Oh, but Pansy is beautiful. No, not beautiful, not really. Her hair is too flyaway, and her nose is too pug, and her lips are a tad too big, but she is still so…worthy of notice, which is something Hermione has never understood. She’s tried for so long to analyse the other girl’s walk, her conversation, the strange emphasis she puts on strange words to strange boys that Hermione would never think to talk to. Pansy even talks to Harry and Ron sometimes, while walking out of class, and Hermione feels a jealous sort of rage then which she tries to explain away but can’t.

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One day, in the library:

A flash of bottle-blond hair, whiff of strawberries. Hermione looks up. “Granger, you’re in here all the time. D’you know where the books on cosmetics charms are?”

Hermione frowns slightly. “I think they’re somewhere in that second row over there.”

Pansy smiles, luminously, genuinely. Hermione’s mouth quirks tentatively back before Pansy says: “Oh. Well, since you know where they are, I suggest you make use of them.”

Later on, that night, Hermione makes a list of all the things she could have said back. It doesn’t make her feel any better. She goes back to the library, attempts to bury herself in research, but gravitates toward the second row, taking down a brightly-colored book on basics on cosmetics charms.

Even though she feels slightly awkward the next morning, with her hair smoothed and pulled away from her face, and her lips uncomfortably shiny, Hermione smirks and counts the experiment a success when she sees Pansy’s eyes widen in shock and, Hermione supposes, a hint of repentance.

Hermione smiles at Ron and Harry and tosses her hair slightly, relishing the fact that Pansy is now analyzing her from across a room.