Chapter 11: Circle of Hell
Ron and Hermione seemed a long way away, in a far-off country; he felt as though he had parted from them long ago. There would be no good-byes and no explanations, he was determined of that. This was a journey they could not take together.
— Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling
When I returned to the Gryffindor common room later that afternoon, James and Peter were already beginning to set up for the night's events. Peter was wobbling on a wooden chair in front of the stone fireplace, stretching to hang a large scarlet banner across the mantle that read "Welcome The Hell Back." It appeared to be drawn by hand, and I was curious as to who had done it. It was surprisingly good, with impressive block script and animated roaring lions in each corner. A group of third years—evidently jealous that they weren't permitted to attend tonight—were glaring sullenly at James, who was near the door leading to the tower's balcony, erecting two long tables with his wand.
"You know, James," I said as I heaved a large crate of Firewhiskey—cleverly disguised as bottles of pumpkin juice—onto the newly assembled drinks table. "As Head Boy, isn't your job more to break up parties rather than throw them?"
James ceased loading the other table with snacks, courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves, and glanced up. "Well if it isn't our feisty little dueling champion!" he called with bravado. "We were wondering where you'd gotten off to." He pushed aside the crate and hopped up to sit on the table in front of me. "So tell me, where did you learn to fight like such a hellcat?"
My face flushed pink, but I grinned at him. I'd decided on the journey back from Hogsmeade that I shouldn't allow this to become a big deal. I was simply going to take it all in stride—or, at least, try to. Completely knackered from the long walk back, I sank into one of the nearby armchairs, tucking my legs neatly beneath me. "I had a friend back home who was an incredible duelist," I replied with a shrug. "He taught me."
"He must have been bloody amazing then," said James, shaking his head in disbelief.
My grin broadened. "Oh trust me, he was brilliant."
—he was also your son, but I'm not allowed to talk about that yet.
"Anyway, Dumbledore knew what he was getting into when he appointed a Marauder to the position," said James, answering my original question airily. "Personally, I think he secretly enjoys our pranking and partying. Keeps his job interesting."
He had a point. "With Uncle Albus, you probably aren't far off."
"So where have you been all afternoon?" James asked conversationally as he slid off the tabletop. He began to unload the crate I'd just delivered, lining up the many bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey across the table. I wondered if he'd checked the Marauder's Map and noticed my tiny ink dot was missing, along with Sirius's.
"Helping me smuggle the goods into the castle, obviously," Sirius answered for me as he joined us. He was carrying a keg of Butterbeer over his shoulder and levitating a second in front of him. "If her career as a Master Duelist falls through, I think she might have a shot at black-market potions trafficking."
I hummed thoughtfully as if considering it. "Who says I can't do both?" I asked with a shrug. "A witch of many talents and whatnot."
"I'll drink to that," said James with a wink, raising a full glass of Firewhiskey in the air. "Cheers!" He drained it swiftly before slamming the glass on the table.
"Potter, are you seriously getting sloshed before the party's even begun?" Lily asked derisively as she approached from the direction of the girls' dormitories. She was still wearing her uniform, but I noticed that she had begun on her hair for the evening. Evidently these parties were quite an important affair.
"Ah, but you can't drink all night if you don't start early, Lily-Pad," Sirius replied, voice full of sincerity as he opened a bottle of Ogden's to pour his own glass.
"Just a little drink, Evans," James said quickly. "Don't worry, I'll be sober enough later to keep an eye on the party."
Sirius snorted skeptically and Lily ignored him completely. "Hermione!" she said happily when she spotted me. What happened to the suspicion I saw from her earlier? "I was hoping you'd be down here. Come on, you're late."
"Late?" I repeated. What was with these people and their intentional ambiguity?
"Follow me," she replied with a grin.
When I entered our dormitory, my immediate thought was that we'd been robbed. Clothing was strewn haphazardly about the room, shoes were scattered in nonsensical piles across the floor, and I even spotted a bra draped over the top of Mary's four-poster.
But then I noticed my other dorm-mates. Mary was peering at me through a vanity mirror where she sat in a dressing gown, styling her hair into ringlets with her wand. Alice was kneeling at the foot of her bed, rifling through her trunk, evidently in search of an elusive pair of heels. Marlene was once again clad solely in a matching set of knickers, lying on her stomach in the middle of the dorm, varnishing her fingernails a bright shade of red.
"Er—so this is what I was late for?" I asked, turning to Lily with a puzzled look.
"Yep," Lily replied with a grin. "Since it's your first Gryffindor party, we thought we'd help you get ready. First off, what are you planning to wear?"
I glanced down at my uniform. "This?"
Not only did I not have many outfits appropriate for 1977, but I also didn't exactly have any clothing in my beaded bag that screamed 'party time,' either. There wasn't much opportunity for drunken debauchery while hunting Horcruxes, after all. Although, that might've had its merits—Ron, a dark, cozy tent, a bottle of Merlot…
Oh God, I am going insane—the tent smelled of cats. That's not the least bit sexy.
"Oh, fuck no," Marlene called from the floor. "There's no way in hell we'll allow you go to a Marauders' party in your uniform."
"I don't really have much else," I replied with an embarrassed shrug. "I packed pretty lightly when I traveled here."
Not exactly a lie…
"Well then you'll simply have to borrow from one of us!" said Lily brightly. "Here, I think we might be close in size. You may have to shrink what ever you find a bit—"
An hour or so later, I stood in front of Marlene's long mirror, rotating slowly as I admired their handiwork. After only minimal protesting on my part, we'd finally decided upon my attire for the evening—a black high-waisted Muggle skirt and a sleeveless lace blouse. It was a bit too revealing for my taste, but at least I had a chance to nip off to the loo to cast another Concealment Charm on my scarred arm. I had a feeling that Lily had been a tad heavy-handed with the Shrinking Charm on the blouse, but after many warnings of, "Just let us work our magic, Hermione," I learnt not to vocalize my complaints.
Mary, who apparently had a knack for beauty charms, had spelled and potioned my hair into submission. The combination of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and a useful little charm of her own creation was surprisingly effective, taming the bushy curls into smooth waves. I was grateful that she'd heeded my pleas to keep any makeup minimal. She seemed to quite skilled in the art of subtly, and I had no objections to the look she had chosen. However, nothing she tried would hide the tiny white lines peppering my face and chest. The Sands of Time refused to be concealed.
I had to admit that the overall effect was rather nice. I laughed to myself as I pictured the slack-jawed look on Ron's face, and probably Harry's too, if they were to see me now. I sat on the edge of my four-poster and slipped my feet into a pair of unnecessarily strappy wedges borrowed from Alice, waiting for the other girls to finish dressing.
"Did Ilvermorny have a lot of parties, Hermione?" Lily asked as she closed her tube of vibrant lipstick, finishing with a final smack of her lips.
I thought back to the parties during my first six years of Hogwarts and tried to alter my answer to fit what I knew of Ilvermorny. "Not really. We had some pretty great celebrations after Quodpot games and Quidditch matches, but that was basically it. I was never very into them, though."
"Why the fuck not?" Marlene asked, darkly-lined eyes wide as if I'd just committed blasphemy.
My mind flashed to sixth year—seeing Ron wrapped around Lavender-fucking-Brown tighter than the vines of a Devil's Snare.
"My two best friends were on the Quidditch team, so I always attended when we won. But in our sixth year—" I shifted uncomfortably and pulled at the end of an uncharacteristically smooth curl. "One of them did something pretty awful at one of the parties, and after that, they lost all appeal."
"Say no more," said Alice as she helped Mary fasten the clasp of her necklace. "Boys can be total bellends at sixteen."
"How would you know, Ally?" asked Mary, turning to Alice skeptically. "Frank was always a right proper gentleman. A little too nice sometimes, in my opinion..."
"James Potter is a prime example, though," Lily added with a laugh. "Hasn't grown out of it either."
"Lily, I've said it once and I won't say it again," Marlene said a little harshly. "Well, I probably will, but I won't enjoy it. Cut the bullshit. You fancy James, no question."
Lily gave her an icy stare, but ignored the comment. "Ready, Hermione?" Lily asked as she gave her outfit one final inspection in the mirror. I nodded. "Alright, let's go."
Marlene muttered something that sounded like, "Fucking typical," under her breath, but followed nonetheless as we descended the spiral staircase to the common room. I guessed that we were fashionably late, because the party was already in full swing when we arrived. A spirited game of truth-or-dare was taking place near the portrait hole, and a group of young wizards were taking flaming shots of Firewhiskey over a game of Exploding Snap next to my favorite squashy armchair.
As I watched the party-goers, all carefree and reveling in merriment, the startling reality of my present situation crashed over me with a visceral, earth-shattering clarity. My eyes began to shift in and out of focus. The metaphorical wound in my chest gaped open.
I was at a fucking party. After years of battling dark wizards… months of evading capture in that wretched tent, scarcely living, stealing to assuage the pangs of hunger, scavenging for sustenance to merely survive… after destroying a piece of Lord Voldemort's fucking soul with my own hands—after committing murder, actually incanting the Killing Curse—I was now… attending a party? In the Gryffindor common room? With heels on my feet and rouge on my still-sunken cheeks? Did I commit some barbaric, unforgivable sin in a previous life to be damned to this? Was 1977 my own personal circle of hell?
Bile bubbled from my writhing stomach, searing my throat, coating my tongue.
I don't belong here.
The fabric of Lily's borrowed skirt, which just moments ago was soft as silk, now felt rough as sandpaper as it brushed against my thighs.
My life was a fabrication. My existence was due to a mere technicality. Even the breath currently filling my lungs, flooding my tissues with oxygen, was fraudulent. My body was meant to be decaying beneath the earth in a mass grave, left unceremoniously to molder alongside everyone I loved. Was it fate or chance or pure luck that my heart continued to bound inside my chest?
Guilt prickled in the form of goose pimples across every inch of my skin.
I shouldn't be alive.
"I'm going to fetch a drink," I muttered to no one in particular. I crossed the common room in a haze, no cognizant destination in mind. I wasn't aware that I had exited to the tower's balcony until my hands were gripping the stone balustrade for support. I gazed down at the dark, peaceful grounds of Hogwarts, gasping as I rapidly blinked away images of the battle I had fought there a literal lifetime ago.
What would Harry say if he saw me now?
The familiar voice of my best friend echoed inside my muddled brain as if across a long distance—
"I existed because of a mere technicality too. I know you think you've failed, but bloody hell, Hermione, you've been given an opportunity to set the world right again."
I squeezed my eyes shut and laughed aloud at the horrible cliché of it all. But the queer Harry-voice inside my head had a point. Harry survived the Killing Curse as a toddler due to ancient and obscure magic that Voldemort underestimated, and here I was, in a very similar circumstance.
My own insane circle of hell.
The door to the balcony opened behind me. My muscles tensed, but I couldn't muster the energy to leap into action as my instinct screamed. I simply waited until the visitor was leaning against the railing beside me before I finally opened my bloodshot eyes.
It was Remus.
Compose yourself, Hermione. He probably already thinks you're batty. Don't make it worse.
"You looked like you might need a drink," he said casually, offering me a glass of amber liquid.
I took a steadying breath. "You have no idea," I replied, accepting the glass and forcing a small smile. I gave him a quick once over, both looking for a distraction and curious as to what 1977 meant for men's attire. He was wearing a pair of trousers that were absurdly tight in the bum. I averted my eyes quickly, scolding myself for checking out my future professor's arse.
"Let's sit." He grasped my free hand and led me to a set of wooden Muggle patio furniture in the far corner of the balcony. The chairs were brightly colored and looked as if they belonged on a beach in Brighton rather than at Hogwarts. Those certainly hadn't made it to the 1990s. I raised my eyebrows as he gestured for me to sit.
"Ah, the Muggle beach chairs," said Remus as I sank in the nearest Adirondack chair, leaning back and gripping my glass tightly with both hands. "Peter's idea. He brought the lot back after his family went on holiday to the south of France. Said he thought they'd liven the place up, so he and James snuck them into the castle after Easter of our fifth year." He sat in the salmon-colored chair next to mine, and we sipped our drinks in companionable silence for a few minutes.
"You're probably wondering where I learned to duel, right?" I asked abruptly, breaking the silence. "Like everyone else, I'm sure."
I grimaced at my accusatory tone.
So much for 'taking it all in stride.'
"Well of course I'm curious," Remus responded evenly, "but I wasn't going to ask."
I looked at him in surprise. "You weren't?"
He took another casual sip of his Firewhiskey. "Nope. You'd share if you wanted me to know."
"Oh."
I brought my glass to my lips once more, taking a large gulp. This time the Firewhiskey burned as it slid down my throat.
"Everyone is entitled to their secrets," he replied simply, and I knew he was thinking of his own. We were silent a moment longer.
"I had really great teachers," I said finally, my voice soft. "One was my best friend since our first year. He had this…" I smiled faintly as I thought of Harry. "Innate ability when it came to dueling. The other was my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in my third year." I glanced at Remus, who was sipping his drink and watching me as I spoke. "But more importantly, he was a friend as well."
—he was you, Professor R.J. Lupin.
"He only taught for a year?" asked Remus curiously. "That sounds like something that would happen at Hogwarts. No D.A.D.A. professor has lasted longer than a year in decades, I think."
"He had a secret," I replied, trying to decide how to carefully word this half-truth. I sensed Remus stiffen at the mention of the word secret once again. "It was a dangerous secret, but he always made sure to take…" I licked my lips, tasting the trace of whiskey. "Certain precautions. I worked it out, but I knew my professor—he was one of the kindest, most brave men I'd ever met—so I kept it for him. But someone else didn't." I shook my head sadly. "It was a horrible thing, really. He was the best professor we'd ever had."
Remus sipped his drink silently for a moment as he mulled over my words. "But, if whatever he was hiding was such a danger," he said slowly, "don't you think it was actually a good idea for him to leave? Better for everyone?"
"Absolutely not," I said firmly, fixing my eyes upon his. "He wasn't dangerous, and that was all that mattered." A spark of gold flashed across his dark green eyes as he stared at me—a flicker of the wolf inside I knew he tried so desperately to repress. He looked away quickly, gazing out to the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
I drained my glass. The heated effects of Firewhiskey had begun to spread throughout my body, leaving behind a pleasant lightness in my extremities, loosening my tense muscles.
"Got anymore?" I asked, raising my empty glass.
He grinned and nodded, likely grateful for the change in conversation. He pointed his wand over his shoulder and a half-empty bottle soared to him from another table.
"I came prepared," he said, answering my questioning look. He refilled both of our glasses and raised his into the air. I toasted mine to his with a clink.
"Cheers, Remus." We both took a sip, and sank back into our chairs. "So the whole school likely thinks I'm mental now, right?" I asked, looking over to him. "I mean, not only am I the strange new girl, but after that dueling match…"
"Nah," he replied, shaking his head and smiling. "They're all just happy someone was able to out-duel Severus. If you looked like a troll, they'd probably think you're weird as fuck. But seeing as you don't, everyone is still fascinated."
I laughed. Professor Lupin did always know the right thing to say, even if his language was a bit more colorful in his youth. "Well at least I have that going for me."
"So did the Firewhiskey help any?" he asked, inspecting me carefully. I wasn't sure what I'd done to warrant his concern. He barely knew me, after all, and certainly not as well as I knew him.
I nodded. "The conversation wasn't half bad either." I really did feel much better. I wasn't sure if it was the effect of the drink or simply Remus's comforting presence. I stood and gestured to the door leading to the common room. "Let's go back inside. I shouldn't keep a Marauder from his own party."
He rose from his chair and followed me across the stone balcony. "Nah, the company was worth it," he replied, opening the door and placing a hand lightly on the small of my back as we both reentered the common room. I breathed deeply as music and laughter filled my ears, and I reminded myself of Dumbledore's advice.
Just live your life, Hermione.
I repeated this mantra over and over in my head as I glanced around the room. I spotted Lily and Mary on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the common room, twirling and shaking to a song by Elton John. Alice was situated beside an old gramophone, flipping through a stack of records and tapping her foot along to the beat. Witches and wizards in the seventies seemed to enjoy Muggle music just as much as what played on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Peter was behind the drinks table, animatedly preparing cocktails for a group of eager fifth year girls.
Remus and I continued across the room to join James, who we found lounging on the sofa in front of the common room fire. There was a very pretty girl perched in his lap, who I assumed was his Ravenclaw girlfriend, Delia. She had long, sleek blonde hair and was laughing along with James, who appeared to be telling a story.
"—and we've kept the title ever since. A goddamn badge of honor." James finished as we approached. Remus settled into the sofa next to James, and I balanced on the arm closest to Remus.
"Are you telling that damn story again?" asked Remus as he reached down and scooped up a bottle of Ogden's that was rolling across the rug near his feet. "It's not even that interesting." He topped off my drink before refilling his own.
"People always ask!" James replied indignantly.
"What story?" I asked curiously between sips.
James shot Remus a smug look. "See?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "The story of how we were deemed 'The Marauders.' It's not all that exciting, really." He shook his head as James opened his mouth to protest. "It came from McGonagall in our second year. She gave us this long, dull speech reprimanding us for wandering around after-hours and 'marauding about the castle.' Sirius thought it was hilarious, so the name stuck."
"Why do you always have to tell the boring version?" James grumbled, and Delia gave a tinkling laugh.
"Well, 'The Marauders' does have a better ring to it than "The Nighttime Wanderers'," I said reasonably.
"I like having you around, Granger," said James as they all laughed. "You're going to fit in nicely." Delia gave him a pointed look. For a moment, he looked bewildered before comprehension dawned. "Oh, sorry, I'm shit at introductions. Hermione, this is Cordelia Fawley."
Delia reached across the two wizards to shake my hand politely. "Nice to finally meet you, Hermione. I'm Delia, this git's girlfriend." She gave James a playful shove, and James went red as he realized he'd forgotten the 'girlfriend' portion of the introduction. Delia and I exchanged pleasantries over a few more refills before we were interrupted.
"Has anyone seen Marlene?" asked Mary, slurring a little. She and Lily had just collapsed into the sofa across from us, both breathless from dancing.
"She disappeared with Sirius ages ago," Delia answered, eyebrows wiggling with the implication. As Delia spoke, Lily's eyes flashed, but she quickly turned away, kicking off a shoe and becoming a little too interested in rubbing the arch of her sore foot.
"Yeah, I'm locked out of my own bloody dormitory just so he can get a leg over," James added, sounding miffed.
"Ah, fuck 'em," Mary replied, waving her hands wildly.
"Actually, I think they're already doing that," said Remus fairly. Everyone laughed but Lily and me.
"And she said I was typical…" Lily grumbled under her breath.
"What was that, Evans?" asked James, shifting his girlfriend slightly to look at Lily. Delia looked disgruntled, and Lily ignored him.
Mary twisted around suddenly in her seat, hopping to her knees to lean over the back of the sofa. Her dress remained bunched around her hips, revealing her lacy undergarments. "ALICE!" she cried loudly across the common room with a drunken whistle. "AL-LAAAAAY! Get your mopey arse over here!"
"Nice knickers, McDonald," drawled a familiar voice. I turned to see Sirius and Marlene standing behind us, clothing disheveled. Sirius was attempting to flatten his hair, which was sticking out at odd angles. Marlene adjusted her rumpled skirt before placing two fingers between her lips and letting out a shrill wolf-whistle.
Mary didn't respond, instead choosing to send Sirius and Marlene a rude hand gesture over her shoulder before she shimmied her dress to its proper position. Alice, who had been sliding a fresh vinyl onto the record player, glanced up with a resigned expression. She gave a small sigh before placing the needle and crossing the room to join us. Sirius plopped onto the floor and leaned against the end of sofa beside Lily's feet. Marlene snuggled into his lap.
"Yes?" Alice asked Mary with forced patience.
"You do know you're at a party, right?" questioned Mary. "I know Frank graduated and you're absolutely heartbroken over the dreadful loss of your snogging partner, but you don't have to be such a wet blanket."
Alice looked annoyed. "Someone has to handle the music," she replied, gesturing to the pile of records she'd just left behind. Mary rolled her eyes and flopped back into her seat.
Something between a tut and a scoff came from Marlene. "Did all of my friends turn into the Bullshit Brigade, and I missed the memo? First Lily and now Ally…"
Alice rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started on bullshit, Marly." She gave Marlene a significant look, but Marlene simply glared defiantly. Sirius smirked and whispered something into Marlene's ear. She laughed in response and shoved him playfully in the chest, followed by a kiss on his cheek.
I'd had enough.
Murmuring something about Cauldron Cakes, I left my spot on the sofa. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but seeing Marlene and Sirius together left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe I was remembering the Sirius I'd known—my Sirius—and how he'd been trapped in that wretched house, utterly alone, ensconced in a perpetual state of misery for an entire year. Not quite Azkaban, but still a prison nonetheless. I recalled the letter from Lily that Harry had discovered in Sirius's forgotten bedroom of Grimmauld Place.
—but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard—
If Marlene had lived to see the end of the war, would Sirius have ended up Azkaban? Would it have made a difference if there had been someone on the outside to advocate his innocence? Or maybe I was envious because I'd lost all hope of having that sort of intimacy with Ron—or anyone, for that matter. I was a displaced witch, lost in a time that wasn't my own. With the task that lay before me, I knew it would be utterly irresponsible to become romantically involved. I was a danger.
Or, if I was honest with myself, was it all of that, plus more? Did I simply yearn for affection or did I want that closeness with one wizard in particular? I shook my head jerkily as I reached the reached the queue for the drinks table.
Your brain has been addled by torture. You shouldn't entertain inappropriate thoughts about your best friend's dead godfather.
I looked up and found myself facing Peter. He was still mixing drinks, a Muggle cocktail shaker in his hand, when he noticed me behind a group of sixth years. He waved me over with a lopsided grin. His cheeks were ruddy from the alcohol and the top buttons of his collared shirt were undone.
"Hermione! I was hoping you'd come. Need another drink?" he asked, gesturing to the empty glass in my hand. The sixth year girls behind me in the queue glared, but Peter didn't seem to notice. "I'm trying out something new. I'm thinking of calling it 'The Demiguise in Disguise'."
I couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. He just looked so happy. How had this boy become Voldemort's most cowardly follower? He was so full of life tonight and it was almost impossible to think of the two versions of Wormtail as the same wizard.
"And why is that?" I asked, eyeing the cocktail shaker.
He pushed up his sleeves a bit more and his grin grew wider. "Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
I raised my eyebrows.
He laughed and lowered his voice. "It's because you don't see it coming until it hits you." He opened the shaker and poured me a glass, sloshing a bit of the vividly blue liquid over the edge.
I took a sip and immediately spluttered as the harsh burn hit the back of my throat. "What on earth is in that?" I asked, coughing.
He laughed even harder. "Muggle booze. Something my dad called tequila, mixed with a bit of this, a dash of that…" He motioned to my drink. "Go on, the second sip is easier."
I gingerly brought the glass to my lips again. The second swallow was actually more palatable. I licked my lips. There was a tart sweetness behind the strong bite.
"See?" he said as he poured a round of shots for a rowdy gang of sixth year boys.
"Not half bad. Strong, though."
He took a sip of his own and nodded. "That it is. Enjoying the party so far?"
"I suppose," I answered with a shrug. "I've never been one for drinking and dancing."
"Me either," he said. "I actually loathed these things until last year."
I looked at him in surprise. "Really? But you look like you're having such a great time tonight."
He shrugged. "I learned to make my own fun. I always do the decorations." He pointed to the banner tacked over the fireplace. "And I discovered that I belong behind the bar rather than on the dance floor."
"Wow, you drew that?" I asked in awe. "It's incredible."
He flushed at the compliment and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, I guess," he said modestly. "James charmed the lions to roar."
"No need to be bashful, Wormy," said Sirius as he appeared behind the table and gave Peter a clap on the back. "We all know you're damn good with a quill."
Peter mumbled incoherently under his breath and turned to take another drink request. Sirius gave me a quick once over, eyes landing on the vibrant cocktail in my hand.
"I see you're on the path to thoroughly pissed?"
My face pinked, but I knew he was right. I'd never had this much to drink before, and I was feeling the effects. "Not exactly a Hufflepuff tie or a table dance."
"Baby steps, Granger," he said approvingly. He snatched up a Firewhiskey from the table and took a long swig straight from the bottle.
"Hermione, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lily was now beside me, sliding her arm into mine. She gave Sirius a disapproving look before she continued. "Out there." She jerked her head toward the balcony and steered me toward the door before I could respond.
"See ya later, Snuffles," I called over my shoulder to Sirius. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I grimaced as I realized my mistake.
Damn you, Firewhiskey.
However, it was too late for me to do anything about it, so I simply allowed Lily to lead me past a few pairs of snogging couples to the seats Remus and I had occupied earlier.
"What's up, Lily?" I asked when we were both settled. Her eyes were glazed over and I could smell the Firewhiskey on her breath. She opened her small handbag and withdrew a silver cigarette case. She placed one between her red-stained lips, lighting it with her tip of her wand. I raised my eyebrows as she took a long drag.
"Only when there's Firewhiskey involved," she said, answering my astonished look. "Marlene's fault. Want one?" She held out the small silver case, but I declined with a shake of my head. She shrugged and shut the case with a click before leaning back in her chair and exhaling smoke slowly from her lungs. She was silent for a moment and seemed to be a little confused, as if unsure how to articulate her thoughts.
"I don't trust you," she blurted out finally.
Although I'd expected something like this after seeing her suspicious expression earlier today, her words stung more than I anticipated. I knew the hurt displayed on my face.
"It's nothing personal," she continued, slurring slightly. "It was really kind of you to offer to duel Severus today. I know you noticed that things are—" She paused, pursing her lips. "Strained between the two of us. But I know Sev, and I know what he's capable of." She brought the Muggle fag back to her lips before she finished. "You beat him."
"And that makes me untrustworthy?"
She shook her head. "It's not just that. You appear out of nowhere as a seventh year transfer. You claim Professor Dumbledore is your uncle, and yet no one has ever heard of you. You're covered in scars and act as if you've been through something traumatic. And then that duel…" She gave me a hard stare. "You fight like you've been in battle before or something."
I didn't know what to say, because she was absolutely right. I toyed with the hem of my skirt.
"You can't fault me for being suspicious," she said when I didn't reply. "I'm a Muggle-born. There's an organization forming out there that is willing to start a war over my very existence."
Mine too, Lily.
Bellatrix's cruel voice echoed inside my head, and for a moment, I was transported back to the cold floor of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! Tell the truth!"
"I don't blame you for not trusting me," I said quietly. She looked over in surprise. "No, honestly, I understand. I wouldn't trust me either. And you're right," I squeezed my eyes shut and saw the scarlet eyes of Tom Riddle gleaming behind my lids. "I've been through something horrible. Something I can't talk about yet."
I opened my eyes and saw her forehead wrinkled skeptically at my cryptic reply. I sighed heavily. I've only been here a few days, and I'm already failing in my mission. How am I supposed to save them if they don't trust me? I looked over my shoulder, glancing around the balcony. It was vacant except for an entwined couple shadowed in a far corner.
I knew the only way I could gain her trust.
"You were right not to trust me because I haven't been completely honest," I whispered into the still night. She leaned closer. "I'm not related to Dumbledore by blood. I was adopted into his family."
Her eyebrows rose and her mouth opened in surprise.
Praying I wouldn't regret this in the morning, I pushed up the hem of my skirt and withdrew my wand from the holster fastened around my thigh. I tapped it lightly to the inside of my left forearm, muttering the appropriate counter-charm.
Mudblood.
"I'm a Muggle-born too, Lils," I said, using her nickname softly.
The cigarette fell from her fingers and extinguished as it hit the stone ground. We both stared down at the degrading slur carved into my arm. The red lines of the scar had taken on a faintly purple tinge. Shock and revulsion colored her face when she finally looked up at me, tears clouding her green eyes. She seemed completely sober now, though possibly on the verge of vomiting.
"Dear God," she said in a strangled whisper. "Who—what… but why? Who would do such a vile thing?"
I shook my head, averting my gaze to the star-strewn sky above us and tapping my wand to my arm again. The abhorrent word dissolved into seemingly undamaged flesh as the Concealment Charm was replaced. "For the safety of us both, I can't tell you any more than that right now. I know it's not much, but can you trust me? The Dumbledore family took me in for my own protection. I'm hated and hunted just as much as you."
She looked directly into my eyes as she contemplated my words. "I think so," she said finally. "This is just…"
"Insane?" I supplied with a hollow laugh as her voice trailed away. "Believe me, I know. But do you think we could keep this between us? I can't even fathom what would happen if word were to spread."
She considered for a beat. "Of course," she answered, then touched my forearm gently before asking, "Will you be able to explain more at some point in the future? I trust you, but..."
The future.
"I hope so," I replied. "I hope I'll be able to explain everything one day."
She nodded slowly as she stood, motioning for me to join her. The moment I was fully righted, she reached forward and wrapped her arms around me. I was startled, flinching slightly at the affection, but I returned her embrace.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," she whispered as she hugged me tightly. When she pulled away, she grasped my hand. "The party is probably almost over. We should go back inside."
I glanced down at Harry's watch—it was almost half past one.
The moment the door of the balcony closed behind us, Lily and I both froze. The record player was scratching lightly, but otherwise, the room was silent. Professor McGonagall was standing in front of the opened portrait hole, surveying the common room sternly. I glanced around, but there wasn't a single bottle of alcohol in sight. However, there seemed to be many more glasses of Butterbeer and bottles pumpkin juice than I recalled. The Marauders were apparently very skilled at hiding the evidence.
"Bed!" McGonagall called to the room as a whole. "Now!"
