I always have excuses, and reasons, for why I haven't written sooner. This time, it is mostly umbrella'd by Covid-19: extended university deadlines, family problems, and a relapse into sad brain time. You know, all that happy stuff. It was an EFFORT to write this chapter happy, which is why it took time. Also, have you seen how many words it is? It's almost like I'm apologising... Or I just don't know how to reign in a detailed scene. Also also, after this chapter, no more ANs at the beginning and end. Happy reading!
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It's my birthday. An exciting revelation, I am fully aware.
I'm one of those people who loves birthdays, but not in a fanfare kind of way. I like them to be quiet, and to be days that belong to me and the things I want to do, think, or feel. That probably sounds selfish, but if I can have one day in the year for me, I think it balances out otherwise. Right?
Even better, this year, because my birthday happens to fall on a Friday, which means that I can pretty much celebrate however I want. If I want to take the weekend, I can. Plus, with a Friday, I can roll it over for three days, rather than just two days if it was on a Saturday. Basically, I only have to survive one day of school before the weekend.
What I mean, really, is that I don't hate my birthday, but I won't get worked up over it if the celebration is lack-lustre. It's just a day, but it's a day where I can have an excuse to do things a little better.
I don't have extravagant plans, anyway. I'll be picking up my car (a stylish, affordable dark grey thing that I can't remember the name of) and settling in for the night. I'm thinking of heating up frozen bolognaise, or going wild and getting a McDonalds. Really living it up, I know.
The day kicks off well with a slightly fancier breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, reading a chapter of the book I'm currently previewing (I'm not sure it will pass the 'Hermione Test', because I'm not altogether too bothered about the topic, even if it is written engagingly). I walk to school in bright sunlight of early morning, thinking about whether a bicycle might have been a good investment in addition to a car – or maybe a skateboard like Ron had for a while. In a way, I hope that none of the students have taken notice of what today is. I might attempt to wish that the teachers wouldn't know either, but surely Mr Bens, our Head, will make them know. The other teachers dislike me enough already; I don't want any additional attention.
Of course, as soon as I cross the threshold into the school, a student immediately approaches me and wishes me a happy birthday. Great. And now I have to survive the dreaded staff meeting.
I flash my lanyard pass on the doors into the staff room. They click and I pull them open. Almost everyone is there and hardly anyone acknowledges me. Sammy waves at me from the same green, cushy chair she has been sitting in for the year that she has been here. I grin back at her and make my way over, glancing at a couple of those in my faculty. They smile back, albeit vaguely. I sit down beside Sammy and we exchange pleasantries. It's nice to have a friend when the other members of the school often seem to protest me.
Sometimes I miss the quick fellowships and friendships of Hogwarts. The camaraderie of boarding school just cannot be replicated in the outside world.
I wonder if it was the same for the teachers, or whether they were more like those of us in state schooling. Did McGonagall face the eye rolls and disparagement of fellow educators? Probably not. But not all of us are a powerhouse like her.
"Good morning, teachers!" Mr Bens calls into the room at large as he enters from an off-side office that I swear he only uses for photocopying. Yeah, he's the kind of Headteacher who occupies multiple spaces because he can. I'm internally rolling my eyes at him all the live long day. Right now, I just want this meeting over so I can take my coffee and haul ass to the classroom. There, I can settle.
A few of the teachers murmur replies to Bens, to which he smiles back.
"He's chipper today," Sammy mutters under her breath, grinning slyly at me. "I wonder if he got a pay-check that passed the rest of us by."
"Wouldn't be the first time," I comment in return.
Bens clears his throat and continues: "Before we do our regular announcements, it is my duty to announce something to you all. As some of you may know, we have a very special birthday in our midst. Miss Granger – Hermione – would you please step forward." I try to shake it off and refuse, but his eyes are steely and demanding. I stand up and inch slightly closer to him, feeling grossly uncomfortable.
Sammy looks as though she is cringing for me. Good. I hate this.
"And how old are we today, Miss Granger?" Bens asks, as if I am a child who is being interviewed by an overzealous DJ.
"Fifty," I reply, sarcastically. I hope he sees it as wit. I attempt to amend this and laugh politely: "I don't like making a big deal of it."
Bens laughs. "And right you are. But here we are a family, and a family celebrates together!" I feel everyone rolling their eyes along with me. "As our student-appointed teacher of the year, you deserve our special attention."
I actually see several of the Humanities faculty staff sneer. It's nice to be loved in a working environment.
And that is what Bens starts to sing, and my desire to fold into myself and disappear is reinstated. A couple of other teachers join in the singing, but most stay silent while Bens sings to me. I can't think of a moment where I might have cringed more, other than various horrible experiences at Hogwarts. Except, this isn't bulling. Bens thinks he's doing something nice.
Thank God there isn't a cake.
"There, wasn't that lovely," Bens says, smiling.
"Yeah. Um, thanks," I reply politely, sitting down again.
"Excellent. Now that that's out of the way, we can talk about our usual. The English Literature trip to the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge has been approved for January. We just need the letter formally written, student signatures, and all of that. Miss Granger is planning the trip, so please refer any questions to her."
That is news to me.
"Shouldn't the Head of Department plan that?" Sammy murmurs to me as teachers chatter briefly in the intermission of Bens' speech.
"You'd think so," I say, frowning. "Oh well."
Bens has already moved on: "Geography departmental meeting on Monday. We need to discuss changes to the literature on your courses."
"What should we be teaching our students in the meantime?" Dan, one the geography teachers asks, concerned. I would be concerned too.
Bens shrugs, smiling. "Colouring in?"
Dan laughs, as if it's a joke. It's not.
"Meeting adjourned!"
And it's all over. The teachers disperse, looking a little confused at Bens. Alas, this is pretty normal behaviour for him. Dan catches my eyes and raises an eyebrow in greeting. I have a suspicion that he likes me, but god forbid we talk to other teachers outside of our subject. Dan spoke to me once in May, but that was before Harry and Ginny's wedding. Lord knows what he's been doing since then.
We're not even Facebook friends.
As I'm taking a sip of water at the fountain, Bens approaches me with a wad of papers, saying "Fitzwilliam", grinning, and walking off again, as if this was the greatest gift that he could have given me, aside from the out-of-tune sing-song.
Maybe I do wish he'd brought a cake after all. Then I could have had cake.
I'll probably bake something over the weekend and eat the whole damn thing in an afternoon sitting. I'm happy, sure, but I'm in that kind of whole-cake-eating-mood.
It could be that I'm confused about the trip that I've just been handed. I didn't even know it was happening. And the Fitzwilliam? What is there in Cambridge for literature students to see? I mean, there's a lot. But at this level? I could understand more particular students, such as those at A-Level or higher, but most high school students aren't going to be interested in the particulars of Cambridge-held literature.
I guess that's my lunchbreak sorted. I'll have to think about it.
I glance over the papers and sigh before shoving them into my bag of folders and lesson plans.
My mood brightens considerably by the time I get to registration. The kids are waiting outside for me to let them in, barrelling in when I unlock the door. A few of them wish me happy birthday as they pass, and one of them even hands me a card – I think her name is Jessica, but I still haven't got all that totally figured out yet. I know, I'm a bad teacher, whatever. I get confused; there are a lot of children in a school.
Registration goes well – the kids aren't too hyper or stressed, and they're actually nice to me – and so does the rest of the day. I sit through my classes, talking about books, filling in paperwork every so often, answering curious questions about whatever comes up. It's all pretty easy-going because I take a couple of liberties, being kinder with reading time, playing music in discussion periods.
I also dip into the packet of biscuits that I packed in my school bag this morning. Again, bad? Perhaps. But it is my birthday, and it is not against the rules to eat during work.
The best moment of the day is when I am teaching a group of year 10s Macbeth. I ask the room at large if anyone has any questions, and about ten hands went up. That might be seen as a point of concern, but for a literature teacher in a high school, this is pretty remarkable. Usually, there are no questions, because no one wants to ask anything.
As I leave the classroom at the end of the day, I collect my wad of files for the Fitzwilliam trip (which has turned into Sunday evening work, probably) and the cards and trinkets that I have accumulated throughout the day. Sammy is waiting at the gate for me when I get there, flipping her car keys around her forefinger.
"Ready?" she asks, glancing at my overflowing bags.
"Just about. I almost forgot the kitchen sink."
She laughs and calls me an old woman with a bad sense of humour. I know she's right, which makes me laugh in return.
Sammy drives me across town to the place where they have my car, chattering the whole way about the day (even though we shared lunch together, as usual). She comes with me to the reception, admires the car (still, all I know is that it's grey, but I expect that Draco will chastise me for that the soonest chance he gets). Sammy kisses me swiftly on the cheek and makes her merry way back home, leaving me and my car to get home by ourselves.
Yeah, maybe I should have test-driven the car first, but it was a damn steal. Plus, I don't regret that decision by the time I'm clambering into it, suitably comfortable, and also extremely happy. The happiness I would expect is mostly due to finally having that extra bit of autonomy that I have been craving for so long.
I even plug my phone into the jack before I set off.
While I might normally walk with headphones or earphones or whatever, it is a totally different experience in a vehicle. I can sing as loud as I want to, to whatever song I want. Right now, it's playlist of my favourite songs from my teen days.
Dorky? Yes. Fun as heck? Absolutely.
I'm also very thankful for the built-in satellite navigation, because it turns out I am not great at remembering exactly where I was going to get to the car place.
When I finally arrive home, there's a car parked outside my place, instantly recognisably as Ginny's. The identifiability of the car is furthered by the ginger bombshell standing next to it in a flashy dress and waving at me in a very not-Ginny fashion. I pull up beside her car, frowning and confused.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, suspicious.
"It's your birthday," she replies, grinning.
"Please don't tell me we're going out," I say, internally groaning. Yes, it is my birthday, but going out involves a lot more effort than I am ready to commit to. "Why are you all dressed up?"
"We're not going out, don't worry," Ginny laughs. "Come on, let me inside and I'll tell you."
My brows furrow. "Hmm. Alright, but no funny business."
Ginny holds her hands up in surrender. I am not fooled by this. I know exactly how devious she is. Still, I get out of the car anyway and drag my things inside, letting her in as well. She closes the door behind her once my car is locked, following me into the kitchen and hopping up onto the counter. I laugh.
"What's going on, Gin?" I ask, sighing and setting my bags down.
"Party." She shrugs, nonchalant. Then she breaks. "It's all girls, so you don't have to worry about boys. Not even Harry will be there. Your best gal friends, and we're going to drink and play stupid games, and drink, and whatever really. Singing, dancing, party stuff, you know. Those games we played when we were younger, but… alcoholised." She grins, expectant.
I'll admit, it does sound fun. Much more fun than being alone on my birthday. And no boys.
"You do have to dress up, though," Ginny continues, "So, get going. I'm not doing make-up, but dressing smart is required. I'm also at liberty to tell you that there will be cake."
I nod in appreciation. "I like cake. Okay, yeah, I'm in."
"If you weren't, I would have kidnapped you."
"Do I ever tell you how glad I am to have you as a friend?"
Ginny shrugs and gets down from the counter. "You don't need to tell me. I know how great I am. But, come on, let's get upstairs and pick something nice for you to wear."
I roll my eyes. "Yes mum."
Ginny's eyes squint. "Don't even joke about that."
I lead Ginny upstairs to my room and she opens the wardrobe doors, already beginning to rummage for a dress before I even have a chance. I ask her where the party is, what sort of thing I would need to wear. It's at her place, but dress-code is high-fashion club-wear (as if I know what that means). Basically, what happens is that Ginny rifles through my wardrobe, attempting to find something she thinks might be suitable. She pulls out a few dresses, a playsuit, and then laughs at a couple of the older sweaters I have kept for years.
"None of these," I say to her, thinking quickly, "but I do have something better."
I reach under the bed for the box of old clothes I've kept for years. In here is the dress I wore to my eighteenth birthday dinner (and following night out). It's cute, and small, and black, and kind of my absolutely favourite dress I own.
"Yes," Ginny declares, grinning.
I shove her out of the room so I can change, despite her yelling at me that she's seen me naked plenty of times. While that might be true, I'm still not going to strip in front of her by choice, especially knowing the ugly granny underwear I'm going to put on (because, while I may have just turned twenty-five, I respect the comfort of huge knickers). When I step out of the room, heels and all, Ginny wolf-whistles and meows. I tell her to calm down and we laugh together anyway.
Just before we leave, I rummage in the cupboard and grab a bottle of red wine I'd been saving for a special occasion. It's Italian, smooth and deep and fruity. Maybe it will go to 'waste' tonight, as I think Ginny is gearing to drink a heck of a lot, but it's my party. Right? Fancy wine it is.
Ginny balks at it, though: "You can't bring a bottle of wine to your own party."
"Yes, I can," I argue, "it's my party."
Before she can get in another word, I'm jostling her out of the house and into the cool evening air and locking the door behind us.
"You gonna tell me who's going to be there?" I ask her.
She shrugs, changing lanes to exit the A47. "You'll see. It's people you like, though. Not Lavender. I know we invited her to the wedding, but trust me it was a courtesy rather than an extended olive branch."
"You never liked her," I comment.
"Did you?"
I laugh. "I can't say never, but wow she did make things painful."
"Ain't that true – oh my god, I love this song."
Ginny turns up the radio and I feel a wave of euphoria washing over me, suddenly glad that I won't be alone for my birthday. And that I will have my gal-pals around me. That will be good too.
When Ginny pulls up to her house, I can already feel the music thrumming and again feel so appreciative of my slightly bonkers ginger friend.
"The party started without us?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "No, not exactly. Just didn't want you turning up to an empty house."
Sure enough, when we open the door a chorus of screams break out, also possibly bursting one or two of my ear-drums, and I'm flooded with so many other people that I can barely make sense of anything. I hear Harry calling above all the noise.
"Ginny? You're here, fantastic. Right, I'm off!" He pushes through the hoard of girls, kisses me swiftly on the cheek, shouting a quick, "happy birthday", before being let free into the night, away from the mad-house that he has apparently been sustaining while Ginny came out to get me. Ginny pushes through the girls to the kitchen, calling out for who wants what. It's decided that all three types of wine are going to be opened imminently. I hear Luna shout in the din about the flavoured tequila that she brought over.
It's the thought of tequila that honestly makes me a little afraid for how I will feel in the morning.
Ginny starts the night off by pulling out every type of glass she has, dragging bottles from fridges, hands, and pouring us each a glass. I know, I make it sound like there are a lot of people there, mostly because it feels like there are. Luna uncharacteristically grabs me for a hug, and I smell vodka on her already. Looks like there was some pre-game.
In the blur into the kitchen I catch eyes with Hannah Abbot, who I've spoken to in bits and pieces since the end of Hogwarts (that being sixth form, for those who weren't just totally invested in boarding school life). She greets me with a card and a gift, which is a surprise in all honesty.
"Thanks, Hannah," I say, smiling. Ginny passes me a glass of red wine. Hannah winks at me, but I have no idea why. I tell Ginny: "You should know, I haven't eaten dinner."
"We can order pizza."
I look around at everyone, Sammy, Sally (Draco's friend – how the hell did Ginny get her number?), Luna, Fleur, Hannah, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie – all of them seem to be nodding in agreement. Orders in then, I guess. It's a weird start to a party, everyone just chatting away while Ginny is on the phone to the pizza guy, trying to talk loud enough for him to hear us over the gaggle.
"Done. Right, drinking games."
"When is the food coming?" Angelina asks, swigging at her beer.
Ginny frowns. "An hour, maybe. But that's fine, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Angelina replies, laughing, "no worries. Hermione, what's your favourite game?"
All of us are crowded into the Potters' living room, with Luna half on my lap, drinking what I think might be gin or flavoured vodka. "Depends, are we drinking to get drunk, or for the fun games?"
"We're here to celebrate your birthday, dummy," Ginny says.
"What's that one you were telling me about the other day?" Sammy asks, stretching across the floor for her glass of white wine. It's kind of odd to have the people like Sammy and Sally here, the 'others' in my Hogwarts group of friends. I'm glad they seem to easily fit in.
"Um… Piccolo. Yeah, piccolo," I reply, wiping a hand over my already-exhausted face.
"You can't be tired yet, we haven't even done shots!" Katie Bell shouts to raucous laughter. "Come on, Hermione, tell us how to play."
"Lemme get my phone," I tell them, standing up and allowing Luna to slide into my seat, clutching onto her glass. I step into the other room and grab my handbag from the counter, vaguely pouring another glass of red wine (it went a little too fast, the first one). One message from Draco.
Draco: Happy Birthday, Hermione. I hope your day is as spectacular as you.
I try not to read too much into it. Maybe he means that my day should be rubbish, because I too am rubbish. It doesn't matter, because I reply anyway.
Hermione: Thanks Malfoy. Have a nice evening
Short and sweet. I imagine I'll talk to him over the weekend anyway. That's just how we are. We talk, we message, whatever, and we have that sort of loose connection that I don't know how I would even start about vetoing. I take a gulp of wine, and bring my phone back into the room: "Alright ladies, this is piccolo."
"Let's hear it," Sally says. I smile weakly at her, almost uncomfortable at her being there. She's Draco's friend, which I guess means she ought to be with him… but she's also my friend. You know what I mean. At girls' nights, there tends to be shared secrets about certain boys that we may or may not like.
I might be wrong. I'm twenty-five now. Maybe things change when you get to mid-twenties.
"Okay," I start, "Piccolo is on my phone as an app that kind of acts like a set of cards. The app gives instructions to players. I'll just enter everyone's names. It's not hard." I type in the ten names of the ladies here, misspelling a couple of them without the support of autocorrect. "Okay, so first one. We have to name synonyms for get drunk, and Hannah you start."
"Oh, I see," Hannah says. "What happens if we can't think of anything?"
"Consequences," I declare, laughing. "Whoever messes up first has to drink four times. It's different for each thing, as far as I remember."
"Might be better if we're in a circle," Angelina notes, gesturing to our total disorganised chaos. There is a hum of agreement and we manoeuvre ourselves properly. I'm sitting between Ginny and Sally, directly across from Alicia. "Ready?"
Hannah begins: "Get hammered."
Next, Sally: "Sloshed."
Me: "Slozzled."
"That's pretty similar to sloshed," Ginny murmurs, raising a humoured eyebrow at me. "Tanked."
Katie goes after: "Wrecked."
Then it's Luna, who pauses, thinking quickly. Then she shouts, uncharacteristically, "Pissed!"
"Yes, I z'ink you are," Fleur says, laughing in that tinkling, silvery voice. We all laugh with her, and Luna raises her shimmering liquor in salute. "Um… Teepsy."
"That counts," I announce, to those who are glancing at me, unsure of whether the accent of Fleur's has an impact on her ability to take part in these aspects of the game. But then Alicia is looking across at me, totally flummoxed.
She starts, and then, "I have nothing!" she shouts in exasperation.
"Four drinks!" Hannah shouts back.
"Should I get shot glasses?" Ginny asks me.
"Might be easier," I reply. "Messier too. Up to you. It's your house."
"Your party," she grins, getting up to find the glasses.
After this, we start pouring out our drinks into the shot glasses, drinking through them properly rather than with sips. We rage through the game, entertaining ourselves with weirdly hilarious questions and suggestions, such as Katie who imitates a turtle, and Ginny drunkenly slow-dancing with Sammy, who seems to be super into the game and also having a great time. I thought it might be weird, but I'm actually just happy. There was a kinship formed with Ginny and Sammy after one of the instructions called for the three youngest players to drink five times (Ginny, Luna, and Sammy).
"Okay, hands up for never eat meat again or never drink alcohol. Losers drink three," I say to the room at large. "Hands up for meat?" Six hands go up, including my own. Ginny is clearly confused, raising her bottle of corona and demanding a recount. When I decline, she yells,
"A life without bacon is a crime!"
"Drink!" Angelina hollers back.
"Alicia, name as many of Hannah's exes as possible and hand out that many sips," I read off the screen, a little confused at the wording. I laugh, looking up at Alicia's utterly bemused face. "Stop whenever you want, and drink four if wrong."
"Oh my god," Alicia laughs. "I don't know any. Neville?"
"No!" Hannah protests, grinning. "Gross – sorry Luna. Drink."
Luna shrugs. "I like Neville. He's different." She smiles then, sweeter. "He is funny, too. Not all the time. And he enjoys travelling to these places, accepting me for who I am."
Hannah smiles back at Luna. "To Neville."
We each raise a shot glass and down them, before Ginny pulls us back on track saying that we shouldn't be talking about boys. In my opinion, if we're playing drinking games, we will have to end up talking about boys eventually. This is what stops me from saying the usual utter bollocks that would escape my mouth if I was plastered. Not because I don't trust the girls around me, but because I'm afraid of what they will think. It's as if I feel guilty for… I don't know. Liking him? Spending time with him?
"Sally, who would come up with a better plan to escape from prison. Katie or Fleur? Michael Schofield must give out three sips."
Sally is open-mouthed, staring between the two girls. "Wait, Michael Schofield? Is he…?"
"The really hot guy from Prison Break," Sammy finishes, nodding in appreciation. "Wentworth Miller. Yeah, I had a thing for him when I used to watch the show."
"I remember that show," I murmur. "I don't think I ever finished watching it."
Ginny laughs. "I'm surprised at that. You like TV shows with brothers in. Vampire Diaries and The Originals, and Prison Break. We just have to get you into Supernatural next."
There is a brief explosion about the Winchester brothers, who I end up googling after a lot of budging from nearly everyone in the room. Apparently, they are famously gorgeous. I'm not unimpressed, I'll say that. I also make a note on my phone to start Supernatural as soon as I'm done getting through Vampire Diaries again.
Finally, Sally picks Fleur as Michael Schofield ("This is my first time meeting you, but you seem like you could get out of any situation. Strong character, you know."), who gives out three sips to Katie who giggles through each one of them. We've clearly entered a new stage of drunkenness if there are bouts of the giggles appearing for no apparent reason.
At the next prompt, my stomach dips.
I read it out: "Each person must drink twice and read their last text message out to the room."
There's a pause.
"Wait, does that mean the one we sent, or the one we received?" Angelina asks.
"I actually don't know," I reply. "Both?" The girls nod, whipping out their phones. "This says Luna you should start."
"I got a 'happy Friday' from Neville this morning, and sent Ginny a 'where are you' earlier. Very unexciting." She puts her phone away, shrugging and then watching a piece of dust float in front of her face.
There are a few uninteresting ones, like Luna's ("going to get groceries, see you later", or "can you bring the paper tomorrow" because apparently we all live these weird lives now), and those that make no sense to the rest of us, but then there are the odd ones which are juicy enough at least to me. For example, Sally's last message was to Draco, asking him about a girl. And Hannah's last text was from this guy she mysteriously called 'Tinder? James?'. That was pretty funny, too.
Sally's texts are to and from her mum, which is really sweet actually. Sometimes it's easy to forget that not everyone in this room is comfortable and somewhat financially independent. Sally still lives with her parents, saving up for an apartment, or something.
Then it's me. I check my phone. Sure enough, it's the last two texts I had earlier. Where Draco tells me to have a 'spectacular' time, and I wish him well, or at least along those lines.
There's an awkward silence.
"Malfoy?" Angelina breaks it, sitting upright and downing one of her shots. "Just… what? Draco Malfoy?"
"Yeah," I say, laughing lightly, as if it's some sort of joke. "We met at Ginny's wedding, actually. We've hung out a few times since then."
"You guys know him too, then, I guess?" Sally asks the room at large.
"I don't," Sammy says, raising her hand.
Fleur shakes her head. "I have heard of him, maybe seen him. But there were problems, no?"
"Not anymore," I assure them. "He's actually great. We're friends."
"Just friends?" Ginny asks, slyly.
"Just friends," I confirm, biting my tongue. I'm not quite ready to reveal to everyone the inner-thoughts of my heart and brain, even if they are supposed to be my closest friends, and I am getting towards the atrociously high levels of drunkenness. Regardless, there is a small moment of silence, as if the girls are waiting for me to elaborate on this relationship that I apparently seem to have developed with one of the more… colourful characters of our youth. "Let's move on. How long until the pizzas get here?"
Ginny frowns. "Says twenty minutes here."
My stomach growls in response.
"Last question," I say. "Drink twice if you ever slept with more than one member of the same family."
Shit.
Just then, the doorbell rings, saving me.
"Everyone wait, it might be the pizza," Ginny calls out, before anyone can take their appropriate drinks.
"I'll go," I tell Ginny, standing up, leaving my phone and drink. I wobble a little, but manage to make it. I don't need cash, because Ginny paid beforehand. So that's one bonus, at least. I wipe the hair out of my face and go to the front door, pulling it open quickly, startled by who is on the other side of it.
"You're not the pizza guy."
Draco Malfoy, looking a little lost, in a dark blue suit, clearly having just come from work. He looks tired too, with dark circles under his eyes, and his hair a little mussed up. His tie is loosened and the top button of his shirt is undone. I'm taken aback by him, wobbling again against the open door. He looks up from a parcel he is fiddling with.
"Hermione," he says, smiling suddenly. He falters. "Sorry, I know you were expecting food. I would have gone to your place, but Harry mentioned this… thing." He gestures to the house, presumably meaning the party that apparently everyone except for me knew I was having.
"It's my birthday," I reply, altogether unhelpfully.
"I know. Yeah, I… I wanted to give you this. I could have waited until tomorrow, but today is your birthday."
I smile. "I wish I could return the favour, but I have no idea when your birthday is."
"June fifth," Draco replies.
My whole face drops. "You're joking. I totally missed it!"
"It's fine, Granger, really." He's still smiling at me. "It was a good enough day, but birthdays are a bit strange, often. But that's me. We can talk about it another time, if you really want."
"I promise I'll make it up to you," I implore.
Malfoy laughs. "Really, you don't have to. Fun night?"
"Very," I tell him. "You?"
"The greatest," he quips, gesturing to his appearance.
"You're wearing a suit," I note, pointing at his tie. I wish I was sober, but I guess this could be entertaining for him. He's smiling at least. Maybe he is a little sad.
"I came from the office."
"Cool," I say, staring at his tie, and then at his eyes, and back again. "I like your tie."
I wish I could just shut up, oh my god.
Draco touches his fingers to it. "Thanks. I like it too. Anyway, here. I hope you like it."
I take the gift from him. "Do I have to open it right now?"
"No, of course not." Draco laughs. Nervous? He runs a hand through his hair. "Just thought you should have it on your birthday, because otherwise I'll miss you. Not that I – I just mean that I wouldn't want you to wait for something good." He takes a breath. "This is going terribly."
"Is this gift some sort of metaphor that has completely passed me by? I'm very drunk," I tell him, honestly.
He shakes his head and pulls his suit jacket around him a little more. It looks cold outside but I don't feel it from the doorway, warm from alcohol and central heating that Harry and Ginny like to maintain.
"I do understand, by the way. What you're trying to say, it is." I reach out and grab his hand, apparently to his surprise. "A birthday present for a birthday, not for a late birthday. No other meanings there. I understand."
Draco looks as if for a moment he might protest, but he doesn't. He squeezes my hand, wishes me a very happy birthday, and walks away. He promises to text me in the morning, but won't call unless I don't respond by the late afternoon. It's nice, in a way, that he is already counting the ways he plans to take care of my existence for just a little longer. The old Hermione would be concerned that the old Draco would be making a mockery. But not us, not now.
Feeling warm and gooey inside, I return to the girls in the other room, barely even noticing my hunger anymore.
The doorbell rings again.
"Please let that be pizza," I mutter, almost hoping it isn't Draco so he doesn't have to witness the ridiculously broad grin that spread over my face after any encounter with him (my face betrays me like that, sometimes). A couple of the girls look up at me as I'm leaving the room again, practically spinning on the spot.
When I open the door again, thankfully it is the pizza guy, and Draco has disappeared into the night. I holler for Ginny who helps me bring the bounty of food across the threshold. The pizza guy looks at us funny and then scarpers. Ginny says that he probably wanted a tip, but I hadn't even thought about that, despite my normally considerate nature. I guess my mind has blanked a little, with too much Draco and certainly too much alcohol. Pizza should balance everything out, right? Pizza is good things.
Fleur pulls the plates from the kitchen, Sally finds ketchup in the fridge; she's one of those strange people who only eats pizza with tomato sauce, something which the rest of us lightly and comically condemn. At least, until she manages to get a few of us to try it, and we find that it's actually… not that bad, dare I say it.
"So," Angelina says, "where were we?" bringing us back into the game.
For a moment, I am glad that no one has mentioned whoever was at the door, or why I returned with one gift more than I went with. I assume that they assumed it was just another friend stopping by, and not someone that we've all spoken about. For one whole moment, I am relieved, until I remember the game.
Katie clears her throat, almost choking on a slice of pizza: "Drink twice if you have ever slept with more than one member of the same family."
I wait for someone else to go before I do. Sammy drinks. So does Katie. And then me.
"Okay, details needed," Ginny establishes. She shoves a bite of pizza into her mouth, mumbling, "Sammy?"
"Nothing huge," she says. "I just hooked up with an ex's cousin without realising. Family meal was a little awkward when we realised." Sammy shrugs. "It's not so bad, though. I haven't spoken to either of them in a while."
"Wow," I laugh.
"That's alright, though," Angelina says. "Mine is bit of an odd one. I was dating George, right, a few years ago now. He has a twin, Fred. Sorry, just explaining for anyone who doesn't know the Weasley twins."
"Wait, Weasley. Isn't that the name of the guy you used to date, Hermione?" Sammy asks. "Ron? Is he related?"
I nod, feeling anxiety weighing heavily on my chest.
"They're all my brothers," Ginny says, and not really helping me in the long run. "What did they do to you, Angelina?"
Angelina sighs, finishes her mouthful of pizza and tells us the story: "Well, George and I were dating, as I said. And I'm usually pretty good at telling them apart – it happens when you know them like that. But anyway, George and I had a few drinks one night, we… slept together, as people in a relationship might do. Next morning, I wake up and there is Fred, naked, beside me, staring at me as if he fell in love with me overnight."
The room is totally silent. Then, Ginny,
"Wait, what?"
"It was a prank," Angelina explains. "In the morning, they swapped over, making me think that I slept with the wrong Weasley twin. It was horrifying, especially when I had to explain to George the morning after. And then they burst into laughter."
Everyone in the room is agog.
"Hermione, my god, please tell your story now, because I can't handle this silence," Angelina says, causing everyone to laugh in response.
I sigh heavily then down the rest of my drink. "Well, it's kind of similar to your thing, Angelina. Except, I really did sleep with Fred Weasley."
Again, total silence. That is a real mood-killer. I shove some pizza into my mouth.
"How is that similar at all?" Ginny asks, staring at me. "When, where, how, and why?"
"It was after Ron and I split up. Do you remember that new year when we all got together – just the kids, not your parents." Ginny nods in response, hanging on every word. "I can't remember exactly, but Ron had already left, or something like that. I think midnight had passed, and he went upstairs, and I was upset because I had barely held it together all night. And I was drunk."
"Been there," mutters Alicia, accompanied by a couple of acquiescing voices.
"Yeah," I continue, "and Fred was just… there. It didn't mean anything, and it still doesn't. We spoke about it the morning after and we've always been just friends. But, yeah, that happened."
"Was it enjoyable?" Luna asks.
"Oh god, don't answer that," Ginny interrupts, laughing. "That's weird, but I kind of get it."
"Thanks," I breathe, feeling a little less heavy than I did. "I don't think we have spoken about it since then. It was ages ago. Anyway, can we please talk about literally anything else? We have broken the Bechdel test about a thousand times tonight."
After everyone agrees with this, we set out and play other drinking games, like Ring of Fire, and Never Have I Ever – all quality games to get you drunk. We make our way through the booze, the pizza, and eventually break out the ice cream and chocolate. Ginny is well-stocked for a girls' night, which we all appreciate. Most of all, me. I am so extraordinarily thankful to have this group of girls as my tribe, no matter how little or how well I know each of them.
Tonight has just solidified my friendship with them. For that, I am so, so happy.
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