A/N: Hello again! Thank you for your lovely feedback, as well as for the follows and favourites of all of the newcomers to the story.

"I'll try to update a bit sooner," she said. Never trust a writer, my friends. We have the best of intentions and the most unrealistic of expectations. From hereon out, I make no promises. This story will be updated only as my schedule allows it, and that is the unfortunate fact of the matter.

Just an FYI: yes, I did change my username from TheGirlDeepInThought to lizziebennetgonesolo, mainly so that my fanfic profile and Tumblr blog would have matching names.

Let's get straight to it. Here's your next chapter; I hope you enjoy it.

Pansy and Granger were at the library the next day, sitting together at their table as though the whole power play with Greengrass had never happened. Granger was nose-deep in her copy of the fourth edition of Advanced Potion-Making, Volume II and Pansy was writing an essay on the minutiae of conjuration for Transfiguration. Then again, "writing" was probably too generous a term to describe Pansy's productivity; her mind kept wandering away from Gamp and back to what had happened the previous day.

Pansy wasn't at all used to people sticking their necks out for her. That really wasn't the Slytherin way. The housemates she'd been friends with had been glad to help her seek retribution after the fact, but standing up for her in the moment, at the risk of their own necks? Forget it. Not even Draco had stood behind her when it really came down to it, because there was a universal understanding in their House: if you stir shite and you make a mess, it's yours to clean up.

In other words: every witch and wizard for themselves.

The only person who'd stuck with Pansy at all was Millie, but she'd been to Pansy what Greg and Vince had been to Draco: a lackey, a hunk of muscle to make Pansy look more intimidating. Millie's show of silent support had been part of an unspoken contract wherein Pansy extended her elevated social status to Millie and Millie backed Pansy in order to continue enjoying the perks of that status. The Slytherin girls both in and below their year had deferred to the pair of them thanks to the combination of Pansy's ruthlessness and Millicent's brawn, and Pansy had been sure to provide a steady stream of delicious, exotic confections for her mock-bodyguard in order to keep her happy.

Pansy's mouth twitched. Millicent Bulstrode had had an impressive sweet tooth; she'd inhaled macaroons by the dozen when hungry, and if there was ever chocolate in a room, Millie had been known to find it in fewer than ten seconds flat.

A swift pang of regret swelled in Pansy's chest as she remembered finding her henchwoman after the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd become something like friends over the years, but Pansy had implicated Millie in her schemes with atrocious frequency, often resulting in said witch being forced to suffer through detention with the ever-irascible Professor Snape. Millie hadn't been particularly kind or bright, per se, but she'd been steadfast and surprisingly sweet when she wanted to be in her own, unusual way. She hadn't deserved Pansy's ill treatment, nor the gruesome end she'd come to in the fighting.

Truth be told, Pansy missed her. Badly. But she'd felt Millie's absence even more keenly before Granger had decided to sweep her up out of nowhere; and now that Pansy wasn't quite so isolated, she wasn't as prone to stewing in guilt and grief.

Pansy shot a covert glance at Granger who thankfully for once didn't seem to notice, absorbed as she was in her potions text. The Gryffindor's curls were as chaotic as ever, their colour a light, soft brown streaked through with strands of beige and honey, and they'd frizzed during the time the two girls had spent outside after lunch walking around the Black Lake before heading back to the library. Under the rays of sunlight that filtered through the window at their table's side, those thin, unruly ringlets glowed a rich gold, creating an effect not unlike a halo around Granger's brow.

Pansy almost snorted at herself. A halo? Bloody hell, Parkinson—get yourself together, woman! She's Granger. She's not an angel, she's—

The Slytherin's train of thought dissolved as she found herself unable to come up with a suitable alternative. Somehow, "Gryffindor" and "bookworm" and especially "Muggle-born" seemed to have become inadequate descriptors. Pansy jerked a little as she forced herself to snap out of it.

The truth was that Pansy didn't know what the hell to make of Granger anymore. She was a mess of contradictions that somehow gelled perfectly and it was infuriating and fascinating to Pansy.

"If you think any harder, steam's going to start pouring out of your ears," Granger murmured, making a note on the parchment beside her potions text before setting her quill down and fixing Pansy with a look of amused anticipation. "Whatever it is you want to ask me, Pansy, you should just ask, already."

Pansy sighed, tossing her quill down too, resigned to the fact that her essay wasn't going to get completed that day. She returned Granger's stare with her own exasperated one. "Why'd you come sit with me that day?" Pansy asked abruptly. "And I mean aside from what you've already told me about thinking I deserved a second chance. I know there's more to it, Granger, and it's driving me fucking insane."

Granger looked away from Pansy, fretting her bottom lip between her teeth and staring out the window at the grounds. Pansy felt her curiosity mount as Granger's silence stretched on.

"I can't tell you all of it yet," Granger began eventually, "but I can tell you part. Is that enough for now?"

Pansy considered her offer for a moment, before huffing, "I guess. At this rate, anything's better than nothing."

"Well," said Granger, who then sighed and brought her frustrated gaze back up to meet Pansy's. "You're going to think I'm a wretched person."

Pansy openly scoffed at that, drawing a small smile from her companion. "I doubt it," she drawled, "but by all means, try me, Granger."

Said witch nodded slowly, resolve firming the curve of her jaw. "Well, truth be told...I was sick of the hero worship." Pansy raised a single brow, prompting Granger to elaborate. "I can't stand it, Parkinson. People who wouldn't deign to be seen near me before the war now come sidling up, trying to ingratiate themselves with me, or—even worse—they start speaking to me as though we've been friends for years. All when before, they wouldn't be caught dead standing next to me just because I'm a bit of a swot."

As she spoke, Granger grew increasingly irritated and a light hue of pink slowly bled into her cheeks.

"It drives me berserk, which is one of the reasons why I come here so often. It's fairly commonly known that I don't like to be bothered when I'm working, and Madam Pince sees to anyone who does pester me. But though it's nice to get away and have somewhere to hide, it can get rather lonely."

Pansy frowned, puzzled. "But what about the Wease—er, rather, what about Weasley and Longbottom? I thought you were close with them."

Granger sighed. "I am, I am. It's just that... Look. I love Ginny like a sister and Neville like a brother, but Neville is only in a couple of my classes and Ginny's still finishing sixth year because of the war. On top of that, I don't get to see them a lot outside of lessons. No, I'm serious," she insisted when Pansy tsked skeptically. "Neville is busy apprenticing under Professor Sprout and now that Ginny's the Gryffindor captain, most of her schedule is taken up by Quidditch. The other thing is, neither of them have trouble with being surrounded by all those people—I think they kind of got used to it last year."

Pansy could only agree with that assumption; because though she didn't know much about the Weaselette, she'd been in enough of Longbottom's classes during the year previous to notice how most of the students outside of Slytherin had seemed to look to him for cues on how to react to, for example, the infamous cruelty of Carrow twins. He'd been the epitome of a Gryffindor, then, refusing to give in even when they tortured him in front of the class for refusing to Crucio a first year. Within the privacy of her own mind, Pansy had been just as impressed with Longbottom as the others had been, her former opinions of him aside.

Granger's next words brought Pansy out of her reflection. "So with those two busy, I was on my own for the most part. But then there you were, Parkinson; miserable, harassed, isolated. Seeing you alone like that reminded me of all the times Harry and Ron were cross with me and hung me to out to dry." Granger grimaced. "And then I realized that if I approached you, you definitely weren't going to suck up to me like the others. I mean, as far as I knew, you still hated me. But I figured that maybe after everything that happened—and given that you seemed lonely—you might be willing to put up with me if I tried to start some kind of friendship with you.

"So I gave it a shot, and here we are. I'm rather glad I went through with it, to be honest."

Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "Only you, Granger," she said, impressed and bemused all at once. "Only you would try to make friends with an enemy to avoid being worshiped by a bunch of sycophants."

Granger laughed; it was a sad, wry sound.

"I suppose," she admitted with a faint half-smirk, before seeming to lose herself in thought for a minute. "You know," the Gryffindor witch went on to muse, "besides you, Ginny, and Neville, the only person who I can stand to be around for any kind of prolonged period of time is Luna Lovegood." Pansy's disbelief doubled, and it must have shown in her expression because Granger laughed and shook her head.

"I know what people say about Luna, Pansy, and it's true she's eccentric, but she's also a wonderful friend and almost...supernaturally observant. Sometimes I wonder if she has some strange version of the Sight that makes her see physical manifestations of people's emotions, which she's taken to interpreting as those outlandish creatures that she's always talking about.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Granger rebuked Pansy, whose eyebrows were rising ever-closer to her hairline. "I may abhor the notion of Divination classes but after everything that happened with Harry, I'd be a fool if I didn't make an effort to be a little bit more open-minded. That doesn't mean I'm about to go make nice with Trelawney, though." The look in her eyes was thunderous. "That'll happen over my dead body, Parkinson, so don't go getting any ideas."

Pansy held up her hands defensively. "All right, Granger, all right! Pax."

Granger rolled her eyes. Then, abruptly, her expression brightened. "You know, you'd probably actually like Luna! Maybe I should introduce the two of you. I know she'd get a kick out of you and your potty mouth. Luna adores honesty, no matter how blunt—or profane."

"Are you kidding, Granger?" Pansy demanded, incredulous. "I'd reduce her to tears within five minutes of meeting her. There's no way in Hecate's hell that we could be friends."

"You'd be surprised, Parkinson. Don't be so quick to judge," Granger admonished her. "You thought I was a goodie-two-shoes through-and-through before you got to know me, remember?

"Luna's got a backbone of steel—she needs it, people bully her constantly when she's not around her friends. If she let what they said pierce her skin, there wouldn't be any left on her to speak of. She'd take you some getting used to but...I don't know, it's just...she has this odd way of bringing people peace that you would probably appreciate. I respect her, Pansy—you should give her a chance."

Pansy shrugged, reluctantly intrigued by Granger's portrayal of the ditsy blonde but not willing to give much away. She looked down at her essay, her gaze glazing over the words as she replied, "Sure, Granger. Can't hurt. Beggars can't be choosers, after all."

That comment didn't go over well. "Merlin's sake—You're not a beggar, Parkinson," Granger snapped; Pansy's head jerked back up at the hostile tone and she was surprised to see Granger glaring at her with anger and hurt mingling in her eyes.

"And what would you know about it, Granger?" Pansy demanded, hackles rising as she felt a sudden surge of defensiveness. "At least the people you're avoiding aren't looking to hex you five ways to Sunday! I am a beggar, or I might as well be. Whatever this is between us, Granger, it's all I have. All I have." Pansy stared Granger down in a fit of righteous indignation. "My housemates couldn't give two flying fucks what happens to me now, the rest of the school wants my head, and my family?" Pansy laughed, and it was an ugly, derisive sound. "Don't even get me started on my family. If it can even be called that."

Pansy looked away from Granger, pretending to stare at the view outside the window while really fighting off the tears threatening at her waterlines. "You don't know a goddamned thing, Granger, so don't presume to tell me my own situation, because if that's what here for then you might as well fuck off, right now!"

Pansy trembled with despairing rage as she spat those last few words, her clenched fists pressing hard into the surface of the table as she continue to stare unseeingly out the window.

The clack-clack-clack of raised heels slapping stone approached the girls' table and with it, a scowling Madam Pince who demanded Pansy's attention. The Hogwarts librarian's thunderous expression softened infinitesimally as she took in the obvious distress of the two girls in front of her but her ire prevailed nonetheless.

"Miss Parkinson, Miss Granger," she hissed by way of greeting. "If it is still your wish to frequent this library with your typical regularity and to enjoy the leniency that I afford the pair of you—and yes, I do afford you two a great deal of leniency on the account of your usual respect for the sanctity of this space—" Madam Pince rebuked them with a glare, "—then you will kindly keep your voices down! ...And especially so if you insist upon using profanity, Miss Parkinson," she added coldly. "Am I understood?!"

"Yes, Madam Pince," replied the two young women, contrition apparently trumping any other emotions they were experiencing. The librarian sized Pansy and Granger up for a little while longer before nodding curtly in acceptance of their apparent remorse.

"Good," remarked the librarian; she then quirked one of her wickedly sharp eyebrows at the reprimanded students before turning on her heel and marching back the way she came, calling out over her shoulder the rather ominous phrase: "This is your first and only warning."

When the sound of Pince's footsteps faded into the background, several additional moments passed in silence as the tension from the previous conversation, which had loomed overhead during the librarian's scolding, descended once more upon the table by the window, lingering among mounds of parchment, loose and bound alike.

Pansy's heart thudded unevenly against her rib-cage and despite her best efforts, the brimming tears that had been momentarily kept at bay by the presence of Madam Pince proceeded to boil over and spill down her cheeks. As she hastily wiped saltwater off her face with the sleeve of her jumper, Pansy silently and bitterly mused that she was almost positive she'd cried more in the past handful of months than she had previously in her entire life.

Eventually, it seemed, Granger couldn't abide the suffocating quiet. "I'm sorry, Pansy," she sighed quietly, propping an elbow on the table and lowering her forehead to her palm, eyes closed in visible frustration. "I just—I hate hearing you demean yourself. All the self-deprecating crap that you spout really makes me want to jinx you sometimes, and the pessimism, too. But you're right that your situation isn't great right now and that, in spite of this," she gestured between them, "I've no right to say otherwise."

The Gryffindor sighed again and in her peripheral vision, Pansy could see Granger opening her wide, tawny eyes and staring at Pansy intently. "What you said...I suppose, for whatever reason...it hurt my pride. I'm entirely too self-important sometimes," Granger admitted, her lips pursed. "I just wish I could do more, and I wish you had more hope for the future, and I'm sorry, and...I'll stop rambling now before I make an even bigger fool of myself," she muttered, groaning and lowering her face, reddened cheeks and all, back into her upturned palm.

Pansy suddenly felt exhausted. Her stinging eyes flicked back and forth between the mass of curls obstructing her view of Granger's face and the shoulders beneath and behind them, hunched forward and nearly quivering with stress.

"Granger," started Pansy, waiting until the other witch would finally look up and meet her gaze before continuing. "What would you say about getting out of here so we can discuss this shite without having to worry about getting banned from the library for the rest of the year?"

Granger stared at Pansy, taken off-guard by the suggestion; but within moments, a large, beaming smile slowly spread across her face as the Muggle-born witch made her heartfelt reply:

"I would say 'hell yes.' Let's go."

"Ugh," spat Granger as Pansy watched on in amusement. "I'll never get used to Firewhisky. I know it's in the name, but still—it burns!"

"And yet, I was the one named 'Pansy,'" sniped the Slytherin between snickers.

The two of them were holed up a small, cozy lounge provided by the Room of Requirement—which, as Granger had commented, was miraculously functional even after Vince's Fiendfyre fiasco. The Room had been generous enough to provide a pair of tumblers, and Granger, a bottle of Ogden's Finest that the Gryffindor prefects had confiscated from some fourth years.

"Protocol is to put all the contraband in a cupboard in the common room," Granger had told Pansy with a tiny smirk. "They still use my old warding scheme to protect it."

"Well damn, Granger," Pansy had teased, "Definitely not a goodie-two-shoes."

Back in the present, Granger rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," she responded, affable, waving off Pansy's jibe. "I'll freely admit I'm not the most impressive drinker to have ever lived."

Pansy raised a brow sarcastically, and Granger flopped backwards, sinking into her chaise with a loud huff. "Circe—fine, I'm a lightweight!" she admitted. "Two bottles of Butterbeer is enough to do it for me."

"Circe is right!" snorted Pansy in amused disbelief. "You'd better nurse the hell out of that tumbler then, Granger. Don't want to go spilling any secrets in front of big, bad Parkinson."

It was Granger's turn to snort. "Big, bad Parkinson," she echoed, chuckling slightly. "You're not quite as big or bad as you'd like to believe, Pansy. Still very respectable, though, don't get me wrong," she raced to add before Pansy could think to take offence. Her hasty amendment had the desired effect; Pansy found her nervousness rather adorable.

"Relax, Granger, I'm not going to jump down your throat again any time soon," Pansy reassured her. "You're forgiven. I overreacted anyways, I know that you hate when I pull that shite. It's just—" Pansy sighed in exasperated frustration, trying to think of how best to explain what she wanted to say. "Listen, you've got to remember that I'm not you, Grange—Hermione. You choose to have a small circle because that's the way you like it, and I respect that—especially given the circumstances—but all the same, it's your choice. Right now, I don't have that kind of choice. What I'd like," said Pansy, and the scorn imbued in the word wasn't completely able to mask its undertone of longing, "doesn't even factor into it. I'm lucky to have you as it is."

"That was almost sentimental, Parkinson," Granger teased lightly before sobering. The Gryffindor student raised her glass to her lips and took a small sip of Firewhisky, this time moderating her reaction to a minor grimace. "But all kidding aside...I realize that our predicaments are very different, and it was wrong of me to forget that earlier and snap at you for venting about the difficulties you're facing. Even if I didn't like the way you did it. But as I've said before and will keep saying until you actually, finally believe me, Pansy: I'm not going to leave you to deal with this shite on your own. I don't abandon my friends—loyal to a fault and all that." Granger waved a hand dismissively. "Call me a Badger if you dare."

Pansy didn't laugh, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "I would never," she responded dryly, taking a large swig of Ogden's to hide her amusement. "And believe me, Granger, whatever your still somewhat elusive reasons," Pansy continued pointedly, "I'm grateful for your friendship, I really am. You've already helped me a great deal by getting Greengrass off my case, even if it's just for the moment. But you can't really blame me for thinking, however irrationally, that's it's not going to last. I mean, have you even thought about what happens after graduation, Granger, assuming we make it through the year as friends? For all we know, you'll go off and be queen of the world, and I'll be lucky if I manage to get a shop job."

Granger scowled reproachfully at Pansy but, having learned from her previous faux pas, let that last comment slide. Pansy's greater implication, however, did not remain similarly untouched.

"So what? You think that just because we might be a little busy after graduation, we're automatically going to drift apart?" the Muggle-born asked incredulously. "That's a load of crock, Parkinson. No, I'm serious," Granger protested, all earnestness as Pansy laughed loudly, albeit halfheartedly, at the absurd expression.

"When I say I'm 'loyal,' I mean loyal," insisted the Gryffindor once the other witch's mirth had faded. "As in steadfast, dependable, with-you-til-the-bitter-end—that kind of thing. But d'you know what? I doubt you'll be able to take my word for it whether you want to or not, so I'll just have to prove it to you in the long term. What d'you say to that, Parkinson?"

For several seconds, Pansy didn't answer her, opting instead to stare at her own lap—or rather, at the tumbler nestled there between her thighs. She picked it up and idly, while staring into its depths, she moved her wrist in a circular motion, setting the Firewhisky swirling at the bottom of the glass. Pansy's eyes followed the flow of the amber liquid until a low hum drew her attention; she brought her focus back to her surroundings just in time to catch Granger watching her with an intensity that set her heart aflutter, much to the Slytherin's chagrin.

Despite her sudden nervousness and the heat she felt rising to her cheeks, however, Pansy didn't break away from Granger's—from Hermione's—gaze.

I'm not sure I could if I tried, Pansy thought absentmindedly, entranced once more by the colour and perspicacity of the other woman's eyes. And, what's more, I don't particularly want to in any case.

Aloud, she eventually replied, "I say that sounds like a plan, Granger," her voice at a lower timbre than usual. "And not a bad one at that."

Granger leaned forward slightly, extending her tumbler towards Pansy without breaking eye contact. "Shall we drink to it, then?" she asked, and Pansy caught a flicker of uncertainty in the Gryffindor's optimism that for some odd reason put her further at ease.

This isn't quite as easy for Granger as she makes it look, Pansy noted silently, and not without a hint of satisfaction.

It was that same satisfaction that moved the Pure-blood witch's hand from her lap to bring her glass to meet Granger's. Their tumblers collided with a soft clink.

"To loyalty," Pansy toasted, and although her tone was subdued, she could feel a swell of hope rise in her chest as she spoke those two, simple words.

Granger nodded in approval, and a sweet, charming smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "And to a partnership full of potential," added the brilliant witch, the apples of her cheeks turning a lovely shade of rose.

Then, without taking their eyes off of one another, each witch raised her glass to her lips, tilted her head back, and drained its contents, sending a rush of warmth coursing through their veins that reached even the very tips of their toes.