A/N: Thank you so much to those that are reading this, and have commented and let me know your thoughts - every word is loved and greatly appreciated!
And as always, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas!
'With the lights out, it's less dangerous / Here we are now, entertain us / I feel stupid and contagious / Here we are now, entertain us' - Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana.
The party was in full swing by the time Hermione arrived. She hadn't wanted to go but Ginny had insisted, chipping away at Hermione's resolve until she'd reluctantly conceded.
There was a short, sandy strip of the Great Lake shore that some referred to as a 'beach' – although that was probably being generous – and that had long been used by the older students of Hogwarts for parties during the warmer months of the school year. A campfire would be lit, alcohol somehow smuggled in from Hogsmeade, and a gramophone charmed with a Sonorus Charm to belt out the students' favourite tunes.
On the second weekend of the school year, the Gryffindors had decided to hold the first 'beach party' of the term in honour of Hermione's birthday. The fact that Hermione had no interest in celebrating her birthday – with a party or any other event – didn't seem to faze Seamus, Dean and Ginny, who went about organising it with enthusiastic fervour.
Hermione would rather have ignored it completely. She received a flurry of well wishes and presents from inside and outside of Hogwarts, including a lovely set of bespoke bookmarks from Ron. But it all only served to highlight, with a painful hollowness, the absence of the birthday wishes from her parents.
What the Gryffindors hadn't counted on was that the Slytherins had also decided to hold a beach party on the same night. Neither group backed down and cancelled, and so they reached an unspoken, albeit begrudging, agreement that they would merge their two parties into one.
When Hermione arrived at the Lake shore, she was unsurprised to observe an uneasy divide amongst the party's attendees. Theo Nott sat on a log near a blazing fire, playing a guitar that rested on his knee, whilst a few Slytherins around him sang along to his tune. On the other side of the fire sat Hermione's fellow Gryffindors, with the space between the two groups peppered with a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.
Parvati, however, seemed to have breached the divide. She was sitting, to Hermione's consternation, next to Theo Nott on the log, singing along with a bottle of beer in her hand. Hermione had heard of her unlikely role during the Carrows' reign of the school last year: how she had maintained some kind of affair with Blaise Zabini and how, as a result, she'd managed to obtain valuable Death Eater information for Dumbledore's Army. Neville, Luna and Ginny would not have been able to break into Snape's office to attempt to steal the Sword of Gryffindor if Parvati hadn't 'acquired' the password from Zabini, who, at that time, had been a trusted member of the newly reformed Inquisitorial Squad. Zabini had been in on it and had known that Parvati had been passing on the secrets he disclosed. He had wanted her to do it – it had been his way of helping the DA, apparently. Why he hadn't just told Parvati the information, Hermione had no idea. But then, it seemed there was a lot she didn't understand about what had happened at Hogwarts last year.
Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing – about Parvati and Zabini, about exchanging sexual favours for Death Eater secrets. She knew that war made people do desperate things, but seeing Parvati now sitting so comfortably amongst the Snakes was somewhat unsettling.
Hermione took off her shoes to feel the cold sand on the soles of her feet, before taking a seat by the fire next to Dean. As her fellow housemates greeted her, and Seamus passed her a beer, she looked around for Harry and Ginny and saw them sitting just outside the ring of students circling the fire. Ginny was practically straddling Harry's lap; their arms were entwined around each other's bodies and their mouths were locked together in what looked like a lengthy kiss.
They had practically been in the same position ever since returning to Hogwarts, but Hermione understood why. Harry had often talked about Ginny during their hunt for Horcruxes; he'd confided to Hermione on more than one occasion that, if he ever had the chance to be with Ginny again, he would not waste a second with her – more than that, in fact: he would try and make up for the time they'd lost.
She was happy for them, she really was, but she was acutely aware that it was another blow to what had been her powerful trio of friendship. A trio that had splintered violently apart when Ron hadn't returned to school, and had been weakened further now that Harry was burying himself – literally on occasions, no doubt – in Ginny. Hermione felt as if she was a piece of a broken union, careening away from the sight of its destruction, lost in space and not knowing where she was going to land.
She took a swig of her beer and tried to tune into a conversation between Neville, Seamus and Hannah. They were talking about Alecto Carrrow, about something that had happened last year – something about magical graffiti – and they were all suddenly laughing raucously at a joke that Hermione didn't understand.
Dean leaned towards her and said ruefully, "Do you sometimes feel that everyone else has seen a film you haven't, and they won't stop talking about it?"
Hermione turned to Dean and smiled gratefully, thinking of the numerous 'in-jokes' she'd heard the old seventh years make in the last week. "Yep," she agreed.
Being two of the few Gryffindor Muggle-borns in their year, Dean and Hermione had formed a special type of friendship over the years. He had often given Hermione mixtapes of the latest Muggle bands – they'd both shared a liking for indie and grunge music – and had repeatedly exchanged eye-rolls as their peers made clueless assumptions about Muggle culture.
Now, Hermione thought of how Dean had had to spend the last year running too, of how he'd started off alone, rather than with two best friends. Hermione had hardly talked to him during the time they'd shared at Shell Cottage. She had spent most of the time engrossed in planning the Gringotts break-in, after the first few days when she'd been healing from… But she hated to think about those initial dark days of recovery, so she quickly focused her attention back on Dean.
"It must have been hard for you? Last year?" Hermione asked gently.
Dean nodded solemnly, his gaze directed at the fire. "Yeah. But it got better after I met Ted."
Ted Tonks, who had later died, Hermione thought. Her gut twisted uncomfortably, and she took a long swig of her beer to try and numb the feeling.
"Are your family alright?" Hermione asked, realising she didn't know what had happened to Dean's three younger Muggle sisters.
Dean smiled. "Yeah – they're all okay. My sisters are as annoying, as always."
"That's good. I'm glad. That they're okay, not that they're annoying."
Hermione wasn't sure what else to say, and didn't want Dean asking her about her own parents, so she took a sip of her beer and turned back towards the fire, her eyes gliding to the space beyond the blaze. Her heart stuttered alarmingly as she caught sight of Draco Malfoy sitting directly opposite her and staring straight at her, his expression dark and steely. Their eyes locked through the dancing flames of the fire; he didn't look away, seemingly totally unfazed by the fact he'd been caught staring at her. It was only when Astoria Greengrass sat down next to him and leaned over to whisper in his ear that he took his eyes from hers.
Hermione was distracted from the feel of Malfoy's cold stare by the sound of Theo Nott starting to strum the chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit.
"This was on one of the first mixtapes you gave me," Hermione said to Dean, the memory making her smile. "I'm surprised Nott knows it - and can bear to play it, considering they're a Muggle band."
"Yeah – it came out in ninety-one… d'you remember when we both wore all black that weekend in third year, cos we were mourning Kurt Cobain's death? And nobody else had a clue why?" Dean reminisced, speaking through a wide grin.
"Yeah...I remember," Hermione said warmly.
"'I'm worse at what I do best, and for this gift I feel blessed...our little group has always been, and always will until the end...'" Nott sang.
Despite herself, Hermione had to admit that Nott had a rather lovely voice. She watched as Luna got to her feet and started to sway to the music, gliding her arms gracefully through the air in a very unusual dance. Nott, who had also been watching her, faltered in his playing, his mouth slightly agape, as if the sight of her was taking all his concentration.
Hermione readied herself to defend Luna from Nott, anticipating that he was about to say something derogatory about Luna's dancing. But instead, Nott seemed to shake his head as if trying to come out a trance, and resumed his playing. His eyes remained on Luna, though, who was now twirling on the spot – a seeming swirl of pale blond hair, milk-white skin and floating, midnight-blue fabric.
She suddenly felt Dean's arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him in a friendly embrace. She turned to look at him and saw him smiling sadly at her.
"I'm glad you're okay, Hermione. I'm glad we both got out of that shitstorm alive," he said softly.
The words and the gesture warmed something in Hermione's heart and she found herself reaching up and wrapping her arms around Dean in a tight hug. They stayed like that for a moment, two Muggle-borns heavy with the knowledge that they'd managed to survive a violent persecution that had taken so much else from them.
After Hermione gently pulled away from the embrace, she risked a glance across the fire again, but there was an empty space where Malfoy had been sitting, now flanked by Astoria and Pansy Parkinson.
A little while later, Terry Boot came over, subtly waving a spliff at Seamus and Dean, who disappeared off with him to smoke it. After they'd gone, Hermione realised that Neville and Hannah seemed to have moved inexplicably close to each other and suddenly felt very out of place. She had an immediate urge to get away – from the people and the chatter and the bright light of the fire.
She rose to her feet, her fourth beer in hand, and started to walk along the lake shore, where the strip of sand became narrower and narrower. Her skin cooled as she stepped out of the reach of the fire's flames, but the alcohol had warmed her veins and made her cheeks flush. As the sound of the music and chatter faded, she heard the lapping of the lake's waters and the rustle of animals in the undergrowth that bordered the beach.
The temporary peace was broken by a shrill giggle, and Hermione turned to see Susan Bones stepping out from between some bushes, straightening her hair and her dishevelled clothes, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. Hermione's heart leaped as she saw who followed her: Blaise Zabini, looking unconcerned and nonchalant, his hands reaching down and doing up the zip of his flies. The word of accusation that Seamus had levelled at the man came back to Hermione: rapist.
"Susan," Hermione couldn't help but call, causing Susan to pause and look at her in surprise. "Are you okay?"
Susan's grin broadened. "Of course," she answered as Zabini came and took her hand, giving Hermione a wary look. There was an awkward silence as the two girls looked at each other. "Are...you okay?" Susan asked.
"Yes. Fine," Hermione responded.
Susan didn't look as if she were under the influence of any kind of spell, or potion – or even alcohol. Her eyes were bright and focused, her stance steady. Hermione felt somewhat silly – redundant – as Zabini started to lead Susan back towards the campfire.
Hermione continued in the opposite direction, her thoughts swimming confusingly. A few metres on, she noticed a figure sitting in the sand, his forearms resting against pulled up knees, with a beer bottle in one hand, craning his neck as he looked up at the sky.
Malfoy.
She came to a stop a few metres behind him and saw his shoulders tense as if he could sense her presence, but he didn't look around.
Hermione followed his gaze. The sky was littered with a thousand immortal sparkles of light. It was one of the things that Hermione loved most about Hogwarts – the array of stars that could be seen on a clear night, due to the lack of light pollution in this wild part of the British Isles.
"'The forget-me-nots of the angels'," Malfoy spoke, his voice quiet and thoughtful.
Hermione had never heard his voice sound so empty of vitriol, and she wondered whether that was because he hadn't realised it was her that was standing behind him. She felt a pang of something that she couldn't name, mixed in with surprise that Malfoy knew Muggle poetry enough to quote it from memory.
"'In the infinite meadows of heaven'," she couldn't help but say, because it was such a beautiful line, it would be a shame for it not to be finished. "Henry Longfellow."
Malfoy abruptly jerked around and fixed his eyes on her. She caught the glimpse of an initial startled expression before it morphed into one of disdain.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," he sneered, before turning back to face the lake.
She could have left. Could have sighed frustratedly, turned and walked back to the crowd by the fire. But the beer made her stubborn, argumentative. Walking away felt like she would lose an unspoken game.
"Why do you have to be so sarcastic all the time?" she accused.
"Why do you have to be a loathsome little know-it-all all the time?" he responded unhesitatingly and bitterly, keeping his eyes on the sparkling sky.
"What are you doing, anyway? Looking for your namesake? That would be suitably narcissistic of you." She made her voice as acidic as possible.
He looked back at her, his expression weary. "No, Granger," he drawled patronisingly. Hermione could not stand being patronised.
Malfoy pulled himself to his feet and swayed slightly, before taking leisurely steps towards her, his eyes slowly raking up and down her body. He stopped a metre or so from her.
"Saw you getting cosy with Thomas."
For a moment, she was confused by his words, before realising he must have been referring to Dean. She could understand that, from where Malfoy had been sitting, their embrace could have looked...less platonic.
"That wasn't anything," she said, although why on earth she felt she had to explain herself to Malfoy, she had no idea.
He took another step towards her, and she refused to move backwards. She felt that that would be an admittance of some kind – a sign that he was managing to intimidate her.
"Working your way through the Gryffindor boys?" His words were low and unmistakably hostile. What's more, his slurred speech and continued swaying made Hermione surmise that Malfoy was really very drunk.
"What? No! Piss off!"
There were only inches between them now. Her mind urged her body to turn and leave, it silently screamed that he was far too close, but it was his eyes again that kept rooted to the spot. Her toes curled into the cold sand.
"Oh, come on," he drawled with mock-placation, leaning even closer to her. "I know at least Weasley's had a go – the papers wouldn't shut up about it." His eyes glinted darkly as they flitted across her face, as if trying to read her thoughts in the lines around her eyes. He was so close now she could feel his breath ghost her jawline, then her cheek, moving down to her neck. Her breathing quickened. "And scarhead as well no doubt... Did you keep them warm during those cold nights on the run?..." His voice was low and slow and thick. "You're such a good friend, I'm sure you would have let them share you."
Her wand hand twitched at his vile words and she was about to bite out a retort, but his hand moved around to the back of her neck, clutching a bunch of her hair and gently tilted her head to one side. Despite herself, and the fact she could have easily escaped his grasp, she found herself yielding to his touch, her nerves sparking at the sensation. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt warmth flood her cheeks as Malfoy suddenly crushed his lips to hers.
It was a punishing kiss – there was nothing tender in it – but the feel of it rippled through her body, down to her stomach, and lower. It was rough and it was savage, but it was how she wanted to be kissed because it meant she didn't have to think. Before she had time to really process what was happening, he pulled back from her mouth, leaned to her ear again and whispered his next words into it like a viscous poison:
"Did they take it in turns with you? Or did you let them have a go at the same time? You're so talented after all, so eager to please, I'm sure you could have managed it."
Anger rose in her like Fiendfyre – anger at his words, but also at herself, at how her body had responded to him. Quickly, she stepped back on one foot to give herself leverage and, with as much force as she could muster, brought her balled up fist down onto Malfoy's face. She heard a faint crack – possibly his nose – and felt the dull ache of the impact in her knuckles.
"Arrgh!" Malfoy backed several steps away from her and brought his hands up to his nose as blood started to pour from it.
His dark eyes were trained on her as his face broke into a grin – or a grimace, Hermione wasn't sure.
"I always enjoy tickling the lioness," he scorned. "To see what it takes to get those scratchy little claws out. Never gets old, Granger."
"Better watch-the-fuck-out, Malfoy. She might bite next time." Hermione could feel herself shaking, but managed to keep her voice steady.
With relief, her body finally obeyed her mind and she turned, marching on shaking legs back in the direction of the fire.
"Bite? Oh, please don't teeease me!" he called after her.
His mocking laughter followed her for far too long.
Hermione knew she should probably go back to the castle, should possibly even wake up McGonagall and report Malfoy for assault or something. But that would cause all kinds of chaos – for everybody, not just her and Malfoy – because the party would be found. The teachers normally turned a blind eye to the Lake parties, unless something significant happened….like people getting hurt. And then there was the fact that she'd gone ahead and bloody punched Malfoy, and she really didn't know how that would be construed.
Nevertheless, she probably should go back to Gryffindor Tower at least, drink a large glass of water, go to bed and then think about what to do in the morning.
But, even though she hadn't wanted to come to this bloody party in the first place, a stubborn part of her refused to let her night come to an end because of Malfoy's vileness.
So she returned to the campfire and swiftly drank another beer in an attempt to scourge the taste of him from her lips and erase the sound of his laughter from her mind. Then she gulped back another. Then she played some ridiculous drinking game with Seamus, Dean and Neville which involved downing far too many firewhiskey shots. In the midst of it, she remembered looking towards the castle and noticed the silhouettes of Ginny and Harry, walking hand-in-hand, back up the hill to the school.
About two hours later, the alcohol had made her thoughts fuzzy and her mind pleasantly hazy, but the indignation she felt at Malfoy's behaviour and words still tugged at the edges of her consciousness.
She decided to find him and have it out with him – how dare he go about forcing kisses on people and then throwing about woman-shaming misogynist stories! And after all she'd had to endure from him during her school years up to now – why did he still think it was okay to denigrate people like that?
She marched around to the Slytherin half of the campfire, but couldn't see Malfoy anywhere. The party was beginning to thin out – she couldn't see any of her fellow Gryffindors anywhere – and wondered if Malfoy had left too, which would be rather annoying. She found herself standing by the fire, swaying slightly in front of Zabini, who seemed to have lost Susan somewhere and was now sitting with Parvati.
Her indignation simmered and bubbled over into anger. A small part of her mind was aware that the combination of vexation and alcohol was not a good one, but the more dominant part welcomed the dissipation of her normally tightly coiled thoughts. Thoughts that would usually sift through all possible actions she could take and all their possible consequences, in order to minimise any potential hurt or damage to other people. It was a blissful relief to have that inner, exhausting voice be muffled for a while.
"Hey Granger, you're kinda blocking the fire…" Zabini called to her.
It wasn't said unkindly, but it riled her nonetheless. She looked down at his smug face, and her irritation spilled out of her.
"What's with this anyway?" she asked disdainfully, gesturing to the unit that was Zabini and Parvati, her beer sloshing out of its bottle as she did so, landing cold and sticky on her hand.
Parvati smiled gently, like she was tolerating a child that was having a tantrum. "What do you mean, Hermione?" she asked calmly.
How condescending.
"How did you…sorry, I'm just trying to catch up…I'm curious about – about – " Her speech was slurred and she couldn't find the right words, which was incredibly frustrating – and it was all their fault because all of this is so wrong – Susan going into the bushes with Zabini, who'd been accused of rape, and then Parvati sitting there, next to him, seemingly quite at home in a pit of Snakes – didn't she understand it was all so wrong too?
"How is it," – the next words are out before Hermione could stop them – "how exactly did you end up a Death Eater's whore?" Her last words were loud and shrill and easily carried over the chattering voices and the strumming of Nott's guitar.
There was a stunned silence amongst the Slytherin half of the party, the talking and Nott's playing coming to an abrupt halt. Parvati's face dropped – it was a mask of shock and hurt – and Hermione instantly realised, even with her alcohol-befuddled mind, that she'd said something very, very wrong. Her stomach curdled nauseatingly. There was a tense silence, the only sound was the crackling of the fire, as Hermione tried to think of the right words to make it all better again.
Zabini got to his feet and looked like he was about to speak but someone else beat him to it.
"That was out of order, Granger." The voice was low and hard.
Hermione turned to its owner: Malfoy. There he was! She suddenly remembered that he was the real target of her wrath, and then her thoughts were tripping over themselves with the best – or worst – ways to insult an adolescent boy.
"What Niffler's got into your knickers?" Hermione spat at him. "Jealous no one wanted to suck your cock in return for Death Eater secrets? Or were you worried your sad little dick wouldn't have worked properly if they'd tried?" She was aware her voice was unnecessarily loud, that everyone within a few metres of her was silently gaping at the unfolding drama.
A girl's high-pitched, mirthful laugh broke the silence. It had the characteristic sound of Pansy Parkinson about it, but Hermione didn't turn from Malfoy, who was looking at her with a stony, guarded expression.
She knew her words had been childish and immature, as well as potentially inaccurate. She had no idea if Malfoy's dick was sad. Or little. Or how well it worked. But if that incident in the Astronomy Tower was anything to go by… She shook her head, trying to clear it.
Malfoy took a step closer to her and she remembered the kiss – if that's what it had been – and his foul words, and the threatening, confusing mixture of emotions they'd aroused in her. She impulsively took a step backwards, swayed slightly, tried to right herself, then felt herself careening towards the fire.
Malfoy, the person closest to her, instinctively reached out his hand and grabbed hold of her arm, steadying her. But his hand had clasped right around her scar – right about where the 'U', the 'D' and the 'B' were.
Hermione let out a cry of anguish as a searing, burning pain radiated out from her wounds.
The cuts still hadn't healed – she hadn't allowed them to – and the dark magic that lay dormant in them meant that they were always stingingly sensitive.
Malfoy's eyes widened in alarm, and he instantly released her arm. "What –"
"Fuck!" Hermione exclaimed, the pain shocking her into sobriety.
She steadied herself and tried to clear her head. She'd said things – things she shouldn't have. She looked down at Parvati who was looking up at her coldy, as if she were a stranger.
"Parvati –" Hermione started an attempt at an apology.
Parvati's eyes flitted to Hermione's arm. "You're bleeding," she remarked indifferently, before getting up and walking away, back towards the school.
Hermione looked down at her arm. A dark pool of blood had started to seep through the sleeve of her shirt. Zabini rose and started to follow Parvati, but he stopped after a few steps and turned to Hermione.
"When did you turn into such a bitch?" There was no vitriol in Zabini's voice; the question was asked with genuine curiosity. He was gone before Hermione could form a reply.
"Granger," Malfoy said softly. She'd never heard him say her name like that before; his voice was regretful, beseeching. He took a step towards her, but all Hermione could think of was the pain in her arm, and wanting it to stop. She suddenly felt under threat – from what, she didn't know – and had a powerful urge to get away – it felt as if the infinite dark of the night was encroaching towards her and would suffocate her.
"Don't touch me!" Hermione shrieked impulsively, and Malfoy froze in his approach.
"Hey, hey, hey," a pacifying voice said and Pansy Parkinson was suddenly by her side – where had she come from? "Let's get you out of here. Let's go and sort your arm out, Hermione, yeah?"
The suggestion seemed like a good one; Hermione knew she needed to get a new dressing on her cuts.
"Pansy –" Malfoy objected.
"I can handle this, Draco. Don't worry about your precious princess," Pansy said as she started to steer Hermione away from the fire.
Hermione was so amused at the idea of being Malfoy's 'princess', she found herself momentarily forgetting the pain of her arm and snorted inelegantly.
"I'm not his princess. I'm not anyone's princess," she slurred sulkily, as she let Pansy guide away from the beach.
"I know, hon, I know," Pansy said soothingly as they walked onto the hill's path and began their ascent up to the castle.
A/N:
I know Draco is being particularly vile in this chapter, but bear with him, it/he gets better from now on... 😁
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