cracked mirror
pansy/hermione + one sided pining for anon
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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.
And God, that hurt.
