-1Thank you for all of your reviews! Without further ado, here is the next chapter you've all been waiting for.
MUSIC YOU WILL NEED FOR THIS CHAPTER: "Chelsea Dagger"-The Fratellis
WARNING: This chapter contains mature subject matter.
QUESTION: Does anyone actually listening to the music I provide for the chapters? If even one person does, I'll keep going with it. If not, and it's really annoying, I'll get rid of it. Votes please.
DISCLAIMER: I spelled "I own Harry Potter" in my bowl of Cheerios. I'm formally submitting it to J.K. Rowling. And her lawyers. I hope my cereal doesn't get soggy on the way there.
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We land in a large stone fireplace in a beautifully decorated sitting room.
I step out slowly, surveying the room. Man, this must've cost a fortune to decorate.
Mrs. Malfoy has modern taste, which I wasn't expecting from a family who prides themselves on tradition and an old bloodline. Whenever I pictured the Malfoy home, I imagined it with mostly empty dusty rooms and closets filled with ego. The sitting room, however, has a few low beige armchairs and a glass coffee table in front of the fireplace. There are a few landscapes on the walls and the top of the fireplace is lined with antique sugar bowls. Cream-colored curtains adorn the large windows that look out over a dark lawn. A few art magazines are stacked neatly on the coffee table, and a glass ashtray in the shape of a flower has been placed neatly in the middle.
"I didn't know Malfoy's parents smoke," I muse aloud.
"They don't," Blaise says, making his ways towards the door on the opposite side of the room. "But some of their distinguished guests do, and I think sometimes Mr. Malfoy has a cigar with his evening brandy."
Evening brandy. What is this, the Gentlemen's Club circa 1911?
Why doesn't Mr. Malfoy just construct a billiards room and put a sign on the door saying "No Girls Allowed"?
Ginny and I follow Blaise out of the sitting room and across a gigantic foyer decorated with marble busts and antique vases.
"There are no Malfoy family portraits?" I query as we walk along the Middle-Eastern inspired tile floor.
"There's a room for that somewhere," Blaise answers. "They have like this big room that's just wall-to-wall paintings of dead Malfoys. I think Mrs. Malfoy made her husband put all the portraits in one room because they never shut up. But that's just my own personal opinion. And count yourself lucky, Granger. There's nothing like a party with a portrait of some dead person screaming, "BLOOD TRAITOR!" all night."
Point taken.
We ascend a gigantic marble staircase to the second floor, where the fact that a party is about to explode in the house suddenly becomes more apparent. I can hear thumping music and the buzzing sound of a crowd of people talking coming from behind a set of gilded double doors.
"Ladies," Blaise says, politely offering his arm to each of us.
Here we go.
We push open the doors and enter a room that looks like it came straight out of a movie about a rave. The entire ballroom (I'm guessing that's its normal function) is darkened and lit by various-colored neon lights. A DJ booth is on a dais lit by some strange gold lighting over at the far corner, with a beautiful mahogany bar on the other end of the huge room. Everywhere, there are emergency room characters wandering around. There are balcony doors directly across from the entrance, and these have been opened to keep guests from getting too overheated. As we walk through the crowd, I must admit that the crisp October air is rather refreshing. I also notice that several areas have been cordoned off by hospital-style curtains to create private rooms. I peer inside one and watch as a girl I don't recognized lays down on the bed inside and allows her friends to insert an IV drip filled with alcohol into her arm.
This is the worst party idea ever.
"Let's find Draco," Blaise says loudly. Ginny nods and waves to Luna Lovegood, who passes us on the arm of Theodore Nott.
The three of us continue on towards the bar. The entire way there, Ginny and Blaise are giving each other flirty smiles and looks.
I have a distinct feeling that my night of third-wheeling is going to come to an end. Quickly.
It's either walk away or sit there and try to ignore the sexual tension.
For now, I'm going to go with the latter.
"There he is," Blaise says after a few moments of scanning the bar area. I look in the direction he's pointing, and all of my not-wanting-to-do-the-Sex God goes right out the open balcony doors.
The Sex God is wearing the same pair of scrubs pants that are adorning Blaise's model-perfect body. He's shirtless as well (there is a God), but has a nice, well-defined six-pack where Blaise's thinness is located.
He is so perfect.
Stop drooling on your lab coat.
I do not like the Sex God. I do not like his perfect Tyler Durden body. He is not an Adonis. I do not want to do him on the bar.
Ginny must've noticed me looking all hot and bothered, because she leaves Blaise for a few moments and walks over to me.
"You okay?" she asks, looking concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine. And so is the Sex God," I reply.
"You look hot, Herms. Just go over there. You don't like him anymore, remember?"
"It's kind of hard not to like him while his abs are staring me in the face."
She nods, understanding.
"Well, there are lots of cute boys here. Let's just go over there and see where the night takes us, alright? Don't worry, I'm not going to ditch you for Blaise."
Again: such a good friend.
We walk over to him and wait for him to finish bossing the bartender around.
"Hey, what's up?" he says.
My libido.
"We just got here," Blaise says. "How's it going so far?"
"Pretty well," the Sex God says. He looks at Ginny and me for a moment and then says, "Got your hands full with the ladies as usual, I see."
Ginny's eyes widen ever so slightly at that comment, and I just know that I am going to be dragged into the bathroom sometime in the near future to talk about Blaise being a manwhore.
"…anyway," Blaise is saying. "Would you ladies like a drink?"
Ginny nods enthusiastically, and, after a moment, I nod as well. One drink should be alright. I'll sip slowly.
"We're just going to go to the bathroom while you order those. We'll be right back," Ginny announces to McDrac-OH and McBlazin'.
Yep, just as I thought.
They nod casually and, after getting directions from the Sex God, the two of us wander off in search of a quiet place to examine Blaise's sex life.
"So I guess entering a party with two girls on his arm is not a new thing for him," Ginny mutters as we leave the ballroom and head down the hallway to the bathroom.
"Yeah but at least in this case I'm only an acquaintance, not a love interest," I say, doing my best to comfort her.
The bathroom is the second door on the left, and I feel a sense of rushing relief as the door closes behind us and the music is silenced.
The bathroom is another extremely well-decorated room. In here, everything is white and green, with a stained-glass window over the tub. A few little hand soaps and seashell candles are strategically placed on the sink and on top of the toilet. A pair of green and white towels are folded neatly on the towel rack, in the exact size order that's always shown in those decorating magazines.
"Do you think Mrs. Malfoy hired an interior designer to do her house, or do you think she decorated it herself?" I ask, examining one of the candles.
My mother and father, in a fit of being rather well-off dentists, went out and hired some elderly decorator to fix up our house. (They were taken in by her advertisement of having "experience" in interior decorating. She failed to clarify that experience dated back to 1953.) The woman actually decorated my room with lots of floral patterns and doilies and pink. It was only when my uncle came over and laughed at the cat-themed couch cushions that my parents ran out to the local hardware store and re-decorated everything themselves. Up until then, my house looked like a nursing home had thrown up in it.
"Who cares? Blaise is a tramp!" Ginny exclaims in despair. "He's probably slept with like 2000 women. And I'm silly number 2001."
"Come on, Ginny, he's not Ted Nugent," I say, rubbing her back gently. The joke, however, is lost on her (sigh, wizards) and she gives me a wounded look.
"What am I even doing?" she moans, burying her face in her hands. "At least I know Harry hasn't gone about whoring himself out to every good looking woman he meets. He's too busy being wrapped up in his hero complex to bother. I'm such a fool. Of course Blaise is smooth and charming, this is like brushing his teeth! It's something he does every day! He's used to it!"
"You're becoming hysterical," I inform her. "Look, so maybe Blaise is a slut. You're not married to the guy, and you're not dating him. You're just hanging out. And between you and me, I think we can spot all of his red flags and save you from any potentially embarrassing and venereal disease filled situations. But I gotta tell you, Gin, he hasn't looked at one other girl all night. And we passed several who might as well not be wearing any tops."
She giggles at this, and wipes away the tears running down her face.
"You're right. You're right. Okay." She sighs and re-adjusts her costume. "Come on. I really need that drink."
I nod and the two of us head out of the bathroom. On the way back to the ballroom, we pass Pansy and Marisa Golden, a Slytherin fifth year. I tense, waiting for some sort of confrontation, but the two girls do nothing but give me nasty looks and bitch to each other in hushed tones.
I hate girls.
"Ugh, Pansy," Ginny mutters. "I wonder what sorry soul ended up coming to the party with that fire-breathing dragon. She'll do nothing but use her date to try and get back at the Sex God for dumping her tiny, magically altered ass."
"You don't think Pansy will try anything on me, do you?" I ask, suddenly unable to repress all of my worries about the events of the past few weeks.
"Nah, I don't think there's enough vodka in the world for her to be that stupid. Besides, then the Sex God would throw her out for ruining the party and attacking a fellow student, and she'd be totally humiliated. And we all know that being embarrassed is Pansy Parkinson's greatest fear."
"I thought that was the outlawing of plastic surgery," I respond jokingly. Ginny's response has put me at ease.
She's right, of course. Even though I'm not anywhere near smart enough (or dumb enough, depending on how you look at it) to stoop to the kind of subterranean level of backstabbing and destroying that Pansy is, I still have a basic grip on the tenets of logic when it comes to revenge.
And this is definitely a time when I am thankful that most of my friends are guys. Seriously, all that time spent talking about each other behind their backs and verbally abusing one another must make girls exhausted. No wonder Parvati and Lavender do so badly in school-they're too tired from just being girls to do anything else valuable, like homework.
We head back in to the party and fight our way past several tipsy-looking broom accident patients to get back to the bar. To my complete and utter shock, the Sex God and Blaise are still actually there, waiting for us. I would've assumed by now that the Sex God at least would've seen some slut dressed in only a scrub cap and gone off chasing her. He did, after all, want to be "free" to hook up with other girls. Ass.
Blaise hands Ginny a martini and moves my glass of champagne towards me as the two of us lean up against the bar next to him. Yes, I have elected to sip the drink of snobby dentists who attend my parents' parties tonight. It's the only thing I'm actually used to drinking, and I have an unfortunate feeling I'm going to need my sense of responsibility later when this party gets out of hand.
And yes, that's a "when." There is no "if" in deciding whether or not the emergency room will soon turn into some sort of rave.
The three of us spend the next few minutes having a very pleasant conversation (Blaise is funny and gregarious when he wants to be, apparently) while I try not to drool over the Sex God, who's chatting with Theodore Nott (sans Luna). Or more specifically, the Sex God's abs. Those perfect, washboard abs.
"HERMIONE!" Ginny's shouting, all the while elbowing me in the ribs. "HEY! Wanna come dance with me and Blaise?"
Oh yeah right. And be caught in the middle of a grinding sandwich? I don't think so.
"Nah, I'll dance with you guys later," I say. "Have fun. Don't forget about me."
"We won't," Ginny says smiling, and the two of them bounce off towards the other end of the room.
I stand by myself for the few minutes it takes to realize that this is a huge mistake. In those aforementioned minutes, no less than 4 boys come up and ask me if I want to dance. One even has the gigantic balls to ask if I'd like to take a ride on his broomstick later.
Since when did standing alone, enjoying some peace and me-time translate to "I'm obviously waiting to be asked to dance"?
"You look annoyed, Granger," says a suave and sexy voice from right next to me.
I glance over at him for a moment and smile. "Women standing alone at a bar has clearly replaced women with cats as the new sad, desperate thing," I inform him.
He catches on to my little insinuation without missing a beat.
I don't like him.
The fact that he's smart and clever seems to be punching holes into my I-don't-like-the-Sex-God mentality.
Damn it.
"I didn't realize you were so popular," he says lightly.
"I could say the same to you," I respond in the same friendly manner. "Look how many people who are supposedly scared of you showed up to your party."
He actually laughs out loud at this, and I dare to hope for one small minute that he's attracted to the fact that I'm a smart and clever girl.
Quick, Hermione. Think of something else witty to say. Keep this conversation going.
I hate it when you're talking to a cute guy and you just made him laugh or vice versa and then you stop grinning like an idiot and realize that you have absolutely no idea where to go with the conversation and you have to rack your brain to think of something and it usually turns out to be stupid.
"Think I'm funny, do you?" I ask.
LAAAAAAAME.
You're the smartest witch at Hogwarts. That's the best you could come up with?
"I think you look really good in that costume," he responds.
Okay, I guess that was the best I could've come up with.
This is where it gets tricky. Don't act like a silly little fan girl. Say thank you, smile sexily.
"Are you drunk?" I ask stupidly.
Way to follow your own rules.
"No," the Sex God replies. "Are you?"
"No," I answer. "After last time, I thought it might be a good idea to lay off the sauce for a while."
And again that infectious, perfect smile.
"Blaise and your little redheaded friend are waving at us, want to go over and dance with them a bit?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant and not like Christmas has come two months early.
He finishes his beer and the two of us being to push our way through the crowd to reach Blaise and Ginny, who look like they're having the time of their lives.
"Hey, you guys!" Ginny says enthusiastically, stumbling around while holding onto Blaise's hand like a leash.
"Is she drunk?" I ask. Crap. I let her out of my sight for one minute, and she's smashed.
"A little, I think," Blaise answers, watching Ginny with amusement. "She kept grabbing other people's drinks out of their hands and chugging them."
Perfect. We're about an hour into this party and she's drank all the alcohol in the world.
"Hermiiioooneee, I loooooove you," Ginny informs me, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a hug that could qualify as a dangerous weapon resulting in strangulation.
"Did I look this stupid when I was drunk?" I ask Blaise and the Sex God, awkwardly patting Ginny on the back.
Blaise laughs and pulls Ginny off me (she promptly turns and hugs him) and then says, "Let's dance, Ginny."
"Okay!" she says happily, and immediately begins waving her body around.
Blaise just shakes his head and tries to get her back under some modicum of control.
The Sex God and I begin dancing with them after a few moments (I was really nervous about the two of us dancing alone. I have the rhythm of a mop) and the three of us try and fail to keep up with Ginny.
We finish out the rest of the song, barely managing to keep Ginny from knocking over several other partygoers and getting stabbed in the neck by Seamus's syringe necklace. I've just convinced her to go and sit at the bar for a bit before she has a heart attack when she screams, "I LOVE THIS SONG!" and bounds off away from us to go dance some more.
"Damn it!" Blaise curses. "We can't just leave her to dance by herself. She'll look sillier than she does and she might hurt someone. Let's see if we can get her to agree to sit down after this song."
I look over at the Sex God, who shrugs and nods as he waves to someone who's just said hello to him.
We fight our way back over to Ginny, who's already started singing at the top of her lungs along with the music and several other drunken idiots who clearly know the words and aren't afraid of jumping around like pogo sticks in public.
Well you must be a girl with shoes like that
She said you know me well
I seen you and little Steven and Joanna
Round the back of my hotel, oh yeah
"Woo!" Ginny shouts, jumping along in time with the song and laughing with a Ravenclaw whose name escapes me at the moment.
Someone said you was asking after me
But I know you best as a blagger
Blaise turns and gives us a look that clearly states he thinks Ginny is a complete embarrassment.
I said tell me your name, is it sweet?
She said my boy it's dagger, oh yeah
I move awkwardly, swaying my body a bit and surreptitiously glancing at the Sex God every few moments to make sure he hasn't gone off and snatched a new dance partner. To my pleasant surprise, he's right there next to me, bouncing a bit and even smiling at some of Ginny's antics.
I was good, she was hot
Stealing everything she got
I was bold she was over the worst of it
Gave me gear thank you dear bring your sister over here
"Come on, Hermione, dance with me!" Ginny shouts, grabbing my hands and nearly dislocating my shoulders as she jumps around like a psycho.
Let her dance with me just for the hell of it
Well you must be a boy with bones like that
She said you got me wrong
I would've sold them to you
If I could've just have kept the last of my clothes on
Merlin, I've been bouncing for two seconds and I'm already exhausted. Either Ginny is in really good shape or she took a shot of speed while I wasn't looking. That's the only explanation for her continuous pogo-like dancing.
Call me up take me down with you when you go
I could be your regular belle
And I'll dance for little Steven and Joanna
Round the back of my hotel, oh yeah
I was good, she was hot
Stealing everything she got
I was bold she was over the worst of it
Gave me gear thank you dear bring your sister over here
Let her dance with me just for the hell of it
"Uh-oh, I think they're bringing us home!" Blaise shouts over the loud volume of the music. He motions at Ginny, whose bouncing has become even wilder.
Chelsea Chelsea I believe that when you're dancing
Slowly sucking your sleeve
The boys get lonely after you leave
It's one for the Dagger and another for the one you believe
Chelsea I believe that when you're dancing slowly sucking your sleeve
The boys get lonely after you leave
It's one for the Dagger-another for the one you believe
"Do do do! Do do do!" Ginny shouts, pushing another partygoer down as she grabs his shoulder for more bouncing leverage.
"You better stop her before she kills herself or someone else," the Sex God remarks casually. Blaise and I both nod and rush forward as the Two-Person Damage Control Team.
We've just gotten Ginny safely to the bar and persuaded her to have a glass of water when I see another shock of red hair coming towards us at alarming speed.
Shit. Ron has spotted Ginny getting cozy with Blaise.
Great.
"Get OFF of her!" he shouts, yanking Blaise away from his sister.
Now normally, Ginny would be all fire and brimstone, up in Ron's face, ready to tell him off and even blackmail him if necessary. (I believe she has some amazing old pictures of Ron dressed up like a train conductor, playing with his magical trains. And by "old" I mean from this past summer.) But at the moment, she's too drunk to do anything about her overprotective trigger-happy brother, and is busy giggling and trying to pull Blaise closer to her again.
"What the FUCK have you done to her?" Ron asks, staring at Ginny.
"Besides attempt to make sure she doesn't humiliate or hurt herself? Nothing," Blaise replies calmly. He smiles down at Ginny a bit and picks her head up off the bar, waving the water under her nose until she takes it and sucks it down like a dying man in a desert.
"And Hermione? You're in on this too?"
Ah, yes. Ronald Weasley and his infamous temper have finally rounded on me.
"There's nothing to be in on, Ronald," I respond.
"She's been…she's been cursed or something. I mean, look at the way she's behaving! Grabbing at that Slytherin…Ginny in her right mind would never do this! She's been crushing on Harry for ages-she would never betray him like this! You're supposed to be the smartest witch in our year-you'd think you would've noticed something. You, of all people!"
His voice is getting steadily louder and I fully predict a Ronald Weasley temper explosion, with a high chance of Something Bad Happening.
"Don't go off on Granger, Weasley," the Sex God snaps, stepping in, to my complete shock. "And remember you're in my house. Watch your mouth, and keep your temper in check."
"I should've known you'd be lurking around here somewhere, Malfoy," Ron snarls, venom dripping from his tone. "Never too far from evil, are you?"
The Sex God bristles (which pretty much just makes his abs look even better, WOW), and Blaise cuts in.
"Don't say a spell you can't cast, Weasley. Your quarrel is with me. If you're really serious about that whole cursing-your-sister conspiracy theory, then you will accept my challenge to go shot for shot. Ginny's told me about your high tolerance. If you win, then I'll tell you what spell we've put her under, and I'll make sure to stay as far away from her as possible. If I win, then you have to accept the fact that I didn't do anything to her and she's old enough to take care of herself. Deal?"
This is the dumbest challenge I have ever heard of in my life. How are they going to solve anything by drinking? If anything, that'll just make their tempers even more explosive.
I open my mouth to point out this crucial fact, but the Sex God sees me and puts a finger to his lips, shaking his head.
Oh, yes, I forgot about the old standby: pure Slytherin cunning.
Am I really about to let this happen? Ron's going to be destroyed. But on the other hand, Ginny will be taken care of, she'll sober up, and she'll be able to continue living her own life without constant interference from her brother.
I step back, my inner conflict silencing my words.
Blaise and Ron request a folding table, two chairs, two shot glasses, and a bottle of vodka. The bartender hands them the latter two while I transfigure the chairs and table out of two pens and a dishwashing brush.
As they seat themselves and get ready, people naturally begin to gather around in a big circle. I hear whispers of "What are they doing?" and a "They're about to go shot for shot, are you all blind?" from Theodore Nott, who's standing with his arm around Luna near the Sex God and I. (He hasn't run screaming for the hills yet. This is a good sign. And it'll also give me something to look at as this little contest becomes even more stupid.) "Maybe they're trying to ward off the Tea-Sucking Autoblats," Luna says quietly. I glance over, waiting to see some kind of look of disdain from Nott, but he merely pulls Luna closer to him and doesn't say anything.
Aw. The whole world's in love.
Finally, Blaise and Ron are ready, and Blaise pours the first two shots. He hands one to Ron, throwing his own down the hatch with ease. Ron does the same, wincing only slightly at the taste.
Blaise sees this small look of disgust and says snidely, "Still want to continue, Weasley? Or would you rather lose face in front of the whole school?"
Damn, those Slytherins sure do know how to get people so riled up that they continue with ridiculous dares and challenges.
"I wouldn't quit if you gave me all of the money in your Gringotts account, Zabini," he replies, and my inner Gryffindor applauds a little at this show of strength.
Five shots later, Ron has begun to look a bit worse for wear. He's weaving slightly and is having some difficulty controlling the bottle as he pours the next shots.
"I'm personally amazed Weasley has been able to go this far without vomiting," the Sex God says to me quietly. "If he can't see that Blaise isn't even affected by the six shots he just took, then he's stupider than I gave him credit for."
"Shush," I whisper. "Don't distract him. He's having a hard enough time without you and your snide comments."
The Sex God raises his eyebrows and shrugs, but he shuts up.
Two more shots. Blaise has begun to look a bit tipsy, while Ron looks full-on drunk.
I can't let this go on. He's going to get alcohol poisoning or something. I start towards them, ready to stop this stupid, stupid, challenge. I can't even believe I let it go on for this long.
Something, however, is holding me back.
I look up to see Pansy Parkinson giving me the darkest of dark looks from across the room. The Sex God's hand is holding me back.
"Leave them," the Sex God whispers. "Let them get it out of their system, Granger. You can't stop them now. Besides, I would hazard a guess that Weasley is just about finished."
And three shots later, he's right.
With a slight moan, Ron falls out of his chair and onto the floor.
"Had enough, Weasley?" Blaise asks cruelly, leaning over the table to look at him.
Ron only groans and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Ithink…mmm…gonna…puke…"
"He has to wait until he gets to the bathroom to puke," the Sex God says quickly.
I nod and rush over to Ron. "Come on Ron, get up. We're going to take you to the bathroom, alright? You can throw up there."
He shakes his head a little. "Don't…wanna…move…"
"Well you can't throw up on Malfoy's ballroom floor," I say. "Is anyone going to help me or are you all just going to stand there?"
Dean Thomas puts his drink down and helps me lift Ron off the floor.
"Thanks for all your help," I snap at the Sex God as Dean and I begin to drag a whining Ron out of the room.
"Clear the way!" Dean shouts, using his free arm to move some of the slower guests out of our path. "Clear the way unless you want Weasley to throw up on you!"
That comment is the equivalent of Moses parting the Red Sea. People can't scramble fast enough to get out of our way.
We drag Ron to the nearest bathroom, automatically cutting to the front of the line and kicking Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones out of the bathroom. Once we're in there, we encounter the surprisingly difficult task of trying to get Ron to lean over the toilet.
It's like trying to position a piece of cooked spaghetti. God.
I am really glad I did not get drunk tonight.
"Gotta lay down," Ron mumbles, continuously rejecting our efforts.
"Maybe we should let him sit for a minute," Dean suggests. "Let him get it together. When it's time for him to throw up, we'll help him pick himself up so he can get it in the toilet."
I nod in agreement, and we set Ron down and allow him to slump into the tiny space between the wall and the toilet itself.
If this weren't such an unpleasant experience, it would be funny.
After a few moments of standing around (Dean and me) and labored breathing (Ron), I'm just about to relax and give the all-clear when I hear some horrible coughing noises.
"He's gonna lose it!" Dean shouts, and I whirl around, ready to help.
Unfortunately, Ron being who he is, he can't get himself over the toilet.
Instead, he's stuck between the wall and the toilet and he's about to puke…yep. All over himself.
Lovely.
"Urgh, I'm not touching that," Dean says in disgust, backing away.
The retching noises continue for about half an hour, and finally, Ron has emptied his stomach contents all over his dead patient costume.
"Now what do we do with him?" Dean asks with trepidation.
"I don't know," I respond snappishly. "I guess we should clean him up and then get him to a couch or a bed, whichever is nearest."
Dean nods and after a few "Scourgify!"s, Ron is mostly clean. We pull him gently up and out from the tiny space, and once again sling both of his arms over our shoulders, ready to lug him to bed.
"I wish Malfoy would've come with us," I complain after a few trial-and-error door openings (closet, closet, dining room, billiards room). "Then we wouldn't have so much damn trouble trying to find a place for Ron to lie down."
"Seriously," Dean says. "Wait! Here's a bedroom!"
"Thank God!" I moan and we walk into a small, plain-looking bedroom. Aside from the bed and a nightstand, there's very little furniture. No artwork adorns this room-there is nothing to indicate who usually occupies it.
We set Ron down on the bed, turning him carefully on his side, and set off back to the party after I've performed a charm that will let me know if he gets sick again.
Back in the ballroom, Dean heads off to join Seamus and some drunk Gryffindor fifth-years, while I head off in search of the Sex God, Blaise, and Ginny.
The Sex God is nowhere in sight, but Blaise and Ginny are sitting at the bar. Ginny looks much better-she actually waves normally at me as I approach them.
"I was just telling Ginny what happened while she was completely intoxicated," Blaise says by way of greeting, smiling at Ginny.
"Is Ron alright?" Ginny asks me.
"He'll be fine," I reply. "He puked all over himself, so we cleaned him off and put him in someone's bedroom to sleep."
"If you put him in Draco's bedroom, Draco is going to kill you," Blaise says, laughing a bit.
"I don't think it was Malfoy's room," I say, shaking my head. "It was plain and there was no artwork. I expect his room is a bit more lavish than the one Ron is currently snoring in."
Ginny makes big eyes at me, mouthing, "Maybe you should ask him to see it later," but I ignore her and instead turn to Blaise, who informs me that the room Ron is occupying is a maid's room that the family no longer uses.
I hang around a bit longer, forcing myself to avoid asking where the Sex God has gone. However, I feel rather awkward imposing on Blaise and Ginny's previously private conversation, so I excuse myself and head off to the bathroom.
As I get closer to my intended destination, I see a large group of girls gathered around the doorway, making sympathetic noises.
Damn it.
"What's happened?" I call, pushing my way through the gaggle of girls.
"It's Lavender," Parvati says, giggling in her inebriated state. "She's throwing up."
Next person to throw up gets a foot in the ass.
"Alright. Get those girls to back up, Parvati. No one should be in here if they don't need to be." I step over Lavender's feet and take over holding her hair.
At least she made it into the toilet.
After a few minutes and much less puking than Ron, Lavender appears to be feeling better. She and Parvati agree to sit out in the hallway for a few minutes before heading back into the party.
I wander back into the ballroom, making my way towards the bar. As I get closer, however, I see that Blaise and Ginny have moved from "just talking" to "if they were naked that would be illegal."
Welcome to Life As A Third Wheel. Forever pushed from destination to destination, friend to friend, all because you don't have a date and you're not attached to someone at the lips.
Yeah. Not going over there.
Feeling woozy from the heat and the smell of two people puking in my vicinity in one night, I push my way through the crowd of people chatting by the balcony and exit the ballroom. The cool air feels as refreshing as a Freeze Pop on a summer's day, and I wander over to the railing, enjoying both the breeze and the dark expanse of lawn stretching out before me.
As I look down at the Malfoy courtyard, which is decorated with expensive-looking teak lawn furniture, I can't help but think that this night has gone better than if I'd magically planned everything out myself. Not only has Blaise been a true (if a bit flirty) gentleman to Ginny all night, but things with the Sex God have progressed further than I'd ever hoped for. If you'd told me a month ago-hell, if you'd told me yesterday-that the Sex God would pay attention to me all night and tell me I look good in my costume, I'd have laughed you into next year.
And yet, that happened.
I may yet have a chance.
Feeling buoyed by this new burst of confident optimism, I turn to go back inside. I'm so wrapped up in thoughts of magical balcony kisses and slightly sexual spooning (we are spending the night here, after all) that not even the sight of two people glued together in a dark corner by the door playing tonsil hockey can discourage me.
I even find the maturity to glance over and give them a little smile.
And yes, I say maturity. I have not had the (pleasurable?) experience of a mid-party makeout, or anything else beyond a terrible kiss for that matter, and I sometimes find it difficult to bear good will towards those who have (75 of the rest of the population at least).
I start back inside, ready to go find Ginny and Blaise and the Sex God and continue to have a good time, but there's something about the Siamese twins in the corner.
Did I see blond hair?
I glance over again, partially to confirm my suspicion and also to make sure that the two of them aren't staring at me staring at them.
And…yes.
There it is.
The unmistakable white-blond hair and perfect body of one Draco Malfoy, pressed up against some unidentifiable girl.
Good feeling's gone.
My blood runs cold, and I'm torn between hexing the crap out of him and running all the way back to Hogwarts.
A lump rises in my throat and I suddenly realize with some disconcertment that if I stand here much longer, I'm going to cry.
My vision goes blurry as hot tears threaten to pour down my face, and a hazy vision of sexy Draco leaning against the bar comes to my mind, telling me, "I think you look good in that costume."
What the hell? What did I do wrong? I thought I was doing so well all night and suddenly he's hooking up with someone else?
Don't look. If you look again your broken heart will shatter all over the balcony floor.
I walk inside in a daze, not really aware of any of the people around me. I spot Ginny and Blaise laughing by the bar. If I didn't really need Ginny right now, the thought of going over there would make me sick.
I'm about to go join them when I am suddenly irrationally angry.
I'm Hermione Granger, smartest witch at Hogwarts. I don't let selfish 17 year old babies with giant trust funds get me down. Who does he think he is, flirting with me and then dropping me like a hot Pop Tart?
I do a complete irrational 180 and storm back outside. This is ridiculous. HE'S ridiculous.
You know, in a way I'm almost glad he did this. Something had to galvanize me to action. Normally I would've just backed out of there faster and quieter than Eliot Spitzer backing out of office.
"DRACO MALFOY!" I shout, shoving several Hufflepuffs dressed as Healers out of the way. I grab his perfectly muscled arm and yank him off his hockey partner, pulling him around to look at me.
"Granger, what the fuck is your problem?" he asks in an irritated tone.
"Who's she?" the girl snaps, looking very annoyed at having been deprived of a nice makeout session with the Sex God.
"You'll have to excuse us," I say icily.
She "humphs" at me and storms off, putting her clothes back to rights as she goes.
"DRACO MALFOY…" I begin again, but then I notice uncomfortably that more than one guest has turned from their drink to watch us. I quickly slam the balcony doors shut and cast a silencing spell on them. After a few moments of useless eavesdropping, most people start to go back to what they were previously doing.
Malfoy is watching me uncertainly, waiting for my next move.
"I can't believe you would be this irresponsible! You have a party going on in there with no less than 300 guests and instead of watching them carefully, you're out here pressed up against some skank! You gave them all alcohol and set them loose in a room with each other! You have an extremely expensive house that you really ought to be keeping a closer eye on, and you're the one responsible for making sure they all get back to Hogwarts in one piece tomorrow! And are you doing all of that? Nope-you're out here with Skankarella while I get stuck with all the work as usual! Does it ever occur to you that other people suffer from your irresponsibility, Malfoy? I highly doubt that it does. While you're off drinking your own bar and flirting with anything with breasts I'm stuck holding Lavender's head while she empties her alcohol-filled stomach into your pristine toilet, and I'm hosing the puke off of Ron and making sure that he actually gets upstairs to a bed instead of being left lying in a hallway somewhere! Where the fuck do you get off treating people this way, Malfoy?"
I've officially run out of breath, so I'll stop here for a minute and give him some time to recover. He looks like he needs it.
"It's my party and it's my house, Granger," he snaps. "I can do whatever I want. And all of those people will be fine, just a bit hungover tomorrow. Merlin, it's not like I gave them those blasting-sticks that Muggles use, gums or whatever they're called. And why this fixation on that girl? You mentioned her twice in a span of thirty seconds. Why so concerned with who I'm hooking up with?"
That's all he has to say? "I can do whatever I want"? Never in my life have I met anyone so thoughtless! I can't believe I wasted even one second liking him. My rage boils over into the emotional equivalent of lava. I roll up my figurative sleeves and prepare to give him the worst verbal beating he's ever gotten in his life. Maybe I'll even revert back to third year and give him a physical beating, too.
"BECAUSE I LIKE YOU!"
Where did that come from?
Did…did I say that?
Crap. That's not what I meant to say.
The Sex God looks almost as surprised as I feel.
"Sorry? Did you just say that you like me?"
I look at him miserably, my face giving me away.
"Is that why you were so mad about that girl?" he asks, surprisingly serious.
I nod. Inwardly, I'm kicking my ass to China.
"I don't know what to say," he continues. "I didn't realize she'd make you that upset."
"We've been talking and having a good time all night," I say, some of my anger coming back, giving me the energy to continue in this vein of conversation. "And then suddenly you're outside with someone else. Even if I didn't like you, do you know how that makes a person feel? It negates every positive thing that's happened between us this year, and there have been positive things, even if you haven't noticed them."
"I noticed them," he answers. "I just wasn't sure where you were planning on going with them. But now that I have this new information, I can rectify the situation."
" 'Rectify the situation'? I'm not sure I follow," I say hesitantly, frowning. What the hell does he mean?
"I mean this," he says, and in one step, he grabs my wrists, pulls me in, and kisses me.
0000000000
WHOA.
WHOA.
Sorry it took me so long to update. I had hand surgery and was unable to type for a while, and then I got a nice big infection from my lovely antibiotics (turns out, what do you know, I'm allergic to them! Joy!) and I was really sick, blah blah blah.
Writing will be delayed a bit more, as I am going to London for a week next month. But I will get to work on a new chapter almost immediately after I post this one and you may sleep soundly knowing that this story is under further construction.
If it makes you feel any better, I delay sometimes because I want to make these chapters good for you. I have some fantastic plot twists and turns coming up. Squee.
Read and review, tell me what you think.
-Carrie