Always a Bridesmaid

By the time Hermione had charmed the flowers a lighter shade and convinced Pansy that she did not resemble a cow, bloated or otherwise, two hours had passed. She was actually relieved when Pansy became the arrogant woman that was more familiar than the weeping mess she’d just been and started to primp.

The entire concept of being that invested in how one looks was rather lost on Hermione. She spent maybe ten minutes a day getting ready, though that didn’t include her shower. A quick brush of her hair, braiding it or putting it up if she’d decided not to just leave it down, getting dressed and glancing at the mirror to make sure everything was neat and tidy, and then was ready.

She just couldn’t understand spending an hour putting on make-up and fixing hair and all that nonsense. If you were going to work, no one cared if you looked glamorous or made up. If you were going on a date, the bloke obviously liked you enough to ask in the first place so what was the point? When she’d dated Ron and Oliver, she’d never gone to such measures.

Of course, her relationship with Ron had lasted from the end of the war (having started with a celebratory shag that had been induced by just too much Firewhisky and had resulted in her losing her virginity rather awkwardly) until about six months later (and the sex, thankfully, was much better when they were both sober). Her brief affair with Oliver Wood, which had been an excellent lesson in casual sex, had happened a few years later and lasted only a few months before he’d been traded and left Britain. Somehow, though, she doubted either had ended due to her lack of interest in spending an hour prettying herself up.

There was certainly nothing wrong with some women liking to do that sort of thing, of course. She was pretty sure that many women would find her ridiculous for getting up early so she could spend an hour every morning reading and start her day off well. Actually, Ron and Harry thought that was ridiculous, too, so maybe she just wasn’t very normal. Thankfully, she could care less about being ‘normal’ and cared more about being ‘Hermione’.

Pansy seemed to have mistaken her thoughtful expression for boredom, a mistake that seemed to be made far too often in Hermione’s opinion, and turned to face her. “You’re not a very good bridesmaid,” Pansy said bluntly. “I’m the bride and you’re supposed to be fawning over me and telling me how beautiful I look.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a handbook,” Hermione mused.

“There is,” Pansy told her smugly. “I saw it at that Muggle store you forced me to visit in your quest to get me to like something Muggle. Imagine that, a book that Hermione ‘I’ve read everything in the entire world just so I can be smugly smarter than you are’ Granger hasn’t read!”

“Did you read it?” she asked dryly as she sat in the large and surprisingly comfy chair near the window.

“Well, no, but I’m certain one of the rules said you should fawn over me,” Pansy said confidently. “So get your lazy arse up and come fawn over me.”

“You know you look gorgeous and you know that Harry’s so gone on you that it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing that or a sack because he’d still gladly worship the ground you walk on,” Hermione pointed out matter-of-factly. “False flattery is a silly notion and I refuse to simper over you just because you’re wearing a wedding dress and had the intelligence to ask me to be your maid of honor.”

“And Harry wonders why you’re single?” Pansy snorted in a very un-Pansy like way and rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t fawn. See if I toss you the bouquet.”

“I hadn’t planned on being there to catch it,” Hermione said sweetly as she crossed her legs and lazily kicked her foot until her shoe was barely hanging on. “Send it to Seamus. He’s been hoping for Dean to make an honest man of him since same sex marriages became legal in the Muggle world. Personally, I don’t see what it matters, especially after that ceremony they did a couple of years ago. Oh bloody Hell! I’d forgotten that. He made me wear that scratchy robe and called me his groomswench.”

“That robe was awful,” Pansy agreed as she smoothed out her dress and scowled at the clock. She looked back at Hermione and smirked. “I have much better taste. You look beautiful in that color, just as I predicted, and the ceremony will be quite lovely as long as you don’t scowl like you did at Lavender’s wedding.”

“I wasn’t scowling,” Hermione denied. “The dress was too tight to breathe properly and I felt like I was going to pass out before Lee finished saying his vows. Besides, you should talk! I thought you were going to hex Theo before Daphne could finish speaking.”

“Daphne could have done better,” Pansy said simply. “She settled for the first bloke that asked and didn’t even care that the mark on his forearm, regardless of his eventual alliances, would never allow her to escape the whispers at society functions. Millicent at least married that Hufflepuff, even if he is an anal prat.”

“Ernie is a nice guy,” Hermione told her, frowning as she realized she’d been a bridesmaid seven times over. She’d forgotten Shay’s ceremony as it had been one of the first a couple of years after the war.

“You’re scowling,” Pansy pointed out. “See? You did that at Lavender’s wedding, also. Harry thought you were sick but I figured you were just nauseous from all that horrible taffeta.”

Hermione snickered but tried to cover it with a cough. She met Pansy’s knowing gaze and they both started to laugh. “All right, yes, the dresses she chose were bloody awful,” Hermione finally admitted, “but I wasn’t scowling!”

Pansy shook her head and glanced at the clock again. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes and turned her gaze back to Hermione. “Where were you?”

“What?” She really felt sorry for Harry sometimes. During the war, Pansy had remained neutral but fed information to Millicent, who had, in turn, given it to Ernie to give to them. A few years after the war, Harry had run into Pansy at the market, of all places, and the next thing Hermione knew, he was at her breakfast table confessing that he’d shagged Pansy Parkinson and wanted to do it again. She was thankful that the years had somewhat mellowed Pansy but she was still a right bitch at times and smarter than Hermione had ever given her credit. She also had a habit of changing moods a dozen times in the span of an hour, which is where Hermione’s pity for her best friend came in.

“Earlier. I know Harry sent for you as soon as I started my fuss because he’s trained well,” she said with an affectionate smile that made Hermione roll her eyes, “but it took you ages to get your arse in here. So where were you? I know you weren’t putting on cosmetics as you have that whole natural woman thing going on that is almost sickening, I must admit, and when you got here, you looked flushed.”

“You were throwing a fit when I got here,” Hermione reminded her as she glanced out the window, unknowingly looking for a glimpse of dark brown hair that looked as if it was sleep tousled in a way that was sexy instead of messy.

“Oh please,” Pansy drawled as she obviously found a distraction from the slow moving minutes on the clock. “I was having a small episode of sorts but I know flushed cheeks when I see them, Granger.”

Great. Reversion to last name meant Pansy was in her ‘Hippogriff with a fish’ mode. The only possible distraction in these circumstances was down the hall getting ready and probably having to calm Ron down. “I had to race down the stairs to get here, Parkinson,” she said. “I think you might be a little flushed after that, too.”

“No.” Pansy shook her head and grinned in a way that made Hermione somewhat nervous. “Racing down the stairs flushed is a bit higher in the cheekbones and would have been sweaty and potentially gross. No, Granger. You had that I’ve been flirting with a sexy man, or woman if that’s where your interest lies, which is okay with us, you know, as love is love regardless of gender but I do expect you to check me out more if it is the latter because I’m hot---“

“I don’t prefer women,” Hermione interrupted before Pansy had organized some mental coming out dinner.

“Are you sure? That would actually explain a lot. Maybe that’s why you never date blokes,” Pansy said thoughtfully, losing her earlier train of thought as she stared at Hermione. “Nah, I’d have noticed. I’m pretty intuitive about those sorts of things.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I think that’s something I might know,” Hermione said as she looked at the clock and wished it was time.

“As I was saying,” Pansy continued as if she’d not just been distracted by thoughts of Hermione being a lesbian, “you had that I’ve been flirting with a sexy man and he flirted back flush. It was low on your cheekbones and your eyes were a bit glazed. Now tell me why it took you so long. Or should I say who delayed you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was not flushed in any sort of flirting and sexy man way.” Hermione stood up and walked to the window, leaning to the side slightly when she saw a man walking by a tree. His hair was too dark to be Cedric, though. Cedric’s hair was sunkissed.

“It’s either fawn over me or tell me who kept you from rushing to my side,” Pansy said firmly. “And you know that I’ll find out even if it requires asking everyone during the reception. Of course, if it comes to that, I’d insist on details, too, and be inclined to embellish things to make the guests more interested.”

“You’re an evil bitch,” Hermione decided as she turned away from the window to stare at her soon to be sister-in-law in the ways that really counted.

“Yes, I am,” Pansy agreed with a smug smile as she sat in the chair Hermione had just vacated and daintily crossed her feet at the ankles. “Now tell me who got you all flushed and distracted you from your bridesmaid duties.”

“It’s nothing,” she told her honestly. “I ran into someone as I was coming downstairs and nearly fell on my arse. He kept me from falling, we exchanged a few words, and then I came down here to help you.”

“It wasn’t Zabini because he’s in Belgium or Belize or some Bel-place or another on business and has to miss the ceremony.”

“Zabini is an obnoxious arse,” Hermione pointed out.

“True, but he is very good-looking and I’ve seen him cause that sort of flush before,” she said with a shrug. “But you’re obviously immune to his seductive charms. Too bad, really, as I’m sure he’d give you a very improper shagging some time.”

“Pansy!”

“Hermione!” Pansy mocked and grinned. “Unlike those silly boys, I do realize you’re a woman and have needs that you’ve been meeting far too long on your own. You’ve probably developed carpal tunnel by now as it’s been ages since you shagged that intense Quidditch bloke and you’re not really the type to shag around without some sort of relationship, in which case I’d have heard about it.”

“Why are we discussing my sex life?” Hermione asked tightly as her cheeks turned a deep red. Pansy always managed to get her to react like some prudish shrew despite her open mindedness and rather mentally casual attitude towards sex. Again, she had to think that she felt sorry for Harry, who blushed if the word sex was even spoken in mixed company it seemed.

“I think lack thereof is more appropriate, dear,” Pansy said with a large grin. “Because it’s fun and I’m bored. If it wasn’t Zabini, then who could it be?” She frowned and Hermione was convinced she could see the brunette running through a mental list of every guest invited before she suddenly snapped her fingers and smiled. “Oh I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Diggory.”

“Being your bridesmaid does not mean that I have to entertain you with a discussion on my personal life,” Hermione decided.

“You Gryffindors need to learn subtlety,” Pansy observed dryly. “If you want to change the subject because you’re gorgeous friend who looks absolutely smashing in her bridal gown, thank you very much, has guessed the correct identity of a certain very handsome Hufflepuff who has caused flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes, you don’t do it so abruptly that she knows she’s right.”

Hermione laughed. “Do you listen to yourself sometimes?”

“Why would I when I have others around to listen to me?” Pansy grinned. “So it was the brave and dashing Cedric who detained you. Remind me to have a word with him after the ceremony. He deserves a proper scolding for interfering with my fit. Perhaps you’d like to spank him? I’ve always thought you were a bit of a kinky one.”

“No, I do not want to spank Cedric.” Hermione glared and tried to ignore how easily an image came to mind of doing just that. “And you won’t mention anything to him because there is nothing to discuss.”

“Of course you don’t, dear,” Pansy said in a very patronizing tone that caused Hermione to scowl. “Well, if you’d simply indulge my curiosity and tell me what happened, I’ll be able to decide if it’s worth a scolding or not. You know, Hermione, I never pegged you as one for a Quidditch player fetish. You wicked minx!”

“I don’t have a---“ Hermione’s voice trailed off as she leaned against the window. Viktor, Ron, Oliver.

“And another point to the Slytherin,” Pansy told her sweetly, obviously amused by her latest distraction from the clock.

“Fine,” Hermione relented. “It really was nothing, Pansy. He was running upstairs to get me for Harry and I was headed downstairs. He ran into me, I nearly fell, he caught me, and we had a brief conversation.”

“That is just---boring,” Pansy declared. “There’s more to it than that. There has to be with the way you two flirt during those boring debates about Ministry politics and the implementation of whatever the fuck it is that keeps you both entertained during dinner parties.”

“We don’t flirt,” she denied. At Pansy’s look, she shrugged. “Okay, maybe there is a little flirting but it doesn’t mean anything. He likes to be a pest and tries to fluster me and I’m horrid at flirting so it certainly doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” she said pointedly. When Hermione frowned and shifted in place, not entirely comfortable discussing Cedric Diggory and the way she usually felt around him, Pansy stood up and walked to the window. “That dress looks gorgeous. I do hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes as I imagine the blokes will be lining up to dance with you, if only in the hopes of looking down your dress.”

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes, glad for the change of subject. “You’re horrid.”

“Thank you. I so worry that marrying a Gryffindor, especially one as bloody nice and decent as Harry, is going to rub off on me and I’ll lose my edge,” Pansy confided with a grin. “I like being a rude bitch. It allows me to get away with a great many things.”

“I imagine it does,” Hermione agreed. “Don’t worry. You’re still an evil Slytherin bitch.”

“You say the sweetest things, Hermione,” Pansy declared before she hugged her. “I appreciate you being my maid of honor. Anyone else wouldn’t have kicked me in the arse and forced me to stop being so dramatic.”

“I’ll kick you in the arse any time you need it, Pansy,” Hermione volunteered with a smile as she hugged her back. “Now stop hugging me or you’ll muss your dress. Do you want me to venture out there and see how things are coming along? I’ll swipe you a tart so your stomach doesn’t growl during the ceremony.”

“Chocolate. Bring me chocolate, brideswench!” Pansy commanded, both of them sharing a laugh at the reference to Seamus’ common declaration during his ceremony.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hermione promised as she tugged her dress back up and snuck out to check on the progress of the garden, get a mental list of who had arrived so far, and steal the bride some chocolate. She’d also check on Harry, she decided, and let him know Pansy was okay and waiting impatiently.

End Part 2.