Archive of Our Own

Hermione fiddled with the strand of unruly hair for the tenth time in as many minutes, and then scowled at herself in the towering mirror that was hung over the dressing table in the small room that was being used as a bridal suite. What did it matter if one bloody piece of hair wasn’t exactly where it should be? It’s not like this was her real wedding.

(It was a real wedding. Legally speaking. But every person they had spoken to had agreed that as soon as they were back in their rightful minds that they would have no problem getting the marriage annulled. The Wizarding Office for Marital Matters had rules and regulations, and even though they might frown at them if they knew what they were up to, they wouldn’t expect them to continue a farce of a marriage. And, as Harry had pointed out the other night when she had talked about it with him, if the worst were to happen, they could always get divorced. Not that Hermione wanted to have any record of this moment in any sort of file attached to her, but if it did happen … well, it wasn’t a Voldemort returns end of the world scenario. She could deal. And if they got the outcome they needed, then it was worth it. No matter what happened.)

As if to spite her and her feelings on the matter, the piece of unruly hair popped out again from the bobby pin that she had just stuck over. She glared. Hair spray, pins and even magic were refusing to cooperate. Was it so much to ask that her hair just did what she wanted?

Again, it wasn’t her real wedding, and Hermione recognized that only too well — her real wedding would be years down the road, to a woman she actually was head over heels, madly in love with, not someone she could merely tolerate on good days — but they were going to have wedding photos taken that people would see. Not to mention the hundreds of guests out there waiting to stare at her as she hopefully walked gracefully, not stumbling, down the aisle. She didn’t want to have an unruly piece of hair for any of that.

She lifted a finger to try again, contemplating how best to approach this stupid piece of hair, when the door behind her opened and a dazzling ray of sunlight struck the mirror and practically blinded her.

“Oh, Merlin!” came a voice over her shoulder, and then Ginny was standing behind her, glowing in her maroon maid of honor dress with her hair perfectly in place in a stylish bun on top of her head.

Hermione caught her eye in the mirror. “It’s that bad?” she moaned.

She saw Ginny frown just a tad, probably at her unruly hair. “Bad?” she said. “You look absolutely stunning Hermione! The most gorgeous bride!"

Hermione scowled at her. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious!” Ginny said, and the weird thing was she did seem serious. She wasn’t laughing or smirking. She didn’t have a glint in her eye like she did when she was teasing. In fact, she was rather staring at Hermione like she couldn’t take her eyes away.

“You’re serious?” Hermione repeated. She lifted a hand to the stray curl. “But this won’t stay in place.”

“You look stunning,” Ginny said. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and sighed, trying to see what Ginny saw. But all she saw was a woman in long, white dress with one hair out of place.

Again, though, why did she even care? All she wanted to do was break a curse — a stupid, miserable curse that had been haunting them for months. So what if Pansy’s parents had insisted on it being real? So what if the Ministry historian insisted it had to be real or it wouldn’t work? So what if they had invited almost everyone they knew (or, well, maybe not actually invited them. Hermione was pretty sure their actual guest list had a total of fifty people on it. But somehow three hundred of them had RSVP’d)? Everyone knew this wasn’t real.

Hermione turned now to Ginny.

“Am I being mad to do this?” she said.

Ginny cocked a brow, “Are you mad to marry Pansy Parkinson, of all people, to break a curse that’s bonding you both together and giving you psychic powers-”

“It’s not psychic powers,” Hermione said.

“-because some old dude at your job said it’s the only way for the curse to end? Yes.”

Hermione felt her shoulders slump. “Should I figure out another way?”

Ginny pulled up a chair, placing it in front of Hermione. She seated herself in it, leaning forward to grab Hermione’s hands.

“Look,” she said. “This whole situation is insane. Completely bullocks. But everyone who seems to know something about it says it will work. So I say, don’t second guess it. Just remember, in this case, you and Pansy both want the same thing.”

“We do,” Hermione said.

“See?” Ginny said. “You’ve got this. Now come on. It’s almost time to go. Let’s go get you married!”

--

Everything was beautiful. Pansy’s parents had let the two of them use their back garden for the ceremony. The gazebo that sat in a corner made the perfect spot for their vows. It was done up in white twinkling lights and red flowers in all different shades. Rows of white chairs sat in front of the gazebo, all of them covered in white flowers.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath as she and Harry moved into view. She turned to look at the man standing beside her, her stomach suddenly flipping and flopping. She had never been one of those girls who had planned out her wedding since she was six years old playing with Muggle dolls, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it. She’d always imagined her father walking down the aisle …

But she still could. This wasn’t her real wedding. When she did have a real wedding, it would be years away. Plenty of time to figure out how to reverse the spell she had put on her parents to keep them safe from Voldemort without causing them harm.

She blinked now, trying to shake away the thought. Harry was looking at her almost admiringly.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” he whispered.

She wanted to remind him it wasn’t real so he didn’t have to act so sentimental, but all she could do was nod before turning to face the front. They took a couple more steps forward and the music changed. The bridal procession.

She took one more moment, to close her eyes and breathe in deeply, and then she tapped Harry’s arm, and together they began to walk, past the rows of chairs and their co-workers and friends and even people who were like family — the Weasleys, the Lovegoods, Andromeda Tonks and Teddy, now four years old.

And then she turned her eyes forward — and for a quick second, her heart stuttered in her chest, and she forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t known Pansy was beautiful — or could be beautiful if she’d stop scowling all the time — it’s just that she had never seen Pansy look like that. She was wearing a dark green suit that looked like it was made for her (and probably was). Her hair was done up in a chignon on top of her head with a few stray curls dropping down. She had on just a light amount of makeup, but it was enough to do the trick. Even from yards away still, Hermione couldn’t help but to stare into those big gorgeous eyes.

But it was more than that. The expression on Pansy’s face was one she had never seen before. There was no trace of a scowl or anger or even scorn. She was just staring at Hermione almost the way Ginny had been looking at her earlier in the bridal room, but far more intense.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm at Pansy’s stare, and she almost wanted to reach up to see if that bloody piece of hair had popped out again. Instead, she closed her eyes even as she and Harry continued forward, reminding herself this wasn’t real, and neither was the way Pansy was looking at her.

Sure, they had been through a lot together in the past few months. Sure, maybe — and maybe was a strong word, but maybe — she might actually consider Pansy someone she didn’t hate anymore. And maybe she had been enjoying the past couple months more than she let on, but it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real..

It was a curse. Just a bloody curse.

--

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow as she looked around the room. Beside her, Pansy Parkinson placed another box on the table and then also wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Is it me or is it extra hot in here today?” she said, panting a little.

Hermione bit back the urge to reply, “It’s you,” and instead she nodded. “I could use some air.”

“How about we unpack this last box and then take a break?”

Hermione looked around the room again. They had done a lot. The contents of the late dear old Esmerelda Contentaine, that had been so nicely donated to the Ministry upon her passing with “the hope that this proves valuable to someone”, were now divided into three piles. The boxes that she and Pansy had yet to go through (and here Hermione wondered once again how the bloody hell she and Pansy had been picked for this task? Had she not been working hard enough at her job? Was she being punished for some offense she had unknowingly made?), the boxes of useless junk that she and Pansy had already sorted through and the one entire box with the six things that might actually prove valuable.

Hermione sighed. Part of her wanted to tell Pansy that she could unpack it herself, but she knew that wasn’t fair. Pansy didn’t want this assignment any more than she did.

“I could definitely use a break,” she said. “Preferably forever.”

Next to her, Pansy let out a small snort. Hermione looked at her curiously.

“Are you actually smiling?” she asked.

“No,” Pansy said immediately, as Hermione raised her brows. But Pansy was already reaching for the box, dragging it across the table toward them. Together they stared down at it.

The box was old, its cardboard almost worn through in some spots, but it was taped up with what looked like three entire rolls of Muggle tape.

“What is this?” Pansy said, wrinkling her nose.

Hermione shook her head and pointed her wand at the box.

“Diffindo,” she said, and she and Pansy watched as the spell cut perfectly through the tape on the box.

Hermione put her wand down and yanked some of the old excess tape off the box. A cloud of red colored dust rose from the box, making her choke.

“Ughhh!” Pansy said, throwing her hands over her face.

Hermione rubbed a hand across her eyes. She was not excited to see what was inside this box, but the sooner she looked, the sooner they could get a bit of reprieve.

She pulled open the flaps of the box and then looked down into it.

“The bloody hell?” she said.

Pansy’s face appeared beside hers, also looking down.

“It’s empty!” Pansy said.

“Maybe it’s not-“ Hermione started, about to mention that maybe they should get some equipment to test for invisible objects, but she was too late. Pansy stuck the tip of her wand into the box and began moving it around.

“Nothing,” she said, and then waved her wand once more.

And in the second, the room exploded.

A blinding light.

An ear-shattering sound.

And Hermione felt her entire body lifted off the ground and flung across the room. She hit the wall, her head striking it hard, and slid to the floor amid the blackness.

--

She woke up coughing. Every muscle in her body ached. So did her bones and her joints and somehow even her blood. She struggled to sit up, to push herself to her hands and knees, still doubled over, still coughing.

She forced herself to open her eyes, but she couldn’t see anything. Not darkness exactly, but something else was in the air. Like a cloud of red, floating around.

She coughed more, and then she felt it. Like a loud whine in her head. Literally in her head. She pressed her hand to her temple as the sound got louder and louder. She didn’t even realize she was screaming in pain until she stopped, her whole body heaving, her lungs fighting for air.

And then she remembered. The box. The explosion. Pansy’s wand.

Pansy.

“Pansy!” she called out, but her voice came out like a croak. “Pansy!” she tried again.

“Hermione?” came a voice. Or what should have been a voice. It also sounded more like a croak then a voice and, oddly, it sounded like it was coming from inside her head. Hermione pressed her hand harder against her temple.

“Pansy?” she tried again.

“Why are you yelling?” Again, Pansy’s voice seemed to be coming from inside her head,

“I’m not yelling.” She blinked around her, turning her head, trying to figure out where Pansy actually was. Where she actually was.

The red in the air was slowing dwindling, the smoke or whatever it was finally settled. Hermione blinked, wiped her eyes and managed to crawl a few steps toward what she thought was the middle of the room. Off to her right, she could see a shadowy figure doing the same thing.

“Are you okay?” she croaked in the direction of the person she assumed was Pansy.

“Besides your annoyingly loud voice,” Pansy said, again her voice seeming like it was coming from inside Hermione’s skull. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Hermione repeated.

A cough to her right. A loud hacking cough.

“Okay, no,” Pansy said. “I’m not okay. But I’m alive, and no broken bones. Just an insane migraine.”

“Me too,” Hermione said. “Your voice sounds like it’s coming from inside my head.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pansy scoffed, her voice rising a notch and making Hermione clasp her head in pain. “It’s you who is in my head.”

“I am definitely not in your head,” Hermione said. “But we probably need to get out of here.”

“You think?”

Hermione fought the desire to say something rude, but her head was pounding, and her lungs were aching and her whole body was in pain, and who even knew what was in the red stuff falling on them. It could be a slow-acting poison for all they knew.

She looked around for where the door could possibly be, but before she could move, she heard something thud. The sound of a door hitting the wall. And then a voice, this one thankfully familiar and thankfully not in her head.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry Potter said. “This is not good.”

--

The Healers cleared them. They put some salve on the bruises on their bodies and on the few cuts they had gotten from crashing into the walls. They helped relieve their headaches and the aches in their joints and muscles, and they confirmed that whatever the red substance in the air was, it did not inhibit their breathing or their lungs in any way after they were free of the room.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement employees who gathered around them did not share the same optimistic outlook. Different departments were testing the box, trying to sort out what had been in it and what might have set it off, but by nightfall they hadn’t come up with anything.

Hermione spent most of her day in a small private room at St. Mungo’s, desperately wanting to head back to the Ministry, but even though the Healers said they were physically fine, Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic wanted her and Pansy to be observed for a few extra hours just as a precaution.

So far, everything had been fine. As the pain in her head had subsided, so did the voices coming from inside it. Now when people talked to her, it was normal — sound coming from their mouths alone, just how it should be.

Finally, just as Hermione could hear the sounds of dinner being served to the other rooms down the hall and was dreading what hospital delicacies she was going to be asked to eat, Harry appeared in her doorway with a grin.

“Kingsley says you are free to go,” he told her.

“Oh, thank Merlin!”

“But he says you need to go home. You can head back to the office in the morning.”

Hermione started to grumble, but then she thought better of it. As much as she wanted to know what the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had discovered about the box she and Pansy had opened, she really had no desire to go unpack other boxes right now.

Instead she shrugged.

“Whatever gets me out of here,” she said.

“That’s the spirit!” Harry said. “Now let’s go get Pansy. Unfortunately, we have to take her with us too.”

Hermione smiled at little at that even as she hoisted herself out of bed, slipping her Ministry robes back on and looking around to make sure she had all her belongings.

Pansy was sitting on the end of her bed, looking so completely annoyed that it reminded Hermione immediately of being back at Hogwarts and Pansy scowling at anyone and everyone she didn’t approve of.

“We can go,” Hermione told her.

Pansy turned her head. Hermione expected her to jump off the bed, or at least smile a little, but instead she scowled even more and rubbed her head.

“Why do you insist on yelling?” she said, and her voice didn’t come from across the room. It came from inside Hermione’s head, loud and painful.

She yelped, and Pansy did too, both of them grabbing their heads at the same time.

Harry stared at them, his head turning from one to the other. It would have been funny, Hermione thought distractedly, if everything wasn’t hurting.

“What is going on?” Harry asked, his focus stopping on Hermione.

She looked away from Harry, staring at Pansy.

“I think we need to go to the Ministry,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice low even as Pansy winced in pain. “Something is horribly wrong.”

--

An Unspeakable, whose name Hermione didn’t know and who they weren’t allowed to ask about, took notes as they talked, each of them simultaneously trying to explain what they knew while rubbing their own heads as the other’s voice echoed painfully inside.

When they were done telling anything that could possibly be of use, the Unspeakable — a tall, thin boy with shaggy black hair — put his wand to his lips and looked thoughtful. Then he excused himself for a few minutes.

Pansy, Hermione and Harry, who had refused to leave them, waited silently for what felt like hours before he returned, looking more grim than when he had left.

“What?” Pansy said, a little too loudly, and Hermione whimpered, grabbing her head with her hands.

“Sorry,” Pansy said, dropping her voice to a whisper, which still seemed to echo around Hermione’s head but not in a painful way. Just a strange sensation, like a small fly trapped in her brain and trying to find its way out.

“I’ve never seen something like this before,” the Unspeakable started, and Hermione almost rolled her eyes since that part seemed obvious. “But I believe I know what it is.”

Both Pansy and Hermione turned to him, eyes wide, on alert.

“There is a curse,” the Unspeakable said. “From centuries ago. There were rumours of this curse, but no one has ever seen it, so it’s only rumours.”

“Please get to the point,” Pansy interrupted.

“But back in the old days,” the Unspeakable said, like he had never been interrupted, “some people put spells on their children to help them get betrothed.”

“What?” Pansy said. Hermione rubbed her head and glared at her.

“Let’s say a poor father of a peasant girl wanted his daughter to grow up and marry the son of a lord. No son of that class is going to look at his girl, but if there was a way that they had to be together.”

“Are you saying we were hit with a love curse?” Pansy said, her voice rising again, in and out of Hermione’s head, but this time Hermione could hardly blame her.

“Not just a curse,” the Unspeakable said. “It’s more a …. A way to join souls.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice calm.

“It means that you both most likely breathed in this substance, this curse, which has now bonded you. It’s why you can hear each other’s thoughts while you are in close proximity.”

“Why she’s in my head, you mean,” Pansy said, and the Unspeakable nodded.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “So we just maintain a great distance from each other while you figure out how to cure us.”

Pansy nodded, looking like she was ready to bolt right now. That suited Hermione just fine. It wasn’t like she needed to be close to Pansy Parkinson at any time. Or ever again really.

“It doesn’t work like that,” the Unspeakable said.

“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?” Hermione said. “You just said it did.”

“No,” the Unspeakable said, and he almost sounded annoyed. Like he was the one who had voices running through his head. “I said that’s why you can hear each other’s thoughts right now. But this is just the beginning of the curse. It will grow stronger, and when it does …”

He paused, but he didn’t have to say more.

“We’ll hear each other no matter how far apart we are,” Pansy filled in.

“Correct.”

“But there’s a cure, right?” Hermione said. “There has to be a cure.”

The Unknowable stared at her. “Perhaps,” he said. “We will do everything to find one. But until then-“

“Until then we just suffer?” Pansy said, her voice growing loud again. Hermione winced, wondering if magical aspirin would do the trick.

“Until we find a cure,” the Unspeakable said, “we can offer a solution.”

“We’ll take a solution!” Hermione said immediately. Pansy nodded in affirmation.

“Well,” the Unspeakable said. “Back in olden times, the point of the curse was to marry off their daughters and sons to people in wealthier classes. So the only way to stop the curse was for the two parties to get married and fall in love.”

“What?” Pansy and Hermione said in unison.

“You want us to get married?” Pansy said, as if she couldn’t possibly have heard right. Hermione wanted to believe neither one of them had.

“You asked for a solution,” the Unspeakable said. “That’s the solution.”

“We actually asked for a cure,” Hermione said.

“All I can give you is a solution,” said the Unspeakable, in a voice that did not seem to indicate he found any of this at all problematic. Just another day on the job.

“And if they get married, the curse will be broken?” Harry chimed in as Pansy and Hermione stared at each other, Hermione’s thoughts reeling.

“Not broken,” the Unspeakable said. “But it will cure the symptoms for a while.”

“What’s a while?” Harry said.

The Unspeakable shrugged. “It was meant to cause people to fall in love. Just marriage won’t stop it forever.”

“This is ridiculous!” Pansy said, her voice so loud and forceful, Hermione had to bring both her hands to her own head. “This has got to be a joke!”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” the Unspeakable said.

“I want this curse taken off us!” Pansy said, getting even louder. Hermione’s head throbbed with the pain.

“We’re doing what we can.” The Unspeakable got to his feet. “What you do with the information until then is up to you. I’ll be in touch when I know more.”

And then he was walking across the room, disappearing out the door and leaving them behind like it was just another day and this was just another funny discovery in his line of work. Not even noticing the wreckage and the horror that he left behind.

--

Pansy was raging. Deservedly so, but the pain was too much. Hermione was almost doubled over, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to scream — “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” — but instead she let Harry take her by the arm and lead her down the hall and out of the Ministry of Magic through the service elevators, Hermione crying the entire way.

It wasn’t until they were walking down the streets of London, mixing in with the Muggles that Hermione even realized where they were.

“Should we have left like that?”she said worriedly, getting her bearings as they walked. She realized Harry was leading her back toward the small flat she had been living in for the past year.

“It’s fine,” Harry said to her, casting her a look, probably trying to see if she was somewhat close to okay physically. “I asked the guard on duty to call Daphne for her. She’ll be fine.”

“But …” Hermione trailed off, reaching out a hand to touch her head. It was pleasantly silent for the moment, but the memory of Pansy’s voice echoing around inside it was strong.

“I know you can’t just stay apart forever,” Harry said. “But I’m guessing this curse took time to build up. It was created to force people together so it had to start small, make people curious, that kind of thing.”

“So if we’re apart for a few days, it should be okay,” Hermione finished.

“I hope so,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “I hope so too.”

--

Hermione didn’t sleep that night. Harry offered to stay, but she sent him home, insisting she needed her space. And she did. She needed space and time to think. About this curse and this supposed solution and how much time they had before things got worse.

She needed a library, and books, and to read up on ancient curses and how they worked, but even as she started wondering how many libraries she could go to in the morning, she knew the chances of finding anything helpful in one were slim. If the Unspeakables didn’t already have the information, the chances the information was written down at all was slim.

But maybe Harry was right. Maybe the curse was a slow acting one — it made sense that it would be drawn out. Courtships didn’t happen overnight, even back then, and longer ones would draw less suspicion than two people suddenly wanting to get married when they hadn’t even talked before. Plus, it wouldn’t have been like the curse was known, so the whole thing about marriage would have had to come up organically, and that made it even more likely the curse would take its time to reach full effect.

Maybe the Unspeakables would have the cure long before that even happened. Hermione hoped so. The idea of having to marry Pansy Parkinson and listen to her loud annoying voice in her head forever made her stomach twist and turn, and she thought she was going to be sick right there.

In the morning, when the sun finally rose and sent blinding light through her bedroom window, Hermione pulled herself out of bed and quickly dressed. She was dreading seeing Pansy, but they needed to talk. Maybe they could figure out a way to do so without giving each other migraines.

But Pansy wasn’t at work that next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Instead, days went by and then a week and then two weeks and there was still no sign of her. Hermione almost forgot what had happened to them. She had been taking off the assignment of unpacking the late dear old Esmerelda Contentaine’s wordly possessions and instead she was handling a lot of tedious paperwork, but tedious paperwork was something she could do, and something she could do well, and it needed to be done so it was easy to find herself lost in the routine of it all, doing what she did best without thinking of anything else.

Until the night, about two weeks after she and Pansy were cursed, when she stepped out of the Ministry of Magic offices only to be hit by the worst headache she’d had since that horrible day. It came on so sudden and so strong she found herself dropping her bag on the ground and following suit, her knees buckling as she hit the pavement, her hands immediately going to her head.

She cried out, her pain ringing out into the night air, until another cry of pain rung back. A different cry. And she knew then that it had finally happened. The curse had evolved. She was hearing Pansy in her head, even though they were miles apart.

They couldn’t avoid the curse anymore. They needed to face it head on.

It was finally time.

--

She gave Pansy her address. Spoke it out into the night air after she managed to clamber back to her feet.

“Come by,” she said into the silent streets around her. “There has to be a way to sort this out.”

It was something she had thought about during the periods she had remembered the curse that was placed on them, mostly during the nights when she lay alone in her bed, going over everything that happened. The curse, according to the Unspeakable, had been meant to make two people fall in love and want to be married. But no one would want to marry someone whose voice in their head was a constant source of pain and agony. So there had to be a way to stop it, a way that would also bring two people together.

And Hermione thought she had an idea of what that would be.

Pansy didn’t arrive at Hermione’s flat until past midnight. By then, Hermione had thought she wasn’t going to come. Pansy hadn’t said anything back, had given no indication that she had heard, and she had left Hermione alone for the most part, her head silent the rest of her walk home and as she changed into her nightdress and made a cup of tea.

She had been just about to get into bed when the knock came on her door.

“It’s me,” Pansy whispered directly into Hermione’s head.

Hermione opened the door immediately and ushered her in.

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered.

Pansy nodded, looking like she didn’t have much of a choice. Which, Hermione supposed, she didn’t. Unless they wanted someone else screaming into their head for their entire lives.

“I want to try something,” Hermione whispered, keeping her voice as low as possible. They would have to try later if just mouthing the words would still echo in the other’s head. She indicated Pansy’s hand. “Hold your hand out.”

Pansy looked at her warily, but then she held her hand out toward Hermione. Hermione took it, clasping her own fingers around Pansy’s.

Pansy stared at her and then down at their hands.

“So now you’re into holding hands?” she said, sounding frustrated, and Hermione beamed.

“It works!”

“What wo ….?” Pansy stopped, her face also lighting up. “Merlin! I can’t hear you!”

“Let go,” Hermione ordered. They both dropped the other’s hand.

“What …?” Pansy started, a little too loud.

“Ow!” Hermione said.

“Ow!” Pansy said.

Immediately they grabbed on to each other’s hand again.

“Holding hands stops it,” Pansy breathed.

Hermione nodded. “Physical touch, I’m thinking,” she said. “The curse was designed to get two people to fall in love, right? So there had to be a way — before the marriage thing — to ease the symptoms or else it would never work.”

“Touching,” Pansy said. “And snogging probably.” She smirked. “And what do you bet having sex eases symptoms for a day at least?”

Hermione thought about that, her stomach sinking as she realized Pansy was probably right.

“We don’t need to find that out right now,” Hermione said.

“We do not,” Pansy agreed immediately.

Both their eyes dropped to their hands, wrapped around each other.

“But then what do we do?” Pansy said. “We hold hands until these bloody Unspeakables sort this out? Or we just never talk to anyone else so we don’t hurt each other with our voices?”

Hermione shrugged. The gravity of the situation was so much worse than she could have imagined. They had a small cure in hand, but Pansy was right — putting it into action came with so many complications.

“I don’t know,” she whispered miserably. “I really don’t.”

--

Hermione ended up moving in with Pansy. Pansy’s flat was bigger and easily able to accommodate two people until this whole situation was resolved. And while they were together, it was easy enough to whisper or mouth the words — they had discovered that did actually work — when they needed to talk.

The main problem was they couldn’t talk to anyone else unless the other was with them, holding hands or touching shoulders or resting a leg on the other’s knee. At the Ministry, when a coworker had walked in to talk about the latest case and Hermione began to excitedly explain things, she had heard a scream from down the hall, and a few moments later Pansy had burst through her door looking ready to kill.

“I’m so sorry!” Hermione had said, grabbing Pansy’s hand.

A few days after that, Daphne had told Pansy that Draco had asked Astoria to marry him, and Pansy had shrieked in excitement. A few doors down, Hermione had felt like she was dying, the pain literally causing her to tumble out of her chair, clutching her head while lying on the floor, moaning.

Pansy had been at her side in an instant, her hands stroking Hermione’s forehead and her hair as she whispered frantic apologies. Even Daphne had apologized profusely.

The Ministry moved them into the same office after that — Hermione’s, since it was bigger — but it was hard to get anything done when they had to keep holding hands or keeping their legs touching every time someone came in to see them. Eventually, they were allowed to take some of their work home to do it from Pansy’s flat, but everyone knew this solution couldn’t last forever, and the Unspeakables seemed to have made zero progress on how to cure them as far as Hermione could tell.

On the sixth week to the day after they had been struck by the curse, Pansy and Hermione sat across from each other at the dining table, their food untouched in front of them. They hadn’t left the flat in over a week, and they were both growing restless. They needed a reprieve, a few days of normalcy.

“We could try it,” Pansy said. “It’s just sex, and if it helps.”

“It has to help,” Hermione agreed. “It makes sense.”

“So we do it then?” Pansy said. “Just have sex? Make sure the other orgasms in case that does the trick?”

“It seems like a good plan,” Hermione said. She let her eyes drift behind Pansy where she could see the papers scattered in their living room from the day’s work. “The plan we have now isn’t so great.”

“It is not,” Pansy said. “I think we need to try it.”

“I think so too.”

“So let’s go have sex then?”

“Let’s go have sex then,” Hermione said.

--

It wasn’t as awkward as Hermione had feared it would be. In fact, it was actually quite nice. They had stood together in Pansy’s bedroom, the lights dimmed, the covers on her huge bed pulled back. Hermione had started to peel her own clothes off, but Pansy had shaken her head.

“Let me,” she said. “We want this to be as real as possible.”

She had moved closer to Hermione, her fingers reaching up to touch Hermione’s cheeks before dropping down to the hem of her shirt. Slowly, Pansy undressed Hermione, removing her shirt and her trousers until she was standing there in her bra and knickers.

Pansy smiled at her as she took her in, and if Hermione hadn’t known better, she would have thought Pansy almost looked impressed.

Pansy peeled Hermione’s bra off next, taking her time as she wrapped her hands around Hermione’s breasts, taking her nipples into her mouth, running her tongue over them and around them.

And then she continued down, dropping to her knees before Hermione and placing her fingers on the hem of Hermione’s knickers.

Hermione felt herself shudder slightly as Pansy took in a deep breath.

“You smell nice,” Pansy said, and her words echoed only in the room around them.

And then Pansy was pulling Hermione’s knickers down her legs and off her feet before pushing Hermione’s legs wide. Pansy lifted a finger, pressed it between Hermione’s legs and then began rubbing her gently. Hermione groaned, every nerve in her body coming to life at the same time, her belly warming as an unexpected rush of arousal filled her.

Pansy knew exactly what she was doing. She took her time, exploring every bit of Hermione until Hermione was writhing and thrashing and moaning, and only then did Pansy slip her fingers inside Hermione’s body and bring her to her climax in a rush of heat and pleasure until Hermione was panting heavily as they both lay on the bed.

Hermione didn’t think her skills would compare to Pansy’s, but she undressed the woman beside her and took her time kissing and stroking every part of Pansy’s body, admiring just how soft and strong she was when she was lying naked before her. And if Pansy thought Hermione smelled good, then Pansy was missing out, Hermione thought, as she buried her nose between Pansy’s legs and stroked every part of her with her tongue.

And by the time Hermione slipped her own fingers inside Pansy, Pansy was panting and moaning, and when Hermione twisted her fingers and thrusted harder, Pansy cried out, the sound reverberating around the room, and it was one of the best sounds Hermione had ever heard.

They went another round just to make sure they had done enough to satisfy the curse, and then they curled up in each other’s arms and slept, waking up hours later, the sun still coursing brightly through their window.

“Let’s try this then.” Pansy spoke first, her words completely business like, and Hermione nodded, reminding herself this had only been a test to see if it would help their whole awful situation.

“Good idea,” Hermione said, and she watched as Pansy slipped out of bed, pulled on a Slytherin green robe and made her way out to the kitchen.

“Can you hear me?” Pansy shouted after a minute, her voice entirely too loud for their flat, but Hermione only heard it coming from the kitchen. Her mind was blissfully clear.

“Only because you’re shouting!” she hollered back, and a moment later, Pansy appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, a grin across her face.

“We did it!” she cried. “It does work!”

Hermione couldn’t help grinning back at her just as wide.

“Should we celebrate?” Hermione asked.

“You know we should,” Pansy said. “Get dressed now. We’re going out to a pub!”

--

The silence in their heads lasted a glorious four days until Pansy’s voice, coming from the living room where she was talking to Daphne in the floo, echoed once more in Hermione’s head.

“Oh no,” Hermione said out loud, and a moment later she heard Pansy say, “Oh no,” as well.

They had sex again that night, and every two to three days after that.

“We don’t want to risk it,” Pansy said one night, as they lay beside each other, covered in sweat.

“We do not,” Hermione agreed. She fiddled with the sheet, wondering if she should say the thought that had been running through her head the past couple days.

She felt Pansy’s eyes on her and on her fingers as she twisted and turned the sheet between them.

“You think we should get married, don’t you?” Pansy said.

“No,” Hermione said immediately. “Well, yes, but … no, not if you don’t want.”

“It is nice not having your painful voice in my head,” Pansy said.

“Not that the solution we have now isn’t working,” Hermione said. “We could keep doing this.”

“Until it doesn’t work anymore,” Pansy said. “It can’t last forever, can it? The curse was for marriage, not for sex for eternity.”

Hermione laughed, but then she thought about what Pansy was saying. “You’re probably right,” she said.

“So we should do it,” Pansy said. “We should get married. Not for real or anything. But we get married and then hopefully those bloody Unspeakables get us a real cure.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “We should get married. We could go to the Ministry Office of …”

“No,” Pansy said.

“No?”

“If we’re going to fake a wedding, we’re going to do it right.”

“That costs money, you know,” Hermione said.

“And my parents have more of it than they know what to do with.” Pansy shrugged. “My mum has been dying for a chance to plan a wedding. She’ll be ecstatic.”

“To plan a wedding to someone who you are only faking marrying to break a curse?”

Pansy shrugged again. “Believe me,” she said. “My mum will be ecstatic no matter what.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. “If you’re sure.”

Pansy laughed. “I am. You’ll see.”

--

Pansy was right. Her mum was more than happy to plan all the details of their so-called wedding.

“It needs to look as real as possible!” she said the first time the three of them met to go over plans.

“It’s just to break a curse,” Hermione had said.

“Do you think magic doesn’t know?” Pansy’s mum said, and Hermione had no words to dispute that.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “If you think it’s best.”

“I do,” Pansy’s mum said, and that was that.

A month later, invitations had been sent, catering had been set, a cake had been ordered, outfits were in the process of being created and a team of experts was transforming Pansy’s parents’ back garden into the wedding of their dreams.

In the meantime, Hermione and Pansy had returned to work at the Ministry, now that they had their curse under control, and the Unspeakables had not found anything that would help cure them forever. Hermione was beginning to wonder if they were working on it at all, or they had just decided to leave her and Pansy to fend for themselves. Or maybe they had forgotten about it.

Though if they had, they were the only ones. The Ministry was full of people talking non-stop about Hermione and Pansy’s wedding, even people Hermione had never even talked to before.

“Is your mum inviting every single person who works here?” Hermione asked Pansy one day over lunch. Pansy shook her head and rolled her eyes, even while taking a bite of her lunch.

“I told her she better not dare,” she said. “But my mum isn’t really known for listening to me.” She made a face.

“Does she not realize you might want an actual real wedding in the future?” Hermione said.

Pansy shrugged again. ”Maybe she’s worried this is the only chance she’ll get. I always use to tell her I was just going to elope.”

“So it’s your fault your mum is going overboard with this?”

Pansy laughed. “No,” she said. “My mum has always been crazy. That is not, nor has never been, my fault.”

--

Hermione and Harry had almost reached the end of the aisle where the Minister and Pansy were waiting for them. Pansy still had that same look on her face, like she couldn’t quite believe that this was happening or that Hermione looked like she did. And Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from Pansy and how she seemed to be glowing.

It had been days since they had last had each other’s voices in their heads. They had sex almost every day now (“It’s a good stress relief for a stressful situation,” Pansy always said, and how could Hermione argue with that?), and although they had thought about backing off to see how long it would be before the curse returned, they hadn’t actually done so.

And now, with their wedding and their vows and tonight’s consummation of it all, maybe there was a chance the curse would be gone for good. Or at least until the Unspeakables could rid them of it forever.

And then Hermione and Pansy could move on with their lives. Except Hermione didn’t want to think about that now, not when the sun was glittering down and Pansy was smiling at her and Harry had his arm wrapped through hers and most everyone they knew and loved were watching her and Pansy as if they were some fairytale couple that everyone was rooting for.

It was a lot, but in a way that was better than Hermione could have ever expected.

They reached the end of the aisle and Harry helped Hermione up the couple steps to the top of the platform, before passing her hand to Pansy and then slipping back into the crowd. Off to Hermione’s left side were her attendants — Ginny, Luna and Ron — and off to Pansy’s side were hers — Daphne, Astoria and Draco. All of them were smiling, watching her and Pansy. All of them were also looking gorgeous, but none of them as gorgeous as the woman beside her, her hand now nestled in Hermione’s.

Pansy’s hand was soft, warm and — Hermione realized with a shock — it was safe. A harbour in the rough storm that had become their lives since they opened that bloody box in the Ministry of Magic. A cure for the ails that followed. The one person who knew exactly what she was feeling because she was feeling it too.

Something swelled in Hermione’s chest. Something warm and almost suffocating. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the tears that were threatening. Pansy squeezed her hand, almost as if she knew.

“We are gathered here today,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepping forward. It wasn’t every couple that had the Minister for Magic officiate their wedding, but he had offered. Perhaps out of guilt or friendship or professional obligation. Hermione wasn’t sure, but he was smiling at the two of them like this was the greatest day. “To celebrate the marriage of these two brilliantly extraordinary women,” he continued, and the crowd of people behind Pansy and Hermione cheered loudly, as if they were at a Quidditch match and someone had just caught the Snitch.

The rest of the ceremony was almost a blur, Kingley’s words washing over them as their friends and family smiled and cheered and laughed at various points. And then Hermione was taking Pansy’s hands and Pansy was taking hers and they were repeating vows, promising to love and cherish and be there is sick and health, and then they were slipping on rings and saying “I do” and everyone was cheering, and finally Kingsley beamed at them both, even more so than he had done before.

“I now pronounce you wife and wife! You may kiss each other!” he said, and they came together, she and Pansy, wrapping their arms carefully around each other as their lips met and something exploded inside Hermione, something magical and amazing and she didn’t know if it were the curse or the wedding or what, but for a moment she didn’t care.

--

The reception went on into all hours of the night. Pansy’s mum had really gone all out, setting up an elaborate dance floor in the garden, with music playing and drinks flowing and food never entirely disappearing. Hermione and Pansy sat together at the head table as their attendants toasted them and so did Kingsley and Pansy’s parents and Molly and Arthur Weasley, and no one mentioned a curse or an annulment or anything else that would have indicated to someone who hadn’t known that this wasn’t a wedding completely done for love.

Hermione and Pansy toasted each other with champagne, fed each other cake and danced for hours in each other’s arms. They made the rounds together, talking to all their guests, laughing and smiling and letting the photographer Pansy’s mum had hired snap photos.

It was almost perfect, almost the best night of Hermione’s life. Except for the moments, the brief seconds, when she would feel Pansy beside her and remember — remember that this wasn’t real, that it was all for the benefit of a curse, that her feelings were clouded by something magical and not something real (but could the curse cause feelings? The Unspeakable hadn’t said that. Just pain until feelings happened. But weren’t feelings formed from the purpose of avoiding pain feelings that were built on a false premise? How could they be real? But how could they not be when they felt real?).

And then as if they were in a real-life fairytale, somewhere a clock struck midnight, and Pansy turned to Hermione, her smile from the night not having faded at all.

“That’s our cue,” she said, and together they made one last quick round, hugging their friends, their families, goodbye, thanking them for everything.

“I’ve never seen you look so happy,” Harry whispered into Hermione’s ear as she hugged him.

“You are one glowing bride,” Ginny said when she hugged her. “Enjoy tonight.”

And then they were in the back of a Ministry car, being whisked away to an out of the way inn where they would stay for a couple days, because as Pansy’s mum had told them, “Even fake weddings deserve honeymoons.”

The room waiting for them was large, with huge windows that would overlook the sea once the sun rose but for tonight looked out on a black sky filled with stars and a full moon.

Pansy lay Hermione down on the bed, running her finger through every fold of her long white dress.

“Do you know how badly I’ve been wanting to take this off of you?” she said into Hermione’s ear before she snogged her gently. Her voice was deep, husky, and Hermione blinked, sighed, even as she snogged Pansy back.

They broke apart and Hermione reached up a hand, tugging on a strand of Pansy’s dark hair. There was no light on in the room, no candles, no torches, but the lights of the stars and the moon seemed to form a soft glow around Pansy, lighting her up almost as though she were an angel.

“Maybe as long as I’ve been wanting you to take it off me,” Hermione whispered back, her own voice also throaty, maybe from talking all night to so many people or maybe from something else. Maybe from the arousal that was curling in her belly and traveling south, warming her entire body, cuasing her nerve endings to start going crazy in anticipation.

“Maybe,” Pansy said, and then she moved off Hermione, picking up her wand that Hermione hadn’t realized was lying at the foot of the bed.

Pansy waved it, whispering the spell under her breath, and then both Hermione and Pansy watched as Hermione’s dress began to move around Hermione’s body, sliding upward in a wall of white until Hermione felt her arms being forced back above her head and then white cloth covered her face and her back was arching and her legs were straightening and she felt herself lifted just so from the bed, floating there, and then the dress was gone and she was still floating there, and then it was time for her undergarments to take their turn, moving and slithering and sliding off her body until she was still floating there, a few inches above the bed, and she was completely bare, her legs spread wide, and Pansy was staring at her the same way she had been staring at her when Hermione reached her on the podium.

“You’re beautiful,” Pansy whispered, almost as if she were in awe, and then she wrapped an arm around Hermione’s body and pressed her lips to Hermione’s, and Hermione felt herself drift back to the bed, the comforter soft and silky beneath her back.

And she rolled over, pushing Pansy back, so she could peel off the green robe and the white tank top and pants underneath and the green brassiere and knickers, and then soon both of them were naked, and they wrapped their arms around each other and pressed their lips together and entwined their legs and then Pansy cast another spell, right there between their legs, and they both began to move, slowly at first and then faster, harder, their fingers gripping on to each other, their breath coming in pants, their bodies rubbing together, and then the world was narrowing and there was nothing left except for Hermione and Pansy and Pansy and Hermione and a wave of pleasure that was all-consuming, and Hermione was shaking and panting and moaning and crying and Pansy was too and they clung to each other and continued to move until they crashed down on to the bed, exhausted and spent but happier than Hermione could ever remember being before they drifted off to sleep.

--

They stayed at the little inn by the sea for four days, the days spent walking along the ocean’s edge and trying the different restaurants in the small town down the road and the nights spent in their room, using magic and fingers and tongues to make each other feel and experience things they hadn’t tried before.

But the night before they were to go home, they didn’t fall to sleep after they’d had sex. Instead, they lay awake into the night, listening to the sound of the ocean outside their window.

“How long do you think our marriage will keep the curse from returning?” Pansy said. Hermione turned her head in the dark room to look at her. She couldn’t see the details of her face, but she could make out enough.

“I’m not sure,” she said, even though she had been thinking about it ever since they had decided to get married. “Perhaps a year.”

“That makes sense,” Pansy said. “A year is a good amount of time for people to know if what they have is real. But …”

Pansy stopped. Hermione could see her wrinkling her brow.

“But what?” she said.

“But what if it’s real?” she said. “I mean, for those couples where it became real. Do you think it just disappeared forever, or was the curse always there? Did it come back if they ever fell out of love? And if it was always there, then how would they know …”

She didn’t finish but Hermione knew what she was thinking. How would they know if what they had was ever real or not? Couldn’t magic get things wrong? Not all magic was good.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe they did used to have a cure for it.”

“They just forgot to pass that info along?” Pansy scoffed.

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe the people who were performing the curse didn’t really care about the aftermath. They just wanted their daughters or sons wedded to the right people. I don’t think they cared about their kids’ happiness. That was probably just a bonus.”

“Yeah,” Pansy said. “You’re probably right.” Another pause. “That’s sad though. Your whole life because of a curse and never getting to choose.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “It is sad.”

“Do you think they’ll find a cure for us?” Pansy said.

“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to sound confident. She wanted to add something else, that maybe it wasn’t so entirely horrible anymore if they didn’t find it any time soon, but she didn’t. Sure, this was their honeymoon, and sure it was everything she could have wanted in a real honeymoon, but it wasn’t real and she needed to not forget that. “They have to find a cure eventually, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, “I think you’re right.” But Hermione didn’t miss the way her voice wavered, just so when she spoke the last word.

--

Married life, Hermione found, wasn’t all that different than unmarried life. They still lived together, they still worked together — mostly from the Ministry now but sometimes from the bigger flat they had moved into once they realized they might be married for months, or years — and they still slept together.

“I’m not going to cheat on you or anything,” Pansy said when Hermione questioned if she wanted to still be having sex. “And it’s fun.”

“It is fun,” Hermione said. “And there isn’t anyone I want to date at this time.”

“So we might as well,” Pansy said.

“We might as well,” Hermione agreed.

And so they continued on, and life continued on, and they spent all their time together (in case the curse decided to activate, Hermione reminded herself), and people treated them like they were a real couple and sometimes it was easy to forget they weren’t, and as every day passed, the curse and the cure got further and further from Hermione’s mind until it was something she rarely even thought about.

Until the month before their first anniversary when the same Unspeakable who had been with them the night they were cursed asked to meet with them again.

“We found a cure,” he announced to them without even waiting for the appropriate small talk to happen, and Hermione felt her mouth drop open. A quick glance to her right told her Pansy’s mouth was also hanging open.

“You found a cure?” Hermione repeated.

The Unspeakable nodded. “It’s a potion. You’ll have to take it every day for thirty days, but it should do the trick.” He clasped his hands together and then pulled them apart, symbolizing the breaking of their bond, Hermione realized. “And then no more curse. No more marriage. No more anything if you don’t want it.”

Hermione’s mouth felt dry. Her hands clammy. The Unspeakable looked at them expectantly, probably waiting to be showered in confetti for the glorious news.

“That’s amazing,” Hermione finally said.

“Yeah,” Pansy said.

“I thought you’d be thrilled,” the Unspeakable said, even though Hermione thought they seemed anything but thrilled. “You can start as soon as tonight. I’ll send our Healer down with the paperwork.”

“Great,” Hermione managed.

“Perfect,” Pansy said, and then the Unspeakable was on his feet and out the door, and Hermione met Pansy’s eyes, but neither one of them knew exactly what to say.

--

The paperwork was signed. The first dose of the potion lay in front of them. The potion that would break the curse between them forever.

“Thirty doses,” Hermione said, staring at it. “Thirty days. And then I guess I can move out, and you can get your life back.”

“Yeah,” Pansy said.

“We should be happy about this, right?” Hermione said. “It’s what we wanted.”

Pansy shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “Probably. Though it’s different now, right? I don’t hear your voice in my head. We don’t have to hold hands all day. It’s not like this will change anything.”

“Except the marriage,” Hermione said. “We can get it annulled. If that’s what we want.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that what you want?” Hermione said.

“Is that what you want?”

“What if it’s not what I want?”

“What if it’s not what I want?”

They stared at each other, their eyes meeting. Was Pansy really saying what Hermione thought she was saying? Was Hermione really saying what she thought she was saying?

And again the questions — does the curse make it real or does it being real end the curse?

And for the first time, Hermione thought she knew.

She looked closer at Pansy, studied her — her face, her hair, her expression now filled with worry. And something else. Something she also felt. Something neither one of them had said, but maybe they would. Someday. Someday soon.

“Maybe we don’t take the potion yet,” she said.

“Maybe we don’t,” Pansy said.

“Maybe we stay married for a little longer.”

“Maybe we do.”

“Maybe we just see how things go,”

“Maybe we stop talking,” Pansy said, and held out her hand. With a quick nod, she indicated their bedroom down the hall.

“Maybe we do,” Hermione said, and she let Pansy pull her to her feet and lead her down the hall, leaving the potion and the curse and everything else behind.

Maybe, Hermione thought, as the bedroom door closed behind them and Pansy lowered her to the bed, they would never need it anyway.