Chapter Four - 'The Foresight of a Rearview Mirror

TW: Alcohol consumption

"Hermione?"

Harry's voice was tentative as he beckoned her over. His face was set and worry-worn, as if anticipating that she would either ignore him, or shout at him again. Ginny and Neville were both sat with him by the Common Room fireplace, looking nervous. Clearly Hermione's outburst from the night before was still rather present in their minds.

"Hi," she said, as warmly as she could manage, and their faces immediately relaxed.

For some reason, her awkward conversation with Malfoy in the library had left her feeling much more mellow than before. Of course she was still hurt that none of her friends were willing to help her with the rebuilding, but... it was as if she had realised that she didn't want to punish them for it.

"I'm… I'm sorry about last night," she said carefully. "It wasn't fair of me to shout at you like that."

She wondered if perhaps they had been feeling guilty too, because they accepted her apology immediately, and soon they were chatting and laughing and joking as they sank into armchairs and into normalcy, as if nothing had ever happened.

Harry told them about the slight fall from grace he was experiencing with Slughorn thanks to a lack of guidance from the Half-Blood Prince, Ginny spent most of the evening threatening anyone who laughed at her bright purple teeth (the result of a tricky Transfiguration lesson) that she would give them a set to match, and Neville had them all wheezing at his tale of the vicious correspondence battle over a certain Sword of Gryffindor that he had been embroiled in ever since its sudden appearance from the sorting hat four months before.

"But we know it'll just turn up again whenever someone has need of it… so what's wrong with letting you keep hold of it until the next worthy Gryffindor comes along?" asked Ginny, flashing her purple teeth as she grinned.

"That's what I said," agreed Neville, "but they still seem to think it's worth pestering me with four owls a week trying to persuade me to give it to Gringotts. Fat chance, I couldn't send it to them now even if I wanted to."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked.

"Because it's at my Grandmother's," he explained. "I'm hoping that the Department of Magical Artifacts decides to go knocking, actually – she's got it mounted up on the wall and I've heard she's been hexing anyone that gets too close to it. Apparently next door's cat was the latest victim."

The frequent bouts of laughter over the rest of the evening were comforting, and it was with a significantly more settled air that Hermione ascended the stairs for bed later that night.

Parvati was awake when she entered, and seemingly up for company, so the two of them ended up lounging on her bed, idly practising decorative charms on the duvet while they chatted. It was an incredibly intricate area of magic, but as Hermione managed to etch the rough outline of an otter in golden stitches on the fabric, and Parvati charmed the last thread in place to form a red rose, she decided it was pretty satisfying.

"Parvati?" she asked, after a while.

"Mm?" she responded noncommittally, attempting to transfigure her embroidered rose into a different colour.

"Promise me you won't say I'm being weird?"

Wand stilling as her interest was piqued, Parvati grinned curiously at her. "I promise…?"

"I think I might try and make friends with Draco Malfoy."

Parvati rolled her eyes in a fond sort of way. "Don't you think he's a bit… I don't know… past that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know… whenever I see him, it just looks like he's given up on everything. Like he's been through enough crap, all he wants to do is just run away and be left alone. Like he's a bit, sort of… broken, you know?" she said, gently.

Hermione looked down in her lap. "I don't think he's broken. I just think he's a bit damaged, and beaten down, and he needs some kindness. Like he's a… a fixer-upper."

Parvati laughed. "And you're planning to fix him up?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Maybe."

Parvati flicked her wand, and Hermione watched her chestnut curls turn a delightful shade of green before Parvati reversed it with a flourish. "You're sweet. I think that makes you a fixer-upper too, you know. The one doing the fixing. It means both things, right?"

Hermione pondered this. "I think usually it means a house in dire need of repair, but why not," she shrugged. "Maybe I am a fixer-upper."

Parvati giggled at her. "Aren't we all?"

There was a companionable silence for a while as their attention fell back to their charmwork. "Do you think Malfoy's a lost cause?" Hermione asked eventually.

"No," Parvati replied immediately. She twiddled her wand again, watching as patches of Hermione's duvet flickered pink, then gold, then blue. "I think there's probably some good in him, deep down. Just watch you don't go getting hurt by all the bad along the way."

For someone who loved divination so much, Hermione always thought that the advice Parvati gave was often surprisingly grounded. "I'll try. Thanks, Parvati," she said.

Parvati grinned back. "Any time, Little Miss Fixer-Upper."

Hermine stuck her tongue out. "Alright, that's it, get off my bed, you nuisance."

"Ugh, I see how it is!" Parvati huffed, flopping backwards onto the duvet with a dramatic sigh. "That's the last time I give you life advice!"

"I'm a big girl!" protested Hermione through splutters of laughter. "I can give myself life advice!"

Parvati lifted her head off the bed and regarded her with warm brown eyes. "Hermione, I love you, but you have the foresight of a rear-view mirror."

They looked at one another, and then burst into giggles.

When they'd finally managed to calm down, Parvati leant in close to wrap Hermione in a hug. "I'm really glad you're here with me this year," she said softly.

"Me too," said Hermione truthfully, squeezing her back. She thought for a moment. "Can I just ask… are you sure it doesn't bother you that I'm so willing to forgive Malfoy after everything he did? You know… After… everything in the war?"

There was a pause, and even though her name hadn't been said, Hermione was certain that they were both thinking about Lavender. "No, it doesn't bother me," Parvati said, eventually, carefully. "What happened… still hurts. Of course. Every time I see the damage in the castle I wish things were different. I miss Lavender every single day-" She had to pause, her voice going thin. "But Malfoy isn't the one to blame. Just because he made some choices and ended up on the wrong side doesn't make him personally responsible. So, you know, I'll only hold him accountable for the things he actually did. And if you're okay with him, that's enough for me."

Hermione suddenly realised she didn't quite have the right words to say to such a meaningful response. So instead she just squeezed her friend tightly, trying to let Parvati know how much she was appreciated.

"Thank you. Are you doing okay?" she whispered eventually, and Parvati pulled away and smiled at her.

"Not all the time," she answered plainly. "But it's getting easier. And it means a lot having a friend here."

Hermione went to bed after that feeling as if she was glowing.

The following afternoon, Ron was given the all-clear to leave the hospital wing. Feeling that she should probably see him safely back to the Common Room, Hermione decided to visit him as soon as her classes had ended.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, spotting him in the corner and rushing over.

"Good as new!" Ron said happily, swinging his feet out of bed. He had either forgotten about her unceremonious exit the day before, or he was doing a very good job of pretending it had never happened, for which she was glad. "Do you want to hang out tonight? Just us?"

Gladness forgotten, her face fell. It felt like she had to say yes, but she wasn't really sure if she wanted to, especially when all she could think about were the homework assignments she still had yet to complete…

"We don't have to if you don't want to," said Ron quickly. "I know you're busy."

Hermione looked into his eyes. This was the boy that she'd been in love with for two years; her closest friend and confidant. She should be delighted to spend time with him. So she shook off the uncertainties crowding into her mind, and told him that she would love to.

Ron beamed and jumped up onto his feet, squeezing her hands in his. "Brilliant! Am I free to go, Madam Pomfrey? I've reached the end of my sentence!" he called out.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office and appraised him critically for a moment. "Alright then, off with you," she said begrudgingly. "But make sure you take care of that leg for a few days, you need to let those muscles build back up naturally."

"Yes ma'am!" said Ron, punching the air. "I'm a free man!"

And Hermione couldn't help but giggle as they collected his things from his bedside table and set off towards the great hall. "So what did you want to do tonight?" she asked, as they turned down the corridor and joined the flow of students eager for their dinner.

"I was thinking that it might be nice to find somewhere to hang out together, you know, talking or whatever. Somewhere private."

She grinned wryly. "I hope you don't mean McGonagall private."

Ron went scarlet.

To Hermione's surprise and pleasure, their 'date' that evening ended up being one of the most enjoyable times she'd had with Ron in recent weeks.

As they sat at the back of an empty classroom on the fifth floor and chatted idly about the goings-on of the last few days, she realised that it felt like a return to the kind of easy companionship they always used to have. It was easy. Uncomplicated. Unpressured.

By the time they were fleeing the curfew back up at the Gryffindor tower, she was feeling practically giddy with the fact that she had just spent two hours alone with Ron feeling completely and totally at ease. There was none of that discomfort or uncertainty or itchiness. Just friendship.

Was that the right word to use?

Hermione was distracted from this train of thought as she climbed through the portrait hole, when there was a shriek from the other side of the Common Room and someone came barrelling over to her.

"Hermione, I'm sorry-" yelled a stricken Parvati.

Hermione's heart immediately started racing and before she knew it she was poised ready to defend herself and Ron against whatever danger may be awaiting them. It looked like practically every Gryffindor in the castle was here, and they were all looking at her. Frantically flicking through all the possibilities for disaster in her mind, Hermione searched for the source of the commotion – had there been an attack? Was someone in danger?

Then: "Why didn't you tell us it was your birthday this weekend?!" demanded Seamus from the other side of the room. Parvati buried her face in Hermione's hair. "Are you intentionally depriving us of an excuse to get rat-arsed?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief, her heart still thundering in her chest. "…What?"

"I'm sorry Hermione, I know you wouldn't want anyone to make a big deal of it, but everyone was talking about needing a good excuse for a party, and…I let slip that you turn nineteen on Saturday-" wailed Parvati.

Oh, thank goodness. "Christ, Parvati, you scared me half to death," Hermione complained, extricating the mortified girl from around her shoulders as she fought to calm herself down. She stashed her wand away again and took a deep, steadying breath.

Seamus advanced on her. "So can we? We've been itching for a good excuse for months."

Hermione still felt completely bemused. "I mean, as long as you don't expect me to do anything in particular…sure?"

A collective cheer went up from the assembled students, including Ron at her side, and she grinned before she could help it. It was laughable, really, that they would want her permission to host a party when she knew full well that a herd of wild Hippogriffs couldn't stop them once their minds were set.

"Brilliant!" roared Dean. "We'll get all the old DA in, all the returning 8th years…"

Hermione stopped listening. She wasn't exactly one for massive parties, especially those held in her honour, but at least she knew that as soon as enough Firewhiskey had been drunk, no one would remember that her birthday had ever anything to do with the proceedings at all, so hopefully she would be able to sneak away as soon as she'd had enough.

She wouldn't be getting any cards from her parents this year… Maybe a little celebration would help it feel a bit more like a birthday.

Another day, another library session.

Hermione headed over to her usual table, immediately spotting that the next one over was, once again, occupied by Malfoy, whose face was scrunched up in concentration. Discarded parchment littered his workspace and there was a flash of stray ink on his cheekbone.

He looked up at Hermione as she entered, nodding slightly in recognition.

"Hi," she said uncertainly. Why was it that even the minutest of greetings felt like some huge sort of guessing game when it came to Malfoy?

"Hi," he said. Then: "I'm sorry." His lips twisted into a wry smirk. "Again."

Hermione snorted before she could help it, shaking her head in derision as she settled down at her desk.

"Are you going to do that every time you see me?" she asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her before looking back down at his work. "We'll see."

There was a short silence as Hermione dumped a bunch of textbooks onto her table and wrote the title of her next Defence Against the Dark Arts essay on a fresh roll of parchment.

"I didn't see you in here yesterday," said Malfoy suddenly. She could tell immediately that he was trying very hard to sound indifferent. "I thought you considered any moment not in the library as a moment wasted."

She raised her eyebrows, smirking slightly. "Did you miss me?"

"Oh, please!" he snorted, snapping his gaze away. Hermione couldn't help but giggle. "Arrogance doesn't suit you."

"Mm, perhaps I should leave it to the professionals," she said impishly, and he scowled. There was a pause during which Hermione fought to keep the grin off her face.

"I just didn't think that anything could possibly be more important than homework," Malfoy muttered eventually.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to decipher what he was asking.

"I was-"

At that moment, she was cut off by Madam Pince appearing around the side of the bookshelves like an overlarge vulture.

"Quiet!" she hissed, and they guiltily returned to their work.

It occurred to Hermione that it would be much easier to talk if they were sat closer together. And so without a second thought, she swept all her things up and deposited them unceremoniously onto Malfoy's table.

He looked up at her with an expression akin to having seen her march naked onto the Quidditch pitch with an owl on her head. "What are you doing?!" he whispered, horrified.

"Coming to work at your table, what does it look like?" Hermione said nonchalantly. "It's easier to talk to you when you're not sat three metres away."

He grumbled into his parchment but didn't reply.

"Yesterday was a bit of a busy day. I went to go see Ron when he left the hospital wing, we hung out for most of the evening, and then I got bullied into having a party this weekend," she carried on.

"The Weasel King was in the hospital wing?"

"Don't call him that." She flipped idly through her textbook. "But yes."

"What happened?"

She stopped page turning to fix him with a discerning look. "Do you care? Or do you just want to gloat?"

He sat back abruptly in his chair, a careful mask descending over his features. "You know me so well," he said drily.

"He broke his leg," explained Hermione, feeling oddly guilty.

"Ah," he said by way of response. The tension eased a little.

She refocused on her parchment. It was a tricky essay about the laws surrounding the use of unforgivable curses, which was a bit mean of their new Defence teacher, Professor Morton, she thought, considering that a lot of legislation was due to change in the aftermath of the war. Malfoy made as if to speak again, but closed his mouth instead, and managed to wait until she had written at least a paragraph before continuing.

"I didn't take you for the party type, Granger. What's the occasion?"

She looked up from her parchment yet again. "My birthday," she replied simply. He remained silent, and for some reason Hermione find herself flushing. "I'll be nineteen."

She glanced down at the textbook on the table, the sprawling text and the illustrations, the colours faded and desaturated. And then all of a sudden, before she had even thought about what she was going to say, words started tumbling out of her mouth. "Would you like to come?"

Malfoy looked about as shocked as the textbook's illustration of a witch being hit with a porcupine hex. "To your party?"

"Well, it's not my party, really. The Gryffindors wanted to get drunk, and my birthday was just a convenient excuse. Look, you'd be welcome, there's going to be lots of people from different houses there…"

"No Slytherins though, right?" Malfoy said flatly.

A flicker of guilt made itself known in Hermione's belly. "Dean said he'd invite all the 8th years… I'm, I'm only asking in case he…forgets," she stammered.

"How kind of you," he sneered, and she looked down at her essay again. She knew he was only lashing out in self-defence, but it still hurt.

They worked in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. The air felt as if it had been pulled taut between them, a string on the cusp of snapping.

Eventually, he spoke. "Will there be alcohol?" he asked, and his voice was softer this time, tentative.

She blinked. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, uh, no doubt it'll be some cheap Hogsmeade muck. Maybe I'd better, er, bring a bottle. You know, to make sure that you have a proper toast. For nineteen."

She pulled her eyes up to meet his and the string of tension dissipated like pulled candyfloss. Delicate, and fragile, but good.

"I'd like that," she said quietly.

Malfoy looked flushed but pleased, and at once Hermione knew that she'd made the right decision.

Inter-House unity involved all four Houses, after all.

And if that reasoning didn't appease any nosy Gryffindors, she would just tell them that it was her party. And she would invite who she wanted to.

"Happy birthday Hermione!"

Hermione grinned widely and settled herself down at the dinner table, thanking a beaming Ginny, who seemed far too excited to sit still.

Between finishing off some assignments from the week, being jostled around well-meaningly in the great hall at lunchtime, and being distracted from her work by Ron repeatedly pulling her to one side for birthday kisses ("nineteen kisses for nineteen years!" he cried), it had seemed as if she had blinked and missed most of the day.

Harry's gift had been a fascinating book about the real hauntings behind popular Muggle ghost stories, and a pre-release 'fact-checker' bracelet from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which was supposedly charmed to turn green when the wearer was right and red when they were wrong. The information card declared sunnily that 'the Debate-O-Bangle checks your facts against our comprehensive database, allowing you to prove that you do, in fact, know everything!'. It sounded suspiciously as if it may have been created with Hermione in mind.

Though she felt terrible to admit it, Ron's present seemed a little underwhelming in comparison. He had bought her a recipe book that looked like one of the ones she had seen in his mum's kitchen, and though she was sure it was intended as a sweet hobby-encouraging gift, it almost felt like a bit of a jab at her poor culinary reputation, and reminded her of some of the arguments they had had whilst camping together the previous year.

Still, she thanked him, and tried her hardest to reciprocate the many eager kisses he planted on her throughout the day.

"Nineteen!" cried Ginny across the table, throwing a gift in Hermione's direction. "You're so old!"

Laughing, Hermione accepted the familiar Every-Flavour-Beans-Box-shaped package. "Thanks Gin. Are you partying tonight?"

"As if we'd miss it!" grinned Ginny. "Apparently Hogsmeade has all but sold out of Firewhiskey, and I know for a fact that Seamus and Dean have got hold of a Butterbeer keg – I saw them lugging it in last night."

"I didn't expect people to go quite this full out for my birthday," Hermione admitted, biting her lip, wondering if she ought to have purchased anything.

Ginny rolled her eyes fondly at her. "In the nicest way, Hermione, I don't think your birthday has anything to do with it," she laughed. "It's the first time since the battle that everyone's been back together properly. People have taken their time to grieve and now the world's on its way to being back to normal… I think we're owed a proper celebration, don't you? Oh, what in Merlin's name is that on your wrist?!"

Whilst Hermione reflected on Ginny's words, the Debate-O-Bangle caused hilarity at the table, with an endless list of people clamouring to try it on, desperate to prove themselves right in long-standing arguments. Despite the information card claiming that it wouldn't work for subjective statements, Ginny soon discovered that saying 'Voldemort sucks', or 'the 'P' in Prefect stands for Prick' would cause the bracelet to glow a deep green for several minutes.

At eight o'clock, Ginny came to collect Hermione from the dormitory, to which she had been banished whilst decorations were underway. She had made a cursory attempt at taming her hair and donned a pretty purple dress, and so it was with a quiet pride in her appearance that she descended the stairs.

There were strips of bunting and 'Happy Birthday Hermione!' banners strung up all around the Common Room. Red and gold balloons adorned every crevice, and a radio seemed to have been magically amplified so that the sounds of the Wireless Wizarding Network filled the room. A huge, enchanted banner on the wall featuring a blown-up image of her face on it kept clearing its throat and repeating 'It's sort of exciting, isn't it? Breaking the rules?' in a tinny voice. A huge table at the side of the room groaned under the weight of bottles of all shapes and sizes. There was glitter everywhere.

Hermione suddenly had to start focusing very hard on not crying.

Ron spotted her and grabbed Harry, and the two of them immediately launched into an off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday' that soon had the whole room singing and Hermione laughing. Amongst the chorus she spotted every single returning eighth year (with the exception of Malfoy), and most Gryffindors from the year below. There were also a few others, including Luna (wearing a huge multicoloured patchwork dress adorned with a flashing badge), Dennis Creevey (who seemed to have undergone a growth spurt over the summer), and several other students she knew to be close friends or siblings of others in the room. Everyone seemed to have ditched their robes and dressed up a little, dress robes and Muggle evening wear alike, and she realised how odd yet lovely it was to see so much colour around the Common Room in place of plain black robes. There were about thirty people in all, every single one beaming at her as they finished the song and burst into whoops and cheers.

Definitely on the boundary of weeping, Hermione leapt down the stairs and into Luna's wide arms. Luna squeezed her tightly, her tent-like dress enveloping her, then stepped back and gestured to her badge. It read 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIO' in huge writing. "You have a lot of letters in your name," she said, simply, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

Someone turned the music down, and Hermione turned to address the room, blushing madly. "Thanks so much for coming, everyone." She was a bit out of her depth – all too used to being able to pass speeches over to Harry. She cleared her throat determinedly. "And thank you for putting this all together, it looks really, really incredible. We've, erm… we've had a hard year, and I er, I think we're long overdue for a good celebration."

"Hear, hear!" cried Ginny.

Hermione grinned, then paused. "Um, housekeeping-wise…" she said. Someone groaned but she ploughed on regardless. "If I spot anyone below sixth year with anything stronger than butterbeer, I'll go straight to McGonagall. And everyone else: please try not to get sent to the hospital wing… Er, okay?"

Everyone laughed delightedly, and Hermione conjured a goblet into her open hand. "Now, er… Let's drink?"

The room erupted in cheers, the music resumed with gusto, and the bottle-laden table was immediately swamped with eager hands. Hermione was only planning on having a few drinks herself, but was also very excited to see what drunken silliness the night might have in store for some of the others. No one seemed to be wasting any time at all in knocking back the drinks, and it occurred to Hermione that they were celebrating something much bigger than just her birthday.

She drifted absently round with a glass of butterbeer, making idle chat with whomever she bumped into, until Parvati (who already seemed more giggly than normal) slung an arm over her shoulder. "Absolutely not!" she crowed. "You are not drinking Butterbeer on your nineteenth birthday!" She pointed her wand at her drink and vanished it with a wide grin.

"Hey-!"

"Hermione, you've had the last five years of your life to drink Butterbeer. Tonight is the night for whiskey and rum!"

Hermione made to protest weakly, but Parvati was already pulling her towards the drinks table, bumping others out of the way with a cry of, "Watch it, birthday girl coming through!"

Parvati expertly selected an unfamiliar bottle, and with a conciliatory nod, Hermione allowed her goblet to be filled. Rolling her eyes, she took a sip and spluttered immediately. "God, what is this?!"

"Dragon Barrel Brandy," said Parvati nonchalantly. "Here, have it with a bit of dandelion fizz, it'll take the edge off-"

Hermione knew that she could resist if she really wanted to, but in all honesty… she didn't want to. There was a little thrum of excitement deep in her belly at the prospect of letting go of some inhibitions for a while. If there was ever a night for it… this must be it.

An hour later, she was sat cross legged on a sofa with her third glass of brandy, considering the scenes around her with great amusement. Everyone had been drinking like they hadn't seen so much as a drop of alcohol since last year, and as a result, everyone in the room appeared to now fall somewhere on the spectrum between giddy and completely inebriated.

There was a fierce sense of joy and camaraderie in the Gryffindor Common Room that night, the atmosphere electric. They were drinking in celebration and mourning, in loss and in reunion. And the feeling was just indescribable.

A makeshift dancefloor had sprung up in the corner next to the radio, which was pumping out dizzy drumbeats and heady vocals that Hermione had never heard before but assumed must be the sort of music that would play in wizard bars. Amongst the dancers were Neville and Hannah Abbott, both flushed and nervous, Neville's hands on her waist and hers clasped on his shoulders. Hermione grinned.

On the other side of the room, Seamus and Dean had started mixing drinks from the huge variety of bottles available to them. A crowd of onlookers has amassed to accept their concoctions, which were eagerly sampled and subsequently either praised and shared around or spat out in horror. The latest experiment appeared to have fallen soundly in the latter camp, with the taster (Ernie Macmillan) recoiling in disgust, blue steam pouring out of his nose and ears.

Every so often, younger Gryffindors that Hermione didn't recognise would wander through the room on their way to bed, looking around with nervously or excitedly, but thankfully no one seemed to mind too much that the Common Room had been monopolised for the evening. Some younger students even wished her a happy birthday, and others tried their luck with a swipe at the table of drinks until someone older managed to chase them away with a Tickling Charm.

The now notorious colour-changing nail polish was out again, and Hermione giggled at the sight of Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner lining up to receive a manicure, falling over one another in hysterics.

Parvati, Padma Patil, and Susan Bones were locked in a conspiratorial conversation on the rug by the fire, maintaining hushed tones until they seemed unable to take it anymore, exploding every few minutes in gales of raucous laughter. They were glancing furtively around the room with huge grins, and every so often Hermione thought she could hear the words 'snog', 'marry', and 'Avada', so she imagined she had a fairly good idea of what exactly they were discussing. She was almost tempted to join in for a moment, looking around and wondering which faces in the room she could possibly be persuaded to kiss…

A lazy grin spread over her face. Hermione Granger, she thought to herself. You are drunk.

She pulled herself back into the conversation around her, still grinning.

"D'you, do you, hey, hey listen, do you reckon anyone's ever brought a …. a gun to a wizard duel?!" Harry was asking emphatically, his words thick and blurry under the influence of the mead in his hand. "Just like – 'this'll confuse 'em!', and then, bang!? Right?!"

Hermione collapsed into giggles. "Talk about the element of surprise!"

"What's a gun?" asked Ron.

"It's a Muggle weapon that shoots out little bits of metal," Hermione explained automatically. She held her hands up in a classic Charlie's Angels pose. "Pew, pew!"

Harry snickered at her poor sound effect and they both dissolved into laughter again.

"Doesn't sound very dangerous to me? Surely you could just repel them?" suggested Ron, more confused than ever.

"They travel, like, hundreds of metres per second, Ron. Can you cast that fast?" Hermione countered. And then: "Oh, that rhymes!"

"But hey, don' you jus' think it would be really, really funny…if somebody turned up to a duel with a fucking gun?" repeated Harry, emphasising the last two words with enough force to send the entire group off into fits of laughter.

Shortly after this, Ginny pulled Harry up from the sofa to dance with her, and then it was just Ron and Hermione left. She felt her cheeks heat up, and it wasn't just from the alcohol.

"Are you having a good time?" asked Ron, with a gentle smile and a squeeze of his hand on her leg.

"Yes," she answered. Then, with a look down at her drink - "I think…I'm fairly drunk though."

Ron grinned, leaning forward. "Me too." Hermione leant away without thinking, and despite the rejection, Ron grinned suddenly. "Have you seen your birthday banners?"

"Of course, I saw them when I came in!" she said. "Can you tell me who made that big ugly one of my face, so I can jinx them?"

He laughed and tapped the side of his nose. "It's a secret! But no, I meant have you seen the banners lately? Someone's been around and had a bit of fun with them, have a look."

She looked up and realised that the first banner she saw had been altered to read 'Happy Birthday Hermio' to match Luna's badge, and she snorted. "Hermio, gosh, that sounds like a Shakespeare-" she started, but broke off abruptly when her eyes alighted on the next banner.

Someone had scrawled 'Weasley' after the end of her name.

'Happy Birthday Hermione Weasley'.

Dread oozed into her stomach and she put her drink down suddenly, spilling some of it over her hand.

"Ron-"

"Exciting, isn't it?" said Ron breathlessly. His face was flushed with excitement. "That we could have that, you know, one day. Don't you think? Or you know, Granger-Weasley. Weasley-Granger. Whatever you wanted."

He was so close. She could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath, and even though he wasn't doing anything wrong, and she was sat on a comfortable sofa in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, surrounded by people she loved and trusted, she suddenly felt very trapped.

"Er, Hermione?" said someone, and she leant thankfully away from Ron to look at the newcomer, dizzy with relief. Everything appeared slightly blurred, as if she was underwater, and she blinked a few times to try and clear her vision. Dennis Creevey was standing in front of them. "Sorry to interrupt, but, er, well… Draco Malfoy is outside the portrait hole. I told him he wasn't invited, but he, uh, says he wants to speak to you? I'm sorry, he won't go away."

Hermione jumped up, and next to her, Ron also leapt to his feet, wand in hand. As if he had a sixth sense for trouble, Harry came pelting over to join them, in a move that would have been much more dramatic if he hadn't misjudged his entrance and gone crashing into the sofa. He pulled himself up with a giggly 'whoops!' as Ginny cackled madly from the other side of the room.

"Malfoy's outside," Ron told Harry urgently.

Harry's face twisted, sobering instantly. "What on earth does he want?"

"Probably to make a fuss that he wasn't invited. You stay here, Hermione, we'll go sort him out-" started Ron.

"No!" she cried, with an intensity that made them both freeze. She cleared her throat and focused on enunciating her words as clearly as possible. "You will do no such thing. I invited him. I'll go talk to him."

"Are you mad?!"

"No, I'm not." And she turned on her heel and marched over to the portrait hole, feeling very smug with herself until she veered drunkenly off course and into the wall.

Hermione hadn't realised how much of an effect the brandy would have on her hand-eye coordination, but it seemed to take her at least five times longer to climb through the portrait hole than normal. The passageway opened impatiently, and still crouched on her hands and knees, she found herself staring into the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

The urge to laugh almost overwhelmed her.

"Granger," he said stiffly.

She bit her lip to keep from grinning. "Malfoy."

She felt so completely daft, crouched in the portrait hole in front of him with her hair messy and dress askew, that she couldn't hold it in any longer. And she started giggling.

To her surprise, Malfoy's face split into a reluctant grin, which only made her laugh harder, until soon she was wheezing with the effort to draw breath.

When she finally managed to compose herself, he was still smiling. Hermione finally climbed the rest of the way through the portrait hole to stand in front of him, brushing herself down, suddenly bashful. He was wearing a dark blazer over a handsome green shirt, tucked into immaculately pressed trousers. They looked expensive. And they suited him. She noticed, objectively of course, that Draco Malfoy had grown into quite an attractive man. Especially when he smiled.

"You found us alright, then?" she asked uncertainly, trying to close that avenue of thoughts away.

"Of course," he said. "But your moany portrait wouldn't let me in."

"I should think not!" cried the Fat Lady shrilly. "There's a password for a reason, you know!"

"It's alright," Hermione told her. "He's with me."

Malfoy's cheeks went slightly pink and she grinned at him. "I'll warn you though, it's a bit mad in there. I think some people are playing snog, marry, Avada." She considered him for a moment, frowning. "Hm. Well, I don't think I would Avada you-"

"Granger, are… are you drunk?" Malfoy asked uncertainly.

"Yes," she answered, unconcerned. "I'm nineteen!" And she threw her arms out as if that explained everything.

Malfoy considered her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I thought an ex-Prefect would never stand for alcohol consumption on school grounds."

"It's my birthday," she said cheekily, grinning. Somewhere in his standoffish gaze, she spotted a flicker of something on the cusp of warmth.

"Speaking of, I, er, brought you this," he said suddenly, pulling a bottle from behind his back. Hermione didn't recognise the label, but it was clearly fizzy, alcoholic, and expensive. Champagne, she imagined. "I wasn't sure what you'd like… I didn't think you'd want one of my father's Superior Reds because, well, my father, but then I thought you probably wouldn't want any Elf-made wine either, because I heard about your Elvish Welfare thing… What do you think?"

Hermione thought that it looked fancier than anything else she had seen in the Common Room that night. And she was oddly touched.

"I think it's perfect," she told him, accepting the bottle with a smile, but he still seemed nervous, and Hermione realised suddenly how intimidating the thought of a Gryffindor party must be.

"Do you, er, want to come in?" she asked, gesturing to the portrait hole.

He looked momentarily panicked, as if he'd rather do quite literally anything else.

"It's not too late to say no, you know. I'd understand," Hermione said carefully, but Malfoy just scowled at her.

"I'm not wimping out."

She stifled a laugh. Apparently even he was susceptible to reverse psychology.

"Alright then. Are you ready?"

He adjusted his blazer. "Completely," he lied.

The Fat Lady was watching them in irritation when Hermione turned to face her. "Dirigible," she said apologetically.

"About time," said the Fat Lady snippily, and swung open to reveal the Common Room.