June 12th, 2009
(6:15pm) I can't go out tonight
(6:17pm) Hermione
(6:17pm) I'm going to murder you
(6:17pm) They'll never find the body
(6:19pm) You're going out with us
(6:21pm) I'm too tired and I have too much work to do on this case
(6:21pm) I'm coming over in two hours, you better be dressed
(6:23pm) Actually
(6:23pm) Don't get dressed
(6:23pm) I'm coming over in an hour and I'm bringing clothes
(6:24pm) We're not the same size, Ginny
(6:24pm) And it doesn't matter because I have too much to do
(6:25pm) An HOUR, Hermione
"Hermione," Ginny announced, holding two dresses that were far too small for Hermione in either hand. "I need this, alright? We need this! Our babies are old enough, our husbands are capable. We are going out."
Hermione backed away from her friend who had just popped through the Floo. "I just- I need-"
"You need to get out!" Ginny continued to insist, shaking the dresses now.
"I do get out!"
"The office doesn't count!"
For that Hermione had no rebuttal.
"Do it for me, Hermy," Ginny said, suddenly changing tactics.
"Ginny Potter, do not give me puppy dog eyes!" Hermione snapped. "And don't call me that awful nickname."
How can they all do these goddamn puppy dog eyes?! It is in their DNA? Damn Weasley genetics.
Rose had inherited it as well.
"You want to go out, Hermione, you're basically screaming out for it, I see it in your eyes."
"That's not what my eyes are screaming," Hermione deadpanned.
"If you didn't want to go out you would've locked the Floo," Ginny pointed out.
"Wouldn't have mattered, you can get through the wards."
"Could've changed the wards."
Hermione heaved a deep long suffering sigh. "I am long passed the point of thinking I can keep any of the Weasley clan out of my house, Ginny."
"Damn straight."
"But I am still not going out tonight."
However, much like how a wolf can sense weakness in the herd, Ginny Potter could sense Hermione's cracking resolve.
"But-"
"No, I don't want-"
"Please, Hermione, please please please please please-"
And then she cracked.
"FINE!" Hermione yelled, rubbing her temples. "Fine. Fine I'll bloody go out with you and Luna."
"Eeeeee!" Ginny shrieked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"But I'm going to be home by ten!"
Ginny opened her mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. "Alright, home by 10pm, got it, Mom."
Hermione shot her friend a glare, Ginny simply grinned.
"Let's get you ready." Ginny rushed past Hermione who was already regretting this.
oOo
Hermione was not one for alcohol. She had completely given it up while pregnant and breastfeeding and even now wasn't much interested. Hermione Granger-Weasley enjoyed control and the appeal of intoxication, as she understood it, was to lose control. So suffice it to say Hermione and alcohol didn't much get along.
Which led to Hermione's current predicament of being stuck in a club, nursing a glass of ice water, while her two best girl friends were, as the muggles say, laying it all out on the dance floor.
Hermione was not a dancer. She wasn't one to get dressed up. She was not one to go out. She was not one to wear make-up.
When the occasion called for it, an important meeting or a wedding, Hermione could be fancy. She knew how to contour, she knew what colors look best with her skin and which cuts were the most flattering on her figure. She could walk in heels and she knew how to waltz.
But this- this!
This was crowded
And sweaty.
And loud.
And Jesus fucking Christ were those wizards staring at her.
Hermione suddenly realized that she was a woman sitting alone at a club. A terrible situation to be in if one doesn't want to socialize with the opposite gender.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Ginny. Fuck Luna. Do not come over here!
One of the wizards in said group, a brunette who Hermione felt she vaguely remembered as being a year or two ahead of her at Hogwarts, maybe a Hufflepuff, made eye contact and smiled.
Oh no. Oh fuck no. Hermione quickly turned away, but apparently said wizard was interrupting Hermione's obvious disinterest as being coy because he suddenly stepped away from his group of blokes and began winding through patrons towards Hermione's table.
What should I say? Tell him you're married. No. He'll think you're lying anyway. Glare, just glare at him!
Hermione was glaring but that didn't seem to be working.
He's too drunk. He's not understanding the glare. You're supposed to be a genius, Hermione! Think of something.
He was getting closer. Desperately she scanned the dance floor for her friends, attempting to make eye contact with one of them. Both were too absorbed in their dancing to notice their friend attempting to get their attention.
"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked, but over the blare of the music and the tens of conversations happening around them, no one heard Hermione's pleas.
Oh fuck me, I'm going to have to awkwardly talk to this arsehole and tell him I'm not interested. Maybe I'm being vain, maybe he's not coming over here.
He was definitely headed straight for her.
And just as Hermione had determined to cast a hex on herself that would make her bleed from her own eyes in the hopes that maybe the wizard would run off in terror, someone intervened.
"Evening, Granger," Draco Malfoy smiled, sliding into the chair that the hoping-to-score-tonight wizard was headed towards. Hermione had never been so grateful to see that saccharine grin.
"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, choosing to ignore the fact that he had used the wrong surname for her. That was an old argument, apparently Granger-Weasley was too much to say. "What're you doing here?"
"Saving you from what could only have been an abysmal conversation," Draco said, taking a sip from his glass in hand. Hermione assumed the amber liquid inside was firewhisky, but she was no expert.
"My saviour," she thanked him and then clandestinely watched as the wizard stalked off, a bit of a slump to his shoulders.
"What?" Draco asked, scooting his chair closer.
"I said," Hermione began, leaning in towards Draco's ear, "thank you!"
"Salazar, is anyone recording this?" Draco looked about. "Hermione Granger just thanked me, this should be memorialized!"
Hermione swatted Draco's arm good-naturedly. "I thank you all the time!"
"Do you?" Draco grinned, taking another sip from his drink. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the pink flush of his cheeks.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" Hermione declared in mock condemnation. "You are drunk!"
Draco flashed her such a charming grin she almost gagged. "Not quite there yet, but certainly on my way."
"Are you here with anyone?" Hermione asked, looking around. Draco didn't seem like the type to be drinking alone at a club, but then again, isn't that how people pulled themselves a one night stand?
Fuck, we do sound like someone's grandmother.
"Nah, I'm with Blaise, but he found himself a conquest and indicated that I needed to make myself scarce."
"Ha! Other people do say 'conquest'!" Hermione took a sip of her water. "Wanker."
Draco raised a blond eyebrow.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "I was recently informed no one says words like 'conquest' or 'virility'. However, as you just referred to Blaise's conquests, apparently I am not quite as antiquated as I've been accused of being."
"To be fair it is a bit antiquated," Draco chuckled. "I was raised by Narcissa Malfoy, however, what's your excuse?"
"More books than friends growing up?" Hermione offered with a shrug.
"Ha! Probably. You were pretty damn insufferable."
"I was insufferable?" Hermione gawked. "This coming from Prince My Father Will Hear of This!"
"Oh, prince, I do like the sound of that," Draco mused. "King would be better though."
"Godric's sake," Hermione muttered, taking another drink of her water.
Draco narrowed his eyes suddenly. "Granger, are you drinking water? At a club?"
"Yes," she responded, unperturbed. "It's quite refreshing, would you like a sip?"
"Would I like a sip- Granger! Why are you even out right now?" He glanced down at her stomach. "You're not pregnant again are you?"
"Fuck no!" Hermione spit out a little water. She placed her glass on the table and wiped her chin with the tiny napkin bartenders give you with your drink, even if your drink isn't alcoholic. "Godric that would be awful."
"That bad, is it?" Draco laughed.
"Would not recommend pregnancy."
Draco snorted into his drink. "Noted.
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to dutifully explain the many downsides of pregnancy while also cataloging the many joys of parenthood so that eventually, if he were so inclined, Draco and his one day wife could make an informed decision when very suddenly her words were cut off before they began by cold water- her cold and refreshing water- being dumped all over her.
She stood up, gasping, with her arms wide the way one does when they've suddenly been accosted by liquid.
"Slag!" a voice to her left yelled and Hermione whirled around to stare into the eyes of- someone?
"Who the fuck are you?" was about the only thing Hermione could get out.
"I can't believe you'd do this to Ron!" Hermione still had no idea who this small, blonde witch in a silver dress was.
The club had continued on, two witches having an altercation apparently not warranting anyone's close attention, except that Draco had his wand out and suddenly Ginny and Luna were by Hermione's side. Ginny looked about ready to punch the drink throwing witch, as was the Weasley way, but Hermione put out a soaked arm to stop her.
"I'm sorry," Hermione began, her voice deadly calm. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley and you are?"
For a brief moment the witch looked taken aback, obviously not expecting a formal introduction. "I know who you are!" she said after a moment. "You're Ron Weasley's wife!"
"Yes, indeed I am," Hermione agreed, nodding. "I assume, seeing as you've mentioned him twice, the fact that I am now wearing my drink is somehow relevant to my marriage situation." Hermione took a step forward, closing the short distance between herself and the witch. "Is there something you'd like to say to me?"
The witch took an unsteady step back, eyeing Hermione nervously, the bravery gifted to her by that night's drinks suddenly failing. "You-you're married to a war-hero! But here you are with-with a-a Death Eater," the witch hissed the last word as if it were the most vile of curses and to be fair, it rather was, but Draco Malfoy was Hermione's pompous, pureblood arsehole and no one was going to speak about him that way.
Another witch, this one in a black leather miniskirt rushed over suddenly, grabbing the arm of the witch in the silver dress. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" she said profusely to Hermione, pulling her friend's arm. "We're leaving!" To her friends she hissed, "Are you fucking mad?"
"I'm not mad!" the drunk witch shrieked. "She's the one talking to a-an arsehole! To Death Eater scum!"
There was that word again.
"The war is over, sweetheart," Hermione smiled viciously. "Ten years over in fact and you're right, I'm married to a war hero, but in case you have forgotten I am myself a war hero."
"You?" the witch all but spat. "I've read about you! "
Read about me? Fucking Rita Skeeter. I should've kept her in that jar.
"You're nothing but a big arsed slag!"
Big arse?
The witch in the miniskirt gasped and attempted to pull her friend away again, but the witch in the silver dress wrestled her arm free.
"Must be the blibbering humdingers in the air tonight," Hermione heard Luna whisper to Ginny. "They've got everyone out of sorts."
Blibbering humdingers, indeed.
"Oh goodness," Hermione chortled. "What an absolutely plebeian insult. Big arsed slag. Would you like me to give you a few moments? You can try again."
The witch gaped, her pale face turning red.
"I mean really," Hermione took another step, "how long have you been watching my friend and I speak? At least five minutes, I'd imagine, and that's the best you could come up with? Big arsed slag."
We should let this go, Hermione, she's obviously drunk. And if this stranger had kept her insults focused on Hermione alone, this probably would've ended much quicker, but nothing brought out Hermione's viciousness like when someone attacked her friend.
"You-you-" the witch stammered.
Hermione's eyes widened comically. "Oh, have you thought of something better? More clever or cutting? Come on now, give it a try!" Hermione made a clicking sound with her tongue and turned to Ginny. "Poor lamb, she just can't think of anything."
"You bitch!"
Hermione's magic reacted to the curse before it was even spoken aloud. A simple pus-squirting hex, sloppily cast in the witch's inebriation, came hurtling at her, but Hermione was war trained.
Hermione had fought far more powerful, more dangerous, more sober opponents and she was, after all, the Brightest Witch of Her Age.
The pus-squirting hex bounced off Hermione's protego like it was nothing, a fly swatted away by a lioness, and it was every ounce of self-control the witch possessed to not cast her own curses in return. Instead Hermione stepped towards the wide-eyed interloper until their noses almost touched.
"You should go," Hermione said slowly.
"We're sorry, we're so sorry!" The witch in a blue dress grabbed her friend, pulling her away quickly.
But the other witch managed to get out, "Slag!" one last time before disappearing into the crowd.
"Granger," Draco said practically beaming, "you would've made a fabulous Slytherin."
Hermione whirled around to face Ginny. "It's 10:05," she said, holding up her phone screen. Luckily she'd charmed it thoroughly against water and sudden impacts so it was working perfectly.
Ginny sighed.
oOo
"All I'm saying is if I'd known we were going to be trekking through the woods I would've worn different shoes." Marcus sighed besides her.
"Quit whining. Besides you can't wear shoes," Hermione pointed out, pushing the low hanging branches of an ash tree aside and then holding it back for Marcus. He bowed chivalrously and Hermione gifted him a lopsided grin. "And it wouldn't make a difference either way, since no matter what we step on it all feels as pleasant as the grass from our clearing."
Everything in the dreamscape seemed pleasant. It was rather disconcerting at times.
"I know, weird that is," the wizard muttered.
"Everything about this place is weird and I plan on figuring out what's going on."
"By forcing me to hike through the woods."
"I told you, last time we tried to leave the clearing we did so separately and we ended up back in the clearing, maybe if we try going together-"
"Nothing is wrong with my hearing, Granger," Marcus interrupted her, I heard you just fine the first time around.
"Then quit whining- ack!" Hermione cried out as a branch got tangled in her hair, pulling at her curls painfully. "Ugh!" She reached up to dislodge herself herself, but seemed to only be making it worse.
Marcus chuckled, pushing Hermione's hands away. "Salazar, Granger, it's like your hair attracts things." Carefully he worked to untangle Hermione from the clutches of the tree.
"Listen," the witch huffed, whipping around to face him once she was free, said unruly curls slapping against her cheeks form the motion. "Usually I tie my hair back in a bun, but as the dreamland has afforded me nothing to do that with, we're all stuck with-" Hermione waved a hand around her hair, "this!"
Marcus laughed as he tossed a few leaves he'd picked from her man aside. Hermione made an annoyed clicking sound and turned back towards the next tree branch impeding her progress.
"I like it," Marcus commented quietly.
"What was that?" Hermione asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"Your hair," Marcus clarified. "I like it."
"Oh." Hermione reached a hand into her chestnut locks, absently pushing a few wayward ringlets from her face. "Err- thanks." She kept walking, ignoring the odd little surge of something that was winding its way through her muscles.
Obviously he's lying. No one likes my hair.
Compliments on Hermione's hair were few and far between.
Hermione, you're brilliant.
Hermione, you're so smart!
Clever, that's our Hermione!
"Thanks?" Marcus asked, ducking under a branch Hermione was too short to notice. "That's it?"
"What exactly were you looking for, Flint?" Hermione asked. "Did you expect me to fall all over myself at a compliment?"
"Salazar no, I wouldn't expect you to fall all over yourself for anything."
"Good."
"However, if I had said something about your intelligence, you would not've thanked me, y'know," Marcus commented. Hermione furrowed her brow. What was he getting at? "You would've said something incredibly pompous and condescending-"
"I thought we were friends."
"Friends are honest."
Hermione sighed. He wasn't wrong.
"As I was saying," the wizard continued, "you would've said something pompous and condescending like, 'Of course it was a good idea, Flint, if you had read The History of Magic just once then maybe you would've also realized that in 1647-"
"I get it," Hermione growled, though she had to admit his impressions were quite good. "What's your point then?"
"My point is, Granger, if I compliment your intelligence you don't even accept the compliment, your self-assurance in your own swottiness is so strong. It would be like me saying, 'Oh the sky is blue.' To you it's just a fact of nature," Marcus pointed out, smiling like he was the cleverest arsehole in the world. "But one little compliment about your hair and suddenly you're an awkward thirteen year old again."
"An awkward-" She rounded on him. "I am not an awkward- ugh, y'know what, whatever. So what?"
Hermione has been in a foul mood since apparating home from the club and she was desperately attempting to not take it out on Marcus. Failing miserably, but attempting nonetheless. She was hoping exploring the edge of the dreamscape could be a distraction, which was proving fruitless.
"So!" Marcus declared, one finger pointing in the air. "So you don't like your hair, do you?"
The witch stopped and turned to face Marcus, a scowl painted across her features.
"I like my hair just fine," Hermione said slowly, putting particular emphasis on the last word.
Marcus, who absolutely towered over Hermione, regarded the witch, looking her up and down and when his eyes made their way back up to her face, the witch was still scowling.
"You don't like the way you look, do you?" he asked with a gentleness that made Hermione livid.
Because Marcus was absolutely right.
"The way that I look is irrelevant to any of my pursuits in life," Hermione said defensively, whirling around to continue walking.
"Whoa, hey!" Marcus grabbed Hermione's elbow, his grip was strong but lacked conviction; Hermione shook him off. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I am not upset!"
Both of Marcus's dark eyebrows migrated up his forehead. "This is how a not upset person behaves?"
Her anger was irrational. It was also not Marcus's fault. She was being unfair. She was being defensive. She had spent her entire nighttime skincare routine staring at her arse in the mirror, wondering if it was big and so no, Marcus Flint, she wasn't particularly thrilled about how she looked.
"Does your forehead always pulse like that when you're angry?" Marcus asked, staring between Hermione's eyes.
"I'm going to murder you out here and no one will ever know."
"If you could use magic, maybe. But as it is, you're a bit out classed, Granger," Marcus pointed out, struggling to keep from grinning.
He's laughing! This wanker is laughing at me. I'm done. I'M DONE.
"How much do you weigh?"
The witch stopped again, mouth hanging open. "How-how much do I weigh?" Hermione nearly shrieked.
Oh gods, how big IS my arse?
"That's what I asked you." Marcus tilted his head. "Nine and a half stone, maybe ten?"
"Nine and half?!" Hermione's hands curled into fists by her side. "No I don't weigh nine and a half bloody stone and even if I did it's none of your bloody business!"
"This is a very odd thing for you to get so worked up about, Granger."
"I AM NOT WORKED UP."
"I thought the way you looked was irrelevant-"
And then it happened. With an absolutely inhuman shriek, Hermione launched herself into the air towards the wizard, wrapping her limbs around him like a spider monkey.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" Marcus screamed. Under normal circumstances Marcus, who was at least sixteen stone, would've let the much smaller witch comically bounce off him, however taken aback as he was by her suddenly going feral, Marcus found himself laying on his back on the floor of the woods with an enraged witch straddling him.
"I'm going to murder you, Marcus Flint! You absolute fucking prat!" Hermione punched the wizard in the shoulder but she was sure he barely felt it.
"Granger-"
"Why the fuck are you commenting on my weight? What a fucking arsehole thing to do!" She punched his shoulder again.
"Granger-"
"I just had a fucking baby! Do you know what that does to a person's body!"
"Granger-"
"My arse NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN!"
"GRANGER!" Marcus easily grabbed Hermione's wrist which gave her the distinct impression all the punches she had gotten in had been totally at Marcus's pleasure. She was further enraged.
"WHAT!?"
"Do you feel better now?" he asked, grinning up at her.
Hermione's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths and her hair fell around her face like a veil on either side.
I need to work out more.
"Do I feel better?" she nearly stammered. "Well-I-"
Actually, that was rather therapeutic.
Amber eyes met twinkling chocolate brown and the witch gasped. "You riled me up on purpose!" she exclaimed.
Marcus's grin widened. "You've been acting pretty wound up, seemed like you needed to get things off your chest."
"So you goaded me into attacking you?"
"To be fair, I didn't expect to be jumped and then repeatedly punched."
"Oh you're fine, I wasn't even punching hard."
"I don't remember you being this violent at Hogwarts-"
"I punched Malfoy in the face."
Marcus gave her throaty laugh, full of mirth. "Gods I forgot about that, must've been brilliant to see."
Hermione's lips curled into the ghost of a smile. Current friendship aside, Malfoy had deserved it back then.
While remembering the look of absolute terror on Draco Malfoy's face when she had come at him, Hermione shifted and suddenly realized exactly what she was sitting on.
"Oh gods!" she cried, jumping off of Marcus.
Marcus turned an unnatural shade of red.
"Listen, Granger," Marcus began, scrambling to his feet. He had his hands up like a circus performer taming a lion. "I'm sorry! I haven't had a witch on top of me in a long time and you were punching me and-"
"I thought you were sleeping with Sally-Anne Perks!"
"That was last year!"
"You haven't had sex since last year!?"
Marcus groaned. "Salazar, don't say it like that."
"You're right, okay." Hermione scrubbed her face with her hands and refused to look at Marcus's crouch. "It's alright! I grew up with a lot of boys, I understand these things happen even in the most platonic of situations." She placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. "All is well, water under the bridge."
"Yes, yea, uh- of course," Marcus agreed, nodding vigorously. "Totally platonic."
"Totally." Hermione looked at the ground, the tree, anywhere but Marcus, and then groaned, her shoulders slumping.
"What, what is it?" Marcus asked, following Hermione's gaze.
"We're back at the fucking clearing."