Why Do You Hate Me So?

Hermione Granger, Prefect and sixth year student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, skittered into the second floor bathroom with am armload of schoolbooks and a heavy bladder. She could have gone to the fifth floor bathroom designated specifically for prefects, but she was already in a terrible state and would not get any better after lugging all those books up three flights of moving staircases. She wasn't too keen on meeting Moaning Myrtle while taking a much-needed midday piddle, but situations like this could not be avoided, and if Myrtle decided to get smart, she could always throw her copy of Hogwarts, A History at her to shut her up.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as she rushed through the door and saw a very annoyed and very sullen Pansy Parkinson inside the bathroom. Hermione's thoughts also turned to annoyance; the Slytherin girl had bullied Hermione since third year, and was definitely not high on her favorite witches' list. Just as she was to ask Parkinson what she was doing there, the door slammed behind her suddenly, and Pansy spoke instead.

"Welcome to hell, Granger," she said with a disinterested sigh. "Population: us."

Spinning around quickly with a tinge of fear in her blood, Hermione faced a transparent Myrtle, whose ugly and pimply face was awash with ice-cold tears and a frown. "Myrtle!" She said, raising her voice. "What on Earth are you -"

"She's locked us in," Pansy said simply, though the annoyance in her voice was clear. "Myrtle's in one of her moods."

Almost to prove Pansy right, Myrtle let out a hollow wail. "I am not in a mood!" She moaned. "It's just that...no one tells me I'm beautiful, or nice, or even t-t-tolerable!"

"Because you're not," Pansy muttered under her breath.

Hermione tried to calm Myrtle down...perhaps then she would let the two girls out of the bathroom. "Y...you can be nice at times, Myrtle," she said quietly, making the ghost wail even louder.

"You don't really mean that!" she accused, and with a whimper and a splash of water, Myrtle swooped away and disappeared into the toilet.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Wonderful," she snapped sarcastically. "Now we'll never get out of here."

The Gryffindor girl was not listening to what Parkinson had to say, however; the stress in her bladder had returned full-force and she had no choice but to respond. Shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, Hermione sighed irritably. "Well, either way, I still have to..." she motioned towards the stalls, "...you know."

The Slytherin's eyes bulged. "You are most certainly not!" She exclaimed with disgust. "Not while I'm in the room, anyway."

"Isn't that why you’re here?"

She gave a low chuckle that was hardly meant for amusement. "I've been trapped here since lunch." She added, "Whatever else there is to do in this bathroom, I've done it."

To Pansy’s surprise, Hermione's face showed the slightest bit of concern. It was easily confused by Parkinson as the dull curiosity of an even duller Gryffindor. "You've been in here since lunch?" she questioned. "So that's why you weren't in Potions class."

Pansy put her hand to her chest in mock astonishment. "My goodness!" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "has the exceptional Gryffindor prefect Hermione Granger actually acknowledged the existence of a lowly Slytherin nobody? I'm shocked."

Any signs of compassion that laid upon Hermione's face slipped away, and she was once again cold to the plain-faced girl. "I'm going to the bathroom," she said defiantly. "And I don't really care what you think." Plopping her books down on the cold, mildew-stained tile floor, she entered the stall farthest from Pansy. Pansy rolled her eyes in disgust, and her gaze fell upon Hermione's large stack of books.

"'Advanced Arithmancy'?" Pansy read the titles of some of me many books on the floor; a dull curiosity of her own, perhaps. "'Reading Ancient Runes For Fun And Profit'? And you're actually passing these classes, Granger?"

Hermione, feeling understandably uncomfortable and embarrassed, snapped back, "What's it to you, Parkinson?"

"Calm down, Granger," Pansy replied. "I was just trying to be civil." This time it was Hermione who rolled her eyes behind the stall door. It was hard for her to believe any Slytherin had ever tried to be civil. "We might be stuck here together for a while, and I'd rather not spend it bickering immaturely."

A flush echoed throughout the bathroom, and Hermione emerged silent from the stall. Walking over cautiously to the sinks without taking her eyes off the other girl, she said, "I'm more than just passing. I'm top in the class. You know that." "Of course," Pansy scoffed. "What else would I expect from you, Mudblood?"

Parkinson's last remark hit Hermione hard - no matter how many time Draco Malfoy and his cronies would sneer the word to her during Potions, it always hurt whenever it was directed towards her. "Don't call me that," she warned, though her wavering tone gave little substance to her words. Hermione turned away fro Pansy's intense stare, and said to the sink in a choked voice, "Why do you hate me so?"

Pansy blinked, genuinely shocked by Hermione's reaction. She believed the Gryffindor was going to retaliate with her own scathing remark, or at least clock her one like she had Malfoy back in third year. "Why do I hare you?" she repeated slowly, as if she never once uttered those words before.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, slamming her palms against the porcelain sink. "I know you hate me, Parkinson. Why? Is it my intelligence? My talent? Is it because I'm not a pureblood? Tell me!"

Words could not find Pansy, and all that came out of her open mouth was a soundless sigh. She could not believe how wrong the genius witch Hermione Granger was about her. "I...I don't hate you."

Hermione looked up, taking her own turn to be shocked, and questioned in an astonished voice, "What?"

"I don't really hate you," Pansy repeated. Then she laughed, bitterly. "I guess I do hate you...but not for the reasons you believe." She sighed, and for the first time, Hermione actually saw real emotion in Pansy Parkinson's face. "I never wanted to hate you, Gr...Hermione. I wanted...I wanted to be you."

Hermione's face turned cold; this had to be some kind of a trick. "You're joking with me, aren't you," she said warily. "You're just saying these things, Parkinson, you don't really mean it. Why on Earth would you ever -"

"You still don't get it!" she interrupted, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. Hermione was not impressed. "This isn't a joke, Granger, this isn't..." Pansy sighed heavily, and calmed down from her frenzied state a minute ago. Her eyes held neither deception, nor hatred for Hermione, but sadness instead. "You're perfect, Hermione." The Gryffindor opened her mouth to protest, but Parkinson but her off before she could interrupt. "You are perfect, don't deny it. You have the best marks in the whole school, you're more talented than most pureblood around here..." Pansy made a dismissive wave of her hand in Hermione's direction. "Of course, you're as ugly as a mountain troll, but that doesn't stop boys from fawning over you..."

"I am not ugly," Hermione protested, indignant. Personally, she thought it was incredibly inappropriate for the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson to be calling her ugly. "And I don't have boys fawning over me."

"Oh?" Pansy's eyebrows perked up slyly. "What about Potter? And Weasley?"

Hermione was dumbstruck. "They're my friends," she stressed. "You do understand what friends are, don't you?"

"How would I," Pansy quickly snapped back, "when I have none in this horrible school?"

The Gryffindor blinked, confused. "None at all?" she questioned. "But what about..." Hermione wracked her brain for any student in Hogwarts that seemed to tolerate Parkinson's presence. Only one came to mind. "...Malfoy?"

This made the Slytherin girl laugh: she reared back her head and let out a bitter "ha!" before addressing Hermione. "Draco?" she asked, half amused. "The only reason Draco put up with me is because my family is pureblood." Pansy sighed, but her voice did not lose its resentful edge. "And I put up with that spoiled prat only because my father has ordered me to."

Pansy's last remark made Hermione more confused than ever. "Your father? What does your father had to do with this?"

"You have no idea what it's like," she said gravely, her tone changing from pretension and annoyance to complete seriousness. "to be a Death Eater's daughter." Hermione looked shocked. No one - not even Malfoy - ever straightforwardly declared their families to be affiliated with Voldemort. Why was Pansy telling her all this?

"Now, a Death Eater's son," Pansy began, "has all the advantages. Like Draco, for instance." Pansy's voice took on a sarcastic, resentful tone. "Draco can carry on his family's blood; Draco can carry on his father's good name." But a daughter..." She shook her head, and turned her eyes to the ground. "My father's told me, that all I will ever be good for is to marry a git like Draco, bear him many little Death Eaters, and...try not to disgrace the Parkinson name."

Hermione blinked, and despite all her reservations about the Slytherin girl, she couldn't help but feel bad for her. "That's so sad," she said quietly, filling up a long space of silence that grew between the two. Even Myrtle's muffled sobbing from within the toilet had seemed to cease.

"Why am I telling you all this, anyway?" Pansy stood, and approached Hermione threateningly. The haughty arrogance in her voice returned, and her sudden change from vulnerable back to her regular pushy self surprised the Gryffindor. "You don't care what happens to me, after all."

"That's not true," Hermione interrupted, although she only half believed it.

"Oh, yes it is!" she argued. "The only reason you're even listening to me is because we're trapped here." Pansy, feeling sullen once again and having lost the arrogance n her tone, propped herself up on the porcelain sink and turned her eyes to the ground, refusing to utter another word to Hermione. Their silence echoed through the tiled room, until even the tiniest sound could be heard by both witches: the random banging of pipes, the slow drip of a sink, the sound of laughing portraits in the halls beyond. Finally, Hermione couldn't bear it anymore; there were too many questions left up in the air, and she demanded them answered.

"Parkin...Pansy," she quickly corrected herself. "What did you mean before...about Harry and Ron...fawning over me?" The concept completely baffled Hermione, and the fact that Pansy seemed to envy her because of it confused her even more.

"I'm not talking to you," Pansy snapped angrily.

Hermione retorted quickly, "Well, I'm talking to you." She repeated her question, more pressing this time. "What did you mean by that?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest sternly - she wasn't going to let this go without an answer.

Pansy sighed, defeated. It was amazing how stubborn Gryffindors could be. "Actually," she began, "I don't really see that with Harry..." The Slytherin girl rolled her eyes dramatically. "but then again, that boy is much too boring to watch." A hint of mischief glinted in her plain eyes. "But that Ron Weasley...he is far gone for you, Granger. And he would seem to be the romantic type...he'd probably conjure up roses for you in the middle of lessons." A smile grazed across Pansy's face, but it was one with sullen regret. How would her life be different, she thought, if only she had a friend like Harry Potter? An admirer like Ron Weasley? A life like Hermione Granger's?

Hermione shook her head, still disbelieving. "Ron wouldn't do anything like that," she said skeptically.

Pansy shrugged. "Don't listen to me if you want. Just know...that I'm right." Hermione saw something change in the Slytherin's face; she was vulnerable again. "But you have that, Hermione...you have a choice. Choose to be his friend; choose to be more." She sighed. "For I am not so lucky. You have everything; you could have the whole world at your feet. I have nothing, nothing to look forward to but a miserable life of a Death Eater's wife. And that is why I always wanted to be you, Hermione." Her voice fell almost to a tearful whisper. "Can you possibly understand that?"

She opened her mouth to speak - though she did not know just what to say - but suddenly the door to the hall swung open, releasing an empty hall to the two witches. A diminutive Ravenclaw first year blinked before them, astonished to find not one, but two sixth years in the most deserted bathroom in Hogwarts.

"Finally!" Pansy breathed a sigh a relief. She rushed over to the door to hold it open; she wasn't going to get stuck in that horrid room for another three hours. "I need to get back to my room; my hair must be a mess!" But before she left - before the last remnants of Pansy and Hermione's impromptu truce went down Moaning Myrtle's toilet - the Slytherin turned to face the girl, who was also making her way - alone with her many schoolbooks - to the door.

"I still hate you, Granger," Pansy said, quite civilly. "But not for the reasons you think."

Hermione couldn't reply. She could think of nothing to say to Pansy in response.