Love Story

[She was on the tube
I got on at Charing Cross
And like everyday
She didn't look at me
I even had a Green Velvet Suit
And a yellow bow tie
To make myself even more noticed
I dyed my hair really red

And I hope tomorrow
She will give me a glance
It's my very last chance
For the long week-end]

Slowly over time she begins to adjust to these new thoughts, because it isn't as if anyone knows about them, and Hermione's looks are beginning to shine more and more every day. She's absolutely beautiful in Pansy's opinion, from her brown eyes that are actually hazel-green if you look close enough, to her long fingers with their perfect pink oval nails, so different from Pansy's bitten stubs, to her legs, shapely and smooth beneath thin gossamer tights. Pansy finds herself gazing at Hermione more and more, propping herself up on her elbow and tilting her face sideways just a little so that she can see the pure outline of Hermione's features.

Pansy imagines herself saying "Why do you have to be so beautiful, you bitch?" and "Why are you friends with them and not me, because I deserve you the most." And she's sure that she does, because she loves Hermione with all her being, a strange burning sort of passion that surpasses sex [although she wouldn't mind it] and elongates into fantasies of houses and pets and flannel pyjamas and snuggling up together in front of a log fire and the scent of her hair first thing in the morning and waiting to use the bathroom and arguing about who has to feed the dog. She wants all that and more, and somehow that hurts.

Hermione doesn't love her and that is final and that is fact. She never will. It takes Pansy even longer to accept this than it did for her to accept her Unfortunate Eccentricity and she sheds many tears while coming to terms with it. It's horrible, that feeling, because Hermione is so cool and indifferent and somehow that's worse than hurled insults and spat abuse. At least Potter's aware of Malfoy, at least his feelings are strong and hot and hateful, whereas Hermione merely behaves as though she couldn't even begin to comprehend why exactly she should care about Pansy.

Because I love you, Pansy screams inwardly, and she stares desperately at Hermione with burning, tear-filled eyes.

[Tom laughs, is free and easy;
And girls obey his call,
For whether they obey it
He hardly cares at all.

But Edward burns with longing;
And angry anxious pain
Cries from his eyes too loudly,
Too eagerly, in vain.]

One day in Transfiguration everything changes. There are two seats left, one next to that red-haired Muggle-loving Weasel and one next to Pansy, and Hermione throws her bag onto the desk next to Pansy's. To begin with, she's too shocked to even breathe, still trying to recover from seeing Hermione's silhouette in the doorframe [each sight of her is so treasured and beautiful because their seventh year is drawing to a close and what if Pansy never sees her again and that thought is too painful to even grasp and it feels as if her heart has been ripped from her breast], and barely manages to smile as Hermione beams warmly at her.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" she asks, voice deep and lovely, and Pansy nods breathlessly.

Say something, say something, she urges herself, be interesting and make her love you. "Do you know what we're studying today?" Pansy asks finally, lamely.

"Advanced Conjuring Spells, I think," Hermione replies, and her eyes are mesmerizing. She looks more closely at Pansy's face, and then touches her brow carefully with cool fingers that could be trembling slightly or maybe that's just Pansy being insane. "You look really pretty today."

"Thanks," Pansy manages to stammer, and blushes bright, furious red. "So do you, I mean, not that you don't always, you're really pretty, I, yeah."

Hermione's watching her with a curious, slightly amused expression. "Thanks. I think."

"Yeah." The blush finally begins to recede, and Pansy relaxes back into her chair and tries to pretend that this is just any other Potions lesson despite the fact that it's Transfiguration. She said I was pretty, her mind screams incessantly, me, pretty. Pretty! "Why'd you sit next to me?" she asks, and then bites her lip.

Hermione shrugs. "I had an argument with Ron. Also," she adds hastily, more quietly, "I like sitting next to you. I think we get on well in Potions."

"I get better marks now," Pansy realises out loud.

"We're a good team," Hermione replies. "You've got the skill and I've got the dedication."

"That's true," Pansy says, and then grins delightedly at the thought of sitting next to Hermione Granger who she's talking to and whose cheeks are pink and whose eyes are sparkling and whose heart is kind and clever and bright.

Then McGonagall comes in and Hermione's lips snap shut.