What Never Should've Been - A gift for dragongirl997!
Title: What Never Should've Been
Author: hamimifk
Recipient: dragongirl997
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy, past Draco/Pansy
Word Count: 7,298
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, Voldemort!wins AU, background character death, hurt/comfort, dealing with grief, alcoholism, romance
Summary: It should be known that what follows is a recount of a series of events surrounding two girls that should not have happened, accumulating in a single moment that should never had been, but was.
Author's Notes: I will apologize outright here because I took one of your squicks (Voldemort wins the war and gives said person as a sex slave) and tweaked it so while it isn't the same, it does have a similar feel to it (I've never been much interested in sex slave stories though, so no worries there, and Voldemort didn't quite give the person as a gift). I also struggled with balancing the angst so it was enough to keep the story dark, but not enough to overwhelm you with guilt/tears/sadness/whatever (which was hard because I'm all for the angst). Hopefully you find this enjoying!
And I'll cry for you, yes, I'll die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now how I feel inside
Feel in my heart it's for you
And I'll take everything, as it comes my way
Pushin' your pain 'round my door
And I cry for you as I die for you
Is this blood on my hands all for you?
- Candlebox's 'You'
I.
After all that was said and done, after all the good fights and struggles people put up, the war was ultimately lost. The Dark Lord took pleasure in watching his only nemesis crumble to the ground, eyes wide and blank; soulless. They say when Harry fell, so did all of those on his side, casting their wands down in defeat. Supposedly, some time after, whispers in dark alleys and corners said that there was a small band who still fought. That while their numbers were small, they found broken wizards and witches still willing to fight again, but these were only rumours, ones no one dared speak above a whisper.
For those that hadn't heard them, or cared not to, they found themselves on their hands and knees literally groveling for their lives. Perhaps it was jubilation that dark day that allowed the Dark Lord to be somewhat lenient toward those that had laid down their wands. Exceptions would be made for the obedient, whileAzkaban was for everyone else, because now that His victory had been assured, there was no real need to kill anyone. Unless they struggled. Hermione was ashamed that in the end, she had been too coward to raise her wand in her own defense and instead laid it down at the feet of the last person she ever thought she would - Pansy Parkinson, her enemy as well as her soon-to-be saviour.
Pansy had been just as surprised by the act as Hermione had been. It would have been nothing to dispose of the Gryffindor, but the truth was that in all the chaos and turmoil, no one had noticed that the Malfoys, hidden away in a quiet corner of their own home, had deigned it necessary to take their own lives at the same moment the Dark Lord had assured his victory. Pansy herself had been the one to find the still huddled family, eyes closed as if in slumber, skins cold in death. Tears had spilled from her eyes as she turned away from the scene, away from her beloved Draco, and wandered the corridors of Malfoy Manor feeling hopeless and brokenhearted. When she came across an equally teary-eyed Hermione, a girl she had hated because it had been right to do so, not because she actually held any malice toward her, Pansy was unsure whether to raise her wand in battle or allow herself to be done away with. It would've been so easy to as Hermione was stronger than she was, but instead, Hermione crumbled to her knees before the Slytherin.
"Take me as your prisoner," she pled, dropping her wand at Pansy's feet. "I know if you ask, you can keep me as a reward for serving the Dark Lord."
"And why would I lower myself to do such a thing?" Pansy asked, though her voice lacked the normal bite it usually held.
"Harry's dead, your side has won. I lost Ron somewhere in the fray as well and I... I'm too much of a coward to kill myself, though it would probably be for the best."
"So why beg me to keep you alive?"
"Because... Because..." Hermione stumbled for words, her grief clogging her thinking. "I just want to live. I'll spend the rest of my life being eaten by grief but I know I can do the deaths of my friends more justice if I live. That would be a punishment crueler than Azkaban, but a cross I know I need to bear for their sake."
"Why bear it for them though?" Pansy asked, fighting back a sob that wanted to burst from her chest. All she could see was Draco's cold body pressed firmly between his mother and father as she asked, "Why live in grief when the ones you love are dead?"
"Because dying is easy," Hermione whispered, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks. "Living is the hard part, but it's also what they would've wanted us to do. Live for them and keep their memory alive. If you or I died, who would keep us in their thoughts? Most of my friends are dead and I wiped my parents' memories of me completely. I am no one anymore, except someone that remembers."
Tears streamed down Pansy's cheeks as she bent down and picked up Hermione's wand. She didn't look at her as she turned around to quickly wipe her face clean of tears and took a moment to control her breathing. When she was ready, she turned back to the still kneeling teen and held her hand out. "Come along then, prisoner."
So she had. Hermione had walked ahead of the Slytherin girl through corridors that had been so bright from the flashes of magic earlier, but were now gray and dark as night began to swallow the walls in the fading heat of battle. In flashes of memory, she recalls dark faces, wicked smiles spread across bloodstained lips, madness now a style as opposed to a disease. She remembers laughter and tears, the feel of Pansy's wand pressed against her back to hold up the facade. Hermione hates to remember having to kiss dirty, bare feet as she swore her allegiance to the Dark Lord, apologized profusely for her rebellion, and tried to hold back the vomit burning the back of her throat the whole while. Eventually, and this she remembered clearly, Pansy asked to take Hermione as her charge - a token of her own loyalty, one she would be responsible for if Hermione ever decided to go back on her word - and with a wave of his hand, the Dark Lord had agreed and sent them away to enjoy his victory.
Of course, Hermione felt filthy after that, forever tainted by her fearful choices. She had no grand plans, but she had faith that one day she would think of something that would set her free of this life she'd forced herself into. As she had said, it was something the dead would've wanted her to do, more because she was too brilliant to go down yet. Smart and resourceful, Hermione would one day figure out a way to avenge her beloved friends and do their memories the justice they deserved.
Or so she hoped.
II.
After things had settled down enough, Pansy moved into a flat as far from Diagon Alley as should could manage without seeming suspicious. She told friends - no, acquaintances - that she wanted a change of scenery, as well as to be positive that her memento - no, charge - could not escape into the wizarding world and cause unnecessary trouble. She tried not to reflect too much on how much of what she said was the actual truth, treating it all like it was all the truth to keep her facade together.
Initially, she hadn't been sure what to do with Hermione. Once she finally got a half decent rest the day after the final battle, she awoke to realize that she had been foolish. How could she have let her enemy get beneath her skin the way she had? Pretty words should not have been that easy to use on her, but the truth was - the only real truth she knew in her heart - she completely understood every pretty word Hermione had fed her. She saw her own pain reflected back in Hermione's dirty, tear-streaked face. It was so powerful to her that if felt like she were suffering twofold than she actually was. But what now? What did she do with someone she was uncertain whether or not she could trust? It helped that she held Hermione's wand, taking pains to make sure it was a in a place the other girl would have difficulty getting to without her knowing. Still, she had no idea what to do with her.
It was Hermione whom proved to find the answer for her. Hermione, unsure of her own situation as well, thought on what she could do to keep in Pansy's good graces whilst she figured out a time and place to launch a comeback - because even if it was hopeless, she still held hope in her heart to someday helping to turn the tides against the Dark Lord. Then, with a simple action - pouring tea - she realized what her role in Pansy's life could be for now, though she wasn't too keen on the idea having lost enough of her dignity already.
A knock came at Pansy's bedroom door, causing the Slytherin to frown and look over her shoulder as Hermione cautiously entered her room. Holding a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other, Hermione attempted to keep her face neutral as she set them down on the bedside table beside Pansy.
"I thought you might like some tea," Hermione said.
"How am I to know you haven't tainted my food with poison?"
"Because I found none in the kitchen, lucky for you."
Pansy chuckled lightly at that. "I wondered where that snippy Gryffindor had gone off to. I'm fully ashamed to say I'm glad to see it back. You've been far too boring company as of late."
Frowning, Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "I haven't had much interest in entertaining you with my snippy remarks lately. I hesitate to apologize as well but it's possibly best for my well-being that I do. So I apologize... Miss Parkinson."
Eyebrows flying high up, Pansy couldn't control the way her mouth gaped open at that. "What was that about?"
Sighing, Hermione turned her eyes to the floor. "I figured if I had to be your charge then I may as well be useful, as much as it upsets my stomach to do so. You helped me, so, I suppose I owe it to you to do as much."
Taking a biscuit from the plate, Pansy stared at it in thought before sighing. "A month ago, before the final battle, I may have been tickled pink to see you essentially groveling at my feet like a dog desperate for a bone, especially with this new addition, but..." Pansy trailed off to bite the biscuit, chewing and swallowing her bite slowly before continuing. "It all seems so strange now, doesn't it?"
"I thought this is what you had been so desperate to fight for?"
Replacing the biscuit on the plate, Pansy stared at her lap for a long moment. "If you're going to be making biscuits from now on, add some honey to the recipe. I'm fond of it."
"As you will, Miss Parkinson."
The echo of Hermione's words reverberated through the room long after she left.
III.
Firewhisky burned Pansy's throat as she swallowed it down straight from the bottle. She could hear Hermione in the kitchen cleaning up their dinner plates, the smell of freshly laundered laundry also thick in the air from the clothes hanging on a rope to her left along the long wall of the living room. They would've hung the line outside, but outside had become some akin to anarchy and clothes had been stolen from their line on and off for the past month. She set the bottle down between her legs as she stared at the cackling fire across from her, not thinking about much. The less Pansy thought about, the easier her day was to get through, and thinking less was just fine with her.
Hermione appeared at the doorway between the rooms, leaning against the doorframe to watch Pansy absently bring the bottle back up to her lips, grimace, and put the bottle back down between her legs. It was a pitiful sight she decided. It was hard not to notice that Pansy had lost weight, her face was drawn and her short hair, once kept well groomed, was now a mess of flyaways - the length now settled lightly against Pansy's thin shoulders. Sighing, Hermione crossed the room and snatched the bottle away from Pansy's hand just as she attempted to bring it back up to her lips. Pansy's immediate reaction was to sneer and grab for the bottle, but her hand was easily swatted away.
"How dare you!"
"It's for your own good. Who would've ever imagined Parkinson would be a mindless drunken sod when she grew up?"
"I'm not a drunken sod," Pansy growled, attempting to grab for the bottle again.
This time Hermione caught her wrist. That made her hesitate because in the year and a half since they had begun living together, Hermione had made sure to touch her as little as possible, if at all. Not only that, but the feel of someone's touch ignited a hundred sensory memories in Pansy of friends touching her arm as they spoke to her, of her mother's kiss against her cheek as a child, and of Draco especially. His lips, his hugs, his body pressed against hers... Pansy shuddered.
"What do you want from me?"
"To shower. To stop staring at the bloody fire like you can read it as if they were tea leaves. Don't you recall? School's out for us, time to grow up."
Wincing, Pansy avoided Hermione's frown. "You are my charge; my servant," Pansy reminded her. "You do not have the right to speak to me as though I were a child."
"Clearly someone needs to," Hermione argued. "Now come on so you can shower. I'm tired of seeing you look like a washed out version of your former self."
Yanking at her wrist now, Hermione tightened her grip until the former Slytherin rose to unsteady feet and allowed herself to be led to the bathroom. Standing numbly against the bathroom wall, Pansy watched Hermione roll up her sleeves and put on the shower, testing the temperature before nodding approvingly at her. Still, she did not move even when Hermione frowned at her.
"Do you want me to leave?"
Pansy shrugged but did nothing else. Running a wet hand through her hair, Hermione cursed and crossed her arms.
"What then?"
"I don't feel like showering."
"It's been three days since your last shower. I thought you pure-bloods dissolved at the mere glimpse of dirt."
Frowning, Pansy still remained where she was, her thoughts far away even though her mouth seemed to be capable of automatic answers. Hermione sighed, tired, and drawn in her own frustration and fatigue, and began undressing herself. It wasn't until she was in her undergarments, reaching for the clasp of her bra that Pansy blinked, suddenly aware of her situation and wholly confused by it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I'm going to shower with you like the child you're acting like."
"That's ridiculous, Granger," Pansy blushed lightly. "I'm capable of showering myself."
A smile, the first one in a good long while, broke across Hermione's face. "Are you afraid of being naked with me in an enclosed space?"
"No. Of course not." There was nothing about Pansy's tone or face that was convincing.
"Come, don't be silly. We both have the same bits and pieces." Hermione's voice was gentle as she moved over to Pansy and pulled down the shoulders of her slip, the only thing she'd really worn as of late despite an enchanted wardrobe filled with clothing that rivaled Hermione's dream library.
The sad fact of Pansy Parkinson's current life was that between the loss of Draco and the shift of power in the wizarding world, she had become lost. Too heartbroken by Draco's death to bother to keep up with the new freedoms she had as a pure-blood. There was more for her in a bottle of Firewhisky or an imported bottle of liquor than in the real world and she had come to prefer things like that. The truth was, she was a broken child in a scary world, alone, and it was a future she hadn't been prepared for. She had expected Draco to always be there to guide her, to be her rock when the waves crashed against her too hard. Instead, she had been left adrift on a piece of wood, floating further and further out to sea.
While the feeling of disgust tickled her throat over the fact that her enemy was now undressing her, treating her like a child, Pansy didn't really attempt to make her stop. She didn't really know how to feel anymore about Hermione either, not since that day of the final battle. Such a moment should have been savored but instead that day had marked the day Pansy fell apart. It also marked the day Hermione would come to be her only acquaintance, the one that cleaned up her messes and made her delicious biscuits - though she never admitted that aloud - even though they hated each other.
The water was warm, perhaps a little too warm for the former Slytherin's tastes, but it still felt nice against her skin as she was pushed into the shower, Hermione right behind her heels. She had enough sense to grab the bar of soap before Hermione did but now she stared at it beneath the spray of water, watching it soften and melt slowly in her palm. Hermione's hand came forward, not to take the bar, but to rest gently against the back of Pansy's hand, her fingers encasing the back of the other woman's. Gently, Hermione moved Pansy's hand so the pure-blood was washing herself, starting on her opposite hand and then up to her shoulder. It felt very odd, someone else controlling her arm, but it felt oddly right too. She had basically become accustomed to people controlling her movements all her life, this was only the first time she was able to physically see the manipulation.
"Why are you doing this?" Pansy asked, her voice tired.
"Because you'll probably stand here until the soap has melted through your fingers," Hermione replied, sliding Pansy's hand beneath her armpit and moving the soap down her side.
"No, Granger." Shrugging Hermione away, Pansy hugged her elbows, not turning to her. "Why are you being so nice to me? You're my prisoner, my trophy of war. I make you wash all my clothing and bed trimmings by hand. I throw your food on the floor just to spite you and I've made more remarks about your blood than I can be bothered to remember. Yet here you are, trying to clean me up while I wallow my life away and you don't complain. You don't try to kill me even though I know you could, and you haven't tried to escape despite my drunken and likely deteriorating condition. It would be so easy for you to just go. I've done my part and saved your wretched life from death, nearly two years ago, at that! So why do you stay?"
Hermione, whom had already long since fallen silent, now continued to hold her tongue as she considered the proper answer herself. Pansy was right, there had been a multitude of opportunities for her to run away, to try and find the rumoured band of wizards fighting to overthrow the Dark Lord. She was no prisoner, never had been, not really, and yet she stayed. Clenching her jaw, Hermione ghosted her fingers against the nape of Pansy's neck, trailing them down the slightly protruding vertebra of her spine, Hermione really allowing herself to see how thin the other woman had become. The light touch sent a shiver through Pansy, whom remained otherwise still as she waited for an answer.
"I dare say, I don't really know why I stay. Perhaps it's because I can see you need someone to take care of you. I don't know how many of my friends are still alive, even though it's been some time since that tragic day, so I wouldn't really know where to go."
"You could try to find the rebels. I know you've heard those rumours."
"I couldn't dare it alone, not without a wand and, as you recall, you still have mine."
Hermione once again trailed her fingers down along Pansy's spine, sending another shiver through her body.
"If I gave it to you, would you leave then?" Pansy asked, her voice low beneath the sound of the water.
Pressing in closer, erect nipples clear against Pansy's back, Hermione pressed her forehead lightly against the back of Pansy's head. "Not unless you came with me."
"We hate each other, why would you mock me in such a distasteful manner?"
"Because..." Hermione trailed off as she closed her eyes and saw Harry and Ron's bloody and brok en bodies lying still in death. "Because we're two broken halves of people that no longer exist. Alone we would waste away to nothing, but together we manage to scrape by as one. You've let yourself fall to pieces and while I'm in no better condition, I choose to push myself out of bed every morningand tend to you, for the both of us."
"Why this sudden change in attitude?"
"There's been nothing sudden about this change," Hermione chuckled lightly. "The unfortunate truth has been that I've had a bit of a thing for you for a long time. It was a wild coincidence that it was you I found that day at Malfoy Manor."
Pansy started at this. "You would've killed anyone else, correct?"
"Yes."
It was uncanny how Hermione's words had a way of weighing heavily on Pansy's mind, making her see things in a light she hadn't bothered or cared to notice them in before. It made sense though, all of it up to this moment. It was another manipulation in her life, one at least she hadn't seen until it had been pointed out to her, otherwise, she would never have noticed it. Turning around, Pansy studied the other woman's face, searching for insincerity or a smirk of triumph, but all she was found was tired eyes and a small, nervous smile. Touching her fingers to that smile, Pansy felt a tingle of something she thought she had lost, something she wasn't sure how to put into words. Removing her fingers, she replaced them with her lips, kissing the other woman lightly.
"This doesn't change anything," Pansy warned, sliding her arms around Hermione's shoulders. "You are still my charge, my servant. You will address me with respect at all times even in private, and you are forbidden to speak anything of this to anyone."
"I understand," Hermione replied and leaned in to kiss Pansy, the kiss desperate and demanding.
IV.
Five years after the final battle, the wizarding world had become a quiet place. The Dark Lord's reign was such that people were afraid to leave their homes for anything, even food. Hogwarts was a dark, somber place where children bowed in respect to a monument of the Dark Lord before every meal and whenever they entered or exited the school. Forgetting to do so resulted in not only a week's worth of detention, but your family faced questioning for possibly being against Him.
People went about their daily lives with expressionless faces, too afraid of expressing any kind of outward emotion in fear of it being misconstrued as something offensive toward the Dark Lord. Dark masked figures lurked at just about every street corner, free to single out individuals at their leisure and demand proof of lineage or loyalty. Every pub had at least several people, called Listeners, willing to snitch to these dark figures at a single word of intolerance toward the Dark Lord. Neighbours nary trusted one another, and even long-time friends now looked at each other with mixed fear and suspicion where affection and love had once been. The wizarding world lived in a tense, volatile state where one single word of defiance could set the whole place ablaze and burn everyone in it.
Pansy Parkinson pushed back several loose strands of hair from her face, carefully tucking them beneath the wrap around her head. Her gaze darted from one side of the street to the other before she crossed it, head held high despite the heavy clothes she wore. She was aware of the eyes following her before she even saw their owner appear by her side. A masked figure clamped a black gloved hand down on her shoulder, stopping her from taking another step.
"I need to see your papers."
"This is outrageous!" Pansy spat, digging in her handbag. "Pure-blood citizens should not be treated as though we are common blood traitors, or worse!"
She handed the papers over. They were her identification forms, complete with a family tree to show her lineage. She continued to insult the masked man as she waited for him to check the validity of them before handing them back to her. Sending her on her way, the masked figure turned a deaf ear to her complaints, having long since become accustomed to the rantings of pure-bloods. Muttering under her breath, Pansy continued down the block before turning a corner and leaving the masked man behind. This street was more narrow than the large throughway she had just come from, the buildings packed tighter here with dark, narrow alleys filling in the gaps between the crudely built buildings. Pansy walked until a hand shot out of one the alleyway entrances and dragged her into the shadows.
"Nice work."
"Thank you," Pansy smirked, looking pleased with herself. "I'm glad to see you made it across with no trouble."
"We're not out of the woods yet. I still need to get across three more roadways before we reach the old Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop."
"We've already made it this far, Granger. Another block or two is nothing."
Hermione pursed her lips in thought before nodding, her too-large dark hood bobbing up and down awkwardly on her head. Feeling it shift out of place, she fixed it so she could see Pansy without obstruction and offered the woman a smile.
"What?"
"Just thinking."
"Haven't you heard? That's nearly a dangerous thing nowadays."
"Merlin, who would've thought Parkinson had a sense of humor!"
"Blow it out of your arse, Granger." Pansy giggled lightly. "What were you thinking about?"
Taking Pansy's hand, Hermione blushed. "How much I want to snog you right here and now."
"If that was merely the case, you could have just said so."
Pushing Hermione back against the wall, Pansy pressed into her, taking her time to savor the taste of chilled lips. Each time they kissed, they both made it a point to take it slow and enjoy the moment, because it could easily be their last kiss - a horrible thought, but the dark truth they had come to recognize. Fingers interlocking together, Pansy held Hermione's hands against the wall, shifting her body against the taller woman enough to entice a gentle gasp from her. If they had more time, Pansy bitterly thought, she would have loved to draw this out, make Hermione bite her hand to blood trying not to cry out in the alleyway with just her tongue. As it was, time was crucial right now and with much reluctance, they pulled apart, fingers tingling still.
Without a word, Pansy slipped back out of the alleyway and continued up the street until she rounded a corner onto another large throughway. People stamped by her, eyes cast down as they hurried home. Thanks to them, she only had to distract the masked figure across the road for only a moment, her guise purposely suspicious, allowing Hermione to slip into the crowd, following them enough that she was able to cross the road and was out of sight at the opposite street corner in less than a minute's time. They repeated this twice more until finally they had slipped down an alleyway that while completely open to the public, was rarely used as it led to the back of the former Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop. Because of their part in the war, and the fact that they refused to pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord, the Weasleys, what was left of them, were war criminals. The twins' former shop had remained closed indefinitely, falling to victim to vandalism and disrepair over the last five years as the surviving twin, George, had long gone into hiding.
Besides, until earlier this year, no one really dared get too close to the shop because of rumours that it was being watched fiercely by the dark, masked figures and Listeners for any signs of a Weasley. Fortunately for Hermione and Pansy, there was a large riot that began in Manchester, demanding the attention of the spare guards, thus leaving the shop nothing more than an abandoned building. There were still traps though, and while Hermione had only reacquired her wand from Pansy around the same time they began meeting up here when the guards left, she was rusty in her magic use and had been having difficulty dismantling the traps. She had cleared out enough for them to enter into the basement, a place that prior to their exploration, had been sealed tight and jinxed something awful, turning anyone that attempted to break in into a newt, with repeated offenders changed into smaller and smaller critters. Hermione had been delighted by this though, because she understood the basics of what had been done and after several tries, from a careful distance, she was able to gain access to the basement.
When they got down the steps, closing the door behind them, Pansy pulled the scarf around her throat high up to obscure her features. It was clear why when they passed through a door at the bottom of the steps, entering into a large area that had once been the twins' laboratory. Initially, it had greatly resembled a mad scientist's laboratory with beakers filled with strangely colored liquids and long, twisty pipes all over the place, but now most of that had been cleared away to allow room for the people that were currently milling about in it. Once familiar faces were covered in scars and hard lines, the years not having been kind to them. Hermione dropped back her hood and embraced a redhead with a head wound, old blood visible through bandage.
"Oh, Ginny! How wonderful it is to see you!"
Ginny locked her arms tightly around her old friend, tears prickling her eyes. "Hermione, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you like mad!"
Another redhead approached the two, throwing long arms around the women. "How marvelous to see you again, Hermione!"
"A ye, and to you too, Mr Weasley." Hermione smiled largely, noting the patches of premature gray in the man's hair and the black bags beneath his eyes.
"So who's responsible for putting this wonderful little soirée together?" Neville Longbottom asked, drawing the attention of most of the people in the room and flushing a little when he realized this.
"I was," Hermione said, reluctantly extracting herself from the Weasleys. "I'm pleased to see you all arrived here safely, and I am beyond thrilled to see so many of you at all after all these years."
"A ye!" came a loud cheer from the small group.
"It is time we band together, and I know some of you already know where I'm going with this, but many of you don't. You've all heard the rumours of the resistance?"
"I'm sure every wizard and witch from here to Romania has heard of it," Cho Chang replied, looking older than her actual age but still capable of a bright smile. "We whisper it to our children to soothe their nightmares."
"But it doesn't exist," said one mournful face - Dean Thomas.
"That is why I've gathered you all here, to tell you that we have found it and they absolutely do exist."
"You're pulling our leg," Mr Weasley said, his eyes wide, fear and hope fighting each other for dominance.
"I speak the truth," Hermione said firmly. "One would never imagine where they exist at, but those crazy loons do indeed exist."
"Where?" Ginny asked.
"Before I reveal any details, I need to know that you're all with me in going over to join them, because if you are not, then I suggest you get up and leave right now. The war may have ended five years ago with Harry's..." Hermione choked on her words for just a second before continuing on. "But there is still hope, always has been."
Uncertainty flickered throughout the faces before her as soft murmurs began and then as if one, every person in the room stood straight, stood tall and proud and determined. Twenty tired souls shined together as one before Hermione's eyes, bringing a smile to her face. Mr Weasley, having looked over the faces, grasped Hermione's hand in both of his and squeezed it lightly.
"We are absolutely behind you and the resistance. Please, tell us more."
Everyone gave a nod of agreement, relaxing Hermione. "Excellent then. To start, you need to know that where they've set up base camp will completely blow your minds."
"No more than anything else we've seen thus far," Neville said.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, as their base camp is located far beneath Hogwarts."
This began a frenzy of questions and complaints through the crowd as people either mourned the fact that it was a suicide mission to get anywhere near Hogwarts or scoffed at Hermione's credibility. After a few moments, Hermione rose her hand and demanded silence which, one by one, they gave her.
"I know it seems far-fetched and ridiculous, but think about it - where else could anyone hide in the wizarding world anymore? Nowhere but right beneath the Dark Lord's nose. How many of you have been in hiding up until now? Those of you not in hiding pledged falsely to loyalty you hold none of and live miserable, meek lives. When we meet up with the resistance, you'll see that it is time to change all that. You will not live in fear any longer, same as we have come to live."
"You keep mentioning this 'we', but who is your friend over there?" Dean asked, eyeing Pansy suspiciously. "Who is she?"
Hermione and Pansy exchanged a glance as Pansy visibly sighed and stepped forward.
"This is our key to getting to the resistance's base camp," Hermione said tentatively.
Removing her head wrap and then the heavy coat she'd been using to hide her figure, Pansy last removed the scarf, sending a gasp through the crowd.
"You're our key?" Neville asked incredulously. "A pure-blood? Surely this is a trap."
Wands began to be drawn as panic spread but Hermione quickly stepped in front of Pansy, her arms held out to protect her.
"Stop! She's not on the Dark Lord's side!" Hermione cried, her voice growing soft as she dropped her arms and looked back to take hold of Pansy's hand. "She's not our enemy."
"Are you mental?" Michael Boot asked, having previously been silent. "She's a pure-blood! Not a single one of their lot can be trusted."
"Pansy can be trusted," Hermione insisted.
"Prove it!" someone shouted, sparking a chant to arise.
Pansy, tired of being treated like a criminal on trial, stepped forward, causing the shouting to abruptly stop. She smiled coyly at this. She then turned to Hermione and, without warning, crashed their lips together, rendering the group deathly silent. Hermione, flustered and embarrassed, smiled weakly at the short haired woman.
"And if that isn't evidence enough," Pansy said to crowd, "I'll have you know that pure-bloods are also tired of this oppressive new world. Perhaps we aren't harassed as much as others but we still feel like sheep lining up for the slaughter. Just because some of us are willing to worship the air the Dark Lord breaths, it does not extend to all of us. Believe it or not, the resistance consists of a number of pure-bloods that are also tired of the way things are. I'm sure most, if not all of you, doubt my words, but I speak nothing but the truth."
She took a pause to study the faces before her and could see she still hadn't really convinced any of them. With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward, her eyes growing soft in an uncharacteristic way, and when she spoke, her tone had let go of the hostility in it a moment ago.
"What you all must understand is that I am a changed woman. The final battle greatly altered my world as much as it did all of yours. Before the war I was certain I would marry the boy I loved and we would start a family in the country in a lovely manor all our own, but that was not meant to be after the final battle. I found him dead by his own hand, wrapped in his also deceased parents' arms. The Dark Lord's victory had terrified them - terrified pure-bloods! - to the point where they realized the best course of action was death. There wasn't a day I didn't envy their strength in that regard, to turn their own wands on themselves and end the miserable lives they would've surely led. I was almost there myself, but my wand was a bottle of liquor, and I drank until I swore I could speak to the boy I loved again before vomiting and passing out. Night after night I lived this, until Hermione took me one day and shook sense into me. She opened my eyes to see that there was still hope in this world. That love still existed. She stood by my side while I withdrew and quit liquor completely and has kept me sane when I feared that nothing was worth living for anymore.
For that, for everything she has done for me, you all have my word as a person, not a pure-blood, but as a person that bleeds and cries and dreams just like you all do, that you can trust me. What Granger and I have as well is authentic. Perhaps we were never meant to be before the war, but the final battle changed that as it changed everything else."
Not a single person left the basement that night as they plotted a way to the resistance's base camp together.
V.
Malfoy Manor was both a sham of its former glory and a breathtaking monument to the Dark Lord. Where ivies and weeds had begun to tangle thickly together, smooth marble and stone marked the entrance into the mansion. Most of the rooms had been left untouched in the past several years, but the ones of use were clean and draped in dark silks and cloth, incense burning on decorated stands. Hermione barely recognized the place as she stepped through the foyer, her wand held out in front of her. Two masked figures approached her but they were down on the ground before they could even form words of protest.
"The attack team is in the rear," Ginny reported, appearing at her side.
Shouts could be heard from the distant side of the house and Hermione nodded in approval as she started up the stairs. No more than five steps up, a wall of masked figures appeared at the top of the stairs. With a grimace, she shouted Protego and jumped off the stairs as hexes were thrown at her. Luckily, Ginny hadn't appeared alone. Resistance members by the dozens raced ahead and slammed into the masked figures, cutting them down with words and fists. A man helped Hermione to her feet and she was relieved to see it was Blaise Zabini, one of the primary leaders of the resistance.
"Go find Parkinson. She came in with the rear attack," he said.
"Are you certain?"
Blaise gave her an easy smile and pushed her toward a doorway beneath the stairs that would take her to the rear of the house. As he blasted back two men from pursuing her, Hermione was already sprinting, throwing a hex here and there as she slammed into the door and found herself in a new room of the manor. It was slowly beginning to fill with dark figures and resistance members alike from the opposite doors. She wasn't on a good side of the scuffle but she took the advantage to set a wall of flames alight behind the backs of the dark figures, stopping their retreat and allowing the resistance members to clear them out. Diffusing the flames, Hermione brushed past, asking where Pansy had run off to. Most weren't sure but Luna Lovegood, forever seeming untouched by the darkness all around her, smiled kindly and pointed at another door.
"I believe I saw her run up the back stairs to the second floor with a group of resistance members," she answered.
Thanking her, Hermione followed Luna's directions and soon found herself moving through the second floor of the manor. Things were familiar here, her memories coming back to her as she moved from one room to the next, searching for Pansy. She finally found her, standing quietly before a door, the woman flinching when she touched her shoulder.
"What is it?"
"This is where I found them dead. Where I found him dead," Pansy answered slowly.
She looked down at the doorknob, considering whether or not it would be wise to try and open it. Surely the bodies had long since been cleared away, but what if they hadn't? All she could see was the scene from that fateful day, a prickle of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. With a shaky hand she grasped the doorknob, knowing that she had to open the door, to face her pain. Closing her eyes, she was surprised to feel a hand close over hers, soft lips at her ear.
"Go ahead," Hermione whispered, her voice gentle despite the screams and blasts just around the corner from them.
Eyes still closed, Pansy turned the doorknob and pushed it in, her breath sucking in as she listened to squeaky hinges move. The air smelled musty with maybe a hint of decay, but it wasn't a corpse's decay, or at least Pansy didn't think so. Opening her eyes she was relieved to see nothing of interest in the room. The bodies had been removed and the room was nothing more than a room, not the tomb in her nightmares, not any longer. Exhaling, she let her gaze linger at the spot in the corner where the Malfoy family had taken their last breaths, and smiled.
"They're coming," Hermione said, tugging at Pansy's elbow.
Together they ran down the corridor, away from the fighting in the nearby corridor, unsure as to which side was winning in that particular melee. Not that it matter as this had never been about revenge against the Dark Lord, not completely. Their cause, their own, personal cause had been for a chance to quiet the haunting in Pansy's nightmares. Hermione had promised she would find a way to do it and she had. Bringing down the Dark Lord was a side bonus.
Fall he did, because not even the Dark Lord could match the power of hundreds of witches and wizards, a resistance that had grown into the tens of thousands in secret, as they swarmed him. Many died, their bodies cold in death, trampled upon by the next horde of fighters, to be prayed for and wept over later. Outnumbered, the Dark Lord was no match and he fell to a delighted chorus of cheers that stretched from the inside of the manor to the outside forces and beyond.
In the celebratory chaos that ensued, Hermione and Pansy, tired and bloody from fighting, walked away, hand in hand.
End
Author: hamimifk
Recipient: dragongirl997
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy, past Draco/Pansy
Word Count: 7,298
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, Voldemort!wins AU, background character death, hurt/comfort, dealing with grief, alcoholism, romance
Summary: It should be known that what follows is a recount of a series of events surrounding two girls that should not have happened, accumulating in a single moment that should never had been, but was.
Author's Notes: I will apologize outright here because I took one of your squicks (Voldemort wins the war and gives said person as a sex slave) and tweaked it so while it isn't the same, it does have a similar feel to it (I've never been much interested in sex slave stories though, so no worries there, and Voldemort didn't quite give the person as a gift). I also struggled with balancing the angst so it was enough to keep the story dark, but not enough to overwhelm you with guilt/tears/sadness/whatever (which was hard because I'm all for the angst). Hopefully you find this enjoying!
And I'll cry for you, yes, I'll die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now how I feel inside
Feel in my heart it's for you
And I'll take everything, as it comes my way
Pushin' your pain 'round my door
And I cry for you as I die for you
Is this blood on my hands all for you?
- Candlebox's 'You'
I.
After all that was said and done, after all the good fights and struggles people put up, the war was ultimately lost. The Dark Lord took pleasure in watching his only nemesis crumble to the ground, eyes wide and blank; soulless. They say when Harry fell, so did all of those on his side, casting their wands down in defeat. Supposedly, some time after, whispers in dark alleys and corners said that there was a small band who still fought. That while their numbers were small, they found broken wizards and witches still willing to fight again, but these were only rumours, ones no one dared speak above a whisper.
For those that hadn't heard them, or cared not to, they found themselves on their hands and knees literally groveling for their lives. Perhaps it was jubilation that dark day that allowed the Dark Lord to be somewhat lenient toward those that had laid down their wands. Exceptions would be made for the obedient, whileAzkaban was for everyone else, because now that His victory had been assured, there was no real need to kill anyone. Unless they struggled. Hermione was ashamed that in the end, she had been too coward to raise her wand in her own defense and instead laid it down at the feet of the last person she ever thought she would - Pansy Parkinson, her enemy as well as her soon-to-be saviour.
Pansy had been just as surprised by the act as Hermione had been. It would have been nothing to dispose of the Gryffindor, but the truth was that in all the chaos and turmoil, no one had noticed that the Malfoys, hidden away in a quiet corner of their own home, had deigned it necessary to take their own lives at the same moment the Dark Lord had assured his victory. Pansy herself had been the one to find the still huddled family, eyes closed as if in slumber, skins cold in death. Tears had spilled from her eyes as she turned away from the scene, away from her beloved Draco, and wandered the corridors of Malfoy Manor feeling hopeless and brokenhearted. When she came across an equally teary-eyed Hermione, a girl she had hated because it had been right to do so, not because she actually held any malice toward her, Pansy was unsure whether to raise her wand in battle or allow herself to be done away with. It would've been so easy to as Hermione was stronger than she was, but instead, Hermione crumbled to her knees before the Slytherin.
"Take me as your prisoner," she pled, dropping her wand at Pansy's feet. "I know if you ask, you can keep me as a reward for serving the Dark Lord."
"And why would I lower myself to do such a thing?" Pansy asked, though her voice lacked the normal bite it usually held.
"Harry's dead, your side has won. I lost Ron somewhere in the fray as well and I... I'm too much of a coward to kill myself, though it would probably be for the best."
"So why beg me to keep you alive?"
"Because... Because..." Hermione stumbled for words, her grief clogging her thinking. "I just want to live. I'll spend the rest of my life being eaten by grief but I know I can do the deaths of my friends more justice if I live. That would be a punishment crueler than Azkaban, but a cross I know I need to bear for their sake."
"Why bear it for them though?" Pansy asked, fighting back a sob that wanted to burst from her chest. All she could see was Draco's cold body pressed firmly between his mother and father as she asked, "Why live in grief when the ones you love are dead?"
"Because dying is easy," Hermione whispered, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks. "Living is the hard part, but it's also what they would've wanted us to do. Live for them and keep their memory alive. If you or I died, who would keep us in their thoughts? Most of my friends are dead and I wiped my parents' memories of me completely. I am no one anymore, except someone that remembers."
Tears streamed down Pansy's cheeks as she bent down and picked up Hermione's wand. She didn't look at her as she turned around to quickly wipe her face clean of tears and took a moment to control her breathing. When she was ready, she turned back to the still kneeling teen and held her hand out. "Come along then, prisoner."
So she had. Hermione had walked ahead of the Slytherin girl through corridors that had been so bright from the flashes of magic earlier, but were now gray and dark as night began to swallow the walls in the fading heat of battle. In flashes of memory, she recalls dark faces, wicked smiles spread across bloodstained lips, madness now a style as opposed to a disease. She remembers laughter and tears, the feel of Pansy's wand pressed against her back to hold up the facade. Hermione hates to remember having to kiss dirty, bare feet as she swore her allegiance to the Dark Lord, apologized profusely for her rebellion, and tried to hold back the vomit burning the back of her throat the whole while. Eventually, and this she remembered clearly, Pansy asked to take Hermione as her charge - a token of her own loyalty, one she would be responsible for if Hermione ever decided to go back on her word - and with a wave of his hand, the Dark Lord had agreed and sent them away to enjoy his victory.
Of course, Hermione felt filthy after that, forever tainted by her fearful choices. She had no grand plans, but she had faith that one day she would think of something that would set her free of this life she'd forced herself into. As she had said, it was something the dead would've wanted her to do, more because she was too brilliant to go down yet. Smart and resourceful, Hermione would one day figure out a way to avenge her beloved friends and do their memories the justice they deserved.
Or so she hoped.
II.
After things had settled down enough, Pansy moved into a flat as far from Diagon Alley as should could manage without seeming suspicious. She told friends - no, acquaintances - that she wanted a change of scenery, as well as to be positive that her memento - no, charge - could not escape into the wizarding world and cause unnecessary trouble. She tried not to reflect too much on how much of what she said was the actual truth, treating it all like it was all the truth to keep her facade together.
Initially, she hadn't been sure what to do with Hermione. Once she finally got a half decent rest the day after the final battle, she awoke to realize that she had been foolish. How could she have let her enemy get beneath her skin the way she had? Pretty words should not have been that easy to use on her, but the truth was - the only real truth she knew in her heart - she completely understood every pretty word Hermione had fed her. She saw her own pain reflected back in Hermione's dirty, tear-streaked face. It was so powerful to her that if felt like she were suffering twofold than she actually was. But what now? What did she do with someone she was uncertain whether or not she could trust? It helped that she held Hermione's wand, taking pains to make sure it was a in a place the other girl would have difficulty getting to without her knowing. Still, she had no idea what to do with her.
It was Hermione whom proved to find the answer for her. Hermione, unsure of her own situation as well, thought on what she could do to keep in Pansy's good graces whilst she figured out a time and place to launch a comeback - because even if it was hopeless, she still held hope in her heart to someday helping to turn the tides against the Dark Lord. Then, with a simple action - pouring tea - she realized what her role in Pansy's life could be for now, though she wasn't too keen on the idea having lost enough of her dignity already.
A knock came at Pansy's bedroom door, causing the Slytherin to frown and look over her shoulder as Hermione cautiously entered her room. Holding a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other, Hermione attempted to keep her face neutral as she set them down on the bedside table beside Pansy.
"I thought you might like some tea," Hermione said.
"How am I to know you haven't tainted my food with poison?"
"Because I found none in the kitchen, lucky for you."
Pansy chuckled lightly at that. "I wondered where that snippy Gryffindor had gone off to. I'm fully ashamed to say I'm glad to see it back. You've been far too boring company as of late."
Frowning, Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "I haven't had much interest in entertaining you with my snippy remarks lately. I hesitate to apologize as well but it's possibly best for my well-being that I do. So I apologize... Miss Parkinson."
Eyebrows flying high up, Pansy couldn't control the way her mouth gaped open at that. "What was that about?"
Sighing, Hermione turned her eyes to the floor. "I figured if I had to be your charge then I may as well be useful, as much as it upsets my stomach to do so. You helped me, so, I suppose I owe it to you to do as much."
Taking a biscuit from the plate, Pansy stared at it in thought before sighing. "A month ago, before the final battle, I may have been tickled pink to see you essentially groveling at my feet like a dog desperate for a bone, especially with this new addition, but..." Pansy trailed off to bite the biscuit, chewing and swallowing her bite slowly before continuing. "It all seems so strange now, doesn't it?"
"I thought this is what you had been so desperate to fight for?"
Replacing the biscuit on the plate, Pansy stared at her lap for a long moment. "If you're going to be making biscuits from now on, add some honey to the recipe. I'm fond of it."
"As you will, Miss Parkinson."
The echo of Hermione's words reverberated through the room long after she left.
III.
Firewhisky burned Pansy's throat as she swallowed it down straight from the bottle. She could hear Hermione in the kitchen cleaning up their dinner plates, the smell of freshly laundered laundry also thick in the air from the clothes hanging on a rope to her left along the long wall of the living room. They would've hung the line outside, but outside had become some akin to anarchy and clothes had been stolen from their line on and off for the past month. She set the bottle down between her legs as she stared at the cackling fire across from her, not thinking about much. The less Pansy thought about, the easier her day was to get through, and thinking less was just fine with her.
Hermione appeared at the doorway between the rooms, leaning against the doorframe to watch Pansy absently bring the bottle back up to her lips, grimace, and put the bottle back down between her legs. It was a pitiful sight she decided. It was hard not to notice that Pansy had lost weight, her face was drawn and her short hair, once kept well groomed, was now a mess of flyaways - the length now settled lightly against Pansy's thin shoulders. Sighing, Hermione crossed the room and snatched the bottle away from Pansy's hand just as she attempted to bring it back up to her lips. Pansy's immediate reaction was to sneer and grab for the bottle, but her hand was easily swatted away.
"How dare you!"
"It's for your own good. Who would've ever imagined Parkinson would be a mindless drunken sod when she grew up?"
"I'm not a drunken sod," Pansy growled, attempting to grab for the bottle again.
This time Hermione caught her wrist. That made her hesitate because in the year and a half since they had begun living together, Hermione had made sure to touch her as little as possible, if at all. Not only that, but the feel of someone's touch ignited a hundred sensory memories in Pansy of friends touching her arm as they spoke to her, of her mother's kiss against her cheek as a child, and of Draco especially. His lips, his hugs, his body pressed against hers... Pansy shuddered.
"What do you want from me?"
"To shower. To stop staring at the bloody fire like you can read it as if they were tea leaves. Don't you recall? School's out for us, time to grow up."
Wincing, Pansy avoided Hermione's frown. "You are my charge; my servant," Pansy reminded her. "You do not have the right to speak to me as though I were a child."
"Clearly someone needs to," Hermione argued. "Now come on so you can shower. I'm tired of seeing you look like a washed out version of your former self."
Yanking at her wrist now, Hermione tightened her grip until the former Slytherin rose to unsteady feet and allowed herself to be led to the bathroom. Standing numbly against the bathroom wall, Pansy watched Hermione roll up her sleeves and put on the shower, testing the temperature before nodding approvingly at her. Still, she did not move even when Hermione frowned at her.
"Do you want me to leave?"
Pansy shrugged but did nothing else. Running a wet hand through her hair, Hermione cursed and crossed her arms.
"What then?"
"I don't feel like showering."
"It's been three days since your last shower. I thought you pure-bloods dissolved at the mere glimpse of dirt."
Frowning, Pansy still remained where she was, her thoughts far away even though her mouth seemed to be capable of automatic answers. Hermione sighed, tired, and drawn in her own frustration and fatigue, and began undressing herself. It wasn't until she was in her undergarments, reaching for the clasp of her bra that Pansy blinked, suddenly aware of her situation and wholly confused by it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I'm going to shower with you like the child you're acting like."
"That's ridiculous, Granger," Pansy blushed lightly. "I'm capable of showering myself."
A smile, the first one in a good long while, broke across Hermione's face. "Are you afraid of being naked with me in an enclosed space?"
"No. Of course not." There was nothing about Pansy's tone or face that was convincing.
"Come, don't be silly. We both have the same bits and pieces." Hermione's voice was gentle as she moved over to Pansy and pulled down the shoulders of her slip, the only thing she'd really worn as of late despite an enchanted wardrobe filled with clothing that rivaled Hermione's dream library.
The sad fact of Pansy Parkinson's current life was that between the loss of Draco and the shift of power in the wizarding world, she had become lost. Too heartbroken by Draco's death to bother to keep up with the new freedoms she had as a pure-blood. There was more for her in a bottle of Firewhisky or an imported bottle of liquor than in the real world and she had come to prefer things like that. The truth was, she was a broken child in a scary world, alone, and it was a future she hadn't been prepared for. She had expected Draco to always be there to guide her, to be her rock when the waves crashed against her too hard. Instead, she had been left adrift on a piece of wood, floating further and further out to sea.
While the feeling of disgust tickled her throat over the fact that her enemy was now undressing her, treating her like a child, Pansy didn't really attempt to make her stop. She didn't really know how to feel anymore about Hermione either, not since that day of the final battle. Such a moment should have been savored but instead that day had marked the day Pansy fell apart. It also marked the day Hermione would come to be her only acquaintance, the one that cleaned up her messes and made her delicious biscuits - though she never admitted that aloud - even though they hated each other.
The water was warm, perhaps a little too warm for the former Slytherin's tastes, but it still felt nice against her skin as she was pushed into the shower, Hermione right behind her heels. She had enough sense to grab the bar of soap before Hermione did but now she stared at it beneath the spray of water, watching it soften and melt slowly in her palm. Hermione's hand came forward, not to take the bar, but to rest gently against the back of Pansy's hand, her fingers encasing the back of the other woman's. Gently, Hermione moved Pansy's hand so the pure-blood was washing herself, starting on her opposite hand and then up to her shoulder. It felt very odd, someone else controlling her arm, but it felt oddly right too. She had basically become accustomed to people controlling her movements all her life, this was only the first time she was able to physically see the manipulation.
"Why are you doing this?" Pansy asked, her voice tired.
"Because you'll probably stand here until the soap has melted through your fingers," Hermione replied, sliding Pansy's hand beneath her armpit and moving the soap down her side.
"No, Granger." Shrugging Hermione away, Pansy hugged her elbows, not turning to her. "Why are you being so nice to me? You're my prisoner, my trophy of war. I make you wash all my clothing and bed trimmings by hand. I throw your food on the floor just to spite you and I've made more remarks about your blood than I can be bothered to remember. Yet here you are, trying to clean me up while I wallow my life away and you don't complain. You don't try to kill me even though I know you could, and you haven't tried to escape despite my drunken and likely deteriorating condition. It would be so easy for you to just go. I've done my part and saved your wretched life from death, nearly two years ago, at that! So why do you stay?"
Hermione, whom had already long since fallen silent, now continued to hold her tongue as she considered the proper answer herself. Pansy was right, there had been a multitude of opportunities for her to run away, to try and find the rumoured band of wizards fighting to overthrow the Dark Lord. She was no prisoner, never had been, not really, and yet she stayed. Clenching her jaw, Hermione ghosted her fingers against the nape of Pansy's neck, trailing them down the slightly protruding vertebra of her spine, Hermione really allowing herself to see how thin the other woman had become. The light touch sent a shiver through Pansy, whom remained otherwise still as she waited for an answer.
"I dare say, I don't really know why I stay. Perhaps it's because I can see you need someone to take care of you. I don't know how many of my friends are still alive, even though it's been some time since that tragic day, so I wouldn't really know where to go."
"You could try to find the rebels. I know you've heard those rumours."
"I couldn't dare it alone, not without a wand and, as you recall, you still have mine."
Hermione once again trailed her fingers down along Pansy's spine, sending another shiver through her body.
"If I gave it to you, would you leave then?" Pansy asked, her voice low beneath the sound of the water.
Pressing in closer, erect nipples clear against Pansy's back, Hermione pressed her forehead lightly against the back of Pansy's head. "Not unless you came with me."
"We hate each other, why would you mock me in such a distasteful manner?"
"Because..." Hermione trailed off as she closed her eyes and saw Harry and Ron's bloody and brok en bodies lying still in death. "Because we're two broken halves of people that no longer exist. Alone we would waste away to nothing, but together we manage to scrape by as one. You've let yourself fall to pieces and while I'm in no better condition, I choose to push myself out of bed every morningand tend to you, for the both of us."
"Why this sudden change in attitude?"
"There's been nothing sudden about this change," Hermione chuckled lightly. "The unfortunate truth has been that I've had a bit of a thing for you for a long time. It was a wild coincidence that it was you I found that day at Malfoy Manor."
Pansy started at this. "You would've killed anyone else, correct?"
"Yes."
It was uncanny how Hermione's words had a way of weighing heavily on Pansy's mind, making her see things in a light she hadn't bothered or cared to notice them in before. It made sense though, all of it up to this moment. It was another manipulation in her life, one at least she hadn't seen until it had been pointed out to her, otherwise, she would never have noticed it. Turning around, Pansy studied the other woman's face, searching for insincerity or a smirk of triumph, but all she was found was tired eyes and a small, nervous smile. Touching her fingers to that smile, Pansy felt a tingle of something she thought she had lost, something she wasn't sure how to put into words. Removing her fingers, she replaced them with her lips, kissing the other woman lightly.
"This doesn't change anything," Pansy warned, sliding her arms around Hermione's shoulders. "You are still my charge, my servant. You will address me with respect at all times even in private, and you are forbidden to speak anything of this to anyone."
"I understand," Hermione replied and leaned in to kiss Pansy, the kiss desperate and demanding.
IV.
Five years after the final battle, the wizarding world had become a quiet place. The Dark Lord's reign was such that people were afraid to leave their homes for anything, even food. Hogwarts was a dark, somber place where children bowed in respect to a monument of the Dark Lord before every meal and whenever they entered or exited the school. Forgetting to do so resulted in not only a week's worth of detention, but your family faced questioning for possibly being against Him.
People went about their daily lives with expressionless faces, too afraid of expressing any kind of outward emotion in fear of it being misconstrued as something offensive toward the Dark Lord. Dark masked figures lurked at just about every street corner, free to single out individuals at their leisure and demand proof of lineage or loyalty. Every pub had at least several people, called Listeners, willing to snitch to these dark figures at a single word of intolerance toward the Dark Lord. Neighbours nary trusted one another, and even long-time friends now looked at each other with mixed fear and suspicion where affection and love had once been. The wizarding world lived in a tense, volatile state where one single word of defiance could set the whole place ablaze and burn everyone in it.
Pansy Parkinson pushed back several loose strands of hair from her face, carefully tucking them beneath the wrap around her head. Her gaze darted from one side of the street to the other before she crossed it, head held high despite the heavy clothes she wore. She was aware of the eyes following her before she even saw their owner appear by her side. A masked figure clamped a black gloved hand down on her shoulder, stopping her from taking another step.
"I need to see your papers."
"This is outrageous!" Pansy spat, digging in her handbag. "Pure-blood citizens should not be treated as though we are common blood traitors, or worse!"
She handed the papers over. They were her identification forms, complete with a family tree to show her lineage. She continued to insult the masked man as she waited for him to check the validity of them before handing them back to her. Sending her on her way, the masked figure turned a deaf ear to her complaints, having long since become accustomed to the rantings of pure-bloods. Muttering under her breath, Pansy continued down the block before turning a corner and leaving the masked man behind. This street was more narrow than the large throughway she had just come from, the buildings packed tighter here with dark, narrow alleys filling in the gaps between the crudely built buildings. Pansy walked until a hand shot out of one the alleyway entrances and dragged her into the shadows.
"Nice work."
"Thank you," Pansy smirked, looking pleased with herself. "I'm glad to see you made it across with no trouble."
"We're not out of the woods yet. I still need to get across three more roadways before we reach the old Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop."
"We've already made it this far, Granger. Another block or two is nothing."
Hermione pursed her lips in thought before nodding, her too-large dark hood bobbing up and down awkwardly on her head. Feeling it shift out of place, she fixed it so she could see Pansy without obstruction and offered the woman a smile.
"What?"
"Just thinking."
"Haven't you heard? That's nearly a dangerous thing nowadays."
"Merlin, who would've thought Parkinson had a sense of humor!"
"Blow it out of your arse, Granger." Pansy giggled lightly. "What were you thinking about?"
Taking Pansy's hand, Hermione blushed. "How much I want to snog you right here and now."
"If that was merely the case, you could have just said so."
Pushing Hermione back against the wall, Pansy pressed into her, taking her time to savor the taste of chilled lips. Each time they kissed, they both made it a point to take it slow and enjoy the moment, because it could easily be their last kiss - a horrible thought, but the dark truth they had come to recognize. Fingers interlocking together, Pansy held Hermione's hands against the wall, shifting her body against the taller woman enough to entice a gentle gasp from her. If they had more time, Pansy bitterly thought, she would have loved to draw this out, make Hermione bite her hand to blood trying not to cry out in the alleyway with just her tongue. As it was, time was crucial right now and with much reluctance, they pulled apart, fingers tingling still.
Without a word, Pansy slipped back out of the alleyway and continued up the street until she rounded a corner onto another large throughway. People stamped by her, eyes cast down as they hurried home. Thanks to them, she only had to distract the masked figure across the road for only a moment, her guise purposely suspicious, allowing Hermione to slip into the crowd, following them enough that she was able to cross the road and was out of sight at the opposite street corner in less than a minute's time. They repeated this twice more until finally they had slipped down an alleyway that while completely open to the public, was rarely used as it led to the back of the former Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop. Because of their part in the war, and the fact that they refused to pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord, the Weasleys, what was left of them, were war criminals. The twins' former shop had remained closed indefinitely, falling to victim to vandalism and disrepair over the last five years as the surviving twin, George, had long gone into hiding.
Besides, until earlier this year, no one really dared get too close to the shop because of rumours that it was being watched fiercely by the dark, masked figures and Listeners for any signs of a Weasley. Fortunately for Hermione and Pansy, there was a large riot that began in Manchester, demanding the attention of the spare guards, thus leaving the shop nothing more than an abandoned building. There were still traps though, and while Hermione had only reacquired her wand from Pansy around the same time they began meeting up here when the guards left, she was rusty in her magic use and had been having difficulty dismantling the traps. She had cleared out enough for them to enter into the basement, a place that prior to their exploration, had been sealed tight and jinxed something awful, turning anyone that attempted to break in into a newt, with repeated offenders changed into smaller and smaller critters. Hermione had been delighted by this though, because she understood the basics of what had been done and after several tries, from a careful distance, she was able to gain access to the basement.
When they got down the steps, closing the door behind them, Pansy pulled the scarf around her throat high up to obscure her features. It was clear why when they passed through a door at the bottom of the steps, entering into a large area that had once been the twins' laboratory. Initially, it had greatly resembled a mad scientist's laboratory with beakers filled with strangely colored liquids and long, twisty pipes all over the place, but now most of that had been cleared away to allow room for the people that were currently milling about in it. Once familiar faces were covered in scars and hard lines, the years not having been kind to them. Hermione dropped back her hood and embraced a redhead with a head wound, old blood visible through bandage.
"Oh, Ginny! How wonderful it is to see you!"
Ginny locked her arms tightly around her old friend, tears prickling her eyes. "Hermione, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you like mad!"
Another redhead approached the two, throwing long arms around the women. "How marvelous to see you again, Hermione!"
"A ye, and to you too, Mr Weasley." Hermione smiled largely, noting the patches of premature gray in the man's hair and the black bags beneath his eyes.
"So who's responsible for putting this wonderful little soirée together?" Neville Longbottom asked, drawing the attention of most of the people in the room and flushing a little when he realized this.
"I was," Hermione said, reluctantly extracting herself from the Weasleys. "I'm pleased to see you all arrived here safely, and I am beyond thrilled to see so many of you at all after all these years."
"A ye!" came a loud cheer from the small group.
"It is time we band together, and I know some of you already know where I'm going with this, but many of you don't. You've all heard the rumours of the resistance?"
"I'm sure every wizard and witch from here to Romania has heard of it," Cho Chang replied, looking older than her actual age but still capable of a bright smile. "We whisper it to our children to soothe their nightmares."
"But it doesn't exist," said one mournful face - Dean Thomas.
"That is why I've gathered you all here, to tell you that we have found it and they absolutely do exist."
"You're pulling our leg," Mr Weasley said, his eyes wide, fear and hope fighting each other for dominance.
"I speak the truth," Hermione said firmly. "One would never imagine where they exist at, but those crazy loons do indeed exist."
"Where?" Ginny asked.
"Before I reveal any details, I need to know that you're all with me in going over to join them, because if you are not, then I suggest you get up and leave right now. The war may have ended five years ago with Harry's..." Hermione choked on her words for just a second before continuing on. "But there is still hope, always has been."
Uncertainty flickered throughout the faces before her as soft murmurs began and then as if one, every person in the room stood straight, stood tall and proud and determined. Twenty tired souls shined together as one before Hermione's eyes, bringing a smile to her face. Mr Weasley, having looked over the faces, grasped Hermione's hand in both of his and squeezed it lightly.
"We are absolutely behind you and the resistance. Please, tell us more."
Everyone gave a nod of agreement, relaxing Hermione. "Excellent then. To start, you need to know that where they've set up base camp will completely blow your minds."
"No more than anything else we've seen thus far," Neville said.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, as their base camp is located far beneath Hogwarts."
This began a frenzy of questions and complaints through the crowd as people either mourned the fact that it was a suicide mission to get anywhere near Hogwarts or scoffed at Hermione's credibility. After a few moments, Hermione rose her hand and demanded silence which, one by one, they gave her.
"I know it seems far-fetched and ridiculous, but think about it - where else could anyone hide in the wizarding world anymore? Nowhere but right beneath the Dark Lord's nose. How many of you have been in hiding up until now? Those of you not in hiding pledged falsely to loyalty you hold none of and live miserable, meek lives. When we meet up with the resistance, you'll see that it is time to change all that. You will not live in fear any longer, same as we have come to live."
"You keep mentioning this 'we', but who is your friend over there?" Dean asked, eyeing Pansy suspiciously. "Who is she?"
Hermione and Pansy exchanged a glance as Pansy visibly sighed and stepped forward.
"This is our key to getting to the resistance's base camp," Hermione said tentatively.
Removing her head wrap and then the heavy coat she'd been using to hide her figure, Pansy last removed the scarf, sending a gasp through the crowd.
"You're our key?" Neville asked incredulously. "A pure-blood? Surely this is a trap."
Wands began to be drawn as panic spread but Hermione quickly stepped in front of Pansy, her arms held out to protect her.
"Stop! She's not on the Dark Lord's side!" Hermione cried, her voice growing soft as she dropped her arms and looked back to take hold of Pansy's hand. "She's not our enemy."
"Are you mental?" Michael Boot asked, having previously been silent. "She's a pure-blood! Not a single one of their lot can be trusted."
"Pansy can be trusted," Hermione insisted.
"Prove it!" someone shouted, sparking a chant to arise.
Pansy, tired of being treated like a criminal on trial, stepped forward, causing the shouting to abruptly stop. She smiled coyly at this. She then turned to Hermione and, without warning, crashed their lips together, rendering the group deathly silent. Hermione, flustered and embarrassed, smiled weakly at the short haired woman.
"And if that isn't evidence enough," Pansy said to crowd, "I'll have you know that pure-bloods are also tired of this oppressive new world. Perhaps we aren't harassed as much as others but we still feel like sheep lining up for the slaughter. Just because some of us are willing to worship the air the Dark Lord breaths, it does not extend to all of us. Believe it or not, the resistance consists of a number of pure-bloods that are also tired of the way things are. I'm sure most, if not all of you, doubt my words, but I speak nothing but the truth."
She took a pause to study the faces before her and could see she still hadn't really convinced any of them. With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward, her eyes growing soft in an uncharacteristic way, and when she spoke, her tone had let go of the hostility in it a moment ago.
"What you all must understand is that I am a changed woman. The final battle greatly altered my world as much as it did all of yours. Before the war I was certain I would marry the boy I loved and we would start a family in the country in a lovely manor all our own, but that was not meant to be after the final battle. I found him dead by his own hand, wrapped in his also deceased parents' arms. The Dark Lord's victory had terrified them - terrified pure-bloods! - to the point where they realized the best course of action was death. There wasn't a day I didn't envy their strength in that regard, to turn their own wands on themselves and end the miserable lives they would've surely led. I was almost there myself, but my wand was a bottle of liquor, and I drank until I swore I could speak to the boy I loved again before vomiting and passing out. Night after night I lived this, until Hermione took me one day and shook sense into me. She opened my eyes to see that there was still hope in this world. That love still existed. She stood by my side while I withdrew and quit liquor completely and has kept me sane when I feared that nothing was worth living for anymore.
For that, for everything she has done for me, you all have my word as a person, not a pure-blood, but as a person that bleeds and cries and dreams just like you all do, that you can trust me. What Granger and I have as well is authentic. Perhaps we were never meant to be before the war, but the final battle changed that as it changed everything else."
Not a single person left the basement that night as they plotted a way to the resistance's base camp together.
V.
Malfoy Manor was both a sham of its former glory and a breathtaking monument to the Dark Lord. Where ivies and weeds had begun to tangle thickly together, smooth marble and stone marked the entrance into the mansion. Most of the rooms had been left untouched in the past several years, but the ones of use were clean and draped in dark silks and cloth, incense burning on decorated stands. Hermione barely recognized the place as she stepped through the foyer, her wand held out in front of her. Two masked figures approached her but they were down on the ground before they could even form words of protest.
"The attack team is in the rear," Ginny reported, appearing at her side.
Shouts could be heard from the distant side of the house and Hermione nodded in approval as she started up the stairs. No more than five steps up, a wall of masked figures appeared at the top of the stairs. With a grimace, she shouted Protego and jumped off the stairs as hexes were thrown at her. Luckily, Ginny hadn't appeared alone. Resistance members by the dozens raced ahead and slammed into the masked figures, cutting them down with words and fists. A man helped Hermione to her feet and she was relieved to see it was Blaise Zabini, one of the primary leaders of the resistance.
"Go find Parkinson. She came in with the rear attack," he said.
"Are you certain?"
Blaise gave her an easy smile and pushed her toward a doorway beneath the stairs that would take her to the rear of the house. As he blasted back two men from pursuing her, Hermione was already sprinting, throwing a hex here and there as she slammed into the door and found herself in a new room of the manor. It was slowly beginning to fill with dark figures and resistance members alike from the opposite doors. She wasn't on a good side of the scuffle but she took the advantage to set a wall of flames alight behind the backs of the dark figures, stopping their retreat and allowing the resistance members to clear them out. Diffusing the flames, Hermione brushed past, asking where Pansy had run off to. Most weren't sure but Luna Lovegood, forever seeming untouched by the darkness all around her, smiled kindly and pointed at another door.
"I believe I saw her run up the back stairs to the second floor with a group of resistance members," she answered.
Thanking her, Hermione followed Luna's directions and soon found herself moving through the second floor of the manor. Things were familiar here, her memories coming back to her as she moved from one room to the next, searching for Pansy. She finally found her, standing quietly before a door, the woman flinching when she touched her shoulder.
"What is it?"
"This is where I found them dead. Where I found him dead," Pansy answered slowly.
She looked down at the doorknob, considering whether or not it would be wise to try and open it. Surely the bodies had long since been cleared away, but what if they hadn't? All she could see was the scene from that fateful day, a prickle of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. With a shaky hand she grasped the doorknob, knowing that she had to open the door, to face her pain. Closing her eyes, she was surprised to feel a hand close over hers, soft lips at her ear.
"Go ahead," Hermione whispered, her voice gentle despite the screams and blasts just around the corner from them.
Eyes still closed, Pansy turned the doorknob and pushed it in, her breath sucking in as she listened to squeaky hinges move. The air smelled musty with maybe a hint of decay, but it wasn't a corpse's decay, or at least Pansy didn't think so. Opening her eyes she was relieved to see nothing of interest in the room. The bodies had been removed and the room was nothing more than a room, not the tomb in her nightmares, not any longer. Exhaling, she let her gaze linger at the spot in the corner where the Malfoy family had taken their last breaths, and smiled.
"They're coming," Hermione said, tugging at Pansy's elbow.
Together they ran down the corridor, away from the fighting in the nearby corridor, unsure as to which side was winning in that particular melee. Not that it matter as this had never been about revenge against the Dark Lord, not completely. Their cause, their own, personal cause had been for a chance to quiet the haunting in Pansy's nightmares. Hermione had promised she would find a way to do it and she had. Bringing down the Dark Lord was a side bonus.
Fall he did, because not even the Dark Lord could match the power of hundreds of witches and wizards, a resistance that had grown into the tens of thousands in secret, as they swarmed him. Many died, their bodies cold in death, trampled upon by the next horde of fighters, to be prayed for and wept over later. Outnumbered, the Dark Lord was no match and he fell to a delighted chorus of cheers that stretched from the inside of the manor to the outside forces and beyond.
In the celebratory chaos that ensued, Hermione and Pansy, tired and bloody from fighting, walked away, hand in hand.
End