A/N All the characters and places you recognise here are based on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. The story below, however, is entirely my own.
Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (S6R9) / Tutshill Tornados - Chaser 2
Wordcount 1404
Prompts
[main character] Hermione Granger
[word] association
[scenario] an argument over what the best colour is
[dialogue] "It's like a beehive in here!"
Beta Audrey (halcyon epochs), Vic (conjectare), & Amelia (IWriteFanFicForFun2)
"And then she actually suggested emerald! Can you believe that?"
Hermione snapped out of her reverie just in time to remember to shake her head. However, a closer look at her conversation partner suggested that she could have rolled her eyes at him and he wouldn't have noticed. Cormac McLaggen's ignorant self-importance was so vile that she felt the urge to throw up. But she figured that was also due to the stuffy, pipe smoke-enriched air that filled the room.
Meanwhile, oblivious of her unmistakable disinterest, Cormac seemed determined not to leave the subject alone.
"I mean, that woman is supposed to be a seamstress. I don't know how she earned that title or who gave it to her. Frankly, I'd like to have a word with them! Anyway, I said to her, 'Emerald? Are you out of your mind? Can't you see that would clash with the colour of my eyes?' Seriously, I was so angry I was about to leave the shop!"
For what felt like the hundredth time this evening, Hermione sighed internally. Ceaselessly babbling about himself, Cormac hadn't asked a single question about her the whole time they'd spent together.
"But then – all of a sudden – she ran to the backroom and dragged out this ebony fabric." He gestured to his dress robes. "Undoubtedly, she'd been saving it for someone else, the cunning spinster! But I'm a well-paying customer, and also quite a noteworthy one if I may say so myself, and I deserve the best of the best! Just imagine what would have happened if I hadn't insisted: I'd have had to come here looking like a harlequin!"
He laughed loudly, drawing the eyes of many other party guests onto him. Hermione felt her cheeks turn red and wished that she could just melt into the multicoloured drapes covering the walls. Tainted by association, she thought bitterly.
Still, it was her own fault. She had selected Cormac as her escort to the Slug Club Christmas party, and now she had to deal with the (admittedly not so unforeseen) consequences. Everyone who met him, however briefly, could tell that he was a toe rag.
At least it would spite Ron, which had been her main intention. But as the night went on, Hermione started to question whether that was actually worth it. She should have gone with Zacharias Smith after all…
When Cormac launched into a detailed description of what he termed his "most glorious Quidditch saves," Hermione decided to stop making an effort. This endless monologue of his had already bored her out of her mind, and she sheepishly hoped that the story he was now telling involved him sustaining multiple severe injuries.
As she was debating whether or not she should stage a yawn, she suddenly heard a high-pitched cough to her left. Happy about the distraction, she turned, only to be faced with a small house-elf carrying an enormous silver platter filled with small pieces of food. Its wide eyes anxiously stared up at her, filling her with sadness and pity. How could she forget to bring some knitted socks and hats with her?
"Sorry to interrupt the Lady and the Sir," the house-elf squeaked while curtsying. "But would the highly respected witch and wizard care for some hors d'oeuvre?"
Cormac wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Urgh! No, of course not, you little nitwit! That's dragon tartare – smells horrible and upsets my stomach. Get lost!"
Hermione, who could not be shocked by Cormac's treatment of others anymore, saw her chance and took it.
"I would love some!" she blurted, grabbing a handful and stuffing it in her mouth. It tasted odd and was rather too spicy in her opinion, but she would do anything to keep Cormac at a distance. Luckily, he hadn't made a proper move on her yet, but from his frequent sleazy off-hand remarks she got the impression that the worst was yet to come.
As intended, Cormac didn't seem too pleased with her food choice.
"You know, you should really watch what you're eating," he said haughtily. "It's not like you're doing sports like me. Although I have to say that I have a very good metabolism anyway. I could eat chocolate frogs for every meal and wouldn't gain an ounce!"
At this point, Hermione mused, it seems like he's done everything in his power to sabotage this date. He made Grawp look like a gentleman.
With an expression of contempt on his face, Cormac went on to observe the party. "Slughorn invited quite a few second-rates," he tutted. "To be honest, this party is a joke."
Right at that moment, a young witch bumped into his side. By the looks of it, Cormac had hardly felt the impact due to his large physique. The girl, however, looked a bit dishevelled and was giggling uncontrollably, which made Hermione guess that she'd probably had a bit too much mead. Already walking away, she quickly apologised and dragged after her an equally intoxicated younger wizard who seemed just as amused as she was.
"Merlin, it's like a beehive in here!"
Hermione had expected Cormac to be angry, but when he looked back at her, a sly smile spread across his face instead. She would have put her guard up, but he was too quick. Smoothly, he took a step forward – moving in way too close – and whispered into her ear.
"Let's go somewhere a little more … private."
Before she could protest – the dragon tartare turned out to be very difficult to chew – Cormac had already placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her to a quieter corner of the room. He didn't seem to notice the stiffness of her movements.
With horror, Hermione realised that they were heading towards a giant mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Frantically, she tried to come up with a way to dodge him, but for once, her brain wouldn't help her. All she could focus on was the feeling of his touch; it made her sick.
"You don't think people will get offended by a little snogging, do you?" His arrogance made her hair stand on end.
They came to a halt under the dreaded branch, right next to a bust of an elderly wizard wearing an oversized hat. What she would give to swap places with that statue, or, more realistically, to faint right then and there. But of course that wouldn't happen.
She swallowed hard, cursing herself for forgetting that she'd now gotten rid of the only thing that had kept him from kissing her.
"Here we are…" Cormac crooned and started to lean in.
Hermione's mind was about to go blank, but she refused to let it. Think! But no matter how hard she tried, only unhelpful thoughts rushed through her head.
Wasn't it funny how she'd ended up here, and that all this could be traced back to the Quidditch tryouts? Back then, the boy she despised most and the boy she'd fallen for had been competing for the same position. And a couple of weeks ago she was sure that they were also both competing for her.
The idea hit her like lightning. The Quidditch tryouts - yes!
It had worked before, and she knew how to do it. Gathering all her mental strength to concentrate and gripping her wand tightly, she silently cast the incantation. Confundus!
A split-second later, Cormac's lips collided with the statue next to her, promptly knocking it off its pedestal. When it hit the floor, it started shouting, drawing a lot of attention on itself and its attacker. "How dare you touch me, you blundering little—"
Hermione didn't wait to hear any more. Without looking back, she ran off into the party crowd, hoping it would take Cormac at least a few seconds to grapple with the bust.
Blindly scurrying through the mass of attendees, she had no idea where she was going. Just as far away from him as possible, she thought, shuddering.
Maybe she'd be able to find Harry somewhere. Until then, she could probably hide by ducking, taking refuge behind the stouter warlocks in the room. The only good thing about Cormac was his height: He was so tall that she would see him coming. It was probably only a matter of time until he would find her, but Hermione hoped that he would at least stumble into the Christmas tree first.
A/N I hope you enjoyed reading my take on how Hermione ditched Cormac at the Slug Club Christmas Party! (I've had to put up with a number of mansplainers these past few days, so penning this was very cathartic.)
I've been wanting to write this scene for so long, and now the QL gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. It was one of these fics where the initial idea for it seemed fantastic, but when I actually started writing, it turned out to be way harder than expected. Anyway, feel free to let me know your thoughts!