Chapter Text
She watches them from across the Great Hall, the way Weasley clumsily steps on her toes as he embarrassingly tries to lead her around the dance floor. She sees the tightness of Hermione’s jaw, the sadness in her eyes, the way Weasel’s gaze wanders to Lavender Brown and Katie Bell and fucking anyone with tits.
She deserves better than this. Better than him.
Hermione Granger is Pansy Parkinson’s polar opposite in nearly every way. Pansy’s Christmas Party dress is a strapless black dress with a lace, corset top and a tiered, ruffled tulle skirt with slits exposing her legs. Hermione, on the other hand, is in a pale pink gown that’s almost white. It should be plain, with its A-line cut, off the shoulder sleeves and sweetheart neckline. It has a slight slit up the leg for movement, but nothing over the top. Nothing ostentatious. Should be simple and boring, but on her it’s stunning. She doesn’t need anything else to stand out.
Weasley takes her for granted. Eventually, Pansy sees the mangy redhead huff and shake out of Hermione’s embrace before stomping back to the table with the very-spiked punch.
Pansy takes her moment to cut through the people on the dance floor and walk over to Hermione. The two witches have become friends over the past year, but the Gryffindor doesn’t know that Pansy doesn’t want to be Hermione’s friend.
She wants to be more.
“Granger,” Pansy says as she approaches the curly-haired witch. She’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, watching sadly from where her boyfriend left her all alone. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that,” she says, cutting to the chase. She’s tired of seeing her friend hurt, of seeing her be ignored.
“Pansy…”
“No, Hermione, listen to me.”
Hermione looks up in her eyes and she can only imagine what she sees. Fire, probably. Mixed with lust and pleading and desperation. She wishes she saw a reflection of that in Hermione’s gaze.
“Weasley treats you like shit. He checks out every other girl in here as if he doesn’t have the best fucking one on his arm. He’s taking you for granted, Granger, and he’s going to hurt you. Fuck. I mean, I could be a better boyfriend than him.” She says it with her usual snark, but underneath her hard exterior, her heart is thumping wildly in her chest.
Hermione’s eyes widen and a pretty blush rises on her cheeks. Pansy reaches out and takes Hermione’s hand. “Why don’t you let me show you, Granger? Let me show you how good it could be. The way you deserve to be treated.”
Hermione’s mouth opens and a gust of breath puffs out. Her lips are parted in the prettiest of ways and damn if Pansy doesn’t want to lean in and steal a kiss from her. Who cares if everyone is watching, if they’re in the middle of the Great Hall, if Granger’s boyfriend is standing ten feet away.
He’s flirting with Brown anyway.
“Look at him.” Pansy moves behind Hermione, her left hand on the Gryffindor’s left hip, her right hand resting on Hermione’s arm. Her chin sits on her shoulder as she whispers into her best friend’s ear. “He’s not even trying to hide it.”
Hermione shivers in Pansy’s embrace, her body leaning back against the taller witch.
“Do you want me to go talk to him?” Pansy quirks a brow even though Hermione can’t see her; her back still pressed to Pansy’s front.
“No just…get me out of here.”
Without another thought, Pansy wraps her hand around Hermione’s wrist and tugs her from the Great Hall. They slink through the halls toward the Slytherin common room, knowing that even if the idiot redhead deigned to search for his witch, he’d never come searching in the snake pit.
Once Pansy whispers the password, she tugs the out-of-place Gryffindor to her room. Daphne, Millicent, Tracey, and her other roommates are still at the ball so they have the room to themselves.
Hermione lies back on Pansy’s mattress with a sigh. “I can’t hide out here forever. I’ll have to face him eventually.”
“Why? Just wear my clothes. Charm them to red and gold, even though I still think you look better in green.” She plops down on the bed beside the curly-haired witch. They both roll onto their sides, facing one another.
Hermione licks her lips, her brown eyes meeting Pansy’s cool gaze. “And what would everyone say if I started walking around in your tie?”
Pansy’s breath hitches. “Probably that it was about time you left that loser.”
“Left him…for you?” Her cheeks turn the most stunning shade of pink Pansy has ever seen.
Pansy licks her lips, steeling herself. Emotions don’t come easy to her, but if she’s going to take this chance, this chance that she’s been waiting for for months, then she needs to be vulnerable. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to steal you from him.”
Hermione’s brows furrow. “Why didn’t you?” she whispers.
Pansy huffs out a laugh. “You’re Hermione Granger, for Salazar’s sake.”
“And you’re Pansy Parkinson.” She sits up onto her elbow and searches the Slytherin’s face. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
“Including you?” Pansy doesn’t breathe. She glances away, too afraid to see the look on Hermione’s over-expressive face.
Ever more courageous than the Slytherin is, Hermione uses her finger to lift Pansy’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Especially me.”
Pansy’s breath hitches as Hermione leans in and brushes her lips gently against Pansy’s. It’s short and sweet and not nearly enough for what Pansy wants to do to the witch.
But as far as first kisses go, it’s nice and gentle and damn-near perfect. The touch of their lips alone enough to cause gooseflesh on Pansy’s skin and her heartrate to rachet up to dangerous levels.
When Hermione pulls back, her eyes are ablaze and a small smile tugs at her lips. “I’ve wanted to try that for a while now.”
Pansy’s lips quirk as she asks back, “Well why didn’t you?”
Hermione can’t control her grin. “Because you’re Pansy Parkinson.”
The Slytherin laughs. “Can we try that again?” When Hermione nods, the raven-haired witch sinks her fingers into the unruly mass of curls and tugs the soft mouth against hers. Their tongues meet at last, twirling around one another, Pansy’s tongue leading Hermione in a dance better than the Weasel’s feet ever could.
The kiss is passionate and fervent and her blood is hot coursing through her veins. She tugs on Hermione’s curls, her other hand wrapping around her waist, enjoying the soft silk under her palm.
Pansy fists the material in her palm, dying to rip it off but not wanting to rush Hermione. Gryffindor or not, this is a big step and she’ll let the little lion lead.
Hermione’s the first to pull out of the kiss. Both witches are left panting, their lips swollen and cheeks pinkened.
“So, you really don’t mind if I spend the night?” Hermione asks cheekily.
“Try and leave,” Pansy jokes, gripping onto the witch’s hips.
“And you don’t mind if I borrow a uniform?”
Pansy smirks. “I’d prefer if you did. All of my skirts are charmed to be shorter.”
“And you don’t mind if we take things slow?” Hermione asks, her voice lowering.
“I love slow,” she answers huskily.
To prove it she leans in, capturing Hermione’s mouth in a slow, drawn out, teasing kiss. Pansy’s tongue glides against Hermione’s leisurely until the Gryffindor is whimpering, then the raven-haired witch pulls back, grinning wickedly.
“And what about Weasley?” Pansy asks at last. As much as she loves exploring this side of Hermione, she doesn’t want to share the witch, nor does she intend to. Especially not with the redheaded git.
“I’ll deal with him tomorrow. You’re right, Pans. I deserve better.”
“And better is me?” Pansy plays with one of Hermione’s curls, nervous about her answer.
“If you’ll have me.” Hermione bites her lip briefly. “I think I’d like to see where this thing goes.”
“And you’re not afraid of what people think?”
She shakes her head, wild curls falling over her shoulders. “It’s never bothered me before. Besides, I have a feeling you’d hex them before they’d get a chance to say anything.”
“I’m not nearly as formidable as you, Granger.”
“Then I don’t think we need to be worried.” She presses another kiss to Pansy’s lips as the Slytherin sighs against her, revelling in the feel of Hermione’s body finally pressed atop hers.