#hpfemslashnet

Summary: Ginny is overthinking. Luna helps her get rid of the Nargles. (First day of my Femslash February fics! This ship is one of my all time favorites. I hope you enjoy.)

Ginny and Luna were studying by the lake. Well, Ginny was re-reading the same paragraph of her textbook for the tenth time, while Luna was sitting by the edge of the lake, talking to the giant squid. Ginny could faintly hear her apologizing to the squid for how the other students teased him, and it made a fond smile curl on her face.

“I thought you had a Potions essay to do,” she called.

Luna turned around, her hair rippling over her shoulders like the waves of the lake, and she smiled sheepishly. “I wrote about a page of it, but I got distracted.”

Ginny gave a fond chuckle. “I’m not having much luck either. My mind is in a hundred other places.”

Luna looked back to the lake, offering a lofty wave towards it (presumably for the squid), then rose to her feet and plopped down beside Ginny once again. “What kind of places?”

pansmione + studying and get together for @onlykatelyn

-

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.

--

h a n n a h  x  s u s a n

domestic pansmione - requested by @paansyparkinson

hermione’s snapstory: a small flat doesn’t matter when life’s already so full

bonus: 

Lavender wants to be a Seer. Parvati just wants to be.

Rated M. Parvati/Lavender. 10.6k words. The most difficult fic I’ve ever written, but also one of my favourites. 

pansy/hermione + one sided pining for anon

-

For the third time that day, Pansy had to go fix the pinball machine.

The third time.

After kicking it (which bruised her toe) and shoving it (which bruised her shoulder), and swearing loudly in front of customers, (which ended with Draco bruising her), she finally got sit behind the counter and do nothing.

It was summertime. The time for her to be young, wild and free, but instead, she was working the counter in a dingy as fuck arcade in a crappy two floor strip mall.

She rested her head on her hand, glancing at the clock and glaring at the kid screaming at his mom because he didn't want to leave.

Pansy Parkinson was sure as fuck not having children when she was older.

She and Draco had both gotten caught dealing at school, and in turn they had to serve fifty community service hours. Her cousin Marcus hooked her up with the jobs, and now they were taking tickets from overeager children and scooping sweets into bags in exchange.

Draco had almost pissed himself when he found out. Turns out he was good with the kids.

Sometimes Theo and Blaise dropped by, to laugh at them. That was the most fun Pansy had during her job.

The arcade was a little empty for a Saturday evening. The screaming kid had finally left, drowning the arcade in the whirring and beeping sounds of the machines.

Pansy decided to leave Draco to fend for himself. He could deal with the rest of the customers. She pulled out an almost empty bottle of emerald nail polish and got to work.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

First coat of transparent. Second coat, green. Third coat, green. Last coat, transparent.

She went through the motions methodically, and as soon as she was finished drying her nails and admiring her handiwork, Draco nudged her.

"Look, twelve o' clock." He murmured, wiping down the counter from sticky handprints and bits of candy. Pansy looked up.

A scent of coconut shampoo. Warm, honey colored skin. Inquisitive brown eyes, fierce, challenging at the same time. Walking, hips swaying, sandwiched between Golden Boy and the Ginger Wonder.

Pansy, normally, could have anything she wanted. She was rich. She was pretty. She was cunning.

Hermione Granger was not something she could have.

"Parkinson." Hermione said, not unkindly, her hands on the just-cleaned table. Draco glared at the hands, clenching the cloth in his fist.

She could not have Hermione Granger, not ever, because Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson did not get along.

"Welcome to the 'Cade, I'm Pansy Parkinson, how can I help you?" She said, monotonously, company policy. Hermione stiffened, a flash of irritation on her face, and Pansy wished she just said "Granger," instead.

"Thirty tokens, please." Potter said, placing the exact amount of money on the table in front of her. Draco made a choking sound- whether it was because of the counter or Potter, Pansy didn't know.

Pansy jabbed at the register angrily, keeping her face stony and her eyes blank.

Hermione Granger was a trap. On the outside, she was a petite, small parcel wrapped in wool sweaters and plaid skirts, pencils shoved carelessly in her hair and always her head in a book. The look of a perfectly innocent, scholarly young woman. Then she opened her mouth- and she was ruthless, tearing into anyone that crossed her and whoever was lucky enough to be deemed a friend.

Pansy remembered freshman year, when Draco said something nasty to Weasley. Hermione, in all her bucktoothed, bushy haired glory, shoved him into the wall and cornered him. And then sucker punched him.

She'd never say it in front of Draco, but it was awesome.

Pansy remembered sophomore year, when Hermione had talked Ms Umbridge, a racist, sexist, dirty homophobe, into a hole, ripping into her viciously with her words until the bitch had left the room, not before giving Hermione detention for the semester.

She was the backbone of their big three--Potter with his troubled past and his woes, Weasley with his inferiority complex and constantly hurt pride. She was strong.

Pansy could relate to that. She had mothered Draco, Theo and Blaise on many an occasion. She could admire that. She could admire her.

"Thirty tokens." Pansy said stiffly, dropping ten in each of their hands. When he fingers brushed Hermione's open palm, Pansy snatched it back, as if shocked.

At Hermione's nonchalant look, Pansy could tell that she hadn't felt anything at all.