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It was an… unusual friendship that happened upon Hermione Granger on the third day of October during her eighth year at Hogwarts. To say she hadn’t invited it would be unfair, she’d returned with an open mind and had resolved to leave her prejudices on platform 9 ¾. But that wasn’t to say she hadn’t a heavy heart, worn by the losses she and her friends had endured.
She’d hardly had time to pour her tea (brick brown, a splash of milk, no sugar) before Pansy Parkinson with her head held high marched to the Gryffindor table, making room for herself before anyone could dare refuse.
“Morning, Granger,” she greeted Hermione, uncharacteristically chipper despite the early morning start. “Pass the strawberries, would you?”
“Parkinson,” said Seamus. “This is the Gryffindor table”.
She levelled a stern look at him, “do you take me for an idiot, Finnigan?”
Seamus couldn’t help but squirm opposite her, “no, but-“
“Oh, good. Then can I assume you acknowledge that I have enough of my wits about me to know at which table I’ve sat?”
“…sure,” he replied, honestly regretting mentioning it as he looked at his sausages longingly.
“So, what’s the problem?” she asked, daring him to have a problem. Merlin, she’d love him to have a problem. Though, she conceded, it would be counterproductive to her breakfast choices...
“I think, Pansy,” Hermione interrupted. “Seamus’ concern may be that you’ve never sat here before, nor shown the inclination, and so your motivation for joining us, which you’re more than welcome to do…”
“You want to know why I’m sat here?”
Hermione looked relieved, “if you would be so kind”.
“Oh it’s simple, Granger, I’ve decided we’re going to be friends”.
“Er, friends?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, friends. You and I, sisters in arms, witches against the world, women united.”
“Pansy, while I certainly appreciate the offer, I have friends-“
“Yes, Granger, but you’ve got no friends like me-“
“-that’s for sure-“ Hermione interrupted, unable to help herself.
“- nobody who’ll tell you upfront, wand to the head what they think. I won’t flatter you, I won’t shower you with praises, I won’t polish your crown or spit shine those fuck-awful shoes you insist on wearing…” Pansy trailed off before asking, “are they a dealbreaker?”
“A dealbreaker?” replied Hermione, confused.
“Yes, the shoes, are you rather attached?”
“What’s wrong with my shoes?” she asked innocently, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.
Pansy sighed, “Hermione, love you, but we’ve only another half hour of breakfast, we can’t start breaking down what’s wrong with those shoes”.
“But you…”
“You have no friends who will be a friend like me, Granger, except maybe the Weaselette but one is never enough… and you’re going to need friends like us and I, well, I’m pretty sure I’m desperately in need of a friend like you so here we are, strawberries?” she motioned towards the ripe, red fruit within arms reach of her new friend who, reluctantly, passed them to the witch.
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Pansy Parkinson, it turned out, was just the beginning.
A week later Theo joins her studying in the library at her favourite table, towards the back of the DADA stacks.
“Morning Granger,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. “Is that ancient runes you’re so intensely absorbing?”
“Um, yes, actually-“
“Homework’s due on Thursday, how’re you doing?” he asked, reaching into his satchel and taking out haphazard rolls of parchment.
“Oh you know, chipping away at it…”
Theo nodded understandingly, “question 6 on page 234 is an absolute cunt, you there yet?”
“Er, no,” she replied, somewhat taken aback by… everything.
“Right, well hurry along, if I’m going to crack this with anyone it’s you and Blaise is sick of my ‘existential crisis over scribbles’ so I could do with some solidarity”.
“Solidarity?”
“Yes, please. I’ll do my fair share too - here have a look at my notes for question 9, I skipped ahead”.
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It was three weeks later when he sat down on a bench beside her in the courtyard and announced, “Hermione Granger, you’re stealing all my friends”.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, looking up from the book she’d been reading.
“You heard me, brightest witch, suddenly Pansy’s breakfasting with you, Theo’s grilling you about runic translation and Blaise… well, Blaise hasn’t defected yet but it’s only a matter of time”.
“It’s hardly a defection,” she muttered.
“No? You’re right, it’s probably your stellar company, why don’t you prove it to me and come to Hogsmede with me this weekend?” he replied with a smirk.
“What?!” she spluttered.
“What is with your sudden hearing affliction, is there a nest of doxies in your ears? Do we need to head to Pomfrey? I asked you to Hogsmede this weekend, Hermione”.
She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Why on earth would you want to go to Hogsmede with me, Malfoy?”
“Really, Granger,” he replied patiently. “Why do any two single and consenting students go to Hogsmede together?”
“But you,” she replied, as if spelling out the obvious. “With me. Why?”
“Merlin, you don’t need a list do you? Can’t there be a little mystery?”
“You bullied me for 7 years, you’ve never been anything but an absolute arse and 6 months ago I was tortured on your dining room floor by your psychopathic aunt, and you’ve hardly spoken a word to me since”.
He winced, “is that a no?”
“It’s not a no, no. I just want to know why and… why now”.
“I could blame it all on my father, on being a teenage boy who knew nothing better, my mandated therapist does. Frequently. But I made those stupid choices. I was led, but I took the bait, I took part, I didn’t have the sense to see what was right in front of me.
I’m trying… I’m trying to be the person I want to be. I want to go to bed at night without turning over each and every interaction, second guessing whether it was my father, my prejudice or me speaking.
I wish I’d stopped her. I’d like to think that, now, I’d have the courage to stop her. And I’m trying, now, to ask a pretty witch who I think, if I put my father and my prejudices aside, I’ve a lot in common with, to go to Hogsmede with me on Saturday, if she’s willing”.
Hermione looked at him, at the flush on his face, the vulnerability, and knew it was true, “I’m willing”.
“I’ll meet you at 10,” he nodded before leaving her, on the bench, to her book and emotional confusion. Where the bloody hell was Pansy when you needed her.
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