#pansy

The green-tinted water of the Black Lake pressed against the enchanted windows, casting serpentine shadows across the Slytherin common room. Y/N Lovegood saw it all with perfect, terrible clarity—the way the light slithered across cold stone floors, the way the carved serpents on the mantelpiece seemed to writhe in the dim glow of the fire, the way Draco Malfoy's lips curled around each word as he laid out his plan.

"A Quill of Insults," he said, leaning forward in his leather armchair, his silver eyes gleaming with something that bordered on cruelty but never quite crossed into madness. "My father sent it from Borgin and Burkes. Whatever you write with it, the quill transfigures into something deeply personal and wounding. It'll appear on her desk during Charms. Flitwick won't suspect a thing."

Pansy Parkinson laughed, and the sound struck Y/N like a physical blow.

She saw her—really saw her—for the first time. Dark hair cropped sharp at her jaw, eyes like black coffee, a mouth curved into an expression of such casual malice that it should have been ugly. But it wasn't. Pansy Parkinson was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful, and Y/N hated herself for noticing.

"She'll be so confused," Pansy said, her voice carrying that particular drawl of pureblood privilege. "Poor little Loony Lovegood. She won't know what hit her. She'll probably think it's Nargles."

The group laughed. Blaise Zabini with his characteristic detachment, as if the cruelty were merely an interesting social experiment. Theodore Nott with something unreadable flickering in his deep-set eyes. Crabbe and Goyle with the blank, bovine incomprehension of boys who laughed because everyone else was laughing.

The fire popped. A log shifted. Somewhere in the Slytherin dormitories, a door creaked open and shut.

Y/N's vision began to fragment at the edges, the way all her visions did when they were about to end—like parchment curling in a flame. The last thing she saw was Pansy Parkinson's profile, sharp and lovely and utterly contemptible, before the Slytherin common room dissolved into the familiar scarlet and gold of Gryffindor Tower.

She gasped, her fingers digging into the upholstery of the armchair she'd been sitting in. The common room was nearly empty—just a few fifth years playing Exploding Snap in the corner, their laughter distant and tinny. The fire had burned down to embers. Outside the window, the sky was the deep purple of late evening.

Quill of Insults. Tomorrow. Charms class.

Y/N was on her feet before the vision had fully faded, her legs carrying her through the portrait hole before her mind had finished processing what she'd seen. The Fat Lady called something after her—something about curfew and prefects and detention—but Y/N was already running, her shoes slapping against the stone corridors, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

She found Luna in the Ravenclaw common room, or rather, she found the door to the Ravenclaw common room and spent three precious minutes arguing with the bronze eagle knocker about the philosophical implications of seeing the future before Luna herself appeared, drawn by the commotion.

"Y/N?" Luna's protuberant silver eyes blinked at her with that characteristic dreaminess. She was wearing a nightgown printed with dirigible plums and her hair was braided with what appeared to be actual radishes. "Has something happened? You look like you've seen a Wrackspurt infestation."

"I need to talk to you. Now."

Luna tilted her head, studying her sister's face with an acuity that belied her ethereal demeanor. Then she nodded and stepped through the doorway, letting it close behind her. "The corridor at the end of the hall is usually empty this time of night. The Grey Lady prefers it. She says the acoustics are better for lamenting."

They walked in silence until they reached the designated corridor—a narrow, drafty passage with a single window that looked out over the Forbidden Forest. The Grey Lady was indeed there, floating near the ceiling, but she drifted away when she saw them, her translucent form disappearing through a wall.

"The Slytherins are planning something," Y/N said, her voice low and urgent. "For tomorrow. A Quill of Insults—it's a dark artifact. It'll appear on your desk during Charms. Whatever you write with it will transfigure into something meant to hurt you."

Luna considered this information with the same serenity she brought to everything. "That sounds unpleasant. But how do you know?"

"A vision. I saw them. Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and…" She hesitated, and the image of Pansy Parkinson rose unbidden in her mind—dark eyes, sharp smile, the elegant line of her throat as she threw her head back to laugh. "And Parkinson. They were in the Slytherin common room. They're doing it to humiliate you."

"I see." Luna reached up and adjusted one of her radish earrings. "Then I simply won't use the quill. I'll bring my own. Father sent me a new one last week—it's made from the feather of a Jabberknoll, which is supposed to be quite good for memory retention during exams."

Y/N grabbed her sister's shoulders, perhaps more forcefully than she intended. "Luna, this isn't just a prank. This is—they're targeting you. Again. And I'm so tired of—"

"Of seeing things you can't prevent?" Luna's voice was gentle, but there was something ancient in her eyes, something that had seen too much and learned to make peace with it. "You've already prevented this one. You told me. Now I know. The future you saw won't happen."

"It'll be something else, then. If not the quill, then something worse. It's always something." Y/N released her sister and pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stop the sting of frustrated tears. "I have this gift and it doesn't matter. I can't stop any of it. I just watch."

Luna was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and took Y/N's hands, pulling them gently away from her face. "You're wrong. You stopped this. And you'll stop the next thing, and the next. That's not nothing, Y/N. That's everything. You're my sister, and you're the bravest person I know."

"I'm not brave. I just have visions."

"That's the same thing," Luna said, with such utter conviction that Y/N almost believed her. "Seeing the future and choosing to act on it—that's the bravest thing anyone can do. Most people just look away."

The Charms classroom was bright and airy, sunlight streaming through the tall windows and catching on the dust motes that danced above Flitwick's desk. Y/N had positioned herself near the back of the room, her eyes fixed on Luna, who sat two rows ahead with her usual serene expression. The Slytherins were on the opposite side of the room—Malfoy with his characteristic smirk, Pansy beside him with her chin propped on her hand, looking bored.

The enchanted quills appeared precisely at the start of the lesson, materializing on each desk with a faint pop. Luna's quill was a handsome thing—dark wood, a sharp nib, a faint shimmer of magic clinging to its barbs. Y/N watched as her sister reached into her bag and withdrew a different quill—the Jabberknoll feather, pale and slightly ridiculous-looking—and set it on her desk. The enchanted quill was pushed to the corner, untouched.

Flitwick began his lecture on Summoning Charms. Y/N took notes mechanically, her attention split between the lesson and the Slytherin side of the room. She saw the moment Malfoy noticed Luna's substitution—his smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing. He leaned over to whisper something to Pansy, who straightened in her seat and looked at Luna with an expression that Y/N couldn't quite read.

Confusion. Irritation. And then something else—a flicker of calculation, as if Pansy were recalibrating some internal equation.

Their eyes met across the classroom.

Y/N hadn't meant to look. She'd been watching Pansy watch Luna, and then suddenly Pansy was looking at her, and there was no time to look away, no time to pretend she hadn't been staring. Pansy's expression shifted—surprise, then curiosity, then something sharper, more focused. Her dark eyes traced Y/N's face like she was memorizing it.

Y/N looked down at her parchment, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel Pansy's gaze on her for the rest of the lesson, a persistent weight that she refused to acknowledge. When the bell rang, she gathered her things and left without looking back.

But she felt it all day—in the corridors, in the Great Hall at lunch, in the library after classes. The weight of Slytherin eyes. The prickle of being watched. She never looked up to confirm it, but she didn't need to.

She already knew.

The Slytherin common room that evening was thick with tension.

Draco Malfoy paced in front of the fireplace, his robes billowing dramatically with each turn. "Someone told her. Someone told Loony Lovegood about the quill. There's no other explanation."

"Perhaps she simply didn't need a quill," Blaise said, examining his fingernails with studied indifference. "Flitwick provided them. She brought her own. It happens."

"It doesn't happen," Draco snapped. "Not with her. She uses whatever's put in front of her. She's too busy looking for invisible creatures to notice things like quills."

Theodore Nott, seated in a high-backed chair with a book open on his lap, didn't look up when he said, "Maybe someone warned her."

"Who? Who would warn her? The only person who knew about the plan was in this room."

Pansy stood apart from the group, her back against the cold glass of the lake window. The giant squid drifted past, a dark shape in the murky green water, but she didn't see it. She was thinking about the Gryffindor girl from Transfiguration. The one who'd been sitting near Luna. The one who'd looked at her across the Charms classroom with eyes that were too knowing, too aware.

She'd seen those eyes before. She just couldn't remember where.

"She has a sister," Pansy said, and the room went quiet.

Draco stopped pacing. "What?"

"Luna Lovegood. She has an older sister. I've seen them together in the corridors. She's in Gryffindor." Pansy pushed away from the window and began to pace herself, though her movements were more thoughtful than agitated. "I saw her today in Charms. She was watching us. Watching me."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. And you think she somehow knew about the prank?"

"She looked like she knew something."

"Or she was just looking at you because you're staring at her sister like you want to hex her," Theodore said mildly, turning a page. "Which you do."

Pansy ignored him. "Find out who she is. What house she's in—Gryffindor, obviously, but which year. What her name is. Everything."

Draco frowned. "Why do you care about some Gryffindor?"

"I don't." Pansy's voice was too quick, too sharp. "But if there's a leak, I want to know about it. Someone in this school is interfering with our plans, and I don't like being made a fool of."

It was a reasonable explanation. It was even partially true. But as the others dispersed to their dormitories, as the fire burned down to embers and the common room emptied, Pansy remained by the window, staring at her own reflection in the glass.

She was lying, and she knew it.

She didn't care about the leak. She didn't care about the failed prank or Draco's wounded pride. She cared about the girl. The one with the honey-fire hair and the amber-gold eyes that seemed to see right through her. The one who'd looked at her in Charms like she was something to be studied—not with admiration, not with fear, but with a cold, clinical detachment that was somehow worse than either.

Pansy had spent years cultivating an image of untouchable superiority. She was the queen of Slytherin, the one whose approval people sought and whose disapproval they feared. And this girl—this nameless Gryffindor who sat near Luna Lovegood—had looked at her like she was nothing.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

Pansy pressed her palm against the cold glass and made a decision. Tomorrow, she would find out who this girl was. And then she would make her look again. Really look. And this time, she wouldn't look away first.

Breakfast the next morning was a cacophony of clattering plates and chattering students, the Great Hall filled with the smell of bacon and toast and the particular hum of a Saturday morning at Hogwarts. Pansy sat at the Slytherin table with her back to the wall, her breakfast untouched, her eyes scanning the Gryffindor table with the focus of a hawk.

She found her within minutes.

The girl was sitting near the end of the table, next to Luna Lovegood. She was laughing at something Luna said, her head thrown back, her hair catching the morning light that streamed through the enchanted ceiling. Honey-fire, Pansy had thought, and the description held true—it was the color of wildflower honey, of autumn leaves, of the embers in a dying fire. It fell in waves past her shoulders, and when she moved, it rippled like water.

Her skin was pale but warm, dusted with a scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was full and expressive, curving into a smile that transformed her entire face. And her eyes—Pansy had been right about her eyes. They were extraordinary. Amber-gold, luminous, the color of whiskey held up to firelight. Even from across the Great Hall, they seemed to glow with their own inner light.

But it wasn't just her beauty that held Pansy's attention. It was the way she held herself—still and watchful even in motion, as if she were always listening to something no one else could hear. There was an ethereal quality to her, a sense that she existed slightly apart from the world around her. She laughed at Luna's joke, but even in laughter, there was something remote about her, something untouchable.

Pansy's heart stopped.

It was the most absurd, inconvenient, impossible thing that had ever happened to her. One moment she was cataloguing the girl's features with the detached interest of a predator sizing up its prey. The next, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at this strange, beautiful Gryffindor and feel the world rearrange itself around her.

Love at first sight, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Don't be ridiculous. That doesn't happen. That's the kind of nonsense they put in romance novels.

But her heart was pounding. Her palms were sweating. And she couldn't look away.

"What are you staring at?" Draco asked, sliding into the seat beside her.

"Nothing." Pansy's voice came out strangled. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look down at her plate. "Just thinking."

"About the Lovegood situation?"

"Yes." It wasn't entirely a lie. "The Lovegood situation."

"I've been thinking about it too. We should try something else. Something bigger. The quill was too subtle—we need to hit her where it hurts."

Pansy nodded mechanically, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes had drifted back to the Gryffindor table, back to the girl with the honey-fire hair. Luna had gotten up to get more pumpkin juice, and the girl was alone now, her chin propped on her hand, her gaze distant.

A Seer. Theodore had confirmed it last night after some digging. The girl's name was Y/N Lovegood, and she was a true Seer—not a fraud like Trelawney, but the real thing. Her gift had manifested young, and she'd apparently been having visions for as long as anyone could remember. It explained how she'd known about the quill. It explained the knowing look she'd given Pansy in Charms.

It didn't explain why Pansy couldn't stop staring at her.

"I'm going to talk to her," Pansy said, and the words were out of her mouth before she'd consciously decided to speak them.

Draco paused mid-sentence. "What? Talk to who?"

"The Lovegood sister. The Seer." Pansy stood, smoothing down her robes with hands that trembled slightly. "I want to know how she found out about the quill."

"That's a terrible idea. You can't just walk up to a Gryffindor and interrogate them in the middle of the Great Hall."

"I'm not going to interrogate her." Pansy was already moving, her feet carrying her across the hall before her brain could catch up. "I'm just going to introduce myself."

She heard Draco call her name behind her, but she didn't turn around. She didn't slow down. She moved through the Great Hall like a ship cutting through water, and students parted to let her pass—whether out of respect or fear, she didn't care. Her eyes were fixed on the Gryffindor table, on the girl with the amber-gold eyes who still hadn't noticed her approach.

She was close enough now to see the details she'd missed from across the hall. The faint scar on the girl's chin. The way her fingers drummed absently against the table, a restless rhythm that spoke of nervous energy. The slight furrow between her brows, as if she were puzzling over something only she could see.

Pansy stopped directly across from her, on the other side of the table. The girl didn't look up.

"Hello." Pansy's voice came out steady, which was a minor miracle given the chaos unfolding in her chest. "You're Luna Lovegood's sister, aren't you? I'm Pansy Parkinson. We haven't formally met."

The girl didn't look up. She didn't even pause in her porridge-stirring. "I know who you are."

Her voice was lower than Pansy had expected, with a raspy quality that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Then you know I'm not in the habit of introducing myself to Gryffindors. Consider this a special occasion."

Still no response. The girl continued to stir her porridge, her expression completely neutral.

"I saw you watching me in Charms yesterday," Pansy pressed, leaning forward slightly. "I was wondering if you'd like to actually speak to me, rather than just staring from across the room."

Finally, slowly, the girl looked up.

It was like being struck by lightning. Up close, her eyes were even more extraordinary—shifting shades of amber and gold, flecked with hints of green and brown. They were ancient eyes, knowing eyes, eyes that had seen too much and learned to keep their secrets. And right now, they were looking at Pansy with an expression of such cold dismissal that it stole the breath from her lungs.

"Pretty enough, I suppose," the girl said, her voice flat and utterly unimpressed. "But pretty doesn't make up for ugly behavior."

The words hit Pansy like a physical blow. She felt them lodge somewhere in her chest, sharp and painful, and for a moment she couldn't speak. No one had ever spoken to her like that. No one had ever looked at her with such complete and total indifference. She was Pansy Parkinson, and people noticed her. They feared her, admired her, courted her favor. They didn't look at her like she was something unpleasant they'd found on the bottom of their shoe.

"You don't even know me," Pansy heard herself say, and she hated how wounded she sounded, how small.

"I know enough." The girl—Y/N, her name was Y/N—turned back to her porridge. "You should go back to your table. Your friends are staring."

Pansy glanced over her shoulder. Draco was indeed staring, his expression a mixture of confusion and irritation. Blaise looked amused. Theodore was watching with something like sympathy, which was somehow worse.

She should leave. She should walk away with her dignity intact and pretend this conversation had never happened. But her feet wouldn't move. Her eyes wouldn't leave Y/N's face—the elegant slope of her nose, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way the morning light caught the gold in her eyes.

"This isn't over," Pansy whispered, and it came out like a promise.

Y/N didn't respond. Didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge that Pansy had spoken at all.

Pansy walked back to the Slytherin table on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. She sat down beside Draco, ignored his questions, and stared at her untouched breakfast until the food blurred before her eyes.

Her heart was still pounding. Her skin was still tingling from the nearness of Y/N Lovegood. And somewhere in the wreckage of her pride, a single thought crystallized with perfect clarity:

I'm going to make her look at me again. And next time, she won't look away.

The notes started the next day.

They appeared in unexpected places—tucked into Y/N's Transfiguration textbook, slipped under her plate at breakfast, left on her pillow in the Gryffindor common room. Elegant parchment folded into precise squares, sealed with green wax, written in a sharp, slanting hand.

Your eyes are the color of autumn. I've never liked autumn until now.

You laughed today at something your sister said. I would do terrible things to hear you laugh like that at something I said.

You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I know you don't believe me. I know you don't want to hear it. But it's true, and I'm not going to stop saying it until you believe it.

Y/N burned the first three. She threw the fourth into the common room fire and watched it curl into ash. By the seventh, she was reading them twice before destroying them. By the tenth, she stopped destroying them at all.

"You're keeping them," Luna observed one evening, appearing in the doorway of Y/N's dormitory with her characteristic suddenness. "Pansy Parkinson's letters. You're keeping them in your bedside drawer."

Y/N slammed the drawer shut. "I'm not."

"You are. I can see the corner of one sticking out." Luna drifted into the room and settled onto the edge of Y/N's bed. "I think it's rather romantic. No one's ever written me love letters."

"They're not love letters. They're—" Y/N stopped, unable to find the right word. Manipulation. Harassment. A cruel joke. All of those things, and yet not quite any of them. The letters were too raw, too earnest. They didn't read like the work of someone playing a game. They read like someone who was drowning and had decided to stop pretending she knew how to swim.

"They're what?" Luna prompted.

"I don't know." Y/N pressed her palms against her eyes, a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar. "She's everywhere, Luna. Everywhere I go. She's in the library when I'm studying. She's in the courtyard when I'm reading. Yesterday she was waiting outside the greenhouse after Herbology. She didn't say anything—she just stood there and watched me until I walked away."

"Maybe she likes you."

"She's Pansy Parkinson. She's spent years making your life miserable. She's cruel and she's mean and she's—"

"Pretty," Luna said. "You said she was pretty."

"That doesn't matter."

"It matters a little."

Y/N dropped her hands and stared at her sister. Luna was watching her with that dreamy, knowing expression that always made Y/N feel like she was being seen right down to her bones. "You're supposed to tell me to stay away from her. You're supposed to remind me of all the terrible things she's done."

"Do you need me to remind you?"

"No." Y/N's voice was barely a whisper. "I remember."

"But you like her anyway. Or you're starting to."

"I don't like her." The words felt hollow even as she spoke them. "I just—she's persistent. And she's not what I expected. And sometimes, when she looks at me, I forget to breathe. But that doesn't mean anything. It's just biology."

Luna smiled. It was a gentle smile, a smile that held no judgment and no reproach. "Biology is often the beginning of something. That's what Mother used to say. She said she knew she loved Father when her heart started beating faster every time he walked into a room."

"Mother was talking about love. This isn't love. This is—I don't know what this is."

"Then you should find out." Luna stood and drifted toward the door. "You have a gift, Y/N. You can see the future. But sometimes the future isn't something you see—it's something you choose."

She was gone before Y/N could respond, leaving behind the faint scent of radishes and the echo of words that felt more profound than they had any right to be.

The flowers arrived the next morning.

An extravagant bouquet of enchanted roses—deep crimson petals that shifted to gold at the edges, charmed to never wilt—delivered to the Gryffindor common room by a harassed-looking house-elf. The card was brief: Because you deserve beautiful things. —P

"Is that from Parkinson?" demanded Lavender Brown, her eyes wide with scandalized delight. "Pansy Parkinson sent you flowers?"

"Throw them away," Y/N said, but she didn't move to do it herself.

"You can't throw away enchanted roses! Do you know how expensive these are? My mother got some for her anniversary last year and they cost more than our summer holiday."

Y/N stared at the roses. They were beautiful. They were also utterly ridiculous. Who sent flowers to someone they'd tormented the sister of for years? Who kept sending love notes to someone who'd told them, in no uncertain terms, that pretty didn't make up for ugly behavior?

Pansy Parkinson, apparently.

The flowers ended up on Y/N's bedside table. She told herself it was because she didn't want to be wasteful. She told herself it was because she wanted to study the enchantment for her Charms essay. She told herself a lot of things, and believed none of them.

That afternoon, Pansy was waiting outside the library.

She was leaning against the wall with studied nonchalance, her arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes fixed on the corridor. When Y/N appeared, she pushed herself upright and fell into step beside her.

"You kept the flowers."

"I'm studying the enchantment."

"You're a terrible liar." Pansy's voice was almost fond. "Your left eye twitches when you're being dishonest. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Y/N stopped walking. "What do you want, Parkinson?"

"To walk with you. To talk to you. To convince you that I'm not as terrible as you think I am."

"You terrorize my sister."

"I used to terrorize your sister." Pansy's expression flickered—something like guilt, or at least discomfort. "I haven't done anything to her since we met. Have you noticed? I've been… rethinking my approach."

"Your approach to what?"

"To everything." Pansy took a step closer, and Y/N caught the scent of her perfume—something dark and spicy, like cloves and cedarwood. "You looked at me once in Charms class, and I haven't been able to think about anything else since. It's infuriating. It's inconvenient. And I can't make it stop."

Y/N's heart was hammering against her ribs. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and hated herself for it. "I don't know what you expect me to say to that."

"I don't expect you to say anything. I just wanted you to know." Pansy reached out, slowly, and brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N's face. Her fingers were cool against Y/N's heated skin. "You're beautiful when you're angry. You're beautiful when you're not angry. You're just… beautiful. And I'm tired of pretending I don't see it."

"I'm not—I don't—" Y/N's voice caught in her throat. She was drowning in Pansy's dark eyes, in the scent of cloves and cedarwood, in the electric tension that crackled between them like a gathering storm. "You can't just… you can't just say things like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because you're Pansy Parkinson. Because you're cruel and mean and you've made my sister's life miserable. Because I shouldn't want anything to do with you, and yet—" She stopped herself, horrified by what she'd almost admitted.

"And yet?" Pansy's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes burning with something that looked terrifyingly like hope.

"Nothing. There's no 'and yet.' There's nothing." Y/N stepped back, putting distance between them. "Stop following me. Stop sending me letters. Stop leaving flowers in my common room. Just—stop."

She turned and walked away, her heart pounding, her hands shaking. She didn't look back. She didn't dare.

But that night, she dreamed of dark eyes and spicy perfume and a voice that whispered you're beautiful against her skin. And when she woke, breathless and tangled in her sheets, she couldn't pretend anymore.

She was in trouble.

The confrontation happened three days later, in the courtyard.

It was evening, the sky streaked with the last remnants of sunset, the air cool and sweet with the scent of autumn. Y/N had come here to think, to escape the whispers of her housemates and the knowing looks from Luna and the persistent, impossible presence of Pansy Parkinson.

But Pansy found her anyway. She always did.

"You've been avoiding me."

Y/N didn't turn around. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her fingers trailing through the water, her eyes fixed on the darkening sky. "You're very perceptive."

"I'm very persistent. There's a difference." Pansy sat down beside her, close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth of her body. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"Because you're confusing. Because every time I see you, my brain stops working. Because I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to give me a chance."

"A chance to do what? Humiliate me? Hurt my sister? Prove that everything I've ever believed about you is true?"

"A chance to prove that it's not." Pansy's voice was raw, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. "I know what you think of me. I know what everyone thinks of me. And most of it is probably deserved. But I'm not—I'm not just the girl who laughs at cruel jokes. I'm not just Draco's shadow or my parents' disappointment. I'm more than that. And I want you to see it."

Y/N finally looked at her. In the fading light, Pansy's face was all shadows and sharp angles, her dark eyes glittering with something that might have been tears. "Why does it matter so much? Why do you care what I think?"

"Because you looked at me like I was nothing." The words came out in a rush, as if they'd been waiting to escape. "Everyone looks at me like I'm something to fear or something to use or something to dismiss. But you looked at me like I wasn't even worth that. And it made me realize that I've spent years building walls around myself, and not a single person has ever bothered to try to climb over them. Not until you."

"I wasn't trying to climb over your walls. I was trying to ignore you."

"I know. And somehow that's worse." Pansy laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "I've been chasing you for weeks, and you've done nothing but push me away. Do you know how humiliating that is? Do you know how many people have asked me if I've lost my mind?"

"I can imagine."

"And yet I keep coming back. I keep writing you letters and sending you flowers and waiting for you in corridors. Because I can't stop. Because every time I see you, I feel like I'm waking up from a dream I didn't know I was having." Pansy reached out and took Y/N's hand, her fingers cold and trembling. "You look at me when you think I'm not looking. I've seen you. You bite your lip. Your pulse quickens. I'm not imagining it."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Pansy's hand was still trembling in hers, and she could feel the rapid flutter of her own pulse, could hear the blood rushing in her ears. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're lying again. Your eye twitched."

"Maybe I have a nervous condition."

"Maybe you're scared." Pansy's voice softened, lost its sharp edge. "I'm scared too. I've never done this before. I've never felt like this before. And I know you haven't either, because you're a Seer, and Seers don't do feelings. They just watch."

Y/N jerked her hand away. "How do you know I'm a Seer?"

"Theodore told me. He knows everything about everyone. It's annoying." Pansy didn't reach for her hand again, but she didn't move away either. "Is it true? Can you see the future?"

"Sometimes. Not always. And not everything."

"Have you seen me? In your visions?"

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. The fountain burbled behind them. The last light faded from the sky, and the stars began to emerge, one by one. "Once," she admitted. "We were arguing. In an empty corridor. You were saying something I couldn't hear, and I was—I was looking at you like you were the most important thing in the world."

"What happened next?"

"I woke up." Y/N stood abruptly, her heart racing. "I have to go. It's late. I shouldn't be out here."

"Y/N—"

But she was already walking away, her footsteps echoing against the stone, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear and something that felt terrifyingly like hope.

That night, she dreamed of the argument again. The empty corridor. Pansy's dark eyes. The words she couldn't hear. But this time, the dream continued past the point where she'd woken up before. This time, she saw herself reach out and touch Pansy's face. Saw Pansy's expression crumple into something vulnerable and desperate. Saw them come together like two stars colliding, burning bright enough to blind.

She woke with tears on her face and a name on her lips, and didn't sleep again until dawn.

The Astronomy Tower was Y/N's sanctuary.

She'd discovered it in her third year, during a bout of insomnia brought on by a particularly vivid vision. There was something about being close to the stars that calmed her—the vastness of the sky, the cold clarity of the night air, the way the constellations wheeled overhead with indifferent precision. Up here, her visions felt smaller. More manageable. Less like a curse and more like a gift.

She was there now, her elbows resting on the stone parapet, her eyes fixed on the distant shimmer of the Milky Way. It was past midnight. The castle was silent. And she was completely, utterly alone.

Until she wasn't.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Pansy's voice was quiet, almost hesitant—a far cry from the confident drawl she usually employed. She was standing at the top of the stairs, her robes wrapped tight against the chill, her dark hair mussed by the wind. In the starlight, she looked younger. Softer. Almost fragile.

"Who told you I'd be here?"

"Your sister." Pansy stepped onto the tower, moving with the careful deliberation of someone approaching a wild animal. "I asked her where you went when you wanted to be alone. She said you came here."

"You talked to Luna?"

"I've been talking to her for weeks. Ever since I stopped letting Draco target her." Pansy came to stand beside Y/N at the parapet, close but not touching. "She's… not what I expected. She's strange, but not in a bad way. She sees things differently than other people. I think I understand now why you're so protective of her."

Y/N didn't respond. She was afraid that if she spoke, her voice would betray her—would reveal the chaos of emotions that churned beneath her carefully constructed calm.

"She told me about your visions," Pansy continued. "She said you've had them since you were a child. That you saw your mother's death before it happened, and you couldn't stop it. That you've spent your whole life seeing terrible things and being unable to change them."

"It's not something I like to talk about."

"I know. But I wanted to understand. I wanted to understand you." Pansy turned to face her, and in the starlight, her eyes were liquid dark, full of something that looked terrifyingly like sincerity. "I know I've been relentless. I know I've pushed and pushed and pushed when you weren't ready. And I'm sorry. I'm not good at being patient. I'm not good at being vulnerable. But I'm trying. For you."

"Why?" The word came out harsher than Y/N intended. "Why me? There are dozens of girls who would fall over themselves for your attention. Pureblood girls who fit into your world, who wouldn't judge you for your past, who wouldn't make things complicated. Why do you want the one person who sees right through you?"

"Because you see right through me." Pansy's voice cracked. "Don't you understand? Everyone else sees the mask. They see Pansy Parkinson, the queen of Slytherin, the pureblood princess, Draco Malfoy's loyal shadow. But you saw through it from the beginning. You looked at me and saw every ugly thing I've ever done, every cruel word I've ever said, every moment of weakness I've tried to hide. And you still—" She stopped, her voice catching.

"And I still what?"

"You still look at me like I might be worth something. Even when you're angry. Even when you're pushing me away. There's something in your eyes that says maybe, just maybe, I'm not as terrible as I think I am."

Y/N stared at her. In the starlight, Pansy's face was open and raw and utterly defenseless. This was the real Pansy Parkinson, stripped of armor and artifice. This was the girl beneath the mask, and she was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with the sharp cheekbones or the dark eyes or the elegant line of her jaw.

"Do you know why I was so cruel to you when we first met?" Y/N asked quietly.

"Because you hated me. Because I deserved it."

"Because I was afraid." Y/N turned back to the stars, unable to meet Pansy's eyes. "I saw you in my vision of the Slytherin common room. You were laughing at Draco's joke about Luna. And I thought—I thought you were beautiful. Even then, even when you were being awful, I thought you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. And I hated myself for it. I hated you for making me feel something I didn't want to feel."

Pansy was silent for a long moment. Then, softly: "You thought I was beautiful?"

"Don't let it go to your head. I also thought you were terrible."

"I was. I am. But I'm trying to be less terrible." Pansy reached out and took Y/N's hand, her fingers cool and trembling. "I'll stop my friends from bullying Luna. I'll protect her with my own hands. I've already started—Draco's furious with me, but I don't care. In exchange…" She took a deep breath. "In exchange, give me a chance. Just one chance."

Y/N turned to look at her. Searched her face for deception, for manipulation, for any sign that this was all an elaborate game. But all she saw was desperate sincerity. "You're serious."

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

"One chance," Y/N repeated. "And if anything happens to Luna—if you break your word—I'll never speak to you again. I'll never look at you again. I'll pretend you don't exist."

"I understand."

"No, you don't. You don't understand what you're asking. You don't understand what it would mean for me to trust you." Y/N pulled her hand away, but gently. "I've spent my whole life watching. Seeing futures I can't change, watching people I love get hurt. And you—you're part of the reason my sister has suffered. You're everything I've learned to despise. And yet here you are, asking me to believe that you're different. Asking me to take a leap of faith when every instinct I have is screaming at me to run."

"What do your instincts tell you now?"

Y/N closed her eyes. She thought about the letters in her bedside drawer, the roses on her table, the way her heart raced every time Pansy walked into a room. She thought about the dream—the empty corridor, the argument, the moment when she reached out and touched Pansy's face. She thought about Luna's words: Sometimes the future isn't something you see—it's something you choose.

"Fine," she said, opening her eyes. "One chance. But I'm watching you, Parkinson. One wrong move, and we're done."

Pansy's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "I won't make a wrong move. I promise."

They shook on it, hands clasped in the starlight. And when Pansy's fingers lingered against hers, warm and steady and full of promise, Y/N didn't pull away.

She was terrified. She was exhilarated. She was falling, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be caught.

But for the first time in her life, she was choosing. Not watching, not waiting, not seeing the future unfold like a tapestry she couldn't touch.

Choosing.

And it felt like flying.

Pansy kept her word immediately.

The next morning at breakfast, she stood up at the Slytherin table and made an announcement that silenced the entire Great Hall. "Luna Lovegood is off-limits. Anyone who bothers her answers to me."

Draco's fork clattered against his plate. "What are you doing?"

"Protecting my investment." Pansy's voice was cold, carrying the full weight of her authority as Slytherin's unofficial queen. "Touch her, prank her, insult her—I don't care how minor it is. If I hear about it, you'll regret it."

The Slytherin table erupted in whispers. At the Gryffindor table, Y/N watched with something that felt dangerously like admiration. She hadn't expected Pansy to follow through. She hadn't expected a public declaration, a line drawn in the sand that would undoubtedly cause problems with her friends.

But there Pansy was, standing tall and unapologetic, her chin raised in defiance. And when she glanced across the hall and met Y/N's eyes, there was something in her expression that made Y/N's heart skip a beat.

See? that look seemed to say. I meant what I said.

The weeks that followed were strange and disorienting. Pansy's pursuit didn't stop—if anything, it intensified—but it shifted in tone. The grand gestures were replaced with smaller, more thoughtful ones. She learned how Y/N took her coffee (milk, two sugars, a dash of cinnamon) and started bringing it to her in the library. She offered to carry Y/N's books and bickered with her when she refused. She sat beside her during study sessions, maintaining a respectful distance but always there, always present, always watching with those dark, unfathomable eyes.

"You're like a persistent fungus," Y/N told her one afternoon, not looking up from her Arithmancy homework.

"I prefer 'tenacious.'"

"I prefer 'annoying.'"

"But you're smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"Your lips are twitching. That's the beginning of a smile."

Y/N pressed her lips together and refused to look up. But Pansy was right—she was smiling. She'd been smiling more and more lately, despite her best efforts to maintain her icy exterior. Pansy had a way of slipping through her defenses, finding the cracks in her armor and wiggling through them like ivy through a crumbling wall.

It was infuriating. It was also, against all logic, endearing.

"I don't understand you," Y/N said finally, setting down her quill. "You've been at this for weeks. Most people would have given up by now."

"Most people aren't me."

"That's not an answer."

Pansy was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. "I told you before. You looked at me like I was nothing, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. But it's more than that now. It's—you challenge me. You don't let me get away with anything. You call me out when I'm being cruel or dismissive or fake. And when I'm with you, I feel like I can be… real. Like I don't have to perform."

"Is that what you do? Perform?"

"All the time." Pansy's voice was barely a whisper. "I've been performing since I was old enough to understand what my parents expected of me. The perfect pureblood daughter. The perfect Slytherin. The perfect ally to the Malfoys. I've spent so long being what everyone wanted that I forgot how to be myself. But with you, it's different. You don't want me to be anything. You just want me to be… better."

Y/N didn't know what to say to that. She'd spent so long viewing Pansy as the enemy that she'd never considered what it might be like to be Pansy—to live under the weight of expectations, to perform a role day after day, to hide your true self so completely that you forgot it existed.

"Maybe you're not as terrible as I thought," she said finally.

Pansy's smile was small and fragile and utterly unguarded. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't. But I'll treasure it anyway."

The rainstorm caught them on the way back from Hogsmeade.

It was one of those sudden autumn downpours that seemed to come from nowhere—one moment the sky was clear, the next it was unleashing a torrent that turned the path to mud and soaked through robes in seconds. Y/N and Pansy had been walking together in uncomfortable silence (Pansy had insisted on accompanying her, Y/N had reluctantly agreed, and they'd spent the entire trip pretending not to notice the stares from other students), and now they were running, laughing despite themselves, trying to find shelter under the sparse branches of a tree.

"This is ridiculous," Pansy gasped, pressing herself against the trunk. "It's not even helping. We're already soaked."

"You're the one who wanted to walk back instead of taking the carriages."

"I wanted to spend more time with you. I didn't know the sky was going to open up and try to drown us."

Y/N laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of her by the absurdity of the situation. Pansy stared at her, her expression softening into something that made Y/N's heart stutter.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just—you're beautiful when you laugh."

"You've said that before."

"It's still true." Pansy shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her robes were plastered to her body, her hair dark with water, her lips tinged blue from the cold. She looked miserable and ridiculous and utterly, devastatingly human.

Without thinking, Y/N shrugged off her own outer robe and held it out.

"What are you doing?"

"You're cold. Take it."

"So will you be."

"I'm a Gryffindor. We're bred for harsh conditions."

Pansy hesitated, then took the robe and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You're being nice to me. It's unsettling."

"Don't read too much into it. I just don't want to be responsible for you catching pneumonia."

"Of course. Practicality. No sentiment whatsoever." But Pansy was smiling, a real smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her look years younger.

They stood there for a moment, huddled under the inadequate shelter of the tree, the rain drumming against the leaves above them. Pansy was still shivering despite the extra robe, and Y/N found herself moving closer, drawn by something she couldn't name.

"Come here," she said, and put her arm around Pansy's shoulders.

Pansy went very still. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you warm. Don't make it weird."

"You're the one with your arm around me. I think that qualifies as weird."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word came out too quickly, too desperate. Pansy's voice softened. "No, I don't want you to stop."

They stood like that for a long moment, pressed together in the rain, the warmth of their bodies cutting through the chill. Y/N could feel Pansy's heartbeat—fast and erratic, matching the rhythm of her own. She could smell the rain in Pansy's hair, the faint trace of cloves and cedarwood beneath it. She could feel the tension in Pansy's shoulders, the way she held herself perfectly still as if afraid that any movement would break the spell.

"I'm yours, Y/N," Pansy whispered. "I think I have been since I first saw you."

Y/N closed her eyes. She should pull away. She should say something sharp and dismissive, rebuild the walls that Pansy had been steadily dismantling. But she was tired of walls. She was tired of fighting. She was tired of pretending that she didn't feel anything when the truth was that she felt everything, all at once, a tidal wave of emotion that threatened to sweep her away.

"I know," she said, and didn't pull away.

They walked back to the castle huddled together, sharing warmth and silence, and something shifted between them. Something irreversible. Something that felt, against all odds, like the beginning of something real.

The vision came to her three weeks later, in the middle of History of Magic.

One moment Y/N was struggling to stay awake through Professor Binns's droning lecture on the Goblin Rebellions. The next, she was somewhere else entirely—a corridor near the Ravenclaw common room, the stone walls shimmering with frost. Three older students had cornered Luna against the wall. Their wands were drawn. Their expressions were cruel.

"Think you're so special, don't you?" one of them sneered. "Loony Lovegood, always talking about her imaginary creatures. Maybe we should show you what a real creature looks like."

The spell was on his lips, something dark and crackling with malevolent energy, when Pansy appeared.

She didn't speak. Didn't hesitate. She stepped between Luna and the bullies with the focused fury of a mother bear defending her cub. Her wand moved in a blur—a hex that sent the lead bully crashing into the wall, a jinx that bound the second one's legs together, a charm that disarmed the third before he could even raise his wand.

"If any of you so much as look at her again," Pansy said, her voice low and deadly, "I will make what I just did look like a love tap. Do you understand?"

The bullies scrambled away, leaving Pansy and Luna alone in the corridor. Pansy turned to Luna, her expression softening.

"Are you all right?"

Luna smiled, utterly serene despite the attack. "Yes, thank you. Those were Wrackspurts. They can make people do terrible things. But you chased them away."

"I… all right." Pansy looked bewildered but didn't argue. "Come on. I'll walk you to your common room."

The vision faded, and Y/N was back in History of Magic, her heart pounding, her hands shaking.

She protected her. She really protected her.

The moment class ended, Y/N was on her feet, pushing through the crowds of students, searching for Pansy. She found her in the courtyard, alone, staring at the fountain with an expression that Y/N had never seen before—something raw and vulnerable and almost frightened.

"I saw what you did," Y/N said, slightly breathless. "In the corridor. With Luna."

Pansy looked up, startled. "You saw—oh. A vision."

"Yes. A vision." Y/N moved closer, her feet carrying her forward of their own accord. "You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to protect her."

"Yes, I did. I promised you I would."

"But you could have just—you could have just intimidated them. You didn't have to actually fight them. You didn't have to put yourself in danger."

Pansy's expression flickered. "At first, it was a tactic. Just part of the bargain. But then I saw how scared she was—" Her voice broke. "—and I remembered what it was like to be afraid with no one to protect you."

Y/N stopped walking. They were standing close now, close enough that she could see the sheen of tears in Pansy's eyes, the slight tremor in her lower lip.

"What do you mean?"

"My parents aren't kind people. I've told you that. What I haven't told you is that when I was younger, when I didn't meet their expectations, they would…" Pansy swallowed hard. "They would find ways to punish me. Nothing that left marks. Nothing that anyone could prove. But I was scared all the time. And no one ever protected me. No one ever stood between me and them and said 'enough.'"

Y/N reached out and took Pansy's hand. It was the first time she'd initiated contact between them, and the surprise in Pansy's eyes was almost painful to see.

"You're not alone anymore," Y/N said quietly. "You know that, right?"

Pansy's fingers tightened around hers. "I'm starting to."

They stood there for a long moment, hands clasped, the fountain burbling behind them. The autumn sun was warm on their faces, and somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing. It felt like the world had paused, just for them, just for this moment.

Then Pansy said, "Your sister wants to meet with me. Alone. Should I be worried?"

"Luna? No. She's not the worrying type." Y/N paused. "Wait, she wants to meet with you? When?"

"Tonight. In the Room of Requirement. She said something about Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and needing to 'assess my intentions.'" Pansy's voice was somewhere between amused and terrified. "I think she might be planning to feed me to an invisible creature."

"She wouldn't. Probably." Y/N squeezed her hand. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. She asked for me alone. I think… I think I need to do this by myself."

"All right. But if she mentions anything about a Snorkack migration, just nod and agree. It's easier."

The Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a garden.

That was the first thing Pansy noticed when she stepped through the door that evening. A garden, impossibly lush and green, with flowering vines climbing the walls and a soft carpet of moss beneath her feet. Fairy lights floated in the air like captured stars, casting a warm golden glow over everything. In the center of the garden, sitting cross-legged on a large flat stone, was Luna Lovegood.

"Hello, Pansy," she said, as if they were old friends meeting for tea. "Thank you for coming. The Nargles were worried you wouldn't."

"The… Nargles." Pansy sat down on a stone across from Luna, feeling distinctly out of her depth. "Right. Of course."

"They've been watching you. They're very good at telling when people are being sincere." Luna tilted her head, her protuberant eyes studying Pansy with an intensity that belied her dreamy demeanor. "My sister likes you. She doesn't want to, but she does. I can see it in the way she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching."

Pansy felt her cheeks flush. "I… she does?"

"Oh yes. She's been fighting it for weeks. She's very good at fighting things. She's been fighting her visions since she was eight years old." Luna reached down and plucked a flower from the moss—a daisy that seemed to glow faintly blue in the fairy light. "But sometimes the things we fight the hardest are the things we need the most."

"I don't want to hurt her. I know that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried." Luna tucked the daisy behind her ear. "I've seen the way you look at her. Like she's the sun and you've been living in the dark your whole life. People who look at someone like that don't hurt them. Not on purpose."

"But I have hurt people. I've hurt you."

"Yes, you have." Luna's voice was matter-of-fact, without accusation. "But people can change. I've always believed that. Father says it's because I'm an optimist. I say it's because I've seen people change before." She paused, her silver eyes going distant. "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack was once a very aggressive creature. It would attack anything that came near it. But over time, it learned to trust. It learned that not everything was a threat. And now it's one of the gentlest creatures in the world."

Pansy had no idea what to say to that. "I'm… not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

"No. But you're learning to trust, just like it did. You're learning that not everyone wants to hurt you." Luna smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I'm glad you're in my sister's life. She needs someone who will fight for her the way she's always fought for me."

"I'll fight for her. I promise."

"I know you will." Luna stood, brushing moss from her robes. "Don't hurt her, Pansy. Not because I'll be angry—though I will be. But because she deserves to be happy. And I think you might be the person who can make her happy."

She drifted toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, and if you do hurt her, I'll have the Snorkack find you. It's very good at finding people who break promises."

And then she was gone, leaving Pansy alone in the enchanted garden with the fairy lights and the impossible flowers and the overwhelming sense that she had just passed some kind of test.

Y/N was waiting for her outside the Room of Requirement.

"Well?"

"She threatened to feed me to a Snorkack."

"That's Luna's version of a blessing." Y/N's lips twitched. "What else did she say?"

"That I look at you like you're the sun. That she thinks I can make you happy. That she's glad I'm in your life." Pansy's voice was slightly dazed. "I think your sister might be the strangest person I've ever met. And also one of the wisest."

"She is." Y/N reached out and took Pansy's hand. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She led Pansy up to the Astronomy Tower—their tower, as she'd started thinking of it. But tonight, it was transformed. A blanket was spread across the stone floor, covered with an assortment of food that looked like it had been smuggled from the kitchens. Candles floated in the air, their flames flickering in the breeze. The stars wheeled overhead, impossibly bright.

"Did you do this?"

"I had help. The house-elves like me." Y/N tugged Pansy down onto the blanket. "You've been doing all the romantic gestures. I thought it was my turn."

Pansy stared at her, her dark eyes shimmering in the candlelight. "This is… you did this for me?"

"You've been trying so hard. I wanted to acknowledge that." Y/N picked up a strawberry and studied it, avoiding Pansy's gaze. "I think I might actually like you. Maybe more than a little."

"I think I might actually love you. Maybe more than a lot."

Y/N looked up, startled, and found Pansy leaning toward her. Close. Closer. Her dark eyes were endless, full of hope and fear and something that looked terrifyingly like adoration.

"Can I kiss you?" Pansy whispered.

Y/N's heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear anything else. She leaned forward, her eyes fluttering closed—

And then pulled back at the last second.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, I just—I need to be sure. I need to know this is real. I've seen too many futures where things fall apart, and I can't—I can't let myself fall if you're not going to catch me."

Pansy's expression flickered with hurt, but she nodded. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not angry?"

"I'm a little disappointed. But I understand." Pansy reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear, her fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're worth waiting for, Y/N Lovegood. You're worth everything."

They sat together on the Astronomy Tower until the stars faded and the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn. They talked about everything and nothing—their childhoods, their fears, their hopes for the future. Pansy told Y/N about the pressure her parents put on her, the way they'd planned out her entire life before she was old enough to have a say. Y/N told Pansy about the visions, the way they came unbidden and left her shaking, the terrible weight of knowing things she couldn't change.

And when the sun finally rose, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold, Y/N leaned her head against Pansy's shoulder and closed her eyes.

She didn't see the future. For once, she didn't need to. She just felt the warmth of Pansy's body against hers, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the gentle pressure of her hand.

And it was enough.

A month later, Y/N could barely recognize the girl she'd been.

She and Pansy were practically inseparable now. They studied together in the library, ate together in the Great Hall (ignoring the stares from both Gryffindor and Slytherin tables), walked together through the corridors. They talked late into the night, sharing secrets and fears and dreams. They'd kissed—soft, tentative, exploratory kisses that left Y/N breathless and wanting more.

Pansy had shared her childhood pressures, her loneliness, her desperate need to be loved. Y/N had shared her fears about her visions, her isolation, the way she'd always felt like an observer in her own life. They'd found in each other a kind of understanding that neither had ever experienced before.

"You're different," Pansy said one evening, tracing patterns on the back of Y/N's hand. "From when we first met. You're… softer."

"You're different too. Less prickly."

"I'm still prickly. I'm just prickly in a more charming way."

Y/N laughed, and Pansy smiled, and everything felt perfect. Too perfect, maybe. But Y/N had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. She'd stopped watching for signs that this was all a dream from which she'd wake. She was finally, truly, completely happy.

Which was, of course, when everything fell apart.

She was walking to the library when she heard the voices. Draco's distinctive drawl, Blaise's cultured murmur, Theodore's quieter tone. They were in a deserted corridor near the dungeons, and Y/N would have kept walking if she hadn't heard Luna's name.

"She's been getting too comfortable," Draco was saying. "Ever since Pansy started her little protection campaign, Loony Lovegood thinks she's untouchable. We need to remind her of her place."

"What did you have in mind?" Blaise asked, sounding bored.

"The vanishing cabinet in the seventh-floor corridor. It connects to one in the Forbidden Forest. We lure Lovegood inside, activate the connection, and let her find her own way back. There are creatures in that part of the forest—nothing lethal, but enough to give her a good scare."

"And Pansy?" Theodore's voice was quiet. "She won't be happy if she finds out."

"Pansy's been distracted lately. Playing house with her little Gryffindor girlfriend." Draco's sneer was audible. "She'll come back to her senses eventually. In the meantime, we don't need her permission to have a little fun."

Y/N stepped out of the shadows.

"You won't touch her."

The three boys turned. Draco's expression flickered with surprise, then settled into something cold and calculating. "Well, well. The Seer herself. How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Y/N's hands were shaking, but her voice was steady. "If you go near my sister, I will make your lives a living hell. I've seen futures you can't imagine. I know things about each of you that you'd rather keep hidden."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

Draco laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "You're bluffing. Pansy's told us about your visions—they're passive. You can't actually do anything with them."

"Pansy told you wrong."

But even as she said it, Y/N knew she was losing. Draco's smirk was widening, Blaise was looking at her with something like pity, and Theodore was carefully not meeting her eyes.

"Here's the thing about Pansy," Draco said, stepping closer. "She's been our friend for years. She knows where her loyalties lie. She might be having fun with you now, but eventually she'll get bored. She always does. And when she comes back to us, we'll still be here—and so will your sister."

He brushed past her, Blaise and Theodore following. Theodore paused at the threshold, glancing back with something unreadable in his eyes.

"Be careful," he said quietly. "Draco's not the only one who wants to see this happen."

And then he was gone, leaving Y/N alone in the corridor with her heart pounding and her mind racing.

Pansy knew. She had to know. They're her friends—of course she knew.

The thought circled and circled, growing louder and more insistent until it drowned out everything else. All the tender moments of the past month, all the whispered confessions and gentle touches—had any of it been real? Or had it all been part of some elaborate game?

She found Pansy in the Great Hall, laughing at something Daphne Greengrass had said. The sight of her—relaxed, happy, oblivious—sent a surge of fury through Y/N's veins.

"Can I talk to you?" Her voice came out cold and sharp as a blade.

Pansy looked up, her smile fading when she saw Y/N's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Outside. Now."

They stepped into the entrance hall, and Y/N didn't bother to lower her voice. "I heard Draco. Just now. In the corridor near the dungeons. He's planning to use a vanishing cabinet to lure Luna into the Forbidden Forest. He said you'd come back to your senses eventually—that you were just playing house with your little Gryffindor girlfriend."

Pansy went pale. "Y/N—"

"Did you know?"

"No! Of course not! I would never—"

"You expect me to believe that? They're your friends. You've known them for years. You expect me to believe they're planning something like this and you had no idea?"

"I haven't spoken to Draco about anything like this in weeks. He's been angry with me ever since I told him to leave Luna alone." Pansy reached for Y/N's hand, but Y/N jerked away. "Please, you have to believe me. I would never let him hurt your sister."

"But you've let him hurt her before." The words came out like poison, and Y/N saw them hit their mark. "You've laughed at his jokes. You've participated in his pranks. You've been part of making her life miserable for years. And now you expect me to believe that you've changed? That you're suddenly a different person?"

"I'm trying to be. I've been trying—"

"Trying isn't good enough." Y/N's voice broke. "I trusted you. I let you in. I thought—I thought you actually cared about me. But it was all just another game, wasn't it? Something to pass the time until you got bored."

"That's not true." Pansy's eyes were wet, her voice desperate. "I love you. I know you don't believe me, but I do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I would never do anything to jeopardize—"

"Stop." Y/N held up her hand, and Pansy fell silent. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear any of it. We're done. Whatever this was—it's over."

She turned and walked away, ignoring Pansy's voice calling her name. She walked through the entrance hall, through the corridors, through the portrait hole, and didn't stop until she was in her dormitory with the curtains drawn and the world shut out.

Then she cried.

She cried for hours, great heaving sobs that left her breathless and hollow. She cried for the trust she'd given and the trust that had been betrayed. She cried for the future she'd started to believe in, the future where she and Pansy were happy together. She cried because she'd been right all along—she should never have let herself fall.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Luna appeared.

She didn't knock. She didn't announce herself. She just slipped through the curtains and settled onto the edge of Y/N's bed, her silver eyes luminous in the darkness.

"You're wrong," she said quietly.

"Go away, Luna."

"You're wrong about Pansy. She didn't know."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Luna's voice was gentle but firm. "I talked to Theodore Nott. He told me what happened. Draco and Blaise have been planning this for weeks, but they kept it from Pansy because they knew she would stop them. She's been protecting me, Y/N. She's been trying so hard. And you just broke her heart in front of the entire school."

Y/N rolled over, facing the wall. "She broke mine first."

"No, she didn't. You broke it yourself, because you were scared." Luna reached out and stroked her sister's hair. "You've spent your whole life seeing terrible futures. You've learned to expect the worst. But sometimes the worst doesn't happen. Sometimes people surprise you. Pansy surprised you, and you didn't know how to handle it, so you pushed her away."

"I hate it when you're insightful."

"I know. But I'm right." Luna leaned down and pressed a kiss to Y/N's temple. "She looked more broken than I've ever seen anyone when you walked away. She loves you. And I think you love her too."

Y/N didn't respond. But long after Luna had gone, her words echoed in the darkness.

She loves you. And I think you love her too.

The visions came in fragments over the next week.

Pansy arguing with Draco, her voice raised in fury. "You had no right! She's the only thing that matters to me, and you destroyed it!"

Pansy crying alone in the Slytherin common room, her shoulders shaking, her hands pressed against her face.

Pansy standing in front of the vanishing cabinet, her wand raised, hexing the mechanism until it sparked and smoked. "No one touches Luna Lovegood. Not now, not ever."

Pansy in the library, staring at a book without seeing it, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

Pansy on the Astronomy Tower, alone, looking at the stars with an expression of such profound grief that it stole Y/N's breath.

The truth crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

She didn't know. She really didn't know. And I accused her of the worst possible thing without giving her a chance to explain.

She found Pansy on the Astronomy Tower at sunset, exactly where her vision had shown her. Pansy was standing at the parapet, her back to the stairs, her shoulders hunched against the cold. She didn't turn when Y/N approached.

"I know you're there."

Y/N stopped a few feet away, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry."

Pansy laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "You're sorry. You accused me of betraying you in front of the entire school. You told me we were done. You haven't spoken to me in a week. And now you're sorry."

"I was wrong. I assumed the worst because I was scared. I've been scared this whole time—scared of how I feel about you, scared of getting hurt, scared of trusting someone who could destroy me." Y/N's voice cracked. "And when I heard Draco, it was easier to believe that you'd betrayed me than to believe that you actually loved me. Because if you loved me, that meant I had something to lose."

Pansy finally turned. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression a mixture of anger and exhaustion and desperate, aching hope. "You broke my heart. Do you understand that? I've spent my whole life building walls so no one could hurt me, and you—you climbed over them and then you tore them down and then you left."

"I know."

"I'm not strong, Y/N. I pretend to be, but I'm not. I can't be your maybe anymore. I can't keep hoping you'll trust me if you're just going to leave the moment something goes wrong."

Y/N stepped closer, close enough to see the tears trembling on Pansy's lashes. "I don't want you to be my maybe. I want you to be my certainty. I want you to be the one thing I don't have to doubt."

"That's a lot to ask."

"I know. And I know I don't deserve it. But I'm asking anyway." Y/N reached out and took Pansy's hand, her fingers cold and trembling. "I do want you. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. I was just too scared to admit it. I've spent my whole life watching futures unfold, never participating, never choosing. But you make me want to choose. You make me want to be brave."

Pansy stared at her for a long moment. Then she crumpled, her face contorting with the effort of holding back tears. "I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw you across the Great Hall. And when you walked away, I thought—I thought I'd lost you forever."

"You haven't lost me." Y/N cupped Pansy's face in her hands, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. "You couldn't lose me if you tried. I'm in this. Completely. Terrifyingly. Irrevocably."

And then she kissed her.

It wasn't soft or tentative this time. It was fierce and desperate and full of all the words they hadn't said, all the fear they'd held onto, all the love they'd been too scared to admit. Pansy's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and Y/N's fingers tangled in her dark hair, and the world fell away until there was nothing but the two of them and the stars and the aching, overwhelming relief of finally being home.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Pansy laughed—a wet, shaky sound. "You just kissed me on the Astronomy Tower. That's disgustingly romantic."

"Don't get used to it."

"I absolutely will get used to it." Pansy pressed her forehead against Y/N's. "I love you. I'm going to say it every day until you believe me."

"I believe you." Y/N's voice was barely a whisper. "I love you too. Even when I was pushing you away, even when I was convinced you'd betrayed me—I still loved you. I don't think I ever stopped."

"Good. Because I'm never letting you go again."

They stayed on the tower until the stars came out, wrapped in each other's arms, talking and crying and laughing and kissing until their lips were swollen and their hearts were full. And when Y/N finally pulled back and said, "Come with me—I want to do something," Pansy followed without hesitation.

The Gryffindor common room fell silent when Y/N walked through the portrait hole, Pansy's hand clasped tightly in hers. Dozens of eyes turned toward them—curious, wary, surprised. Y/N could feel Pansy's hand trembling in hers, could see the way her jaw was set with nervous determination.

"Everyone," Y/N said, her voice carrying across the room. "This is Pansy Parkinson. I love her. She's worth everything."

The silence stretched for a moment. Then someone—Ginny Weasley, Y/N thought—started to clap. Others joined in, slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm. Hermione Granger was nodding with something like approval. Ron Weasley looked confused but not hostile. Neville Longbottom was actually smiling.

Pansy stared at Y/N, her dark eyes wide and shimmering. "You love me?"

"Of course I do, you absolute idiot. I've loved you for months. I was just too stubborn to admit it."

"I love you too." Pansy's voice cracked on the words. "I love you so much it terrifies me."

"Good." Y/N squeezed her hand. "Terror is good for the soul. Keeps you humble."

Luna appeared at Y/N's elbow, her silver eyes bright with delight. "Welcome to the family," she said, and hugged Pansy without warning. Pansy stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace, her eyes closing.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For believing in me."

"I always believe in people who love my sister," Luna said. "And you love her very much. I can see it in your Nargles."

Pansy laughed—a real laugh, surprised and delighted. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment."

Later that night, after the celebration had died down and the common room had emptied, Y/N and Pansy sat together on the sofa in front of the fire. Pansy's head was resting on Y/N's shoulder, their fingers intertwined, the flames casting dancing shadows across their faces.

"I was so scared I'd lost you," Pansy murmured. "When you walked away in the Great Hall, I thought my heart was going to stop."

"I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

"You had every reason not to. I've given you plenty of reasons." Pansy lifted her head to meet Y/N's eyes. "But I'm going to spend the rest of my life giving you reasons to trust me. I promise."

"That's a long time."

"I'm counting on it."

Y/N smiled and leaned in to kiss her—soft and sweet and full of promise. "I had a vision, you know. While we were apart. I saw you protecting Luna. I saw you crying alone. I saw you loving me even when you thought I'd never come back."

"What else did you see?"

Y/N's smile widened. "I saw us. Together. Years from now. There's a cottage by the sea, and Luna comes to visit on weekends, and you're teaching children to duel. I'm laughing. You're laughing. We're happy."

"That sounds like a good future."

"It is." Y/N pressed another kiss to Pansy's forehead. "But you know what the best part is? I didn't just see it. I chose it. For the first time in my life, I'm not watching my future unfold—I'm making it. With you."

Pansy's eyes were wet again, but she was smiling. "I like the sound of that."

"Me too."

They stayed on the sofa until the fire burned down to embers, wrapped in each other, dreaming of cottages by the sea and children who dueled and a future that was theirs to create. And when the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, Y/N took Pansy's hand and led her back to the Astronomy Tower.

The sunrise was spectacular—gold and rose and lavender, spreading across the sky like a promise. Y/N stood at the parapet, Pansy's arms wrapped around her waist, and felt something shift inside her. Something fundamental. Something that had been broken for a very long time, finally beginning to heal.

"What are you thinking about?" Pansy murmured against her hair.

"The future. Our future." Y/N turned in Pansy's arms to face her. "I used to think my visions were a curse. That seeing the future meant I was trapped by it—forced to watch terrible things happen without being able to change them. But you showed me something different. You showed me that the future isn't fixed. It's something we choose, every day, with every decision we make."

"And what are you choosing?"

"You." Y/N reached up to touch Pansy's face, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. "I'm choosing you. Today. Tomorrow. Every day after that. I'm choosing to be brave. I'm choosing to trust. I'm choosing to love."

Pansy's smile was like the sunrise—bright and warm and full of hope. "I'm choosing you too. Always."

They kissed as the sun rose, golden light spilling over them like a benediction. And in that moment, Y/N felt something she'd never felt before—not in any vision, not in any dream, not in any future she'd ever seen.

Peace.

Y/N Lovegood had spent her whole life seeing futures she couldn't change. But Pansy Parkinson taught her that the best future wasn't the one you saw—it was the one you fought for, hand in hand, heart to heart, choosing each other every day. And that was a vision she never needed to see to believe.