HP: Green (Pansy/Susan, PG)
Title: Green
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Pansy/Susan
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2020
Summary: Pansy is an unlikely Herbology student. Susan, not so much. (PS! If you love Susan!fic, then please join thelovelysusan.)
People don’t assume Pansy takes Herbology. They see the immaculate front she presents: never ruffled, never a hair out of place. They think Herbology and they think dirt under her fingernails and scratches from plants and dragon dung fertiliser.
But Pansy does take Herbology. There’s something about plants that she likes - they’re obedient, they don’t answer back. She can be more brutal than necessary when pruning, but the pungent sweet smell that rises from the fanged geraniums is addictive, and she loves the shiny dark leaves of alihotsy, so glossy she can almost see her reflection in them.
In their final year, after Christmas, Professor Sprout tells the class that they will be starting their independent projects. Pansy feels a little thrill shoot through her though she remains outwardly calm, tapping her fingers against the desk as though she’d rather be anywhere but here. She has plans for this project, something big.
A few weeks later Professor Sprout hands back Pansy’s proposal. There are notes scribbled in red ink down the margins and a large A on the top. Pansy scowls and shoves it into her bag. Sprout talks to her about over-ambition, trying to run before she can walk, a whole host of clichés that Pansy wants to ram down her throat.
“I’d still like to go ahead with this, Professor,” she says tightly. Sprout sighs, shrugs, tells her she’ll get marks for effort and originality at least. Pansy wants to spit at her, except ladies don’t spit and she’s a pure-bred lady.
The projects are started, test trays are set up in rows along the benches, and Pansy labels each one of hers in her neat script with a certain defiance. Susan Bones is working along from her, tenderly pressing down on the soil in her pots. She looks up, briefly, curiously, then returns to her work. Pansy hasn’t shared her idea with anyone in the group (she’s the only Slytherin here) and she’d like to keep it that way. Tossing her head, she leaves Greenhouse Six.
February blurs into March and with the new month comes rain. It slides down the panes of the Greenhouses and into the gutters where it is channelled into large barrels. Pansy turns the tap at the bottom, measures out the same quantity ten times and pours it into each of her test pots. Returning one last time she sees Susan feeling the dampness of the soil in one of her pots then carefully dripping in a bit more water.
“That’s hardly scientific,” Pansy says scornfully.
Susan looks up in surprise. “No,” she agrees. “It’s not.” Then she smiles and moves on to the next pot. Pansy feels a bubbling irritation that she can’t quite dispel. It should be nothing to her if Susan Bones wants to do her own thing, but she feels personally offended.
Pansy starts coming down to Greenhouse Six on the weekends, checking on the status of her plants. Every time their status remains the same: non-existent. Ten identical plant pots lined up in a row, ten identically bare pots of soil. She tries to remain aloof, unconcerned, but she feels the whispers of the others in the class. She’s not used to looking like a failure and it rankles.
One day she comes down during dinner with a small vial carefully concealed in the inner pocket of her robes. To her utter dismay Susan is there too, tending to her project.
“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” Susan asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She still wears her ginger hair in that long plait; ridiculous, Pansy thinks. She looks five years old like that.
“I’m not hungry,” she says shortly. “I didn’t realise anyone would be down here.”
“I didn’t want to put anyone out,” Susan says, gesturing to a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs. “They need repotting, you see.” She looks apologetic. Pansy doesn’t want to leave now that she’s here so she strides over to the cupboard where the earmuffs are kept and pulls out a pair. Susan snaps her own over her head - they clash horribly with her hair - and uproots the first Mandrake. Pansy stares at the ugly baby and her lip curls involuntarily. They’re hideous. Susan seems almost enchanted, though. She brushes loose dirt carefully off the little limbs and turns it around, checking it for - well, Merlin knows what she’s doing. If it were Pansy she’d shove the little brat in more dirt as soon as possible. But Susan takes her time, settling it into the bigger pot and carefully packing fresh soil around it.
This she does ten times. After the second one has been done Pansy’s foot starts tapping in annoyance and she sighs loudly. Then she remembers that Susan can’t hear her (Pansy can’t even hear herself) and feels foolish. She twists her mouth petulantly, folds her arms, and waits. And begins to watch Susan more closely.
When Susan is finished she turns around with a smile and a thumbs-up. Pansy feels strangely hot; she tugs off her earmuffs and turns to look outside. But all the windows have steamed up and she finds herself looking at her own blurry reflection.
“I’m done,” Susan says. Obviously, Pansy thinks. “Well - sorry about that. You can get on with what you wanted to do now.” There’s a pause, and Susan glances towards Pansy’s row of empty pots. “Er - what was it you were here to do anyway?”
Pansy can almost hear the gears in Susan’s brain turning. Why didn’t Pansy do what it was she had to do while the earmuffs were on, why did she wait?
Susan has paused, her hand on the door.
Pansy regards her for a moment, then pulls out the little vial. “I’m just giving my project a helping hand.” She places her free hand on her hip, daring Susan to say something. Which she does.
“What is that?”
“Ageing potion. My project’s taking too long, it’ll never be finished within the time limit.” Pansy uncorks the bottle, but before she can move Susan has closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. There’s a smudge of dirt across her nose and freckles on her eyelids and being this close to her is doing funny things to Pansy’s insides.
“Don’t do it,” Susan says evenly.
“Oh, how very Hufflepuff of you,” Pansy manages to get out, and attempts a sneer to go with the words. She’s not sure it’s working though. “Going to tell Professor Sprout I cheated, are you?”
Susan frowns. “No. I just think you’ll regret it, that’s all.”
“You think I’ll regret it? You’ll regret not letting go of me in a minute!” Pansy says shrilly. Susan glances down to where she is still holding Pansy’s arm, and lets go. Then she turns and leaves, a cold blast of air from outside filling the space where she once was. Pansy shivers and looks at the vial.
In the next Herbology lesson Pansy catches Susan looking over at her project. Pansy glares at the side of her head, willing her to turn the other way. Susan does, and it’s not because of the force of Pansy’s glare. She’s deliberately seeking her out with that intense, searching look in her eyes. The look takes Pansy’s breath away and she doesn’t know quite how to arrange her features. She stares back blankly until Susan returns her attention to Professor Sprout, who has devoted this lesson to a mock written paper. Pansy lets out a shaky breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and dips her quill into her inkpot. The questions are relatively straightforward but she can’t seem to concentrate, not when Susan’s head is bent like that, revealing the long graceful line of her neck -
I’m going mad, Pansy thinks.
Susan is surrounded by her friends and Pansy finds it easy to slip away after the lesson finishes. She has no desire to speak to the redhead. But she doesn’t count on Susan’s determination. A hand at her elbow stops her from entering the Great Hall for breakfast one morning, and before she knows it Susan has led her to a little alcove.
“Did you do it?” Susan asks bluntly.
There are a number of coarse ways her words could be interpreted - if Pansy was that sort of a girl. But she’s not, so she answers back equally straightforwardly. “No, I didn’t.”
Susan raises her eyebrows slightly. “You didn’t? Why not?”
“Do I need a reason?” Pansy says angrily, pushing past her.
The two girls avoid each other for the next few weeks, but during one lesson Pansy sees Susan measuring the leaves of one of her Mandrake plants and overhears her say to Hannah, “I think they’ll need repotting again soon.”
Pansy skips dinner to go down to the Greenhouses that evening.
Susan doesn’t look surprised to see her but she does say, “You should eat something.”
“What about you?” Pansy retorts.
“Hannah’s going to save me a couple of bread rolls and some fruit,” Susan says simply. “It’d be nice to have a hot meal, but I can always have porridge tomorrow morning.” She looks tenderly down at her project. “Needs must, I suppose. It’s worth it.”
Pansy feels angry that Susan’s so - so - involved with her project. It’s more than a project for her, it’s -
“My babies,” Susan says with a sheepish grin, picking up her earmuffs. “Let’s see how big they’ve grown, then.”
Again, Pansy stays to watch her. There’s something hypnotic about the repetitive motions of her fingers and hands. Repellent, Pansy tells herself. Repugnant, abhorrent -
Susan brushes hair out of her eyes with an impatient motion and Pansy’s breath catches in her throat.
Beautiful.
When Susan has finished she looks at Pansy in concern. “Are you all right?”
Pansy doesn’t know what she is or what she’s feeling. With every day she feels a growing sense of hopelessness that her project will never succeed. She feels inadequate beside this Hufflepuff, and yet she doesn’t want to curse her, she wants to kiss her.
Susan takes a hesitant step forward. “Pansy?”
There’s a sudden noise from the bench and Susan clutches Pansy’s hand. “Look,” she breathes, and the part of Pansy that wants to smack her for always stating the obvious is subdued as she tightens her fingers around Susan’s and stares too. Her plant pots are rattling. She holds her breath.
Green shoots poke up through the damp dark soil and unfurl, revealing two tender new leaves. These seedlings stretch up, growing taller and taller, putting out new leaves that uncurl and spread, larger and larger. Buds form at the tips of the plants, swelling until finally they burst into bloom. But even as Pansy and Susan watch, the flowers turn brown and shrivel and die, falling away. The seed head hardens, then falls too. The plants are still. A whole life cycle has occurred in under a minute.
“What did you do?” Susan whispers.
“I didn’t do anything,” Pansy says triumphantly. “This was my project.”
Susan stares at her with something like amazement in her eyes. “Then… what did you do?” she repeats, and suddenly laughs. “That’s amazing!”
Pansy realises they’re still holding hands and tugs away. Susan blinks, then fiddles awkwardly with the hem of her sleeve.
“Of course I’m amazing,” Pansy says haughtily. “Goodnight, Bones.”
And just like that, Susan realises the project is over, and anything that might have been blossoming in Pansy has shrivelled and died as quickly as her plants.
Pansy gets an O, of course, and she can’t help but smirk at Professor Sprout’s face when she hands back her completed coursework. Sprout says something about not explaining the theory properly, sloppy work, and normally Pansy would silently fume at the way the professor treats her, but today she couldn’t care less. She’s won. She’s shown them all how Herbology should be done.
As she stands up, tucking her quill into her bag, Susan Bones lifts her head and Pansy stares directly into those big grey eyes and notes, with some relief, that she feels nothing.
She’s won there, too.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Pansy/Susan
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2020
Summary: Pansy is an unlikely Herbology student. Susan, not so much. (PS! If you love Susan!fic, then please join thelovelysusan.)
People don’t assume Pansy takes Herbology. They see the immaculate front she presents: never ruffled, never a hair out of place. They think Herbology and they think dirt under her fingernails and scratches from plants and dragon dung fertiliser.
But Pansy does take Herbology. There’s something about plants that she likes - they’re obedient, they don’t answer back. She can be more brutal than necessary when pruning, but the pungent sweet smell that rises from the fanged geraniums is addictive, and she loves the shiny dark leaves of alihotsy, so glossy she can almost see her reflection in them.
In their final year, after Christmas, Professor Sprout tells the class that they will be starting their independent projects. Pansy feels a little thrill shoot through her though she remains outwardly calm, tapping her fingers against the desk as though she’d rather be anywhere but here. She has plans for this project, something big.
A few weeks later Professor Sprout hands back Pansy’s proposal. There are notes scribbled in red ink down the margins and a large A on the top. Pansy scowls and shoves it into her bag. Sprout talks to her about over-ambition, trying to run before she can walk, a whole host of clichés that Pansy wants to ram down her throat.
“I’d still like to go ahead with this, Professor,” she says tightly. Sprout sighs, shrugs, tells her she’ll get marks for effort and originality at least. Pansy wants to spit at her, except ladies don’t spit and she’s a pure-bred lady.
The projects are started, test trays are set up in rows along the benches, and Pansy labels each one of hers in her neat script with a certain defiance. Susan Bones is working along from her, tenderly pressing down on the soil in her pots. She looks up, briefly, curiously, then returns to her work. Pansy hasn’t shared her idea with anyone in the group (she’s the only Slytherin here) and she’d like to keep it that way. Tossing her head, she leaves Greenhouse Six.
February blurs into March and with the new month comes rain. It slides down the panes of the Greenhouses and into the gutters where it is channelled into large barrels. Pansy turns the tap at the bottom, measures out the same quantity ten times and pours it into each of her test pots. Returning one last time she sees Susan feeling the dampness of the soil in one of her pots then carefully dripping in a bit more water.
“That’s hardly scientific,” Pansy says scornfully.
Susan looks up in surprise. “No,” she agrees. “It’s not.” Then she smiles and moves on to the next pot. Pansy feels a bubbling irritation that she can’t quite dispel. It should be nothing to her if Susan Bones wants to do her own thing, but she feels personally offended.
Pansy starts coming down to Greenhouse Six on the weekends, checking on the status of her plants. Every time their status remains the same: non-existent. Ten identical plant pots lined up in a row, ten identically bare pots of soil. She tries to remain aloof, unconcerned, but she feels the whispers of the others in the class. She’s not used to looking like a failure and it rankles.
One day she comes down during dinner with a small vial carefully concealed in the inner pocket of her robes. To her utter dismay Susan is there too, tending to her project.
“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” Susan asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She still wears her ginger hair in that long plait; ridiculous, Pansy thinks. She looks five years old like that.
“I’m not hungry,” she says shortly. “I didn’t realise anyone would be down here.”
“I didn’t want to put anyone out,” Susan says, gesturing to a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs. “They need repotting, you see.” She looks apologetic. Pansy doesn’t want to leave now that she’s here so she strides over to the cupboard where the earmuffs are kept and pulls out a pair. Susan snaps her own over her head - they clash horribly with her hair - and uproots the first Mandrake. Pansy stares at the ugly baby and her lip curls involuntarily. They’re hideous. Susan seems almost enchanted, though. She brushes loose dirt carefully off the little limbs and turns it around, checking it for - well, Merlin knows what she’s doing. If it were Pansy she’d shove the little brat in more dirt as soon as possible. But Susan takes her time, settling it into the bigger pot and carefully packing fresh soil around it.
This she does ten times. After the second one has been done Pansy’s foot starts tapping in annoyance and she sighs loudly. Then she remembers that Susan can’t hear her (Pansy can’t even hear herself) and feels foolish. She twists her mouth petulantly, folds her arms, and waits. And begins to watch Susan more closely.
When Susan is finished she turns around with a smile and a thumbs-up. Pansy feels strangely hot; she tugs off her earmuffs and turns to look outside. But all the windows have steamed up and she finds herself looking at her own blurry reflection.
“I’m done,” Susan says. Obviously, Pansy thinks. “Well - sorry about that. You can get on with what you wanted to do now.” There’s a pause, and Susan glances towards Pansy’s row of empty pots. “Er - what was it you were here to do anyway?”
Pansy can almost hear the gears in Susan’s brain turning. Why didn’t Pansy do what it was she had to do while the earmuffs were on, why did she wait?
Susan has paused, her hand on the door.
Pansy regards her for a moment, then pulls out the little vial. “I’m just giving my project a helping hand.” She places her free hand on her hip, daring Susan to say something. Which she does.
“What is that?”
“Ageing potion. My project’s taking too long, it’ll never be finished within the time limit.” Pansy uncorks the bottle, but before she can move Susan has closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. There’s a smudge of dirt across her nose and freckles on her eyelids and being this close to her is doing funny things to Pansy’s insides.
“Don’t do it,” Susan says evenly.
“Oh, how very Hufflepuff of you,” Pansy manages to get out, and attempts a sneer to go with the words. She’s not sure it’s working though. “Going to tell Professor Sprout I cheated, are you?”
Susan frowns. “No. I just think you’ll regret it, that’s all.”
“You think I’ll regret it? You’ll regret not letting go of me in a minute!” Pansy says shrilly. Susan glances down to where she is still holding Pansy’s arm, and lets go. Then she turns and leaves, a cold blast of air from outside filling the space where she once was. Pansy shivers and looks at the vial.
In the next Herbology lesson Pansy catches Susan looking over at her project. Pansy glares at the side of her head, willing her to turn the other way. Susan does, and it’s not because of the force of Pansy’s glare. She’s deliberately seeking her out with that intense, searching look in her eyes. The look takes Pansy’s breath away and she doesn’t know quite how to arrange her features. She stares back blankly until Susan returns her attention to Professor Sprout, who has devoted this lesson to a mock written paper. Pansy lets out a shaky breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and dips her quill into her inkpot. The questions are relatively straightforward but she can’t seem to concentrate, not when Susan’s head is bent like that, revealing the long graceful line of her neck -
I’m going mad, Pansy thinks.
Susan is surrounded by her friends and Pansy finds it easy to slip away after the lesson finishes. She has no desire to speak to the redhead. But she doesn’t count on Susan’s determination. A hand at her elbow stops her from entering the Great Hall for breakfast one morning, and before she knows it Susan has led her to a little alcove.
“Did you do it?” Susan asks bluntly.
There are a number of coarse ways her words could be interpreted - if Pansy was that sort of a girl. But she’s not, so she answers back equally straightforwardly. “No, I didn’t.”
Susan raises her eyebrows slightly. “You didn’t? Why not?”
“Do I need a reason?” Pansy says angrily, pushing past her.
The two girls avoid each other for the next few weeks, but during one lesson Pansy sees Susan measuring the leaves of one of her Mandrake plants and overhears her say to Hannah, “I think they’ll need repotting again soon.”
Pansy skips dinner to go down to the Greenhouses that evening.
Susan doesn’t look surprised to see her but she does say, “You should eat something.”
“What about you?” Pansy retorts.
“Hannah’s going to save me a couple of bread rolls and some fruit,” Susan says simply. “It’d be nice to have a hot meal, but I can always have porridge tomorrow morning.” She looks tenderly down at her project. “Needs must, I suppose. It’s worth it.”
Pansy feels angry that Susan’s so - so - involved with her project. It’s more than a project for her, it’s -
“My babies,” Susan says with a sheepish grin, picking up her earmuffs. “Let’s see how big they’ve grown, then.”
Again, Pansy stays to watch her. There’s something hypnotic about the repetitive motions of her fingers and hands. Repellent, Pansy tells herself. Repugnant, abhorrent -
Susan brushes hair out of her eyes with an impatient motion and Pansy’s breath catches in her throat.
Beautiful.
When Susan has finished she looks at Pansy in concern. “Are you all right?”
Pansy doesn’t know what she is or what she’s feeling. With every day she feels a growing sense of hopelessness that her project will never succeed. She feels inadequate beside this Hufflepuff, and yet she doesn’t want to curse her, she wants to kiss her.
Susan takes a hesitant step forward. “Pansy?”
There’s a sudden noise from the bench and Susan clutches Pansy’s hand. “Look,” she breathes, and the part of Pansy that wants to smack her for always stating the obvious is subdued as she tightens her fingers around Susan’s and stares too. Her plant pots are rattling. She holds her breath.
Green shoots poke up through the damp dark soil and unfurl, revealing two tender new leaves. These seedlings stretch up, growing taller and taller, putting out new leaves that uncurl and spread, larger and larger. Buds form at the tips of the plants, swelling until finally they burst into bloom. But even as Pansy and Susan watch, the flowers turn brown and shrivel and die, falling away. The seed head hardens, then falls too. The plants are still. A whole life cycle has occurred in under a minute.
“What did you do?” Susan whispers.
“I didn’t do anything,” Pansy says triumphantly. “This was my project.”
Susan stares at her with something like amazement in her eyes. “Then… what did you do?” she repeats, and suddenly laughs. “That’s amazing!”
Pansy realises they’re still holding hands and tugs away. Susan blinks, then fiddles awkwardly with the hem of her sleeve.
“Of course I’m amazing,” Pansy says haughtily. “Goodnight, Bones.”
And just like that, Susan realises the project is over, and anything that might have been blossoming in Pansy has shrivelled and died as quickly as her plants.
Pansy gets an O, of course, and she can’t help but smirk at Professor Sprout’s face when she hands back her completed coursework. Sprout says something about not explaining the theory properly, sloppy work, and normally Pansy would silently fume at the way the professor treats her, but today she couldn’t care less. She’s won. She’s shown them all how Herbology should be done.
As she stands up, tucking her quill into her bag, Susan Bones lifts her head and Pansy stares directly into those big grey eyes and notes, with some relief, that she feels nothing.
She’s won there, too.