansy took her hand. The red of her nails was stark against Hermione's pale skin. Her lipstick had left traces on Hermione's nice yellow pillowcase.
"Don't you want breakfast?" she smirked.
Hermione pulled her close. "Sure," she said easily, kissing the dip of Pansy's collarbone. "This is breakfast."
They went back to bed. The morning could wait.
—
It turned out —not really surprising, when you thought about it— that Hermione was a much more entertaining person once you got her out of her clothes. She was still as nerdy and earnest in bed, but she wasn't afraid to play dirty, to lick and bite and hold herself over Pansy, pinning her hands down, breathing heavy. Not to mention that she obviously knew what she was doing, which was… nice. For the longest time Pansy hadn't wanted to mix those two worlds, kissing girls and the people she actually knew —worse, that she knew from back then—, but this was okay.
When Pansy left her house that first day Hermione watched her get dressed, still under the covers, then dragged her back down to kiss some more and eventually accompanied her to the door, wrapped in a sheet.
"It was good to see you again," she said with absolutely no sarcasm in her voice.
Pansy had to laugh. Hermione had offered the Floo, but she'd said she wanted to walk. Clear her mind. Maybe she'd invite Draco and Blaise to dinner and it'd be like the old days, the good ones.
"I'll see you around," Pansy said, dipping down to kiss her. She'd thought Hermione might recoil, might not want to chance her neighbors seeing them, but she didn't care, sucking on Pansy's tongue with enthusiasm.
Then they stood face to face. Pansy thought she should already have been gone; possibly she shouldn't have come to begin with.
"You can come back if you want," Hermione said after agonizing a little over it. "This was nice. There's no reason not to do it again, right?"
She was trying to sell Pansy on it and not doing a very good job, but Pansy was charmed.
"I know where you live," she said, against her better judgement.
Hermione's eyes softened. "You do." She leant back, smacking her lips together. Merlin, she looked young. "Well, go on then."
Pansy left. The morning was sharp and fresh and when she got to the manor it was barely noon. Pansy knew Draco always spent Wednesdays with his mother, without fail, except when Narcissa was traveling. Pansy found her gardening, her small, delicate frame comical in overalls and bright green rubber boots. Her face was smudged with dirt but she looked regal.
"Oh, hello love," she said when she saw Pansy. "Are you looking for Draco? He's inside. I'm afraid I'll never make him a convert," she said sadly, looking down at her tulips. Pansy laughed. You'd have to pay Draco to garden, and even then it probably wouldn't work.
"Thanks," she said.
Narcissa nodded and went back to the tulips. Pansy watched her for a little while. When she was a child Narcissa had always been a beloved aunt, the closest person to who Pansy hoped to grow into. It was sad, and a little disconcerting, seeing her brokenness now —but she was still standing, so it was hope too. Pansy shook her head to dislodge the thoughts. How cliched. Granger must be rubbing off on her.
She found Draco inside, reading the paper. She dropped herself in the chair facing him. He didn't look up.
"How graceful," he said, prim, as Pansy grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and bit into it.
She rolled her eyes. Waited until he folded his paper and finally looked at her. He seemed to sharpen every time she came to see him, like glass eroding backwards.
"Well? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She didn't say anything, just looked at him until he dropped the act. He sighed.
"Did you see Mother?"
Pansy nodded, just a slight incline of her chin. "Yes, she's tending to the tulips."
"I think she still holds out hope that I'll suddenly wake up interested in gardening one day," he said tiredly.
"You're fine," said Pansy. "Do you have something to eat? I'm famished."
Draco murmured something and a small silver tray appeared, loaded with lemon bars. He pushed it towards her, he frosted sugar glittering like crystal.
"Where's Blaise?" Pansy asked. "I haven't seen him in weeks. He was supposed to come with me to the opera on Monday but he never showed."
Draco gave her a sharp grin. "Oh, that's an interesting story, actually." He reclined in his chair. "You'd never believe what amounts of gossip those idiots at the Ministry manage to generate. Truly miraculous that they get any work done. Anyway, if the Weasley tribe is to be believed, he's been getting up close and personal with Potter's widow."
"He did always have a fondness for her in school."
Draco's gaze pinned her. "School is a long way off, don't you think? But I suppose we have to be gracious about it."
There was silence for a long while. Draco was looking at nothing, his eyes lost somewhere in the universe of dust suspended in the light.
"I slept with Hermione Granger yesterday," Pansy said when she was done eating, wiping her fingers on one of the Malfoy's monogrammed hand-towels.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "You did?" Then he smiled, "I suppose Hogwarts isn't all that far off, then."
Pansy shrugged. "It just happened," she said.
"You know she has children?" Pansy nodded. "Getting involved with those people is rarely a good idea," Draco continued, but he didn't seem cross, just gently disapproving, "it's so easy to make a mess of things. But I'm guessing you have your reasons."
"I do," Pansy said.
"Well then. Be careful." He looked at her for a moment, almost fond, then shook it off. "How about a walk, then? Lunch should be ready soon."
Where the sun hadn't touched it the grass was still covered with dew. They went back to the spots they had used to hide in when they were younger, talking until the silence caught up with them. Then it was just the sounds of nature, the birds, the shudder of the wind, and they listened.
—
There was no reason not to go back to Hermione's, and Pansy didn't try to find one. She did wait a while, to put her head in order, to figure out if she really wanted it or if it was just a way to take revenge on what had happened before, prove that nothing was really that simple, that heroes didn't shack up with other heroes and had beautiful green-eyed babies. But there were too many questions and not enough answers, and Pansy had never liked waiting.
Hermione didn't seem to expect anything of her either: sometimes they went to a Quidditch match or to a movie or to dinner and then they had sex. Sometimes Pansy spent the night, sometimes she didn't. She avoided inviting Hermione back to her flat: there were too many personal things there, too many books, pictures from her travels. Hermione was so clever that Pansy was afraid it wouldn't take more than one look for her to figure out everything about Pansy, and wasn't that a terrifying thought.
Either way, it went well. They weren't dating, exactly, but they weren't quite doing anything different either. Pansy had met both Ginny and George, the surviving twin, the first after a match and the second randomly, in the street (Hogwarts didn't count). Pansy had recognized the deep sorrow in George's eyes and despite herself she had liked him. He smiled too wide and too tight like he was trying to break his own mouth. Looking at him, Pansy knew he was one of those who understood how hard it was to find any kind of peace.
When Hermione's parents got wind of their relationship they asked Hermione to bring Pansy to dinner. Hermione told Pansy about it one day while they were having breakfast, a little flushed, and Pansy said she'd go before she could even conjure up the apprehension. It went well, really —if anyone was removed from the whole Wizarding conundrum it was them, both dentists and largely clueless about magic. They treated Pansy like she was any girl, calling her 'young woman' and offering her second helpings of everything. Hermione seemed happy.
But really it was only when the Weasleys summoned her a few weeks later that Pansy realized that she was being integrated into that strange elastic world that was Hermione's —and by proxy the Golden Trio's—, that pell mell of do-gooders retired heroes, and it occurred to her that she ought to be afraid, or maybe angry.
"I'll go," she told Hermione nevertheless.
Hermione shot her a doubtful look. "You will? You're not just saying that to be polite?"
"Have you ever known me to do anything just to be polite?"
"You're right," Hermione said, a smile quirking her mouth for some reason. "I'll owl them then."
That night when they got into bed Pansy realized that she hadn't gone home two days. One of the toothbrushes in the glass was hers, from when she'd run out to the pharmacy to get it because she didn't want to use Hermione's. In the end, domesticity was scarier in theory, she thought; in reality it was like settling for a long train ride, closing your eyes and waiting for your heart to sync with the bumps on the tracks.
—
"So," Hermione said after a while, splaying her hands at Pansy's side and kissing the dip of her sternum, "are you an only child?"
Pansy smirked. Merlin, she could have killed for a cigarette. Sex always made her want to smoke. Filthy Muggle habit. "No."
Hermione rested her cheek on Pansy's stomach. "You're not?"
"I have a sister," said Pansy.
"Hm. Maybe I should've been the Slytherin."
"You'd have been rubbish at it," Pansy said.
"Don't be so sure." After a while her breathing synced with Pansy's. "So what's her name?"
"Who?"
"Your sister."
"Virginia."
"Is she older?"
"No. Younger. She's in fifth year now." She looked down at Hermione on her chest, the long eyelashes, the bushy hair. Her cheeks were rosy. "It didn't soften me. Her being born."
Hermione didn't say anything. Pansy watched her add up the years in her mind; when Hermione had spent too much time blatantly wondering if it was okay to mention it, Pansy took pity on her.
"She was born during the last year of the war," she said.
Hermione's mouth formed a small o. "Oh. How did that feel like?"
The question made Pansy angry. She thought, you have children, but I don't ask you about them. She knew it wasn't the same thing, though.
"Strange," was all she said. The truth was, sometimes she felt she and Virginia had nothing in common. They didn't live in the same world. Virginia thought she was bitter. Still, Pansy would do anything for her —that had to count for something.
Hermione nodded, as if to say, I get it. She didn't. Then she surprised Pansy by saying, "I miss my children all the time."
"Don't they live with you?" Even though Hermione was almost maniacally tidy she had seen toys scattered around the house, and she knew that Hermione shared custody with Ron. Pansy spent half her time at Hermione's house; it wasn't hard to notice it was the children-less half.
"Half the time, though Hugo's in school during the day, and Rose is at Hogwarts. It's just, it's hard to get used to them not being there after caring for them every minute of every day for years. You feel like you've been abandoned, even if it's the natural order of things."
Pansy didn't want children. She had decided that at age ten, and everything that had happened after had only served to confirm that decision.
"Did he fight you for them?"
Hermione seemed to startle out of an intricate reverie. "Ron? No. It was an amicable divorce." Pansy doubted that; Ron was one of those people who did everything with unbearable animation, loud and unsubtle. Hermione must have seen that on her face, because she laughed. "Well. Mostly. But we love each other."
Not enough, Pansy thought, but she didn't want to be mean.
Hermione angled a crooked smile at her. "You can say it. It's true."
Pansy startled, surprised.
"You know," Hermione said, getting it all out in one breath, "I'm okay if you want to meet them." She looked up so she could catch Pansy's eyes. "Hugo and Rose."
Pansy thought about it for a minute. Did she? She had run her hands on the scars on Hermione's hips, kissed them. Giving birth hadn't made her more beautiful but Pansy didn't hate the marks like she'd thought she would, either.
"Why not," she said cautiously. After all the first Weasley dinner hadn't been an unmitigated disaster. Pansy had even had a conversation with Percy —the lanky, twitchy one. Ron had relaxed after a while, when he'd realized this wasn't all just a big trap to humiliate Hermione. Afterwards Pansy had talked to Draco and he'd told her she was taking too many pains for something that wasn't worth-it.
"You can meet Virginia too," she said, just for the hell of it. "She'll probably like you. She's been all over Hogwarts: A History."
Hermione was charmingly predictable: her eyes lit up and she started to ramble about what did Virginia want to do and did she need help because Hermione had kept her flashcards and she knew that shop where you could get really good parchment, on and on until Pansy had to kiss her to shut her up.
—
Virginia loved Hermione; their parents were less keen on her, of course, but since it was no longer politically acceptable to say so they didn't, and Pansy caught herself thinking that that kind of dysfunction happened in any relationship. Blaise told her, laughing, that she could've done worse in the Golden Trio, considering. Though Pansy wasn't sure whether to trust his word given that he was still starry-eyed over the Weasley sister.
They went to Japan together in the fall. Pansy needed to go for work —curating private collections of ancient wizarding books; on her first time in Pansy's flat Hermione had almost fainted with excitement— and Hermione managed to get a full month off, mostly by virtue of never having taking one vacation day before except when she was pregnant. She worked furiously, Pansy had learned, with almost erotic fervour; she slaved over her treaties and bills with endless optimism and quite a bit more political acumen than Pansy would've guessed.
The fact was that they were good together: Hermione was ambitious where Pansy was shrewd, Pansy was practical —almost to the point of cruelty— where Hermione sometimes let herself be blinded by goodwill, and for some reason there was something about them that just went together effortlessly. Not to say it was easy, because it wasn't: but Pansy rarely, if ever, felt that desperate urge to disentangle herself and break free.
Japan was lovely that time of year. They stayed with one of Pansy's friends and for a whole month Hermione turned quiet. Without work to do, she spent her days sight-seeing or just walking in the city while Pansy was at her client's house. In the evening she came back and her skin was cold, her mouth tasted like miso soup. She seemed smaller. She curled against Pansy's chest and was silent —not the bad kind of silent, just the kind you get when you're discovering too many things at once and you need a moment to take it in. Pansy remembered before the war when Hermione had been prickly and excitable and a little snotty and saw once more that the war had changed them all.
When they came back she met Hermione's kids. It came about one day, unexpectedly: Pansy knocked on Hermione's door and the bright, freckled face of a twelve-year-old girl was staring up at her, inquisitive.
"You're Pansy," she said matter-of-factly.
Pansy shifted so that her wine bottle was mostly hidden in the crook of her arm. "Uh, yeah." She should have remembered they would be here, but she'd just gotten her hands on an original The Art of Witchcraft from 1856 and—well, Hermione and books. It was a love story.
"You're my mum's girlfriend," said the child, not looking inclined to let her in at all.
"All in one," Pansy said, and they stared at each other for a bit. Pansy wouldn't have called it a stare-off, because she came from a good family, but that was basically what it was.
When Hermione saw them at the door her face split in a small, private smile. "Sweetie," she told the child, "who's this?"
Pansy never had had much time for children's games, but for once she indulged her. The child didn't seem to like being condescended to, though, and she just said, "You know who it is," peremptory, before stalking back into the house.
"Sorry," said Hermione as she put a hand on Pansy's arm —Pansy felt the warmth of it through her coat. "She gets nervous around strangers."
"I like her," Pansy decided.
"Of course you do," Hermione said, laughing.
The thing about Hermione, Pansy had decided a few months into dating, was that the typical Gryffindor generosity was offset by something sharper, an unbiased perceptiveness that made her idealism that much more potent. Maybe that was why they had won the war, if Potter was like that as well: aware of the currents and the consequences but still willing to dive headlong into the fight. Pansy couldn't remember anything from their recent meeting at the pub, too nervous with her hand at the small of Hermione's back.
She dipped to kiss Hermione on the lips. It felt peculiar, a bit illicit.
Hermione bit her bottom lip. "Do you want to come in? You don't have to. I know we didn't plan this."
Pansy blinked. "No," she said. "It's fine."
The rational part of her brain was saying that it had to happen one day or another; but it was the other part that was the problem, the part that said that it wasn't such a big deal in the end. They were Hermione's children and they weren't —they weren't —they felt familiar, in a strange way, and they were sharp and screeching and loud. Pansy would probably be gagging to escape in minutes.
For now, though, she knelt in front of the little boy and held out a hand to shake. "Hello, Hugo. I'm Pansy. I'm your mother's girlfriend."
The boy considered her with furrowed brows, confused, and behind her Hermione's answering laughter was like a physical burst of warmth, a miniature sun dripping on her shoulder, melting her out.
Yes, Pansy decided —this would be fine; this would be okay.