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“You ”. The word was snarled. The tip of the sword pressed into the soft flesh of her neck, nicking the surface. Hermione felt the sharp sting of it through the adrenaline.
“Do you know how far I’ve travelled to find you again?” Pansy demanded, chest heaving, eyes tracing her face. She had Hermione cornered, ready to nudge her over the edge of the cliff and send her to a watery grave.
But Hermione would not go down that easily.
“Do you know you should never leave your stomach unprotected?” She countered.
Pansy looked down, black hair fanning in front of her face. Hermione had matched Pansy’s aggression, threatening the tip of her blade against her woven bodice. She looked back up - the look of anger had melted away, and all that was left was longing.
“You’ve always stayed one step ahead of me,” Pansy said. Her sword crashed to the ground, forgotten, and Hermione’s soon followed.
They would debate for years to come who surged forward first. Who threaded whose fingers into whose hair. Who grabbed whose waist and pulled the other in closer. But there was one thing they could both agree on: that first kiss was well overdue.