respect the unexpected
pansmione + studying and get together for @onlykatelyn
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Respect is earned, plain and simple. Fact.
Respect wasn't something passed down by family name or by blood; everyone is different. Fact.
Respect is not necessarily akin to admiration. Fact.
Hermione respected Pansy Parkinson. This was a fact.
Pansy was, in simpler terms, her direct Slytherin counterpart in some ways. They of course had no short amounts of differences, and there had certainly been a point where there was no respect at all, but now- Now? Now.
Now, in their eighth year of school, fresh out of a battle that would leave fresh scars on the mind and the body, there was respect.
Pansy Parkinson stayed quiet. She put her head down and she studied. She did not speak to anyone except Malfoy and Nott unless addressed and didn't dare use her scathing remarks on anyone again.
She earned Hermione's respect when she got a higher mark in Arithmancy; full marks plus extra extra credit as opposed to Hermione's full marks plus extra credit.
Hermione did the most rational thing she could think of and approached Pansy in the corner library where she spent all her free time revising.
"May I sit here?" Hermione asked smoothly, seemingly startling Pansy out of her studious trance. The way her knuckles tightened around her quill did not escape Hermione's notice. "Relax, Parkinson. I want to study next to someone who's not making me do their essay, for once."
Pansy did not relax, but she nodded, a sharp movement.
Hermione slid into the seat next to Pansy, setting up her work station and opening the right books. "Now, I didn't quite understand what Vector was on about when she said this about mathemagical fields..."
--
Hermione continued to study with Pansy almost everyday after that. She needed a breather, sometimes, from Harry's frantic theorising about Malfoy and Ron's nagging about revising his essays. She wanted someone to revise her essays, for once.
And Pansy did. Revise her essays, that is.
Pansy's studying habits were routinely, which delighted Hermione to no end. She used the same quetzacoatl feather quills, with a night-sky blue inkpot that always was on her right side. Pansy was left handed. Her notes were always neat and straight and her handwriting was small and clear.
They only talked business, at the beginning, for maybe the first month and a half. Pansy remained cool, calm and collected, answering and asking Hermione questions about the subject at ease, not broaching any other topics.
Until one day, she looked irritated. Upset. It was the face she used to wear back before the war, before Pansy lost her superiority complex. Hermione knew that the other girl wouldn't dare think herself better than anyone nowadays, even if she was. So she asked.
"Knut for your thoughts, Parkinson?" She asked casually. Pansy froze, her quill not moving.
"People are wondering what you're doing, associating with me." She murmured, continuing with her essay as if there was absolutely nothing going on at all, no, she was perfectly fine, she was Pansy Parkinson, perfect pureblood princess. Hermione saw through this act, an effect of years of training. Even though none of it mattered now- the Parkinson name had been dragged through the mud.
"Well, Pansy." Hermione smoothed out her own skirt, making sure to emphasise the first name use. For some reason, she relished the way Pansy stiffened again. "I believe we're studying together."
"Ah." Pansy said. Then, Hermione thought, and was slightly pleased, that she heard Pansy mumble a low, "no shit, Granger."
--
Hermione had always had a thing for intelligence.
It was why Cormac didn't work out. Krum and her weren't on the same wavelength. Ron's clever was a different sort than hers.
Pansy and her were in sync. Their grades were tied for top in the year, some of the top in history. It was astounding. For Pansy, it was a miracle. Pansy had been so pleased, when she found out from Hermione in the library, that she decided to use a sugar quill instead of the quetzacoatl to celebrate. She even offered one to Hermione. It was a hidden gloat.
Hermione had found this insanely adorable, that breaking out a sugar quill was Pansy's idea of celebrating. It didn't hurt to watch Pansy eating it either, her tongue poking out for small kitten kicks or sticking out fully for long drags, up and down and-
Hermione had a thing for Pansy. Fact.
That was fine.
It was okay.
She was acknowledging it.
--
Hermione studied with Pansy for months. People took their focus off them, instead moving on to gossip about other things.
With every day that passed, Hermione's crush grew.
It was an issue.
Maybe not.
When they moved into the restricted section for some personal reading, they walked side by side, shoulders and hips brushing with each step and swing of the arms. The shelves left only a very narrow walkway.
Suddenly, Pansy turned, swinging towards Hermiome, accidentally pushing her back onto the shelf.
"Oh," Pansy murmured. "Sorry, my books are here."
Pansy made to reach for the books, over Hermione's head. Pansy was tall, with long legs and a slim torso and a delicate neck. Hermione looked up slightly as Pansy reached over her head, breath hitching as she realised how close their faces were.
Pansy placed a hand on Hermione's hip. "For balance." She uttered, the trademark smirk gracing her features, and she continued reaching for the book.
There was nobody here.
It was the restricted section.
When Pansy found her book, Hermione leaned in.
--
If Madam Pince saw Parkinson and Granger walk out the restricted section, hand in hand, hair ruffled and shirts buttoned wrong, she didn't say anything.
