"A witch?" The man repeated, staring at the matronly woman who sat on his sofa, as prim and proper as could be despite the absolute insanity coming from her mouth.
"That is correct," the woman replied in a stern, Scottish brogue.
"That's- that's ridiculous!" The man's wife scoffed. "That's just- no, I'm sorry, that's absolutely ridiculous. Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, but I think you should go."
"I assure you it's quite true," the woman insisted. "Tell me, has she ever done something that simply can't be explained? An angry fit causing things to be thrown around the room seemingly of their own accord, perhaps? A treat kept hidden on the highest shelf, suddenly in her hands without explanation?"
The man and wife shared a nervous look.
"As I thought," the Scottish woman nodded. "Those events are acts of accidental magic. They are usually a response to strong emotion, anger or want, perhaps. Without proper training, or a wand to tether itself to, the magic simply releases into the world and… improvises."
The man protested once more, shouting angrily. All the while, the strange woman simply sat quietly and watched him, not at all phased. From the corner of her eye, she could see a bushy-haired child crouching on the stairs, listening to the conversation just out of sight of her parents. Minerva winked at the girl, almost imperceptibly, then turned her attention back to the angry parents before her, insisting that she leave.
"Without proper training, the girl will continue to have these… accidents, shall we call them," Minerva responded plainly. "They will only get worse over time. She needs to come to Hogwarts and learn how to use her magic properly. There's no other solution."
"What do you mean they'll get worse?" The wife asked nervously. "How could they be worse?"
"As she grows older, so does her magic grow stronger," Minerva explained. "And as puberty sets in, so as hormones and emotions, the magic will become more and more unstable. Reactions that might cause a book to fly of a shelf, say, now, will grow to responses such as entire pieces of furniture flying around. The chances of someone being hurt, of your daughter hurting herself, only become stronger as time goes on. It's why we start their training so early."
On the stairs, the little girl sat listening closely, praying that her parents would say yes. If what this woman was saying was true, then there were people out there who wouldn't think she was odd. There was somewhere where she would fit in, where she could find friends. God, how nice it would be to have friends!
If only they would just agree, things would be better. She wouldn't be so odd, so impulsive. She would learn control, she'd be a good girl, she'd make her parents so proud.
Oh, please. Please, please, please, she chanted silently.
She hadn't noticed it then, but the air in the house had seemed to change, draping a sense of calm over the abode and quieting the voices in the sitting room. And then the strange woman had stepped into the entry way and smiled up at her curiously, holding out her hand.
"I'm Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
They'd shook hands, and then the Professor had invited her into the sitting room and explained to her what it meant to be a witch, all while her parents sat silently. She hadn't seen it then, but the fear in her mother's eyes and the anger hidden behind her father's seemed to pierce the very depths of her soul now, bringing with them a searing pain that seemed to know no bounds.
Hermione woke with no memory of where she was or how she'd got there, let alone any idea how long ago it had been. All she knew was that her throat was on fire and her head was absolutely pounding.
Through her post-come down haze, she realized that she was laying on her living room floor in a thoroughly uncomfortable position that she assumed made her look like a pretzel. There were a few beams of light coming through the window, though it was probably cloudy outside, if not completely dark. She could also hear a persistent tapping, indicating that there was an owl waiting for her attention somewhere outside the flat. With a groan, she carefully unfolded herself and got to her feet, using a nearby chair to steady her. Blinking a few times and rubbing her eyes to remove the make-up that had sealed them shut, she looked around and located the owl in question at her kitchen window, a thoroughly displeased look on its face as it continuously tapped at the glass. Hermione stumbled disgracefully to the other end of the flat, bumping into each and every piece of furniture she owned before finally leaning over the counter to unlatch the window, allowing the angry bird in.
Without so much as a glance in her direction, the beast dropped its letter and soared through the flat to find somewhere comfortable to perch, obviously not planning to leave anytime soon.
Hermione sighed testily and lifted the unfurled parchment to her face, squinting to read its contents.
Granger, dinner at the house. Attendance mandatory. Happy Christmas!
She didn't need to look at the seal at the bottom to know that it was from Blaise. He was the only person she knew that wouldn't cow at giving her such orders. She also knew that if she didn't attend, he would show up and drag her back by the hair if necessary.
"Fucker," she muttered to herself, setting the note ablaze.
Looking around the kitchen, her eyes settled on the clock on the stove- 21:33. Bollocks, he would be there any moment demanding to know where she'd been.
As if on cue, the fireplace roared to life, expelling an immaculately dressed wizard- though not the one she'd been expecting.
"Malfoy?" she frowned at the blond wizard as he lazily brushed the soot from his suit. "What are you doing here?"
"I've been sent to ensure you're still alive." He replied easily, eyes scanning her curiously. "I'm not quite sure how I should respond, though."
"Charming," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be in France."
"I got back yesterday," Draco informed her. "Figured I'd spend New Years here."
"New Years?" Hermione repeated the words before she could stop herself, utterly confused. She could have sworn it was only just Christmas…
"Yes," Draco frowned. "Tonight is New Years Eve."
The look on her face must have betrayed the fact that she was completely unaware of this, because his frown deepened.
"What day do you think it is?" he asked, taking a step towards her.
"I know what day it is!" Hermione snapped. "I'm not an imbecile, Malfoy."
"Of course not," Draco agreed, raising his hands innocently. "You just seemed confused for a moment, my mistake. So, are you going to get ready? I've been told I'm not to return without you."
"By who, exactly?" She frowned, busying herself with making a cup of tea.
"Blaise, Daphne, Astoria, Pansy, Theo- "
"Alright," she cut him off, not needing to hear the entire list. "Fine. I might be a while, though. I've just gotten home."
Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly, then shrugged and took a seat on her sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table and picking up the closest book.
"Take your time," he drawled. "I'm in no rush."
Hermione glared at him for a minute, debating telling him to fuck off and sending him on his way, but before she could form a more eloquent way of saying it the kettle clicked off and her attention was drawn back to her tea.
"Fine." She grumbled, pouring hot water over two bags and adding a disgusting amount of milk and sugar. Taking the mug with her, she stomped into the bathroom and ran herself a shower, wondering just how long it had been since she'd had one…
They were ringing in the new year in a muggle club. Blaise wanted to watch the ball drop on television and insisted that the muggles threw a better party over all. Hermione had simply shrugged and grabbed a flute of champagne off a passing tray, gulping it down in one go.
"Good, I need someone to snog at midnight," Astoria said in way of greeting. "The prospects here are laughable."
"Always happy to oblige." Draco smiled chivalrously at the girl, only to have her laugh in his face.
"I was talking to Mi, you self-involved prick," she scoffed. "Go kiss Blaise."
"Pfft, I have standards," Draco drawled in response. "Perhaps your more attractive sister will oblige me."
Astoria made a face and shoved the blond towards the bar, then turned to Hermione. "You've been a fucking ghost. What the hell?"
"I've been busy," Hermione frowned. "I thought this was supposed to be dinner."
"Five hours ago," Astoria nodded. "But you're late, so now there's just booze and snogging."
"In that case, it sounds like I'm right on time." Hermione smirked and headed to the bar herself, elbowing her way through the crowd to wind up beside Malfoy once again.
"Buy you a drink?" He offered, not looking over at her. Hermione shrugged, and he flagged down the bartender.
"Whiskey, make it a triple," she ordered.
The bartender gave her a curious once over, then nodded and set a glass in front of her, filling it. She'd emptied half of it by the time he turned back around with a napkin.
"You alright, Granger?" Draco asked, eyeing the witch in concern.
"Brilliant," she deadpanned. "Thanks for the drink."
Without another word she disappeared, melting back into the crowd in search of a good time. Oppositely, Draco remained at the bar, sitting alone in a corner and keeping an eye on the witch as she floated through the crowd, her silver dress catching the light with every move she made. Milking a glass of scotch, Draco watched as she smiled and laughed, throwing her head back and letting her hair down as she danced on a table with Astoria.
Throughout the evening there were quite a few men that had tried to pry the pair apart, but each time they went to get the girls another drink, Draco ever so quietly made them disappear- be it by locking them in a janitor's cupboard or shoving them out an emergency exit in the hopes that they wouldn't be allowed re-entry. Despite her level of inebriation, Hermione didn't miss the fact that her possible conquests kept disappearing. Joining Draco at the bar to get herself a Gin and tonic, she glared at him warily, looking him up and down for signs of a scuffle.
"Alright there, Granger?" he asked innocently. "You look a little lost."
"Fine," she answered tersely. "The drinks I keep being promised don't seem to be making their way over, though, and the men I've been dancing with keep disappearing. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Not a clue," Draco shook his head. "Perhaps you're just sending the wrong blokes over. Not all men are as intelligent and trustworthy as I am, yours must have forgotten where they were going."
"Hmm." Hermione pursed her lips, but before she could accuse him of anything specific her drink arrived and her problem was forgotten as she danced her way back to Astoria.
To the outside world, she must have looked like she didn't have a care in the world… but Draco knew better. He saw the way she guzzled down each drink, quickly losing track of how many flutes of champagne she'd consumed, and he watched as her smile flickered, like a candle about to be blown out in the wind.
When the countdown began, Hermione faithfully shouted along with the rest of the room, her face lit up with excitement and hope, but when she turned to kiss Astoria, he could see that her eyes were empty.
Draco would have been lying if he said he wasn't turned on by the spectacle they made. The kiss the two women shared was anything but chaste, full of wandering hands and wickedly sensual movements. When they broke apart, there were more than a few men turning to adjust themselves, not bothering to hide the lustful grins on their faces.
Astoria smiled like the cat who'd got the cream and pecked Hermione on the lips once more, whispering something that made the other girl smirk. For a moment, Draco thought they were going to leave together, but then Hermione stepped away and began to head for the door while Astoria sidled up to one of the many men that had been gawking at them and began to flirt. Raising an eyebrow in suspicion, Draco threw a few bills onto the bar to pay his tab and began pushing his way to the door.
Outside the club, Hermione pulled her coat tightly around herself and began to walk, teetering on her too high heels as she made her way down the uneven sidewalk. Careful not to let himself be seen, Draco followed. She was in no state to be walking the streets of London on her own, but he knew that if she spotted him she'd have a fit.
They seemed to walk the entire city and Draco would have assumed that she was simply wandering if there hadn't been such strong determination in her steps. No, Hermione was definitely heading to a specific destination, Draco just couldn't imagine where. He was also rather confused as to why she didn't just apparate there, but figured it was probably for the best. In the state she was in, she'd more than likely splinch herself.
They walked from the club in the centre of town all through the City of London, passing through dozens of crowds of muggle tourists, all gathering to ring in the new year in the heart of England. Granger didn't seem to care about any of that, though, as she continued on her way, walking through Regent's Park. The only time she paused was when she wanted to light a cigarette, and even then, she merely slowed down for a moment before hurtling on.
When she finally stopped, it was on a plain residential street in Hampstead, nearly four hours after leaving the club. Standing practically in the middle of the road, she turned to face a house that looked no different than any other on the street- a detached home of a good size (at least by muggle standards, he presumed) obviously not belonging to anyone well to do, but certainly not to someone poor either.
There didn't seem to be anything remarkable about the house at all… but as the thought passed through his mind, Draco caught sight of the slightest shimmer. Magic, he realized. The house had been charmed to look this way. Wrinkling his brow in concentration, Draco fought to see past the glamour charms and found the house to be significantly more run down that he had originally thought. It looked as though it had been abandoned for years.
Hermione continued to stand in the street and stare at the house for nearly an hour, and it occurred to Draco that her feet must be killing her. They'd just walked half the city and she was in a pair of heels so high that she was practically catapulting off them, her feet bent at such an ungodly angle that Draco almost didn't think it should be possible to walk. It didn't seem to bother her, though, and he had to wonder if she even realized how painful they were. He'd been following her all night and she hadn't so much as blinked in his direction, perhaps she wasn't aware of anything at all.
He'd been only moments away from approaching her, ready to simply apparate her back to Blaise's and coax her into going to bed, when she practically threw herself the final steps to the porch and lay down, sobbing. The glamours enveloped her, blocking her from sight of the rest of the street and resetting themselves so that even Draco couldn't see past them anymore. In the silence of the empty street, though, he could hear her. He knew that somewhere only a few feet away she was falling apart, laying in front of a nondescript door on a nondescript street, hidden from everyone and everything around her.
For the first time in a very long time, Draco felt he was seeing the real Hermione Granger.