Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter book series or movie adaptations.
Chapter Four: Inebriated
29 September 1998
Hermione,
I wanted to be the first to tell you that Bill and I are going to have a baby! We're very excited. I'm due in May. We'll be announcing it at dinner tonight but since you're at school I sent you and Ginny a letter so none of the others got to tell you first.
How is school? Have the nightmares gotten any better? I wish you would write more. I miss you, and I know that the others do as well.
All my love,
Fleur Weasley-Delacour
Hermione smiles down at the letter in front of her. She and Fleur had gotten close over the summer, mostly because they knew best how it was to be in but not quite in the Weasley brood. When she and Ron had called off their brief fling, Fleur had been Hermione's number one friend, defending her through Molly's disappointment. Fleur had even gone into detail to Hermione one night when they'd gotten into the firewhiskey and Hermione had asked how she knew she was in love with Bill.
"It's different for me than it will be for you," Fleur had said. "I'm part Veela. I don't have all of the cool powers and fireballs and talons, but I do have something called the Bond. I met Bill and I could feel it immediately. We just connected somehow. I'm Bonded to him now. Mated, if you will. I can feel what he feels. Sometimes I swear I can even hear his thoughts." The older girl had looked at Hermione wistfully then. "I don't know what normal human love is like, but I imagine he does. The Bond is much stronger for me than for him. He fell in love with me the normal way."
It had been a sweet conversation which had, unfortunately, not answered Hermione's question in the slightest.
The brunette finds herself violently pulled out of her reverie when Ginny, sitting right next to her, lets out a loud screech. When Hermione looks over, the redhead is staring down at a piece of parchment with a huge grin on her face, and half of the Great Hall is staring. "Mione!" The younger girl throws her arms around her friend. "I'm going to be an Auntie!"
"Oh great," a drawling voice says from behind them, "You know, you lot really are rabbits."
"Piss off, Malfoy," Hermione says with a roll of her eyes, turning to look at the man sitting at the table parallel to hers. "Rather have more rabbits in the world than ferrets."
The blond narrows his eyes and opens his mouth as though to let out a retort but quickly rethinks it and shakes his head. "Whatever, Granger," he says. "I was merely pointing out that her lot already seems to be rather plentiful. They could single-handedly populate the entire wizarding world if they needed to."
"That's a rather strange way of saying that your lot are all but impotent, Malfoy." Ginny looks rather pleased with herself, sitting with her hands crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face.
"Why you little bit-"
"Cool it, Malfoy," Theo Nott cuts in from beside the blond man.
The two seem to have a nonverbal sparring match for a moment before Malfoy rolls his eyes and stands up. "Might as well go anyway," he says. He nods to his friend. "See you in class." With that, he turns around dramatically and marches out of the Great Hall.
Hermione muses that she's never seen Ginny look so downright pleased with herself before.
The brunette is almost unsurprised to find that that night, when she finally leaves the library and makes her way back to the common room, Malfoy is sitting in the armchair. It's almost midnight, and nobody else is out. The creak of the door as it closes behind her is all but deafening in the silent room, but he doesn't look up.
Hermione sighs and finds a seat on the couch next to the fireplace, stretching her legs out and putting her stack of books on her lap and her bookbag on the floor next to her. "I've been researching," she says in hushed tones.
"Oh?" The blond seems uninterested, his gaze leveled squarely at the blazing fire.
"I can't find anything."
Malfoy raises an eyebrow then and finally looks over. "The brightest witch of our age," he muses.
"Well maybe if you would help me," Hermione says through clenched teeth. "Give me something to work with besides 'why did my magic extend like a limb toward someone that I can't stand and then subsequently get cut off when I apparated' and 'why did a man that has always hated my guts become almost decent to me basically overnight'."
Malfoy clicks his tongue and shakes his head as though she's a child who's forgotten something. "Granger, Granger, Granger," he says. He sits forward, his elbows on his knees. "Think of this like an assignment for school. What do you know so far?"
Hermione rolls her eyes. "Or," she counters, "You could not be a child and you could simply tell me."
He shakes his head. "I want you to figure it out. I don't want to be the one to tell you. What do you know so far?"
She growls under her breath and fixes a glare on him. "I know you're a prat. I know that you know something I don't. I know that for some reason you're always up at ungodly hours when I'd rather be in the common room by myself. I know that you did something at Malfoy Manner that fucking hurt but for some reason no book that I've found has any kind of spell, dark magic or otherwise, that does something like that–"
"You think that I spelled you?"
Malfoy's voice is so acidic that for a moment Hermione is stunned into silence. "Well what's the alternative?" Her voice almost sounds small for a second before she corrects herself. "It's the most logical reason."
"I would never spell you, Granger," he says slowly, leveling her with a severe but no longer angry gaze.
"You jinxed me in fourth year," Hermione retorts, "And you've thrown plenty of curses my way."
"Not on purpose," Malfoy responds defensively, "And no more than you or Saint Potter or Weaslebee have thrown at me."
"My point is," Hermione continues, "It's not an inconceivable notion."
"I've changed, Granger," Malfoy says simply, his tone and his face both emotionless. "And more than that, situations and circumstances have changed."
"Because we're not in a war anymore?" The brunette lets out a derisive laugh. "Just because we're not fighting a war against each other anymore doesn't change the fact that we were, Malfoy. It doesn't change that I have memories now and for the rest of my life that give me nightmares because of you and your deranged family. It doesn't change that even before you knew about Voldemort you bullied me relentlessly. You can't expect me to believe that you've just changed overnight."
Malfoy fixes her with a long stare before standing up. "You're right," he says. "Goodnight, Granger." He turns and walks back toward his dorm without another word.
Hermione muses that she's never been told that she was right and subsequently wanted so badly to punch the person that said it in their sharp little ferret nose before.
If nothing else, the conversation between herself and Malfoy gives Hermione something to think about. If Malfoy was telling the truth and he hadn't spelled her, then she's been looking in entirely the wrong place. But that leaves a question: If it wasn't a spell that had made what happened at Malfoy Manor occur, what was it?
Broadening her research, Hermione finds something called an empathy link, wherein two people's magic would entwine and link them together. When broken, it could lead to a feeling similar to a splinching. The difficulty is that empathy links come with both parties being able to feel each other's emotions and sometimes hear their thoughts, which Hermione is certain that she can't do with Malfoy. They're also incredibly rare and are usually enacted by spells. Non-charmed empathy links are even rarer and come from only specific circumstances.
She spends the majority of her time outside of classes in the library again the following week, and while she feels like she's possibly getting closer, she always comes up short with another dead-end. By Saturday night, she's almost ready to scream.
Hermione makes her way back to the common room at nearly ten o' clock on Saturday night to find it full again. This time, however, it's not only her housemates that are inside. Sixth- and seventh-year students are also lounging about, loud music playing in the background, and Hermione thinks she should've smelled the alcohol from outside.
Great, she thinks. A party.
She's not sure what's being celebrated, but she doesn't have much time to figure that out. Within a moment of entering the room Ginny finds her and grips her by the upper arm. "You never told me how great your common room is, Mione," she slurs, grinning. "We've all been having so much fun. Where have you been?"
Hermione shrugs and tries to yell over the music. "I've been studying," she says.
Ginny groans loudly. "You're always studying," she says. "Come have fun with me."
The older girl doesn't even have time to protest as Ginny practically drags her to the middle of the room, where all kinds of muggle and wizarding alcohol are splayed across the coffee table. Hermione doesn't bother to wonder how anyone would've snuck it in. Where there is a will, there is always a way with magic.
After a moment, Hermione convinces the redhead to allow her to drop her bookbag upstairs under the promise of coming straight back down, which she does. By the time that she descends the stairs, however, Ginny has disappeared into the crowd. It takes a full minute of looking for her tell-tale auburn hair to find her standing in the corner of the room, giggling and leaning into Daphne Greengrass.
Daphne Greengrass?
Hermione blinks as she moves closer and takes a better look at the other girl. She looks like Daphne, alright, but her eyes are rounder, her mouth smaller, and her hair is just slightly lighter in shade. The brunette grapples for a name. Adora? Anna?
"Hermione!" Ginny sees her friend coming, finally, and reattaches herself. "Have you met Astoria?"
Ah. That's it.
"I don't believe I have," Hermione says. "Nice to meet you."
Astoria smiles dazzlingly and reaches over to shake the older girl's hand. "Nice to meet you too," she says. "And I'm sorry if my lovely sister has been a problem to you."
Hermione smiles. "We've barely talked all year," she says, "So no worries."
Ginny launches them into a conversation about something to do with Quidditch practice, which has just started, and at some point someone hands Hermione a glass clearly filled with Firewhiskey. Soon her heart thumps with the pounding of the music and she finds herself allowing Ginny to navigate them through the crowd, striking up conversation with whomever they find themselves nearest to.
Hermione loses time after a while, and she starts to think that maybe she should stop drinking. Her head begins to pound more and her vision starts to blur, and for a while it seems like everything around her is happening in slow motion. And everything, absolutely everything, is hilarious.
She's over by the fireplace now, but Ginny is nowhere. The brunette wonders when the last time she saw her friend was. She lurches as someone bumps into her and she's about to fall when she feels a big hand grip the small of her back and pull her back forward, and then she collides with someone's rock-solid chest. She steps back immediately and looks up – up, up, up – at her rescuer.
Malfoy. Of-bloody-course it's him.
"Are you stalking me?" Her question comes out slurred even to her.
"I've been within five feet of you twice in over a week," Malfoy answers with a roll of his eyes. "That hardly counts as stalking."
"I think I'm getting close to figuring you out," Hermione continues. "I've been learning about empathy links and– and magic-binding without spells."
"Uh-huh," Malfoy says, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe we should continue this conversation when you're sober."
"Or maybe you could just tell me what your bloody secret is, Malfoy." She fixes him with what she hopes looks like a glare. "You're such a prat."
"So I've been told." He shrugs. "Anyway, have a good rest of your night. I'm off to bed. It's nearly two in the morning and I have Quidditch practice at eight."
And then he's gone again. Merlin, he disappears a lot.
Ginny all but melts out of the crowd then and materializes in front of her. "Hey, Mione," she slurs. "Want another drink?"