Chapter Text
Blur. Pansy couldn't see. She couldn't feel. She couldn't hear anything, except a faint buzzing in her ears. It was exactly like her soul had left her body, just floating against the ceiling of Harry and Draco's library, watching the chaos unfold.
Dante.
Dante was dead, and now Hermione was nowhere to be found.
Diane Lancaster was a dead woman, she just didn't know it yet.
Diane. Diane, whom she once thought she loved. Diane, who killed her own little brother.
Why?
Why?
WHY?
“Pansy, hey! You alright?”
Ginny was nudging her arm, but Pansy didn't budge. She sat on Harry's desk, ignoring Draco's groan of annoyance. She knew why Diane had killed her brother. Because somehow, she knew that he was collaborating with the Aurors. How did she know that, when the only people who knew it were Harry, Pansy herself and Harry's colleagues, Robards and Savage. Robards, who was an Auror since 1987, and Savage, whom Pansy had known for years since he killed her aunt, Rose Parkinson, during the Second Wizarding War. No, it couldn't be them. Had someone overheard? In Harry's office? Impossible.
Someone had overheard in Harry's house.
Someone who had already come here, someone who knew Hermione very well.
Pansy had forced herself to ignore her own suspicions for Hermione's sake. She had convinced herself it wasn't possible, that the easiest conclusion wasn't always the truth. And yet.
“Adrianna Telsce.” A silence followed her words. Pansy didn't look up. She grabbed Harry's wrist. “The Italian Witch.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
“Cateline Dansar” Pansy continued. “The French witch.”
Harry tried to unlock her wrist from her hand, but Pansy wasn't moving. A cold bead of sweat was running down her neck.
“Diane Lancaster,” she murmured.
Draco suddenly raised his head, his eyes wide open. “Holy shit. She doesn't simply use fake names. She uses acronyms. Exactly like…”
“Voldemort,” interrupted Harry.
Merlin. It had always been there, dancing in front of their noses. They had been dumb enough to ignore it, to force themselves to repress the obvious. Because it couldn't have been this easy, this insultingly simple. Ginny said something Pansy didn't listen. Pansy's mind was far away from this room. She knew, she knew but couldn't put words.
Draco gasped, and the room fell silent. Harry called him, but Draco didn't reply, his breathing hard and ragged, his hand clutching his ring. His skin was pale, sweaty, and his eyes were so wide they could jump out of their orbit.
“Hermione… Hermione, she's… FUCK! She's hurting, she's hurting really bad, she…”
He couldn't finish his sentence. A groan of pain tore his throat, making him collapse, bending on himself. Pansy's blood ran ice cold. She had to pull herself together. She stopped listening to the growing panic in the room.
Hermione was in danger. And Pansy knew she couldn't keep denying the truth any longer. She threw herself on the desk. Opened a drawer. Pulled out a piece of parchment. Caught a pen. Scribbled hastily, messily, Diane Lancaster's name. Put space between each letters. Wrote Darlene Scianta below. Put space between each letters. And she linked each letter. 14 letters per name. The same number of every different letter.
Pansy's heart began to beat even faster. There was no fucking way they had been so deep in denial.
Darlene Scianta, listed as one of the Ministry's policy advisors, respected, quiet, unremarkable. All of that was fucking fake. The ink of her pen shimmered faintly where it had been rewritten by her hand.
Pansy's breath caught in her throat. For a moment she didn't move. The room felt too small, the air too thin, the others' hurried voice weirdly quiet. The candles flickered as if the sound of her pulse was disturbing them. She blinked, once, twice, then bent closer, tracing the outline of the letters as if touching them would change what they said. But it didn't. The illusion was gone now, the ink bleeding through completely.
Darlene Scianta was Diane Lancaster. Of fucking course she was.
The realisation didn't even struck her like a blow.
But her stomach turned cold. Her throat closed. She pushed back from the desk slightly, its legs scraping against the floor. She stood there, shaking, staring at the parchment, her mind running too fast to catch up with itself.
Hermione had almost been married to her.
Pansy's jaw locked. Her chest felt too tight, anger crawling up from somewhere deep. She could see Hermione's face now, that soft, exhausted look she'd had the last time they spoke, the last time she broke her heart again. How she'd smiled like she was pretending to be fine, when she was anything but. Hermione had trusted that woman. Lived with her. Slept beside her.
Pansy's hands curled into fists.
The rage came in a wave, hot and sudden. It filled every corner of her chest, pushing out the shock, pushing out the fear. How could anyone do this? How could someone get that close to Hermione just to hurt her? How could anyone actually know this intimately Hermione and want to kill her?
She saw it all at once, the months of attacks, the near misses, the ominous runes, the poisoned blade in Dante's abdomen. They had searched for Diane Lancaster everywhere, convinced she was hiding in the shadows, plotting from a distance. But she hadn't been hiding. She had been right there, under their noses, smiling sweetly, pretending to love the woman she wanted to destroy.
Pansy slammed her hand down on the desk. The sound cracked through the room. The ink bottle toppled, spilling black across the reports.
Her breath came in sharp bursts. Her eyes burned. This wasn't just betrayal. It was something far worse. Diane had taken advantage of Hermione's kindness, her trust, the way she always saw good where there was none. She had manipulated her, isolated her, made her doubt her instincts. And now, Hermione was gone. Worst than that. There was only one place Hermione could be, and it was right in the lion's den.
Pansy pressed her palms to the desk, leaning forward, trying to steady herself. Her hair fell into her face, but she didn't move it away. She just breathed, slow and trembling, forcing her heartbeat to quiet, forcing the fury back into something she could use.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were cold, sharp, focused.
“I know where Hermione is.”
Her sentence made the room silent again, colder. Draco stopped groaning in pain.
“She threw herself in the devil's arms. She's at Lancaster's house.”
“Why would Hermione be in Lancaster's house?” asked Ginny in a blank voice.
“Because Darlene Scianta doesn't exist. She never did. It was Lancaster, all along,” replied sharply Pansy. She could feel the tension growing. The anger curling inward, the stress and scare twisting in her chest.
“Draco, have you tried to Apparate directly to Hermione? The ring, it should…”
“I tried a minute ago, while you were spacing out,” cut off the latter, getting up. “I can't Apparate to her. She's in a warded place.”
“Lancaster doesn't know we're aware of her true identity,” Harry declared, his green eyes shining with rage. “I know where she lives. She probably renewed her wards before the wedding, I don't know if we can get inside.”
Pansy felt the room narrow to the sound of her own breathing and the slap of her heart against her ribs. Harry's declaration hung in the air like a flare. Lancaster does not know we are aware. The words should have been a comfort. They were not. They were a starting pistol.
She watched him move, the practiced calm in his shoulders replaced by a hard, hot edge. He was already thinking ten steps ahead, voice clipped, precise, like a man with a plan who could not afford to waste time on shock. That steadiness made her angrier, made everything sharper.
We are too late, an ugly thought gnawed. Hermione could be bleeding out, convulsing, fighting for breath while they argued details. She pushed it away and let rage take its place. Rage was useful. Rage meant action.
“You are not coming, Pansy. It's too dangerous.” Draco's words were soft, almost pleading. The plea fell on deaf ears. Pansy's hands tightened on Harry's sleeve until she felt the fabric bite into her skin. She was a Healer. She had spent years learning how to hold a life steady before she specialised in fertility issues. She knew how to coax a heart back from the brink. She had applied splints, threaded antidotes, sewn ragged flesh together when people thought magic could not fix what hatred broke. Bonded with Hermione or not, that oath threaded through her like iron. Hermione needed hands. Her hands.
“HERMIONE IS DYING RIGHT NOW!” Pansy exploded, until her voice broke. “I AM A HEALER! AND I AM BONDED TO HER!”
The words rose raw and hot. They landed like stones and settled. Nothing felt as urgent as that truth. Harry nodded. He was sharp, decisive now.
“Blaise, Luna, Ginny, hide. Take Kreacher. He knows how to fight. Lancaster already came to my house. She could be here any minute. I'll send colleagues to protect you too. Hide at Luna's, or at the Burrow, but don't stay here any longer.”
The orders spilled out and found small openings in the room where panic tried to root itself. Pansy watched Blaise cross to the doorway, his face set in the same hard line she'd seen in battle. He grabbed Ginny and Luna by the hands as if anchoring them to the world. The image made Pansy's chest twist. She had never been so grateful for Blaise's blunt efficiency.
“How did you know where Darlene lives?” Blaise asked before he closed the door, voice tight.
Harry's answer landed like a cold fact. “Immigration registry. Overconfidence. Let's just hope she hasn't moved out and didn't tell us.”
Harry grabbed his phone, his hurried voice pressing his colleagues to form a team in front of Darlene's house. He didn't have time to explain. He hung up, and Pansy saw pearls of sweat running above his upper lip, hiding in his mustache. Draco threw hasty warding spells. Pansy's hands tightened on her wand. It felt solid and humming in her grip. For a second she tasted metal in her mouth and imagined Hermione's face, pale and falling. She shoved the image down and let the anger fill the space it left. Anger was a tool she knew how to wield.
Harry's voice gave no room for argument. Pansy thought of the Lancaster's house, the wards. Harry said they had been too confident. They had been fools. The word landed hard. She did not argue. There was no time to argue with truth.
He did not wait. He never did when there was a lead. Pansy felt his arm tighten once around her shoulders, a grip that was not gentle and not rough, a necessary steadiness. Draco's hand closed over Harry's and then over her own.
They leapt. The world folded into the raw, sudden vertigo of Disapparition. For an instant Pansy's stomach lurched and her vision went black at the edges. Then it snapped back into a startling wash of yellow, flickering lampposts.
She landed with the taste of iron at the back of her throat and the memory of Hermione's last look burned behind her eyes. The anger in her chest had not cooled. It was roaring, making lava spill in her veins, erupting in her organs.
Harry and Draco immediately rushed to the small house in front of them. It was modest, particularly banal. The windows showed no light, except what looked like a chimney in the window to their left. Harry crossed the garden, his step light and cautious. Draco casted a few spells that Pansy didn't recognised. His face was still twisted in pain.
“What are you doing?” she asked, ignoring how desperate and pathetic she sounded.
“Invisibility charms. We don't want her to know we're breaking in.”
“It's heavily warded, we won't break in. We can cross the garden, but we won't open the door.”
Harry was trying to keep his voice calm and steady, but he had never looked so anxious, angry. Draco emitted a small yelp, looking at the ring.
“Hermione is inside,” murmured Pansy.
“I fucking know,” replied Harry through gritted teeth.
“Then do something!”
“I can't! The spells are powerful and complex, we need to wait for the Curse Breakers Aurors, and…”
“No time for that,” panted Draco.
Tears were streaming down his face.
“I can't feel Hermione anymore,” he said in a trembling voice, clutching his wand so tight it could have broken.
Pansy nearly fainted. For a second, the words did not register. I can't feel Hermione anymore. They echoed in her skull like a curse. The world around her tilted, the cold wind slicing through her robes as if the air itself recoiled. She felt her knees weaken. No. Not that. Anything but that.
Her throat constricted until she could barely breathe. The wards shimmered in front of them now. It was a glimmering, pulsing dome of magic around the normal, petite house, preventing them to reach the door.. Diane Lancaster's door. The name burned through Pansy's mind, thick and bitter. Every shimmering line of that barrier was a mockery. A prison. A coffin.
She could feel Hermione on the other side. Or maybe she imagined the faint, dying pulse of their bond, flickering like a dying candle. It was there, then gone, and then there again, weaker each time. Panic crashed into her chest. She pressed her palm against the barrier and it burned, hissing against her skin.
“Pansy, stop!” Harry shouted, but his voice felt far away.
Her vision blurred. Her wand was already in her hand, shaking with fury and fear. She didn't remember raising it, didn't remember stepping closer. She only knew she couldn't stand still, couldn't wait, couldn't breathe while Hermione was dying inches away from her.
“NO!” she yelled, gritting her teeth
The magic erupted before she could think. A white-hot pulse burst from her wand, striking the wards head-on, before the light gained a familiar, powerful golden tint. The air cracked like thunder. The blast knocked all three of them backward, dirt and debris flying, the ground trembling under their feet. Sparks exploded across the barrier, wild and violent, twisting in colour.
Pansy screamed. Part rage, part grief, part hope that the force would be enough to tear it open. Her throat burned. Her hand ached. But she kept firing. She didn't even recognise the magic she was using, yet it felt familiar, comforting. She didn't care if the house came down, didn't care if she brought the whole neighbourhood with it.
She just wanted Hermione back.
Each pulse made the wards flicker brighter, then darker, as if they were gasping under the assault. Harry grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back, but she fought him off with a sound that barely resembled a voice.
“Pansy, stop, you'll kill yourself!”
“I don't care!”
Her wand vibrated, heat bleeding up her arm, but she didn't stop. Tears blurred her vision until the lights of the barrier turned to streaks. She could taste blood in her mouth, could hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
Please, she thought. Please hold on, Hermione.
The barrier finally cracked. It was just a sliver, a sound like glass breaking under ice. A thin line of light split through the air. Pansy fell to her knees, gasping, her magic nearly drained. She pressed her forehead to the ground, chest heaving, and felt the last faintest pulse of their bond.
Her heart jolted.
“She's fading,” she breathed.
Harry knelt beside her, his face pale, eyes wide and fierce. Draco stood behind them, trembling, wand still raised, ready to strike again if he had to. The barrier shivered again. The crack widened. Pansy's hands shook as she lifted herself up. When she looked at the wards again, the dome had completely disappeared. Pansy didn't wait a second. Behind her, a dozen of purple figures appeared, quiet, ready. Harry screamed something to them. He then bolted inside behind Pansy, bursting into the house.
Pansy didn't think about where her steps were leading. She didn't waste time looking around for traps, for Lancaster. For once, she couldn't give a single fuck about Lancaster.
She ran in the corridor.
She was too slow.
She saw one door to her left.
She pressed the handle.
It opened.
Pansy stopped dead in her tracks.
The first thing she saw was blood.
There was so much blood. Splattered, violent. A wide, dark pool beneath a body. Brown curls were spread over it like ink bleeding through paper. Hermione's face was still. Her eyes half-open. Her skin the color of ash.
Pansy froze. Her breath vanished. Her heartbeat too. Everything fell away. Her wand slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor with a hollow clatter that echoed far too loud in the silence.
She tried to move. Her body refused. The room tilted, shadows stretching against the walls. She could smell iron, dust, and something faintly floral. Hermione's perfume. The one she always wore. It lingered in the air like a ghost, but it gave in to metal, like blood corrupting flowers.
Her knees faltered. She hit the floor hard. Didn't feel it.
Her hands reached for Hermione before her mind caught up. They shook violently, fingertips brushing cold skin. Too cold. Her stomach twisted. Her throat closed. She wanted to scream but no sound came out. Only air. Only pain.
Hermione's lips were slightly parted. Her lashes still glistened. She looked as if she might wake up. Just sleeping. That fragile kind of stillness that tricks the mind into hope. She wasn't breathing. Pansy pressed trembling fingers to her neck. Nothing. She tried again, harder this time, desperate, counting the seconds between each heartbeat that never came.
Nothing.
A sound ripped through her chest. Raw. Unrecognizable. Her hands covered her face, smearing blood and tears together. She couldn't stop shaking. The floor seemed to heave beneath her. The walls closed in. An explosion sound made the walls rattle. She could smell the unbearable smoke of house fire now.
Pansy wanted to cast something. Anything. A healing charm. A pulse spell. A resurrection spell. Her mind flooded with half-finished incantations, but her magic would not obey. Words couldn't form in her mind. Her wand lay useless beside her, slick with blood.
The air felt thick. Every breath scraped her throat. She couldn't see clearly anymore. Her vision blurred, colors running together until all that was left was red. There were screams in her ears, crashing sounds.
She crawled closer, pulling Hermione into her arms. Her head fell limply against Pansy's shoulder. Her hair smelled like rain.
The body was heavy. Too heavy. Something broke inside Pansy.
She rocked back and forth, clutching Hermione tighter, shaking as though she could force life back into her with sheer will. She couldn't even hear herself whispering, screaming, praying. She could just feel Hermione's blood on her face, the tears blurring her vision. There was only stillness. The warmth that had once lived in that body was gone. The spark that always flickered behind her eyes was gone.
Hermione is gone.
No.
She's gone. There's nothing I can do.
NO.
Diane won. She always does.
NO!
Hermione died. I'm too late.
NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
Pansy felt her magic surge in one last, wild burst. It clawed its way through her like fire, breaking every barrier she had left. The bond flared. The golden light erupted from her, coming right from her heart.
Her scream filled the room this time, louder than whatever was happening outside.
It tore through the house, through the walls, through every barrier left standing. It was the kind of sound that comes from the center of a soul being split open.
The golden light flared even harder. Pansy stopped seeing Hermione's cold body in her arms, blinded by the pure, raw magic of the bond. It was pulsing at the same time of her heart.
Her fingers slipped from Hermione's hair. Her forehead fell against her chest. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The only thing left in her world was Hermione's body in her arms. The blood cooling on the floor. The golden light erupting from every pore of her skin, from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her core.
It didn't stop. It never did. Pansy's hearing gradually stopped. Her vision was completely white. Hermione's weight became lighter, so light Pansy couldn't feel it anymore. She stopped feeling her own feet, her legs, her stomach, her hands, her arms, her shoulders. She stopped feeling the beatings of her heart.
Pansy also stopped feeling time. She couldn't tell if the golden light had been enveloping Hermione and her for seconds, minutes, hours, maybe even days. Years? How long had she been holding Hermione's dead body? Probably enough time to realise she had been sent to hell. And hell was holding her soulmate's corpse.
Gradually, Pansy could feel her limbs again. She could close her eyes, open them. She could hear her breath, and the roaring flames around them.
The flames.
Pansy had learned about Fiendfyres in school. Seeing one in real life was something else. It was monstrous. Red, orange, yellow flames consuming everything they touched, screaming in the air, gnawing, killing. It was straight out of a nightmare. Yet it didn't touch Pansy, nor Hermione. It was circling around them, narrowly avoiding them. It was all Pansy could see, around them, above them. But the Fiendfyre never broke the distance. It carefully danced its mortal steps all around them. Pansy saw Hermione's wand in her coat. It flickered. Golden.
She squinted her eyes. The Fiendyre wasn't avoiding them. The light was protecting them from it. It was unyielding, like a shield refusing to break against a thousand swords.
Hermione's wand flickered again.
Hermione's wand.
Pansy took out her own. The same flickering light was spilling from it, constant, rhythmic.
Slowly, the Fiendfyre disappeared, soon replaced by a torrent of rainwater. It quickly drenched Pansy, dissolving Hermione's blood on the burnt wooden ground. When the first droplets reached Pansy, the cold made her realise her body couldn't handle it anymore. She immediately collapsed over Hermione, shielding her body from the rain.
It was a silly thought, but Pansy wished she had an umbrella so they could hide under it. Hermione would probably laugh about it, tease her for her Gucci umbrella. Yes, it was silly, but Pansy Parkinson had a Gucci umbrella Hermione didn't know about, and she thanked Merlin the brunette didn't, because she would have mocked her for it endlessly.
Pansy thought of Hermione's laugh. It was beautiful, unlike her own. It was melodious. It was soothing.
And Pansy understood she didn't want to hear Hermione's laugh right now.
She wanted to hear Diane Lancaster's last breath.
The rain was pouring harder than any storm Pansy had lived, almost hurting her. Her feet planted in the ground. Hermione's body stayed still on the ground. Pansy took off her coat, resting it on top of her. She didn't want Hermione to catch a cold.
She started to walk, her legs heavy, difficult. In the corner of her eye, she saw explosions of green, red and blue light. Her body pivoted towards it. She walked.
She walked slowly. Or maybe time had slowed. She saw a powerful thread of green light missing her, almost touching her shoulder. Another one, practically touching her hip.
She kept walking. An Auror dressed in those recognisable purple robes yelled something at her. He tried grabbing her arm, pulling her away, probably. Golden sparks cracked under his hand, and he pulled back.
Pansy walked through the line of Aurors. They were ten, maybe twenty, standing in ruins still smoking, facing another line of Death Eaters. Some of them tried to move, but they were immediately blocked by rogue spells.
She heard what must have been Harry's voice begging her to stay on the back. She didn't care. She hoped her coat was enough to protect Hermione from the rain.
Pansy stopped walking when she saw a blonde Death Eater. Long hair, blue eyes under a metallic mask.
Diane had probably planned everything. She had waited for Hermione to take the bait, prepared her Death Eaters if she didn't come alone.
Hermione.
Oh, Hermione.
Dante. Little Dante.
Pansy wanted her dead.
Pansy wanted Diane dead, now.
She couldn't have dropped her wand even if she had tried. It was glued to her hand. It moved itself like it had a life on its own, directly pointing where Pansy's brain was telling her to focus. It was a part of her body, faster and more sentient than any of her limbs.
It fired the golden light, right against Diane. She tried blocking it, but the energy of the spell mad her step back. Her mask flew to the ground, broken by the light. Pansy saw her again for the first time, after all those years of hatred and trauma.
Her icy blue eyes, pink lips, high cheekbones, blonde hair. And again, for the first time, Pansy saw her armour break.
“NO! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!”
Pansy watched it unfold. How panic took over her facade, cracking it down until it crumbled. How fear made her lower lip tremble. How incomprehension made the cold light of her eyes falter.
“THE BOND IS SUPPOSED TO BE BROKEN! GRANGER IS DEAD!” roared Lancaster.
“Goodbye, Diane.”
“NO! NO, WAIT, PARKINSON, YOU—”
She gasped. The golden light stopped. Pansy clenched her teeth hard, looking right into the ice of her irises, that blue colour that had haunted her nightmares for so long.
“Avada Kedavra.”
Pansy understood she wasn't dead when she heard Draco's infuriatingly high pitched voice next to her. But she fully grasped it when she heard Harry replying to him, Ginny laughing, Blaise's annoyed groan, and Luna's soft giggle.
So, no, she wasn't dead. Far from it. Secondly, something that confirmed even more her hypothesis was the soft caress of what was probably a finger, or a wand on her cheek. Thirdly, the absolute entirety of her body was painful, sore. But now, she could understand more clearly what they were talking about.
“Seriously, should I draw hairs on the balls? I think it looks more realistic,” pondered Blaise.
“Pansy's a lesbian, waking up from a week of coma with a dick drawn on her face would be a betrayal of the utmost importance,” said Draco.
“Who says she's supposed to wake up now? Chiara said it could take another week,” replied Blaise.
“I said it was possible for her to wake up today.”
“You'll have more time to decide if you want to draw realistic testicles then.”
Those fuckers were drawing a dick on Pansy's cheek. It wasn't a finger nor a wand, it was a fucking pen. Pansy didn't wait for her eyes to adjust to the light. She opened them directly, ignoring how painful it was, and grabbed the pen that was sprinkling ink on her cheek.
A thunder of gasps echoed back. Pansy blinked a few times, and tears rolled down her cheeks, blinded by the sudden white light. It took her a few seconds to decipher where she was. It was a small room, with bright windows, and definitely too many visitors here. They were all bent over her, their faces a few centimetres from hers, looking at her with wide eyes. Draco, Blaise, Harry, Luna, Ginny, even Chiara, a little further back.
“Who the fuck decided it was funny to draw a dick on my face?” muttered Pansy, her tongue horribly heavy and dry.
Blaise raised his arms to prove his innocence.
“It's going to leave spots on my skin.”
Pansy wiped her cheek and tried to sit back up. Her whole body was actually really painful, now that she focused. It was like she had a ran a marathon after smoking a whole pack of cigarettes, or if she had smoked the biggest joint of her life. Chiara extended her arm to help her ease into a sitting position. When Pansy settled, she gave her a vial. Pansy didn't even think and immediately engulfed it. It felt exactly like drinking fresh water after a whole day under the sun, and the pain in her muscles lessened gradually. Pansy squinted. She scanned all of her friends' faces. They all looked perfectly normal, tired but happy. She stopped on Ginny.
“Where's your belly?”
“It retracted back. I was sick of being pregnant so I canceled it.”
Pansy snorted.
“Crap. Congratulations.”
“We dropped the triplets at my Mum's house. We needed to be there when you wake up. They were born just the day after…”
“Hermione,” interrupted Pansy, gasping. “Hermione, is she… please, please, please tell me she isn't dead. Please.”
She was sorry for Blaise and Ginny, but right now, she couldn't care about anything else. Harry shared a glance with Chiara. She nodded, and he breathed in deeply.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked with surprising softness.
“Yes,” replied Pansy with a tinge of agitation. “I… I found her. And I don't know. I don't exactly know what happened next. I was… I wasn't myself. Then there was a Fiendfyre, I think. It stopped, and I… I killed Diane.”
“Yes, that's about what happened. You broke the wards, and you and I barged into the house. You found Hermione's body. Lancaster appeared behind you, and she wasn't alone. Death Eaters immediately attacked you. The bond you shared with Hermione protected you two. It… it's pretty hard to explain, but it suddenly flared. Lancaster tried to break it many times and failed. So she invoked the Fiendfyre. It was a mess. The whole neighbourhood burned down.”
Harry paused, hesitating. Pansy's heart was thumping hard against her ribs.
“Pansy… thirty people died. We weren't fast enough to save them. After a while, we succeeded to make it stop with magical rain. There were still Death Eaters, and we weren't winning. I don't know what you remember, but you walked in the middle of the battle. You used the Killing Curse on Diane. After that, we could regain a dominant position, and we arrested all the remaining Death Eaters. You passed out.”
“Hermione,” repeated Pansy in a trembling voice. “Tell me she's alive.”
Chiara sat on her bed.
“She was already dead when you found her. Lancaster murdered her. But her soul was still inside her body, so your bond didn't break. Pansy, I really don't know how you did that, or how the bond works, but… my most logical explanation is that you shared the life inside your body with her, if that makes sense? I analysed both your cores, and there are traces of your magic in Hermione's body. You brought her back.”
Hermione was alive.
The thought landed quietly, then cracked something open. A sob escaped before she could stop it. Then another. Her chest heaved. Her vision blurred. The tears came fast, burning hot trails down her cheeks. She pressed her shaking hands against her face, but it didn't stop them. They kept coming, unstoppable, raw, pulling everything out of her that she had held in for too long.
She cried without sound at first, then with it. Each breath came out broken, heavy with disbelief and relief so fierce it hurt. She didn't know how it had happened, didn't care. Whether it was her magic, or the bond, or something neither of them would ever understand. It didn't matter. Hermione was alive. That was all that mattered.
Her friends didn't speak anymore. They didn't need to. They were around her, solid, steady. Someone reached for her hand. Another brushed the hair from her face. The small, wordless gestures kept her anchored when her mind wanted to drift.
The tears slowed eventually, leaving her exhausted and trembling, her chest aching with each breath. She lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling through the blur of salt and light. The world outside the window was turning gold now, the day beginning.
She felt hollow and full at the same time. Drained and burning.
Alive.
The steady rhythm of her heart filled the silence. Pansy's lips trembled. Her eyes closed again. A small, broken laugh slipped through her tears, quiet and unbelieving.
Hermione was alive.
Her magic had reached her. Somehow, through all that pain, through death itself, it had found her and brought her back. The thought sank deep into her bones. The ache in her chest eased. Her body finally began to rest, her muscles unclenching.
“Where is she?” she asked, sniffling.
“She's resting in another room,” said Chiara in a low voice. “Pansy, you need to understand… you brought her back, but I don't know if she can wake up. The curse Lancaster inflicted to her is preventing her to gain back consciousness. Curse Breakers are actively trying to destroy it. It's been days and no one succeeded.”
Pansy stopped smiling, and Chiara dropped her hand.
“Did they make any progress?”
“Too little. The curse isn't evolving, but it's still too powerful for her body to function properly.”
Pansy swallowed her saliva bitterly. She tried getting up, but Blaise's soft hands pushed her back against the pillows.
“I brought her back once, I can bring her back another time.”
“Your magic is exhausted, Pansy. You've been resting, but you need more time. Using the bond again wouldn't be wise.”
“It's the only thing that worked,” she started to protest.
“You're too weak right now. Wait a few days to fully recover.”
“Yeah, and she's going to be dead again when I have!”
“I knew she would say that,” sighed Draco.
“Let me get up,” barked Pansy.
“No, you—”
“It's my choice! If I die bringing her back, which can probably happen considering what you told me, then it's my choice!” she exclaimed.
She tried getting up again, and this time, Blaise let her rest her bare feet on the cold ground. Chiara caught her hand again, but Pansy immediately took it off.
“Bring me to her. Now. It's my decision. None of you can change it.”
Pansy was unyielding. Harry shared another glance with Chiara.
“Okay. But as soon as you pass out, we're stopping you, whether you like it or not.”
Pansy wouldn't wait for more. Chiara grabbed her ribs, helping her to walk out of the room.
“You're still in surviving mode, Pansy, you're extremely tired and on edge. Please be careful, okay?”
Pansy knew her body. She knew she was indeed exhausted. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered until she hadn't make sure Hermione was fine.
The walk to Hermione's room was uncomfortably long, but it let time for Pansy's thoughts to stir. She had killed Diane. She had actually did it. She had avenged Dante. She had defeated the demon that was haunting her for years. She had won. She couldn't care about the repercussions of her killing curse. It was probably going to bring her some problems.
“Hey, Harry?” she called, out of breath. “Am I in deep shit for killing Lancaster?”
Harry pinched the bridges of his nose.
“Basically? Yeah. You'll be under arrest as soon as you step out of here. Draco and I are building a case to defend you against the Wizenmagot. It shouldn't be too hard because we have proofs, but still.”
Pansy had a little smirk.
“I'm sorry for that.”
Harry smiled. “You aren't. And neither do I.”
“The outside world must be a real mess right now.”
“That's to put it lightly, yes.”
Chiara stopped in front of a door. It was guarded by two Aurors, who greeted Harry when he stepped in, and eyed carefully Pansy. Hermione's room was bigger. A cloud of pink dust was floating all around her body, and Pansy immediately knew what it was. A breathing spell, to ease oxygen into Hermione's lungs. There were also soft blue sparks. Something that could hydrate and feed her body when it couldn't do it on its own. Fuck. Pansy had to bite back some fresh tears. Three Curse Breakers were casting complicated spells all around Hermione. When Pansy stepped to their level, helped by Chiara, she could finally see Hermione.
She was so thin. Fragile, even. Her whole upper body was circled with thick bandages. Her lips were pale, her skin almost white. Her eyelids were dark. Pansy could see the bones of her hands, resting on the mattress. She had never appeared so weak, vulnerable.
“You must be the other person sharing the soul bond,” said one Curse Breaker. “I'm Brann Pendragon. Nice to meet you, Ms Parkinson.”
He was freakishly tall, with very thin limbs and a skin so dark it was almost completely black. His eyes were warm and gentle. Long clear scars striped his face.
“Yes, nice to meet you too,” confirmed Pansy without adding anything more.
“How did you create it? It might help us understand how to evaporate the curse.”
“I… it wasn't wanted. We both created it by accident.”
He frowned, and Pansy scoffed.
“During sex.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
Pansy took Hermione's hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. Her skin was warm.
“It's a complicated bond. It binds your souls together, kind of like the ancient marriage practices Pure Blood families used to have. It's linked to your emotions, your cores. It's mutually reinforcing them. How does it manifest?”
“Usually when we both feel an intense emotion at the same time. We didn't really pay attention before. I guess we should have explored it more.”
“Perhaps, but you can't change the past.”
Pendragon took a step back, and his colleagues did the same.
“You can try using the bond to break the curse. My friends here just weakened it so you can access Ms Granger's magical core more easily. Be careful, don't go too hard. You're both very weak.”
Pansy nodded. She glanced around to look for her wand. Chiara approached her and gave it to her. It was damaged, almost burnt by the Fiendfyre. Pansy made it roll between her fingers.
It was now. Now or never.
She would save Hermione. Just like Hermione had saved her, years ago.
Pansy closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing, on Hermione's, on the feeling of her skin on hers. She focused on the weak influx of magic in her veins. She felt it grow, move, pulse. She let it come slowly, steadily. She didn't open her eyes. She saw the familiar, comforting golden light through her closed eyelids. She didn't stop, didn't drop her wand. She breathed deeply, feeling her magic swell, grow, flourish like a plant under the sun. Her head began to spin a little, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
She thought about that day in the Hogwarts Express, when Hermione had lent her Walkmann. She thought about that day in their common room, when she realised she loved her. She thought about that night in the dark, when they had stepped out of the club and kissed for the first time.
When they first said they loved each other. When they first made love.
Their first fight. Their first breakup.
Their reunion. Their shared laughters, tears, joys and crises.
Her heart was racing now. She thought about how they couldn't have the time to talk after Hermione fled her own wedding. She couldn't imagine a world where their story would end here. Pansy had a house now. She had bought it for herself, but she had made sure there was a library big enough for Hermione's books. This library wasn't supposed to stay empty.
Pansy's heart was aching. Not from exhaustion, tiredness, or using too much magic all at once.
Pansy's heart was aching for Hermione. It had always been. Pansy's life didn't exist before she met her again in September 1998.
Because Hermione was her life.
A thumb came to rest on her hand. It stroked her skin slowly. Softly. Fingers laced with Pansy's. The golden light had disappeared. Pansy could no longer feel it in her body. It was like the bond had gone too, now that it had served its purpose. Its comforting warmth had left, but she could still feel the traces of it, settled deep in her heart.
Pansy heard a soft sigh.
She closed her eyes harder. She couldn't handle the disappointment of having failed.
But the fingers intertwined with hers strengthened their grip. And the soft sigh was soon followed by a small breath.
So Pansy allowed herself to open her eyes.
Only to be greeted by warm, chocolate brown irises, hidden under long black eyelashes.
Pansy saw them just a second before tears blurred her vision again, burning her cheeks once more.
“I'm so fucking in love with you, Granger.”
“I'm very fucking in love with you too, Parkinson.”
Hermione's voice sounded weak, but she talked. Hermione talked. She was breathing. She was conscious. She was here. Pansy batted her eyelids, breathing hard. Two Healers burst into the room, checking Hermione's vitals, verifying the healing spells. They made her drink the same vial Chiara had given her. Pansy couldn't close her eyes anymore. She was scared Hermione would disappear again, that her brain had tricked her, that it wasn't real.
Hermione drank the small vial, but her eyes stayed locked with Pansy's.
“Is it… is it over now?” she asked, her voice raspy and strained.
Pansy laughed. She sniffled again, hard. “Yes, yes Hermione, it's over. It's over now.”
Hermione closed briefly her eyes, and a small smile made her chapped lips twitch.
“Good. But… why do you have what looks like a penis on your cheek?”