September 15, 1996
Draco decided to put off his trip to Hogsmeade until Sunday, so he could stay with Pansy while she recovered. She had slept in his bed overnight, while Adrian was kicked to the common room. Theo and Blaise had discovered it was Adrian who had uncovered the confiscated drugs hidden in Draco's nightstand. Draco did his best not to punch the boy in the face for putting Pansy at risk. He knew Adrian was just numbing pain too. He needed protection too.
Draco fed Pansy, sung her to sleep as she cried in his arms about the screams inside her head. In the morning he bathed her– which was an awkward experience for the both of them. Especially when there was blood in the bathtub as she sat down. He panicked and raised his wand to run a diagnostic spell, but she explained that she had begun a "monthly battle" with her ovaries.
"It's early, must have been the dope." She joked softly and smiled; she found it funny. He felt sick.
"What– what spell do I use? For this?" Draco cast a spell to pull the stopper at the bottom of the tub. The water was too saturated for her to soak in it; he would have to drain it and refill it all over again. It looked like a bloody massacre– quite literally.
"There really isn't one. Except for the water." She reached for his wand. He obliged cautiously, ready to pounce if she tried anything dangerous. "Perpurgo." The new water became clear. Draco found it fascinating.
They sat in an awkward silence as Pansy leaned back into the soapy water. He chose to run a sponge over her back, too afraid a cleansing spell might disrupt something inside of her. He glanced at her quickly to make sure he was washing the right places, avoiding her breasts.
She was skin and bones.
She'd been eating, he'd made sure she was eating. Forced her to come along to breakfast, lunch and dinner since September first, no matter how hard she protested. He had always made a plate for her. She had been eating, he knew it. But her stomach was concave, always hidden under one of her thick jumpers. He told her she could only wear them from now on if he saw her first. She needed to eat.
At her request, he turned to allow her the privacy to dry off, but refused to leave her alone in a room with sharp edges and running water. He asked Daphne– who looked just as drained as he felt– to bring Pansy her ovary things. He didn't help with those, though. He would have if she needed him to. Luckily, she didn't.
Pansy slept through the day.
...
September 16, 1996
Sunday morning, Draco prepared himself to jog to Hogsmeade. He didn't want to take a carriage, it would be too crowded. He needed to be alone: no people. None. Plus, a jog would help him let off steam. That's all he had. Steam, boiling him alive. His insides were burning today, like every other day, just at a higher temperature. Someone, something, had kindled the flames. It was excruciating.
He couldn't enjoy the cold water as it streamed over his body in the shower– his chest, his back, his shoulders. He couldn't savor the chill— the momentary relief. No, he needed to feed his mates. His anchors. When Draco descended the stairs to the Slytherin common room, Theo was playing chess with Pucey while Blaise pulled Pansy's hair into little tiny braids. Adrian was grumbling about punishment, how he couldn't sleep in his own bed, in his own room. Theo told him to stop shooting up. Draco had to break up the fight.
"Any requests?" He called from across the room, standing nearly at the exit now. Several other Slytherins looked up at him as if he were demented.
"Pastries!" Pansy announced with an instantaneous burst of energy. Her face was pulled into what Draco hoped to be a genuine smile. "Pumpkin, please."
"Hold your head still, P. I'm going to rip your blood scalp off!" Blaise scowled. "Find me some porridge will you? Need to keep slim."
Theo's head shot up. "Slim? You're a bloody beast, Blaise." Pansy laughed, and Draco couldn't help but smile at the normalcy after their terrible past few nights.
"How do you think that made me feel, Thee?" Blaise raised an eyebrow.
"Like a right old sinewy bloke, Blaise." Theo remarked. "Knight to F nine."
"You're bloody kidding me!" Shouted Adrian, who seemed to be ignoring Draco entirely since the night of his potential overdose. "King to E one."
Blaise and Pansy exchanged a humorous glance. "If my hands weren't full of Pansy's hair–"
"What, you're going to strangle, yeah? With your big bloody hands?" Theo gloated.
"Why waste my energy on your neck when a quick diffundo would do the trick?"
"Careful!" Theo threw up his hands to guard his face. "With your mercurial magic, I'll bloat like a puffer here on the spot!"
"What in Merlin's name does mercur- what'd he say Pans?"
"Mercurial?" She responded.
Theo scoffed. "It means your spellwork is total rubbish, that's what it means!"
Theo and Blaise's useless banter continued until Draco decided that porridge and pastries were the only special requests. He turned on his heel and nearly collided with the chest of Graham Montague. Jet black stubble lined his jaw, making the boy seem years older than he truly was. He was unkempt, his hair left untouched by smoothing or straightening charms.
Draco wondered if the rest of the school noticed the change in the Slytherin sixth and seventh years. If they had theories about why the once pompous purebloods looked like they hadn't had a day's worth of training. Why Crabbe and Goyle never spoke, hardly bathed unless commanded to. Why Adrian Pucey's eyes were permanently outlined in dark red skin. Why Draco Malfoy no longer slicked his hair back. He wondered if the bloody Gryffindors suspected the worst. If they believed every Slytherin had gone dark, had chosen the wrong side like their own founder had. The Gryffindors would be right, unfortunately.
"Do I get a request too, Drake?" Montague chimed. "I'm in the mood for toast with apricot jam. No! Pomegranate marmalade. That's always delectable."
"Get your own bloody breakfast, Montague." Draco shook his head.
"Not so friendly today, I see." The boy mocked a frown. Then he brought his face close to Draco's ear and whispered, "Be careful, Malfoy. Father said they're watching now."
Draco's pulse multiplied. "They?" He asked drily, though he already knew the answer.
Graham didn't answer. "If you need anything. For the mission," He looked around cautiously, lowering his voice further. ""You know where I'll be."
Draco stormed out of the common room so fast he felt he might have whiplash.
...
Hermione awoke to a loud bang on her dormitory door. "'Mione, open up!" A male voice called.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking around the empty room. Lavender and Parvati had dragged their sheets down the stairs to sleep in the common room. Ron had likely convinced them that Hermione was evil after their detention. Asha had gushed about Neville's invitation to join him in his bed. Hermione chuckled at the thought. At least Longbottom was happy.
Hermione realized she had actually gotten a good night's sleep without the three blabbering about some romance novel, or something Neville or Won Won did. Hermione had already heard far too much about Ron Weasley's penis than she cared to. Asha typically chose to share less obscene details, but she did learn that Neville Longbottom had developed abs over the summer break.
"Mione!" It was Ginny's voice. The first voice must have been Harry. The two were attached at the hip. "Mi—"
"I'm bloody coming, you two!" Hermione groaned sleepily. She needed to be decent before she'd let them in. Her orange knickers hardly seemed appropriate.
"I swear I will bust down this door in two minutes, Hermione!" Ginny responded humorously. Hermione laughed. She nearly fell on her face as she rushed to tug pajama bottoms over her legs before stumbling to the door.
Ginny and Harry barged in the moment she cracked the door. "Finally!" Ginny grinned. She and Harry were holding multiple large baskets and parcels. Sweets spilled out of the sides as Ginny set the contents of her arms onto Lavender's bed. Hermione blinked.
Neville and Asha fought against the door as Hermione attempted to shut it. Neville was carrying a square package, wrapped in a strange leaflike material rather than paper or parchment. He gave Hermione a small smile as Asha gave her a large hug. Hermione buried her face into Asha's dark curls, the sweet smell of coconut oil filling her nostrils. Asha always gave the best hugs.
Seamus and Dean shouted a loud greeting as they levitated a cake the size of a cauldron. It was lovely, with red and gold decorations. She imagined Theodore Nott scoffing at the Gryffindor pride as it wobbled above her bed. Dean chastised his boyfriend for losing focus. Seamus hit him playfully
The six Gryffindors all faced Ginny, who lifted her finger to conduct. Then they began to sing Happy Birthday, the muggle way.
Hermione felt numb as the realization that she was now eighteen flooded her senses. The concept barely registered in her mind until Harry shot a confetti cannon over her head. She hid her racing thoughts behind a weak smile and crossed her arms to fight the chill descending her spine.
"Your first legal drink, Granger!" Seamus attempted to pass her a goblet. She glanced at its strange purple contents as they swirled inside the golden cup. "Made it myself."
Hermione shook her head with a grimace, plugging her nose to fight the rancid smell. He shrugged and tipped his head back with a 'cheers.' He drained it in one gulp.
Harry then shoved a gift into her ill-prepared arms. She fumbled to keep it from crashing to the floor. "This one first, it's from Lupin. He insisted on being first, I don't know why."
The gift was enveloped in a muggle wrap, which donned unicorns and rainbows. She giggled lightly at the childishness of it all. Lupin had scrawled an illegible note across the top, but it appeared to have smudged on its journey to reach her. As she pulled back the paper, she heard a ticking noise. Had the werewolf sent her a bomb?
It was, in fact, a bomb. A glitter bomb, to be exact. Bright red glitter shot out in every direction, floating dangerously above her head. It swirled through the air to spell 'Happy Birthday!' until an invisible gust of wind blew it directly into Hermione's face. A clump found its way into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, to no avail.
Scourgify wouldn't help this. Glitter was inescapable, with or without the aid of magic. She'd have it in her hair for months. She felt the urge to curse Professor Lupin into oblivion.
The next gift was addressed to her from Fred and George. The thin package lifted from her hands, likely triggered by contact. It flew into the air, similar to Lupin's gift, and she braced herself for more glitter, or even fireworks, knowing their love for dangerous pranks. It began to burst from the faded parchment, destroying any wrapping still clinging to its sides. The twins' voices sounded from the gift. "Now that you're legal, we think it's finally time to give you the talk."
Hermione turned a bright crimson red as she glanced around at the people in the room. It was a howler in the form of a sexual educational book, she realized. They all burst into laughter. The gift continued. "See when two people—"
"Of any gender!" George's voice shouted from a distance.
"When two people of any gender feel a certain way," Fred continued. "They decide collectively to participate in intercourse. After foreplay of course."
She tried her best not to think of Draco Malfoy, or intercourse, or foreplay. She hid her face in her hands and lunged for the wand on her nightstand. The twins' voices continued, explaining the anatomy of a woman in rather graphic detail. She wrapped her fingers around her wand just in time before they got to the male version. "Silencio!" She shouted, flustered.
The room was booming with laughter. Hermione joined to disguise the embarrassment brewing deep inside. She watched Harry's face contort as he bent over and clutched his stomach, his cheeks turning red as he gasped for air. Harry hadn't looked that happy in a while– hadn't laughed or grinned or hit his knees like he always did when he found something particularly amusing. Neither had Ginny or Neville for that matter, not since the Department of Ministries. She wondered if it was all for show. For her. For comfort. If she was right, it was a damn good one.
Time passed in a blur. Harry had snuck bottles of firewhiskey and butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks and promised to teach her drinking games he'd learned from Dudley Dursley. Neville's strangely wrapped gift revealed what appeared to be an entire pound of muggle marijauna. She threw it at him instantly, and shouted that she wouldn't be caught dead with such a large quantity of unsanctioned drugs. He took out his wand and transfigured it as it fell to the ground. "It was only a spell, Hermione! It's a book!" He stuttered.
She stared at the block as it became a book bound in purple leather. An Expert's Guide to Elixirs was carved in gold across the cover. Neville picked it up awkwardly and crossed the room to place it in her hands once more. "So you won't blow up your next one!"
"It was the ferret, you know." Hermione said with a scowl. "Six bloody toad's eyes! But I love it, Neville. Thank you." She meant it. She really would devour the book– actually might enjoy it, though she didn't enjoy much of anything lately. Except for sex. Which she wasn't having. And wouldn't be having. Especially not with Malfoy. Or Theo. Definitely not Theo.
Seamus placed a basket full of sweets into her glittery hands. Her mouth watered at the peppermint imps and chocolate frogs: her little guilty pleasures kept hidden from her parents, as to avoid a lecture on cavities. Dean wrapped a scarf around her neck and unveiled a long white winter's coat. "Yours are horrendous, Hermione. Seriously? Beige is out of style. Have you not seen a single fashion magazine from the past decade?"
She knew that was his humor, but no, she really hadn't.
Ginny's gift was rather large and incredibly lumpy. Hermione ripped it open suspiciously, to find multiple lingerie sets inside the light colored parchment. The blush returned. They were lovely, really, though she doubted she would ever wear any of them. One set was a lacy green bra with matching knickers. She was shocked Ginny had picked the color. Tried not to wonder what Malfoy would say about the green or if he'd like it.
No. Draco Malfoy did not even cross her mind.
Molly had made her another sweater. Charlie sent her photographs of his dragons and a letter about how he recommended she celebrate the holiday. Arthur sent her a muggle trinket, accompanied by a list of questions and a request that she respond with explanations on the use of the item. Hermione recognized it as a ballpoint pen. It flashed with multicolor lights when she clicked it open. It made her chuckle.
But as she scanned the room– with the gifts scattered across her bed, and her friends standing around the dormitory– all she could think about was Ronald fucking Weasley. The only thing missing. She tried to push away the thought that all of this wasn't enough, the song and the cake and the damned glitter. But after six years, Ron Weasley was not here to celebrate her legality with her. She felt as if she'd been struck in the sternum with a thick, dull dagger. And the knife was being dragged towards her navel with every breath she took.
Ginny threw her arms around Hermione's neck. Seamus and Dean joined from behind, followed by Neville and Asha. Hermione felt as if she could suffocate in their well-meant group hug. They dispersed, allowing Harry to hug her alone. She wasn't focused as they all said goodbyes. She was too busy pushing memories of Ron out of her mind. Memories of her trio, her boys.
Memories of the nights they cried after Cedric died. Harry cried the hardest. He'd lost more than a friend, a classmate or acquaintance like Hermione and Ron had; he lost his first love to the same vile man who'd killed his parents, and no one had even believed him. She and Ron stayed awake, sharing every little detail of their childhoods until Harry's nightmares cease, though they never really ceased entirely. They silenced the common room until he stopped screaming Cedric's name— screaming obscenities at the murderer in his mind. Screaming at Barty Crouch Jr. She had helped Ron with his homework during those late nights. Taught him how to comprehend Arithmancy. Grinned with him as he later showed her the high marks he had earned by himself.
She blinked herself back into reality. Into here, into now. The present where those memories seemed to be irrelevant. Ginny was staring at her. Hermione thought she saw pity in her eyes. Ginny shouted something about leaving to allow Hermione to use the book Fred and George sent. Hermione was too dazed to blush.
As her friends began to file out of the room, she noticed Harry standing back. He shot a glance at the rest of the group, and Ginny nodded knowingly at him. Hermione held her breath.
"Mione, I know—"
She couldn't even hold the anger back. "How could he not even..." She sobbed. "What happened to us, Harry? Between now and then? What happened?"
"I don't know," he sighed and rubbed her arm. "Maybe he's just dealing with this a little different."
She sucked in a breath. "We're all dealing with this, Harry! He acts like we didn't all watch it happen! Like we didn't all see that horrid creature—"
"His name is Tom, Hermione. Tom Riddle." Harry practically growled. She flinched at his tone. It was deeper, echoed around the room like he'd cast an amplification charm. It sent a chill up her spine.
"That was not a human, Harry. He does not deserve a name." She shook her head. "And Bellatrix Lestrange– Sirius."
His lips curled, then relaxed. "Bellatrix will die a slow and painful death for that, Hermione." He rolled his neck against his shoulders. "When they catch her, I mean. She will rot in Azkaban–" His voice was back to normal but his expression remained dark— conflicted.
"She wasn't caught. She wasn't detained." Hermione stared.
"She will be." Harry's green eyes were dark now. He seemed to be fighting something deep inside. Hermione hadn't noticed. Hadn't seen the change since June. Hadn't even been this physically close to him in so long. But it was there. Something was there. She wondered if he was fighting the same rage consuming Ron. She wondered if it was contagious.
Harry? It was a shout into the void, a shot in the dark which she doubted would work. She so badly wanted to project her thoughts into his mind, the same way she had with Malfoy. But he didn't move, didn't respond, didn't hear. There was no connection. How was there no connection?
"Harry, you've changed." She said. "Are you–"
"I'm fine, Mione. Like you said, we're all coping." His eyes softened once more, but it was now riddled with vexation.
"I just wish we could cope together, like we used to." She shook her head.
"I don't know what to say, Hermione. Please, just forget about Tom, Bellatrix, and Ron today. Try, for yourself. It's your birthday," he gave a small smile. She tried to give one in return, but could only let out another cry.
"What will happen, Harry?" Fear rose within her at the knowledge that Lord Voldemort had returned, and he was gaining strength and numbers. "To- to all of us?"
"Come here," he pulled her into an embrace. She slumped into his chest. He smelled of firewhiskey at seven in the morning, with a hint of Neville's weed. "It's okay. We're okay, Hermione."
"I think- I think I just need to be alone for a minute." She whispered up to him, her voice muffled against his Sublime tee. He loved that band. She loved that he loved something.
"Whatever you need." He nodded against her shoulder. Then he stepped back and walked away. And she was alone. Like she'd asked. But the air outside of his arms felt colder than she'd expected and she missed the warmth.
Come back! She screamed into his mind. She swore he paused, for just a sliver of a second, but then he continued. He closed the door, and he left.
"Confringo!" Hermione blew a hole into the door he'd just closed. But that wasn't enough. "Reducto!" Her pillow was engulfed in a bright blue light before the curse turned it to feathers.
It wasn't enough. Her eyes found the book that Fred and George sent. They had drawn a detailed penis across its green cover. "Incendio!" She aimed her wand directly at the illustrated testicles. She fumed as it erupted into flames. But a pang of guilt hit her heart and she put it out with a soft augamenti. She fixed the hole in the door before sitting on her bed to cry amongst the wrapping paper and candies.
Eighteen years on this earth, and she still felt like a scared little child thrown into a world far beyond her level of comprehension. Six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Hermione still felt like a muggle standing just beyond the castle walls, gazing hopelessly through its large windows. She had always been nothing more than an outsider looking in as a muggle, and now she stood as a witch feeling, once again, severely out of place.
The life ahead of her had always seemed out of reach, always so far away. The future was some distant possibility that she could think about another day– another year. But she was now an adult and this was 'the future.' She was a legal witch with the power to apparate, to raise her wand in the presence of her parents and finally show them all she'd learned over the years. She should have felt excitement, but all she felt was dread at the thought of a future in a world where evil ran so freely through the streets. And for the first time in her life, she wished she had never gotten that damned letter.
She wished she could go back and exist in a time where she had no magic. No school of witchcraft and wizardry. No Voldemort or Ron Weasley or Draco Malfoy or Delores Umbridge or Albus Dumbledore. Just a dull, simple life where she was entirely normal. She would even give up Harry Potter if it meant she'd never have to squirm out of Bellatrix Lestrange's grasp as she watched Sirius Black fall into the veil. Or see the dead body of her best friend's lover, a boy who had been nothing but nice to all he'd met. Or see a dead body in general. Or fight a fucking troll. Or lay in the infirmary incapable of moving because of a big fucking snake. In the muggle world, you could step on snakes. Cook them. Eat them, even. In the wizarding world, you were the one being eaten.
This beautiful power and this beautiful world came with so much pain. So much trauma that she had never asked for. Chambers of Secrets and three-headed dogs and werewolves and Triwizard Tournaments. And now one of the only good things she'd found— her friendship with Harry and Ron— was hanging by a fucking thread. And she was livid.
The clock read a quarter to eight when her stomach finally growled. Food. She'd forgotten about food.