Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 28: XXVIII

"Wait, wait," Nott says, stretching both arms out behind him in the vague direction of Zabini. "Don't sit down." He waves his hand as Zabini reaches the arm of the couch. "Grab me the box of tarts from the table, yeah?"

Zabini wipes an aggravated hand down his face and backtracks - lobs the box none too gently at Nott's chest a moment later before stretching out languidly beside him. Tosses his feet into Nott's lap.

This entire situation is absolutely surreal.

"So, Granger's in the Dungeons," he says, folding his arms behind his head and flashing gleaming white teeth, a stark contrast to his smooth, black skin. "First Gryffindor ever - what a treat." Though he says it rather viciously, like she's trapped prey.

"No, no," Nott says casually, eating a tart. "Romilda Vane, in Third Year...though I doubt she remembers."

He and Zabini exchange lascivious grins as Hermione fights to hide her surprise.

Pansy's is plain as day though, and she goes a dark shade of livid purple. Glares at Nott.

"What brings you to the dark side?" asks Zabini.

"Kicked out of Gryffindor," says Nott around another tart.

"Ooh, well done indeed. Very impressive."

It's impossible to tell whether he's being sarcastic. She's hardly ever spoken to Zabini - possibly never. She has no notion of his personality. Only knows he was once very firm in his beliefs about blood purity, and was only days away from being Marked before the War, according to his criminal trial.

"She's not staying," Pansy stresses, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why not?" Zabini sends another dark smile Hermione's way. "She kept Malfoy from losing an arm. Saved this one's arse from fucking expulsion, I'll bet." He kicks a tart out of Nott's hand. "Seems pretty handy to have around. What if I accidentally trip another First Year? Detention is mind-numbingly dull."

"She's not staying!" Pansy practically shrieks.

And perhaps it's all the Firewhiskey, but Hermione hears herself ask, "Why do you hate me so much?" in a quiet voice.

Pansy goes still. Everyone does. The silver clock on the mantle ticks loudly in the fresh silence.

Hermione continues, deciding it's most definitely liquid courage guiding her words. "I know I'm a Mudblood and a member of the Order. I know you despise my cause. But me...specifically me. Why do you hate me? Not once have you and I ever had an altercation."

Pansy's expression twitches - a stony, pursed look of wavering fury and uncertainty.

"It's like you said," she answers at last, primly. "You're a Mudblood. What more do I need?"

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

Pansy's lip curls up. "Does it look like I give a shit what you believe?" And with that, she swings her legs over the side of the chaise, sweeps up the bottom of her lace dressing gown and stalks off toward the stairs, tossing, "She can't stay," over her shoulder.

Hermione sinks a little deeper into the sofa once she's gone. Doesn't know why.

"She's just sour you managed to get Malfoy to come back for seconds," says Zabini.

The crassness of it makes her nose wrinkle up. Makes her almost, almost feel for Pansy. She finishes her second goblet.

"I'm rather surprised, though, actually," Zabini continues. "They really turned their backs on you?"

She feels fresh tears prick at her eyes. Forces them to evaporate by digging her fingernails into the heel of her hand.

"I thought Gryffindors were the high and mighty sort. Forgiveness and honor and all that bollocks."