Hermione woke with a horrible crick in her neck and checked the time. 5:28 a.m. She groaned and blindly reached over to her bedside table. It took a few tries, but she located her wand and the small paperback and drew them into the warmth of her quilt. Ginny's steady breathing was the only sound in the darkened room. Hermione pulled her bed hangings shut and cast lumos to light the pages in front of her. Last night, she nicked the copy of Pride and Prejudice from Malfoy's school bag before leaving. With his reading pace, he had surely finished it by then and she'd been craving a reread.
She flipped through to her favorite part. There really was no equivalent to Mr. Darcy. Jane came up with the most charming romantic confessions. All her life, Hermione had dreamed of finding someone willing to chase after her. Someone who admired her brain and loved her soul. The depth of these literary romances was what she was lacking, and Ron was never going to fill that void inside her. Seriously, the boy couldn't even turn in his homework; it was a blessing their relationship had fizzled out on its own.
An incessant itching pulled her out of her peaceful reading and her attention flitted to her forearm. No need to pull up her sleeve, she already knew what would be there. A new scar settled over the old. It was a jagged line, courtesy of her nails, crossing through the eight letters. She couldn't help but be a little pleased with the results even though she was ashamed at the same time. Madam Pomfrey had made her two balms to apply daily–one to help with the itching and another to lessen any scarring from her claw marks. She only used one of them. The new scars could stay. After applying a generous amount of the former, she dragged herself out of bed and quickly dressed in jeans and a jumper. It was Saturday, but she needed to head to the library to catch up on some assignments. Working in the lab had taken most of her time and she didn't want to fall behind in her classes; Mcgonagall was sure to complain if she missed any more due dates.
The walk to the library was relatively undisturbed. Every few turns she would say good morning to a portrait; by now they all seemed to know her. Before she reached the library doors, a painting of a woman drinking a goblet of wine beckoned for her to come over.
"Good morning," Hermione said pleasantly. The woman leaned her face over, eyes wide. "Hermione dear, how wonderful to see you!" She slurred a bit as she continued, "there's someone waiting for you in your normal spot."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed doubtfully, "Surely not, this early in the morning?" The woman nodded energetically. "Oh yes! She's been there for half an hour already."
She? Hermione had no idea what female would be waiting for her if Ginny was snoring softly upstairs. She thanked the portrait anyway and quickened her pace. Sure enough, a head of dark flowing hair faced away from Hermione's approaching figure, lithe fingers tapping on the desk. As she neared the young girl, she recognized the student as Pansy Parkinson. A thin emerald headband rested in her flowing locks, keeping the strands out of her face. The sharp nails were painted a matching green, which was hardly surprising. Of course, Parkinson would show up to the library on a weekend looking fabulous. Hermione self-consciously tugged at her fraying jumper and cleared her throat.
Pansy turned and slowly ran her gaze over Hermione, face impassive. At the end of her once-over, the witch's mouth twitched upwards and she jerked her head to invite Hermione to take the seat across from her. For a long moment, the two witches simply stared at each other. Hermione had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat.
"Erm...Margot told me you were waiting here for me?"
"Who?"
Hermione immediately cringed. Of all the things she could have said, she mentioned her conversation with the drunk portrait. Well done. Now Parkinson was going to think she was even weirder than she already did.
"Nothing," she hastily replied. "What are you doing here so early?"
Pansy crossed her arms in a way that exuded around two hundred percent more confidence than Hermione had felt in her entire existence. "Come to the party in the Slytherin common room tonight."
Hermione could only gape at the other girl. Assuredly she was hallucinating. Pansy started making some sort of gravelly noise in her throat; Hermione was horrified to realize it was laughter.
"What?" She sputtered.
Pansy continued to chuckle. "I said come to the party tonight. I'm inviting you."
"But why?"
This had to be a trap, and her eyes darted around for an escape route. "Oh lighten up, Granger, the war is over. I've seen you spending a lot of time with Draco and Theo, so you can't be all bad, and quite frankly I'm curious. So come. Show me what you got."
What an odd start to the morning. She shook her head to clear it. "Why did you come here so early?" She was repeating her previous question, but couldn't help it. Apparently, the world was determined not to make any sense, much to Hermione's chagrin.
Pansy sighed, "Honestly, I thought the only way you'd speak to me was if I surprised you, and I wanted to make sure no one else was around in case you hexed me. I detest being embarrassed publicly."
Oh gods, was that a compliment? Hermione couldn't help the smile that slipped onto her face. She'd already adopted two Slytherins, what was one more? "Alright...I suppose if I don't have any other plans I could make an appearance."
"Great." Pansy started to get up. "Make sure you look good, though. I want to see the boys' jaws drop to the floor."
"Oh...I'm not sure it would really matter much to Malfoy. Theo maybe." Pansy chuckled again. "I thought you were supposed to be smart, Granger. Regardless, try to look hot, okay? Maybe tie back that bushy mane of yours and apply a little blush. Oh, and I bet you look great in green." She smiled deviously.
Hermione tugged on a loose curl. "I thought you hated me."
"Yeah, well, I did, but I appreciate you befriending my boys. They've pretty much pushed everyone else away."
"Pansy?"
"Yeah, Granger?"
"Do you have any gloves?" The question seemed to startle the other girl, but she turned, sitting back down with grace. Her eyes were pinned on Hermione's forearm, and a glower was blooming across her features. Neither of the girls said anything for a while, and neither tore their gaze from her left sleeve. Pansy knew about Malfoy Manor, then.
"You don't need gloves, Granger." Pansy finally spoke, reaching for the edge of her sleeve to examine the cuts beneath it. Slowly, she dragged a finger over each letter. Hermione tried to argue, but Pansy cut her off. "No, I mean it. We all have scars. You don't need to hide it from the Slytherins. I know you probably feel like you especially need to hide it there, but the reality is most of the kids in that room can probably relate to you more than your fellow Gryffindors will ever be able to."
The transparency shocked Hermione. "What on earth do you mean?"
Pansy sighed and pulled the jumper sleeve back down, avoiding her gaze. "You think the Death Eaters were monsters? Well, they were also parents. You were a stranger to them, Granger. Imagine how they treated family."
Horror trickled into Hermione's chest, and she felt a tightness of guilt. She had never really considered what all of those Slytherin children experienced growing up. It was easy to assume they were all arrogant racist heirs, doted on by their wealthy parents. Perhaps those things were partially correct, but it was naive of her to believe that was all there was to them.
"Do you want to see mine?" Hermione's eyes widened. "It's only fair anyway. I saw yours."
Without waiting for a response, Pansy stood from her seat and lifted her expensive sweater over her head, leaving her only in a lacy monogrammed bralette. Hermione's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, but the other girl looked unfazed. Pansy rotated to display her pale back. Hermione couldn't help the gasp that escaped her mouth, and her hand shot up to cover it.
It was appalling. Deep milky scars zig-zagged down the girl's spine like lightning. Hermione jerked up from her chair and rushed over to get a closer look. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and pressed a finger on the longest line. Pansy sucked in a breath, and shakily let it out as Hermione continued to trace the dozens of scars.
"Who did this to you?"
Pansy laughed darkly. "Birthday presents from my father."
"But why are there so many?"
"Sometimes, he'd 'forget' when my birthday was. He gave me extra to make sure he hadn't missed it by accident."
Hermione pressed her palm against the exposed back. She felt horrible. Horrible that her one experience with torture had affected her so much when there were children who had experienced worse their entire lives. Over and over and over. She started shaking.
Pansy turned around. "Hey, whoa there, Gryffindor. I didn't mean to trigger anything for you, just wanted to know you weren't the only one who felt marred."
"Pansy, I'm so sorry, for me it was only one time, and I've been so dramatic about it when you–"
"Let me stop you right there, Granger." Pansy shook Hermione's shoulders to get her to look at her. "Your trauma is just as valid as mine. Neither of them should have happened at all. You're allowed to hurt as much as you need."
Hermione looked at the girl in front of her in wonder. All these years she had hated her, assuming she was a shallow, conniving heiress. She had been so incredibly wrong.
"Come tonight. Wear something sleeveless. Show off your scars, just as I will."
Hermione nodded and watched Pansy pull her sweater back over her head.
"See you at eight." With that, the Slytherin strolled out of the library, swishing her hips as she went. Hermione pulled out her textbooks and tried to focus on her homework, but it took her most of an hour to get the image of Pansy's back out of her mind.