Chapter 11 - A thousand fully-grown mountain trolls

"So you're telling me muggle children dress up as magical beings — even though they don't believe in magic — then knock on their neighbours' doors and beg for sweets?"

Pansy stares at Hermione from across the dorm, eyes narrowed like she's trying to figure out if she's tricking them.

"Well, not just magical beings," she explains. "They dress up in all kinds of costumes. I was a witch once — well, I called the costume a witch, but it was really more like a hag. That's what muggles think witches look like. Anyway, I was a cat another year. And a scientist, a librarian, a princess. You can dress up as all sorts of things."

"Hmmm," Pansy intones suspiciously. "How do they have time for that with a feast on the same night?"

"Oh, muggles don't do Halloween feasts. Just trick-or-treating. Sometimes young adults have parties."

"That's absurd." Pansy turns back to her make-up mirror, having seemingly lost interest.

"It sounds fun to me," Tracey offers, then holds up two sets of dress robes. "Purple or blue?"

"Blaise likes purple," Daphne comments neutrally.

Tracey blushes, but folds the blue robes back into her trunk and lays the purple out on her bed.

Hermione has chosen robes of pale grey with blush pink trim for the occasion of the Halloween ball. They're pretty, though she might not have chosen them if she hadn't been rushed and flustered when she picked them out over the summer. Malfoy's doing, of course.

She and Harry and Ron had run into him at Madam Malkins. He'd called her a mudblood and his mother had sneered and the boys had drawn their wands.

In some ways, it's hard to reconcile that fact with the events of the past few weeks. In other ways, not so much. Two kisses – one gentle, one borderline violent. Taunting and frustration. A conversation by the fire that got at some sort of truth, though she's still not sure which parts were true and which parts were lies.

The kiss by the fire had felt true — soft and warm and sure. But everything else had felt like a game. And she's not sure which of them is winning. Or even what the rules are.

Although, as both of their current strategies appear to be "avoidance", perhaps the game is on pause.

Or it's not a game and never was? Or Malfoy's lost interest? Or it wasn't a big deal and Hermione's just making it into one in her head? Or she should stop obsessing about a boy and get on with her life?

Definitely that last thing. Hermione nods to herself and puts on her dress robes.

"How sad is it that not one of us has a real date for tonight?" Daphne laments, flopping back on her bed dramatically after finishing her makeup.

"Hey!" Pansy retorts. "Millicent and I are going together!"

"Yes, but real dates don't count if you also have fake dates," Tracey points out.

Hermione gives Pansy a confused look.

"Officially," she explains, "I'm going with Draco."

"And I'm going with Goyle," Millicent says with a grimace.

"Oh, I see," Hermione says, nodding. Pansy and Millicent's relationship is one of the worst-kept secrets around, but it is technically still a secret. A fact that is all too easy to forget when you share a dorm room with the two of them.

"Are you going with anyone, Hermione?" Tracey asks politely.

"I'm going with Harry," Hermione smiles. "As friends, of course. He just needed someone so people would stop asking him."

"Ridiculous," Pansy mutters. Then, with a flourish of her wand, she stops the brush that's been blending her cheeks to perfection and catches it gracefully in her palm. "Well?" she asks, tilting her face from side to side in the mirror. "What do you think? Good?"

"Gorgeous," Millicent says, stepping up behind Pansy and kissing the back of her neck.

"Thanks, love," Pansy murmurs. "Want me to do you, too?" She brandishes her makeup brush teasingly.

"I'll pass," Millicent says with distaste.

"Suit yourself," Pansy sighs. "Granger, then. Get over here." She beckons imperiously.

"Oh, no," Hermione shakes her head. "I'm alright, thank you."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"But you let Millicent say no!"

"Millie's perfect already," Pansy says, tossing an adoring smile at her girlfriend, before hardening her voice as she turns back to Hermione. "Come here. Quickly. I'll have to do your hair too."

Hermione groans, but she doesn't mind, really. Pansy has a way with this stuff and it will be nice to look a bit special for a change.

Pansy does her face subtly, in blush tones that will complement her robes. For her hair, she manages to charm her curls out of disarray and into an elegant cascade that flows down her back, with a few front pieces pinned away from her face with sparkly silver clips.

"There," she says, shoving Hermione away. It's not so rough that Hermione stumbles, so that marks a notable softening since the first time Pansy did her hair for Slughorn's party. "Okay. I officially don't need to be sober anymore. Millie?"

Millicent laughs and reaches into a secret compartment in her trunk, then tosses Pansy a bottle of firewhisky. Pansy opens it and takes a generous gulp.

She tosses it back to Millicent who does the same.

"Me, please," Daphne says, taking the firewhisky and knocking back two long sips.

Pansy raises an eyebrow at her.

"What?" Daphne says. "It's my first dance without Theo. I'm wallowing."

"Have a third," Pansy concedes.

Daphne does, then passes the bottle over to Tracey, who takes a single tiny sip.

"Anyone else?"

"Granger needs some," Pansy insists.

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Don't tell me you've never had firewhisky before," Pansy accuses.

"I have!" Hermione asserts. "Once."

Pansy holds the bottle out to her insistently.

"Go on," Millicent urges. "I have plenty."

Hermione caves. She's almost embarrassed at how quickly she gives in, but well, the refusal was born more from habit than anything else. She doesn't actually mind firewhisky at all.

It burns as it goes down and the rim of the bottle tastes like someone's fruity-scented lip gloss. She leans back against her bed once she's passed it on to Millicent, and takes in the surrealness of this moment.

Here she is, in a den of snakes, feeling perfectly at ease. She likes these girls. If anything, she fits in better down here than she ever did up in her tower room with Lavender and Parvati.

The bottle of firewhisky makes the rounds several more times before the group makes their way up to the great hall. Hermione is a touch unsteady in her high heels, but flushed and happy when they join the party.

Neville's dress robes are green with gold trim. The gold brings out his eyes and the green tickles some deep-down eternally-Slytherin part of Theo's soul and the overall effect is that Theo wants to look at nothing else all night.

Which is inconvenient, seeing as he's sitting way over at the other side of the Great Hall with his back to Neville.

He'd considered asking him to the ball, but after much debate, decided against it.

When they'd talked that first night, they'd agreed to keep things quiet. And that was only a week ago. It had to be too soon for that to have changed, right?

Theo knows Neville's grandmother is traditional, and it's not exactly impossible for news to travel outside of the school. They should wait.

But then again, the past week has been the best one Theo can remember in a long time. It's like everything's falling into place. But it's already frustrating that he can't kiss Neville in front of his classmates, or even hold his hand. He didn't have these limitations when he started dating Daphne, and it feels wrong to keep it a secret. Like it's something shameful.

Theo doesn't think any of their classmates would make a fuss. It's just the older generations that can get up in arms about it.

He would be concerned about his father finding out, but, well. He can't fucking get disinherited twice.

Anyway. The point is, he's on the other side of the Great Hall, sitting with the sixth-year Slytherins at one of the small round tables they've set out for the ball. Hermione, incidentally, is sitting over with the Gryffindors.

He spends dinner squished between Draco and Blaise, mostly listening as the group chatters rambunctiously. They've all clearly partaken from Millicent's famous stash.

Somehow, in the after-dinner shuffle of people getting up to dance and moving around to other tables, Theo ends up standing with Daphne.

He hasn't really spoken to her since that day by the lake, but he wants to. He wants to know how she's doing. And he just… wants to talk to her.

"Hi," he says cautiously, like she's a small animal who could be scared away at any moment.

"Hi," Daphne says, giving him a tight smile.

"Er – are you enjoying the ball?"

"Sure."

"Look," Theo sighs. "This feels weird, but I don't want it to be. Can we try to be friends, maybe?"

"Maybe." She does a tiny little shrug, her expression still a bit strained. "I guess we used to be, before. I don't really remember what that was like."

"Yeah," Theo agrees softly. "But it doesn't have to be exactly like before, does it?"

"No," Daphne says, closing her eyes for a moment. "But what I'm saying is, I don't know how to be friends with you anymore. And I don't know yet if I want to be."

"Oh," Theo says, a bit stung.

"I'm not mad at you," she continues. "Not really. But I just – I always thought – Well, I didn't expect it to end when it did, is all. I'm still adjusting, maybe."

"Yeah, I get that," Theo says. He swallows. "I am sorry, you know. I'll always care about you and I wish I could have been what you needed."

Daphne nods. "I know," she says, starting to move away. "I'm glad we talked, Theo."

"Actually, Daph, wait," Theo says quickly, making a snap decision. Daphne hovers, still half poised to walk away. "There's, um, something I should tell you."

"Okay…" she says, voice trailing uncertainly.

"I'm, er," he kicks his foot across the floor, "dating someone else – Neville."

Her eyes widen a fraction. "Oh," she says. "Oh. Is that why? Are you gay?"

"Not exactly," he replies. "Not entirely."

She nods. "Right. Right. Okay. Right." Daphne pauses, her face drawn in consideration. "When did it… start?"

"Not until after," he rushes to say. "Not until after our, er, talk at the lake. Only like a week ago. Though I guess," he adds, "I was thinking about it before then."

He's not really sure why he felt the need to tell her that. Maybe it's the state of everyone from their table, Daphne included. He's drunk by proxy or something.

Neither of them say anything else for a few moments and Theo lets his vision relax, the swirls of dancing students blending together into a sea of colourful robes and motion.

"Well, I want you to be happy," Daphne says. "For the most part," she adds, grinning slyly.

"Thanks," he says thickly, swallowing back a wave of sudden emotion. She was always kinder than him, the least vindictive Slytherin he knows. "You too. For the whole part."

She breathes out a little laugh. "Enough of this. Go be with him. I'm okay."

"I – We're not here together. It's complicated."

Daphne laughs for real at that. "I'm glad something about you hasn't changed."

"What?"

"Always making things more difficult than they have to be. It's very you, Theo."

"Oh," he says blankly. Is that a trait he has?

"Go on," she urges. "I'm trying to decide which Ravenclaw boy is the least annoying and it'll be harder to ask one to dance with you hovering."

"Really?"

"Yes, Theo. Go. We're good."

Theo nods and steps away from her, feeling as though he's just closed the final page of a long, but satisfying book. Daphne is okay.

And he knows just where he wants to go. Theo begins to make his way across the room to the table where Neville sits with Thomas and Finnegan.

Officially speaking, that's where he belongs – the Gryffindor table. He might even be beginning to accept that fact.

But on his way over, Theo passes Draco, who is quickly but casually heading towards the exit. Too casually. Fake casually.

"Leaving already?" Theo asks him, catching his elbow, a frown stitching his eyebrows together.

"Yeah," Draco mutters. "Stuff to do."

"Now?"

"Everyone's busy. Would be a shame to waste it," Draco shrugs. "I'd be gone already, but Pansy's very demanding for a fake date. I had to dance like five times." He rolls his eyes.

"What a tragedy," Theo deadpans.

"Well, she's not exactly who I –" Draco cuts himself off. "It doesn't matter. I have to go."

Theo stops him again, having a sudden thought. Daphne's not a gossip, but she will tell Pansy, and Pansy will tell Draco…

"Before you do, can I tell you something?"

Draco nods slowly. Theo's heart pounds in his chest.

"I'm dating Neville Longbottom," he blurts.

Draco blinks, twice. "Better you than me," he says. But he pats Theo's shoulder gently as he walks off, which is all the approval Theo needs.

It's possible Hermione drank too fast.

She isn't fully aware of how drunk she feels until she nearly falls over as she tries to sit down. She's with the Gryffindors tonight, sitting next to Harry as his "date".

"Alright, Hermione?" Harry asks, reaching for her with a steadying hand.

"Absolutely fine," she says stiffly, concentrating on squinting at the text on her personal menu, attempting to bring it into focus. "It's, um, just the shoes."

Harry makes a weird, throaty little noise, but doesn't press further.

Dinner is fine, the food is delicious as always. It's nice to have a meal without the assigned Slytherin seating arrangement and she appreciates being around her old friends.

Although, Ron is sitting on the far side of the table, next to Lavender. That's different.

It's alright, though. She's not angry or hurt that Ron's dating someone else, as she might have been in the past. In fact, when Harry told her — gently, nervously — that Ron and Lavender kissed at the post-quidditch party a week earlier, the main thing she felt was relief. If Ron has someone of his own to kiss she doesn't have to feel guilty about Malfoy. Or, she doesn't have to feel guilty on Ron's behalf, at least.

At one point, the group talks about a particular first year Gryffindor with a knack for trouble and a special talent with levitation charms. Everyone has a funny story about him, except for her. She's never even heard of the boy. That's different, too.

Somewhere along the way this year, she's become an outsider in Gryffindor. And, she realises, thinking back at the process of getting ready with the girls, an insider in Slytherin.

Over the course of the meal, Hermione starts to feel a little steadier, a little more focused, though she does find herself zoning in and out a bit. She's never had quite so much alcohol before. It's not at all unpleasant, though she does rather hope no professors examine her too closely.

When dinner is over, the lights in the room darken and music starts playing, from no obvious source.

"Er, did you want to dance?" Harry gestures at the dance floor awkwardly.

"No, I'm good for now," she says.

Harry slumps in relief. "Thank you," he says. "Can we talk, then?"

"Sure."

They make their way to the edge of the room and lean against the wall, watching the proceedings. Harry tugs at the collar of his robes nervously.

"Harry, what is it?"

"Are you drunk?" he says, the words spilling out of him quickly.

"Pardon?"

"You're being all spacey and weird." He waves a hand at her, punctuating his point. "And you could barely walk straight before."

"Um," Hermione starts. There's really no reason to lie to Harry, or to be ashamed of herself. "I had some firewhisky with the girls when we were getting ready."

"What? The girls?" Harry asks incredulously. "Since when are you friends with them? And since when do you drink? And at a school event?"

"First of all it wasn't at a school event, it was before," she says pedantically. "And I'm fine."

He shakes his head. "Hermione, this isn't like you."

"I'm fine!" she snaps. Then, softening, she says, "I live with them, Harry. It is better if we get along, right? And really, they're not bad. I like them, I think."

Harry turns to face her, looks her right in the eye. He threads a stressed-out hand through his hair.

"You like them? We are talking about Millicent Bulstrode, right? Remember when she held you in a headlock in Umbridge's office? And Pansy fucking Parkinson? Hermione, you hate her."

"I know I did. But that was before… Pansy's been really good to me, okay? She's helped me a lot, Harry. She's really not a bad person."

Harry leans against the wall again and sighs. "I don't like this. I know you're smart and you can take care of yourself… But I'm worried. I don't want you to get hurt or to become someone that — I just don't like this."

Hermione slips a hand around his wrist and leans against his shoulder. "Oh, Harry," she says. "I've missed you. And I'm not going to become an awful Slytherin, I promise. But I like the girls. And a bit of firewhisky, every once in a while, never really hurt anyone, did it?"

"Are you sure?"

"A thousand fully-grown mountain trolls."

It's a thing they say. Her and Harry and Ron. When they're really serious about something.

It had started as a joke. If you help me with my homework, I'll fight another mountain troll.

But it became something more. I'd bet ten mountain trolls that Malfoy's the heir of Slytherin. I promise a hundred mountain trolls that Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire. We'll come with you Harry, even if we have to fight a hundred thousand mountain trolls along the way.

"A thousand, really?" Harry asks.

"Really."

They watch people dancing in silence. Ron and Lavender swing by a few times. Pansy and Malfoy dance past them once. She meets Malfoy's eye, totally by accident, and they both look away immediately.

"We should dance," Harry suggests after a while, springing forward from the wall and holding his hand out for her.

"Do you actually want to?" Hermione asks.

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"You hate dancing," she narrows her eyes at him, but takes his hand anyway.

The song is fast and it's fun, Harry whirling her around, stepping on her feet. She keeps laughing and he's her Harry again, awkwardness forgotten.

When the song switches to something slow, they keep dancing. She rests her head on Harry's shoulder.

"I miss you," he says.

"You see me all the time," she answers. Then, "I miss you too."

Harry turns a little and she watches Pansy walk off the dance floor and sit next to Millicent. She leans her head on her shoulder.

Hermione considers resisting – but then immediately gives in to – the impulse to see what Malfoy's doing now that he's not dancing with Pansy. He's walking out of the Hall.

"Malfoy's leaving," she blurts out, then cringes. Maybe she is still drunk.

Harry turns abruptly. "Where's he going?"

"I don't know. Let's follow him!" She has no idea where those words come from. She certainly didn't give her mouth permission to say them.

"What?"

"Come on, it might be our only chance to find out what he's up to!"

Literally, what is she saying?

"You're just saying that 'cause you're drunk," Harry says, not incorrectly.

"So what?"

Harry takes one glance at her, then another at the door through which Malfoy disappeared. His eyes take on an intensely focused glow.

They follow Malfoy.

Theo is welcomed warmly at the Gryffindor table, where Finnegan immediately asks him to recount the story of the time a particular trouble-making first year levitated a bucket of ice water over Theo's head and followed him around the common room.

Thomas wasn't there at the time, and soon he's roaring with laughter, as are the rest of them.

It's odd, in a way, that it doesn't feel odd to have a shared joke with this group of people. Somehow or other, he's not an outsider anymore.

At first, he thought that what happened at the start of term feast was a curse. That it would ruin his life. And yes, he lost his relationship with Daphne and he's probably going to get disinherited.

But he found this group of Gryffindors — and Neville. Especially Neville. He wonders if it was worth it.

It shouldn't be worth it. It's way too early to say that it was.

And yet.

He remembers back to a few weeks ago, when he mentioned to Draco that he wanted a time turner. Now, he wants to smash every time turner in the world, just to make sure he never has to go back to a timeline where he doesn't get to at least be friends with Neville.

Before long, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood show up and take Thomas and Finnegan to dance. He assumes, at first, that Lovegood is coming for Neville, but then she winks at Theo and dreamily holds a hand out for Finnegan, who takes it, looking both perplexed and intrigued.

Theo turns to Neville, who blushes.

"I think she wanted to let us be alone," he says quietly. "I told her, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah," Theo responds, nodding eagerly. "I told Daphne and Draco, actually. Just now."

Neville grins and subtly scoots his chair a little closer to Theo's, so their knees touch under the table.

Even that tiny bit of innocent contact has Theo's heart ready to jump out of his chest.

"I like your dress robes," Theo confesses, biting his lip. "I kept having to stop myself from looking over here during dinner."

"I might have looked a little," Neville admits, lips pulling up at the corners. "The black is, um, nice."

Theo shifts his leg so his ankle is hooked behind Neville's. Neville takes a sharp, audible breath.

"I thought about asking you to the ball, you know," Theo tells him after a moment. "But I thought it might be too soon, and I didn't want to be… pushy or anything."

Neville nods. "I thought about asking you too," he says softly. "I wanted to. But I don't think I'm ready for that. For it to be a whole public thing."

"Right," Theo agrees. "Someday, maybe."

"Maybe next Halloween," Neville smiles. Theo's heart jumps again, this time with the thought that there might be a 'next Halloween' for them. That they might still be together in a year. That Neville's thought about it.

"Yeah," Theo says, dropping a hand to Neville's knee and trailing it slowly up his thigh. "Maybe."

Theo watches Neville watch his hand. Neville swallows.

"So, um," he asks, still staring at Theo's fingers, "do you want to go somewhere else?"

Theo attempts to speak calmly, lightly, despite internally jumping to his feet. "You know the tapestry with the unicorn and the rhinoceros? There's a hidden nook behind it."

Neville grabs Theo's hand from off his leg and pulls him to his feet. Once they're standing, Neville drops his hand and they practically run out of the Hall, moving quickly even as they make their way casually past the teachers at the entrance. Nothing to see here, just two boys off for a stroll.

Once they're out of the Hall, they really do run, laughing their way up the stairs and around the corner to the spot Theo's thinking of.

The two of them slip behind the tapestry, and Theo instantly pins Neville to the wall, crashing their lips together. Neville responds with equal enthusiasm, grabbing at Theo's hair, his back, his waist.

He lets his tongue trail over Neville's lower lip, sucking it briefly into his mouth. Then he travels lower, licking and kissing along the edge of his jaw to the pulse point at the corner of his neck.

"Fuck," Neville breathes, tilting his head back, giving Theo better access.

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before," he whispers in between kisses right below Neville's ear.

"You've never sucked on my neck before," Neville manages.

Theo grins at him. "So you like that? That's something you like?"

"Yeah," he says, and captures Theo's mouth with his again.

Theo holds Neville's face in both his hands and kisses him urgently, agonizingly. He's never wanted anything this much. Anyone.

It's all he can do to maintain some semblance of slowness, of patience, of not taking things too far. Because he doesn't want to go slow, or be patient. He wants to go as far as possible. There is no too far, not in Theo's humble opinion.

He tentatively pushes his hips a little closer against Neville, who responds in kind, bucking up against him. Theo moans, practically seeing stars at the friction.

"What do you want to do?" he murmurs with desperation.

"Um," Neville stammers. "I — I want to keep doing this, and also maybe…touch?"

Theo kisses him, trying to calm him down. And himself.

"Touch as in…?" Theo pulls away for a second and makes a crude hand motion.

Neville laughs. "Yeah. That."

"Yes. Okay. Yes. We can definitely, definitely do that."

And as they kiss, and explore, and finally let hands wander under robes, and as Theo gets to hear Neville swear a bunch more times, which is so absurdly hot he can't fucking stand it, and as he loses himself in the bliss of feeling absolutely nothing and everything all at once under the touch of the hands he's been dreaming about for months, he realises, yes.

The answer is yes. Everything that's happened has been worth it.

So. Fucking. Worth it.

A/N: Please excuse the incredible self-indulgence of this chapter, I hope you enjoyed.

Extra giant thanks to Sunshine_celine this week, both for the rush job on the beta and the alpha notes that made this chapter so so much better 💜