DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Slughorn's office was dressed up to look like a sumptuous Turkish tent. The walls and ceiling were draped with green, scarlet, and gold silk. A large gilded mosaic lamp threw a diffused red light that bathed the room in a treacherous, decadent glow, which was underscored by frequent puffs of smoke, lilting chants sung to the tune of various string instruments, and the unending murmur of conversation, punctuated with sudden loud bursts of laughter.
The atmosphere was heady in a suffocating, self-indulgent, trying-too-hard kind of way.
"People are staring," Hermione grumbled.
"What did you expect? Although, I think we can safely say that at least half those stares are less about you being here with me, and more about the way you look," Theo smiled at her, "Very nice, Hermione."
She laughed awkwardly. "Thanks."
"Why is that obnoxiously large fellow glaring at me like he wants to pull my guts out of my throat?"
"Huh? Oh. That's Cormac McLaggen. He, um, had asked me to go with him..."
"And you're telling me this now? You didn't think you needed to warn me about potentially murderous, scorned suitors baying for my blood? I've told you before, I'm far too beautiful to –"
"..to die young. Yes."
Theo laughed. He moved to take a sip of his mead, but midway... he froze. It was like he'd been petrified. An alarmed Hermione followed his line of vision, and it led to a very unlikely group of individuals: a somewhat bewildered looking Harry, a very red-faced and beaming Slughorn, a rather tubby gentleman who could be best described as 'Barney Rubble wearing bifocals', an animated cadaver – unquestionably a vampire, and last but definitely not the least as far as Theo was concerned, Luna.
Hermione smirked at her gobsmacked friend. "She looks very pretty, doesn't she?"
Theo let out a breathless sound of agreement.
"Come on then." She grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the object of his fixation. A look of untempered relief spread across Harry's face when he spotted her coming their way, and he took hold of Luna and broke away from his company.
They met near the centre of the room, and the purposefulness that had driven Harry and Hermione up to that point suddenly deserted them. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence while she looked at him, and he glowered at Theo, and Theo made moony eyes at Luna, and Luna gazed beatifically at the fairies encased in the lamp overhead.
"Hi Harry, Luna!" Hermione chirped. She fucking chirped, and that was enough to draw the attention of the other three.
"Hey, Hermione... Hello, Nott." Harry's face, voice, manner, everything conveyed distaste.
Luna spoke up before Theo could spit out a proportionately acidic greeting in response, gesticulating towards the twinkling lights above.
"Fairies really don't like being trapped in this manner."
"Of course they don't!" Hermione jumped on board with alacrity, pleased to have a legitimate cause to vent out her irritation, "it's just one of the many ways magical creatures are abused. Don't even get me started on the house-elves being forced to navigate this crowd with those humongous platters –"
"No," Luna interrupted, "I mean fairies don't like red-tinted glass. They don't like what it does to their complexion."
Hermione drained her goblet in one neat gulp.
"Why don't you tell me more about that, Luna," said Theo, an unsettling purr pervading his tone. He slipped his arm around her waist, and made to lead her away and into the crowd.
Hermione yanked him right back into place. "No. Your motive here is to establish your... er, political stance, yes? To make clear where your sympathies lie? So go on," she said with a wild flourish of her arm, "Convince away."
And again, there was an awkward moment where she looked expectantly at Theo, and he looked coldly at her, and Harry alternated between frowning at the two of them, and Luna gazed beatifically at the fairies encased in the lamp overhead.
"What grand gesture would you like me to make?" Theo asked, "Shall I stand on a table and recite an ode to Dumbledore? Should I have worn a giant Gryffindor hat? Or perhaps worn robes with 'Death Eaters are dastardly dicks' stitched on across the back? Would you like me to drag Potter into the middle of the throng and snog him in front of everyone?"
"You could start by not behaving like an utter wanker." Hermione berated him over Harry's splutter of horror, "You know what to say. You always know what to say."
"You're giving me too much credit there, darling..."
"I am not – "
"No, actually, I am Nott."
Hermione glared, quite ready to empty his drink on his head – she might be able to do it wandlessly now – but Harry interrupted her focus.
"How's this for an overture of friendship," he said to Theo, "Never argue with Hermione when she's in advocate mode."
"As bad as one would expect, ay?" Theo asked with a ridiculous amount of severity.
Harry responded with equal gravity. "Worse."
"I have a beautiful Lion-head Gryffindor hat, Theo. I'll let you borrow it for the next party."
It was fair to say the ice was somewhat broken after that. The conversation was stilted, and both the boys were still a bit aloof, but with the help of fine, freely flowing libation, and Luna's sweet candour, they managed to establish a fragile dynamic of sorts.
"Harry Potter!" came a lively cry from somewhere behind them. Sybill Trelawney materialised dramatically, in a manner befitting a fraudulent seer.
"Oh, hello," said Harry, unhappily.
She greeted Luna with equal enthusiasm, nodded at Theo, but ignored Hermione completely, which suited her just fine. She zoned out as Trelawney twittered at Harry about something or the other, sipping her nth goblet of mead and listlessly trying to cast a weightlessness charm on a house-elf's platter with nothing but her mind.
She swayed from the strain of it… from the influence of her drink… and Theo placed a steadying hand on her back. "We're doing alright, aren't we?" he asked.
She smiled at him, and looking around she realised that their gathering seemed to have expanded. Slughorn was there too, and… Snape?
Indeed Severus Snape was flashing his usual acrimonious sneer at Harry, while saying- "Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."
"Well, then, it's natural ability!" Slughorn countered gaily. "You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death — never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don't think even you, Severus —"
"Really?" Snape looked sour and suspicious, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from throwing her best friend – best friend, Hermione – under the bus.
Things were getting tense. She wanted to whisk Theo and Luna away to the opposite end of the room. Or maybe go hide alone in some corner. Or maybe leave this inane party altogether. She zoned out again. The rosy rose light in the room was the colour of madness. The madness was a fog around her head, and Luna's mellifluous voice broke through the mad fog, but only after her words were leeched of all meaning. Then there was laughter. The pressure on her back was tremulous, the laughter was unfettered, crazy, and echoing strangely, like the mad fog had solidified, and was causing sound waves to refract in all sorts of mad angles.
She had never been this tipsy before.
Theo grabbed her arm with a jarring tightness just as she felt her eyes flutter shut.
She resurfaced, and yet again, the alternations to her surroundings took her by surprise. 'Surprise', was really a 'what the fuck?!' which resulted in the very distressing phenomenon of sudden onset soberness. S.O.S.
Joviality looked very disturbing on Filch. There he was, with a manic grin on his face, saying: "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"
Draco Malfoy, mutinous and fuming, snarled: "All right, I wasn't invited! I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"
"No, I'm not!" said Filch, grinning, grinning like a harlequin. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"
Slughorn, keeping with the spirit of generosity associated with yuletide, dismissed Filch and extended a spontaneous albeit disinterested invite to Malfoy, welcoming him into the fold.
His pinched expression of displeasure morphed into a gracious smile. With his smooth brow, straight back, and gleaming teeth, he looked like a different person.
"This is very kind of you, Professor," he said to Slughorn.
As the old man pompously waved away his thanks, Hermione looked over at Theo. He was staring fixedly at Malfoy, worry pulling his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth down into a frown.
"You okay?" she murmured.
He only shook his head, eyes still locked on his best friend.
"I'd like a word with you, Draco." This was Snape, whose presence Hermione had nearly forgotten. He, too, looked extremely displeased.
"Oh, now, Severus," Slughorn slurred, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard —"
"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be. Follow me, Draco."
Hermione dragged Theo to the side once they had left. He slumped against the wall and sighed dejectedly.
"He wasn't trying to gatecrash, was he?" she asked. Theo merely shrugged. "He wasn't. And you aren't going to tell me what he was really doing." She teetered slightly, unexpectedly. Stupid platform sandals.
Theo steadied her with a hand to her shoulder, and the last vestiges of his frown melted away.
"You're drunk."
"No." she laughed feebly.
"You're nearly there, then." Theo smirked, "Come on. I'll see you to your common room."
"No… I have to go… to the library."
"Don't be absurd, you mad bint. You can study tomorrow."
"Have to meet Padma. Shouldn't take too long…"
With a long suffering sigh, Theo pulled away from the wall and began walking her towards the exit. "I'll drop you to the library then."
Perhaps she was relying a little too much on him for support.
They walked in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Who's Kubla Khan?" Theo asked, suddenly.
"…Mongol emperor. Why do you ask?" she blinked at him in puzzlement.
"You were just muttering something about him and a dome."
"I was? No? Was I?"
Theo shook his head at her in indulgent exasperation.
"You are such a bizarre little creature. And here we are at the library, so I bid you farewell." He laughed as Hermione curtsied. "You are really good at that."
"My grandmother insisted I attend ballet lessons as a kid."
Giving her a gentle one-armed hug, he said "Goodnight", and strolled back down the corridor. Hermione watched him until he disappeared from sight.
With careful but wobbly steps, she navigated through the sea of tall bookshelves until she arrived at the table Padma favoured for their study sessions. Except Padma wasn't at the table… she was sitting on the floor, under a large arched window.
Her long hair was loose for once – a shiny oil spill meandering in waves down her back – and so was her posture; there was a general wilted look about her. She was still in her uniform, which was disastrously rumpled.
"Hey, Hermione. Nice dress."
"Thanks?" Hermione regarded her uncertainly. She even sounded wrong; all hoarse and drowsy.
Hermione stumbled to the spot besides her, and sat down heavily on the thick carpet.
Then she noticed the leather hipflask in Padma's hand.
"Er… what's that?"
"Firewhiskey." Padma shrugged carelessly, and then proceeded to take a huge gulp from it.
"Ah."
"So the term-end results are out. Did you see? Did you see what a powerful brand new pain potion, and an instant allergy eliminating potion warrant? Second and third place apparently. And guess who topped? Yes. That's right. Your superstar chosen one Potter boy." She made a sound of abject disgust.
When she offered her flask to Hermione, it was accepted with much gratitude.
They sat side by side, rapidly passing the flask from one to the other. Firewhiskey burned like nothing Hermione had ever known. It was very aptly named. It had none of the smoothness of her dad's favourite Glenfiddich that she had snuck a few sips of at parties her parents threw. But she found she liked the burn – the burn that filled her while simultaneously emptied her so that there was room for more burn to fill and empty.
The mad fog was back, and now it was gold like dust mites set alight by candle flames.
Padma's head landed on her shoulder.
"Fuck Slughorn."
Hermione recited Kubla Khan (…again?) while Padma played with the silky hem of her dress.
"Nice dress."
A voice that was muffled against a shoulder.
The flask was empty. They looked at it forlornly.
"Fuck Potions."
She felt Padma nod against her neck.
Two rows of bookshelves were visible from where they were seated. They converged as they receded, bending unnaturally to meet at a point blacker than the lock of Padma's black hair resting on her wrist. Lines of books were moving into that blackest of black holes at varying paces… it was dizzying, discombobulating… an M.C. Escher mindfuck…
Padma lifted her head slightly.
"Nice dress…" Hermione felt the intoxicated hum in the warm breath against her jaw. She turned to look at –
Warm, soft lips brushed against hers with the gentlest of pressure. If a kiss could be whispered, that was how it was done. The whisper grew into an assertion as the pressure increased… as Padma sucked at her lower lip, Hermione felt another firewhiskey-like burn consume her. She pulled back in bleary confusion, and Padma looked back at her with blazing twin black hole eyes –
"Please."
– and Hermione surrendered. Her mad fog closed in, rushing in through her ears and saturating her brain cells.
They gave up on being tentative. It was a kiss of defeat and resignation. It was a frantic acknowledgement of futility and disappointment and desperation. Hermione got lost in the clash of lips, and when she felt Padma's tongue flick against her mouth, she brought out her own.
Padma broke away with a lurch. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut…
Hermione shakily stood up, catching herself on the nearest chair as she staggered. She walked precariously between the bookshelves; one hand grabbing at whatever it could find to keep herself steady…
She walked towards the universe's end… the ultimate vanishing point… the blackest of black holes...
Hermione frowned.
She was standing in front of the portrait of the fat lady. How on earth had that happened? She gave the blatantly disapproving pink puffer fish the password, and veritably crawled up the stairs to her dorm. Everyone else was asleep. She slipped into her bed without bothering to undress.
Her head was swimming; the mad fog was grey early winter morning London smog. And she couldn't shake away the memory of lips and warm breath…
Unbidden, her hand crept into her underwear, and she touched the sensitive dampness with a shudder. She remembered the way Pete had touched her, gentle strokes at first…
Wonderful, glorious currents travelled up her legs and down her spine. She pictured his dirty blond hair and strong tattooed arms, a gruff voice saying baby baby and her hand went deeper and faster and deeper…. And she was confused because blond kept getting streaked with red, and oh baby she spun her fingers in circles, and the last thing she remembered were eyes so blue blue blue blue blue
blue
blue o god
blue