...Are you tired of hearing me apologise yet?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but this so-called plot.
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Hermione forced herself through a considerable throng of people huddled outside the library, clutching her satchel tightly against her side. The crowd mystified her, but not enough to really investigate. Of course she'd made an initial inquiry, only to be told, "You mean you don't know?" by some overly excited fifth year girl, who then promptly went back to squealing at her similarly wound up companions. Hermione simply shrugged and pushed forward; it was probably something stupid anyway. She had more important matters to tend to – starting with runes and ending with charms.
She stumbled upon another surprise when she reached her usual table: Theo and Malfoy, in high spirits and laughing.
"Hello," she muttered as she set her bag on the floor and took a seat.
"Hermione!" Theo cheered, "Where have you been all afternoon?"
"With Professor Babbling," she replied, "Going over a practice assignment–"
"Ah!"
Theo grinned and Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"–but tell me... what's all the commotion about? There's a proper mob out there..."
"Oh that," Theo said, grinning wider than ever, "Draco, why don't you explain? It's your tale to tell after all."
Malfoy smirked and shook his head. "Nah, you go on. You'll obviously enjoy telling it a lot more."
"Well, alright. Thank you." Theo rubbed his palms together with relish and began, "So you see, Draco here just got spectacularly dumped, via flaming row–"
"It wasn't a row," Malfoy objected.
"Fine. Dumped via flaming diatribe. In public, no less. Picture it, Hermione – just picture it! There they were in the courtyard outside the Great Hall: Draco Malfoy and Oh-So-Maddy Bowtruckle facing off; him all stoic and silent while she sputtered and fumed like a spastic steam engine... a crowd around them. Think of the final Potter-Voldy showdown. Same tension, same animosity."
Malfoy rolled his eyes again.
"She called him all sorts of thing. Selfish bastard came up quite a few times, if I remember correctly. Oh, and inconsiderate hard-hearted louse... right, Draco?"
"Yeah. Twice."
"Mhm. Then she screeched we're through, Draco! We're through!–" here Theo put on a high pitched voice, "–and scurried away. Left our man here to face a stunned and judgemental audience."
"Oh my," Hermione breathed.
"Yep," Theo agreed and sniggered vacantly. Malfoy shot him an amused glance.
Hermione giggled, then quickly bit her lip. "It must have been quite, er..."
"Humiliating?" Theo supplied, "Absolutely."
"Au contraire," Malfoy drawled, "It couldn't have turned out better for me."
Theo slapped both his hands on the table and scoffed. "I agree that being shot of her is a blessing... but surely you'd have wanted a more dignified end?"
"No. You see, now I'm the wronged party. The one who was scorned and humiliated in public. I have the people's sympathies. I like sympathy. I especially like sympathy when it comes from pretty girls..."
Hermione let out a little gasp of outrage. (And Theo threw back his head and laughed.)
"You're quite an arse, you know?" she informed Malfoy.
He didn't reply, but simply leaned back in his chair and grinned.
So she clarified: "It's not something to be proud of!"
"Is it not?" he feigned a look of concern, "I had no idea! And here I've been working so hard, trying my damnedest to be an arse–"
"Oh dear," Hermione interrupted, "There goes the one thing I thought you were effortlessly good at."
He laughed effusively while looking straight at her, and Hermione's train of thought went shooting out of the back of her head.
"So here's a pretty girl whose sympathy you don't have," Theo declared.
"Eh, not a problem," Malfoy shrugged, "Why, just a while ago, I was approached by the bold and buxom Romilda Vane, and she–"
"I'd be careful around her," Hermione warned at once.
Malfoy set his elbow on the table and leaned forward. "Why's that?"
"She tried to dose Harry with a love potion once."
Theo let out a low whistle, while Malfoy scowled.
"She was interested in Potter?"
"Interested is putting it mildly."
"Blech. Well, that's killed my interest in her. Oh but tell me, Granger... how much of a fool did Potter make of himself?"
"He didn't at all. She'd spiked a box of cauldron cakes, but Ron got to them first."
Hermione looked away from him and stared at her hands. The memory of that episode sobered her at once.
Both Malfoy and Theo were greatly amused.
"Of course he did," Malfoy jeered, "Nothing edible is safe when Weasley's around, right? But I daresay he couldn't possibly have made a bigger fool of himself by that point."
Hermione's eyes shot up and fixed him with a frosty glare.
"Actually," she ground out, "Harry took him to Slughorn immediately. And there he sampled some mead from a very special bottle. So all in all, Romilda's love potion wasn't the worst thing he was poisoned with that evening. She was definitely the lesser of two evils."
It was like she'd yanked the smug glee right off his face, and left him bare and bitter. She waited for the inevitable ire, the indignation, the denunciation...
He dragged his chair back and stood up. He paused, just for a moment, burning vicious hostility right into her soul. And then he left.
Just moments after he'd gone, Theo ran a hand down his face and groaned, "Hermione."
"What?" she snapped.
"Why?" He kept his face covered and his voice was muffled. "What was the need? You promised me you–"
"I said I'd be friendly," she hissed, "I did not say I'd coddle him."
"Argh."
His hands fell onto his lap and revealed a tired, hassled expression. The dimness in his eyes and droop of his shoulders affected her as they always did. And so she sighed–
"I'm sorry."
He blinked. "For what you said?"
"No. For snapping at you."
He chuckled, bereft of all humour, and examined his thumbnail while chewing on his tongue.
"Will you be upset if I leave to check on him?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
She reached out and squeezed his arm. "Go."
He offered her a grave nod and went.
Alone at the large table, Hermione squared her shoulders and reached into her bag. She had more important matters to tend to – starting with runes and ending with charms.
Nobody seemed interested in studying anymore. More often than not, Hermione was alone with her books, huddled in library corners.
It was quiet. Always so quiet.
And lonely.
After weeks of being with and in a group, she actually missed being the one primly trying to steer conversations back to work-related matters while her friends were determined to talk about everything but. She missed glaring at Dean, and elbowing Theo to shut it, and rolling her eyes when Ginny complained in a surprisingly Ron-esque manner.
She missed getting impatient with Neville, and she missed Susan's unending shushing, and she – well, she found herself thinking about Arithmancy with Malfoy a lot more than she cared for.
Yet, the quiet of the library was still normal, in a sense. It was the quiet that had swept the castle that really did her head in. The entire student body seemed to have gone into a solemn meditative state.
Two days before the second of May – Friday – she thought she might scream just to tear a hole through the oppressiveness. In the potion's lab, Malfoy, Susan, Padma, and Anthony were each stirring chamomile into their respective potions. Hermione stared down into her cauldron, at the bubbling sap green liquid within, and swallowed her hysteria down.
A few minutes later, Slughorn entered to make a casual round, and even he wasn't himself. His distinctive beam had been dialled down to an unenthusiastic smile, and he merely whispered his approval as he checked each cauldron.
"Very good, Ms. Granger," he murmured, "Perfect, of course."
"Thank you, Professor," she whispered back.
They all finished the task at the same time, and made a wordless exit as a group. And they all went in separate directions once out of the dungeons.
Hermione made a lone trek up to the owlery to send her parents' a letter she'd written four days ago, in another lifetime.
XXX
Later that evening, all through supper, she couldn't stop looking at Ginny over and over again.
Over the impossibly soft hum of conversation, and the contrastingly loud sound of cutlery, Ginny's gloom seemed to sound out like a call to prayer. Like the haunting cry of an Azan at sunset. Her head was bowed and she chewed with mournful reluctance.
Hermione looked back at her own plate, took a bite, glanced around the room, and then fixed her attention right back at Ginny.
She abandoned her food when Ginny got up to leave, hastily following her out the Hall. Once at her side, she plucked the other girl's sleeve and asked, "Want to walk for a bit?"
Ginny agreed, and so they wandered. In silence... of course in silence. Hermione kept her pace passive and slow, letting Ginny take them where she pleased. And inevitably, they ended up in the corridor where Fred had breathed his last.
Hermione hung back while Ginny walked straight up to the spot where he had lain, and watched with a lump in her throat as she plopped down right there. She looked up at her expectantly, and so Hermione unstuck her feet and joined her. A cold shudder ran through her body as she sat, much like the feeling of having a ghost float through you.
Ginny sighed. "I can't believe it's going to be a year."
Hermione hummed (she hoped) sympathetically. She was itching to fidget, but she fought the urge. She curled her hands into fists and put them firmly on her lap.
"Sometimes..." Ginny began, and then stopped. She caressed the stones in front of her with trembling fingers.
"Yes?" Hermione prompted gently.
"Sometimes... I... Shit." She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I wish it had been Percy. Instead of Fred."
Hermione didn't know whether she ought to reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't know if she should say something, breathe a certain way...
She bit her lip and stared; Ginny kept her eyes closed.
"But then I feel so awful... like such a – like the shittiest person in existence. So I write to him. To Percy. I've written to him so much this year; more than I have in my whole life. And I think he knows why. He's a clever chap, isn't he?"
"He is," Hermione mumbled.
"I'm pretty sure he wishes it was him too."
Hermione's vision turned blurry with a film of tears. After she'd blinked them away, she saw that Ginny's now open eyes were still dry.
"Have you heard from George recently?" she asked.
"I got a letter a few days ago. He isn't coming for the do day after. He's going away for a while."
"Where?"
Ginny shrugged. "Didn't say. But he said not to worry, that Angelina will be with him, and that he'll be back in time for my birthday."
"That's... four months away."
"I know. But he needs this, don't you think? You were different after you came back from Australia. Harry and Ron have been doing so much better post-China. Maybe there's something to it."
"Yes," Hermione broached shakily, "A change of scenery and all that."
"Yeah. And all that."
Ginny breathed in then out, deeply and slowly, and stood up. Hermione scrambled to join her. She went with her all the way to the Gryffindor tower, where she bid her goodnight with a hug.
Then she was alone again, ambling in suffocating silence to the eighth year common room.
She woke with a start on the anniversary of the day she'd worn Bellatrix's skin. She knew she'd been having a terrible nightmare, but the details eluded her. All she was left with was bile coating the back of her throat, and a barely repressible inclination to cry.
It was Saturday and the morning had broken. She put on her running shoes and stepped into the clear and summery air.
XXX
The hours passed slowly. Hermione spent the whole day in the library, wearing her dad's Genesis t-shirt as a security blanket. She didn't move all day, save for a couple of loo-breaks. She didn't eat because she wasn't hungry, she didn't get up to stretch because she didn't want to, she didn't walk over to pop open a window when the air got too stifling.
Nobody came by to bother her.
It wasn't like she'd been all that productive either. Her greatest achievement was a doodle in the corner of her parchment, of Linus clutching his security blanket. Somehow, it ended up looking more like Cornelius Fudge, and she scratched its face out thoroughly.
She'd even put her head down on the table and fallen asleep. When she woke up, it was a quarter to seven.
Her stomach rumbled. Time to head down for supper, she supposed.
But she couldn't do it.
She wasn't ready to face the entire student and teacher body sitting tight lipped about their silent screaming. She wandered once again to the fifth floor, to the rich forest tapestry with its jewel tones and classical splendour. Wood nymphs were caught up in a ritualistic dance, while unicorns trotted in and out of the woods. The thick and ornate brocade border shone with the muted intensity of antique gold.
She went to stand by the window and looked out at the calm summer night. She placed her palms on the wall where there once was a yawning hole. The moon, huge and almost full, threw its beams to skid over the surface of the lake and paint the strong and firm towers of the castle.
Such a quiet night. So dark.
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
She was one sunrise away from another circle, another ring of her spiral, and all she could do was watch the loops spin round and around her. Once again, she wanted so badly to scream. She wanted to shout so loudly that the smooth gradient of the sky – silver to black – might shatter into an inharmonious mosaic.
She nearly did when a warm hand landed on her shoulder. But a low murmur of, "Hello, buddy," stalled her.
"What's wrong with you?" she hissed, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Sorry," Theo mumbled.
He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, and rested his chin on the top of her head. And it wasn't long before Hermione's heartbeat slowed, and she was nothing but grateful to have him with her. They shared the silence of the night for a while.
"Luna told me you'd be here," he said, by and by.
Hermione sniffed, rubbing her face against her sleeve. "How did she know?"
"No idea. I was seeing her off at the Ravenclaw tower, and she said, you should go find Hermione, I think she might be stuck on the fifth floor."
"I'm not stu–" she sighed. "She really is something else."
"She is."
Theo moved his hands to her upper arms and turned her around. He lowered his head to peer into her face and asked, "You're losing it a bit, aren't you?"
Hermione didn't bother denying it. She nodded and bit her lips between her teeth to keep her chin from wobbling.
"Come with me," he sighed.
He steered her down the corridor, and Hermione shuffled along blindly. Her mind wandered, getting lost in the inky black cracks in the floor. They were walking on an elaborate warren, she realised. The cracks made up the most complicated labyrinth imaginable. The deeper she looked into them, the more the stones around them faded. If only she could fill them in with molten gold: A touch of kintsugi to heal them forever.
"Hermione?"
Oh, they'd stopped walking.
She looked up, but the cracks didn't fade from her vision. They spread over Theo's face and broke it into fragments.
She blinked quickly, multiple times.
"Yes?"
"Music's good for the soul isn't it?"
That was when she realised they were outside the music room. Again. Another circle.
"I suppose," she mumbled.
He made to pull her in but she resisted.
"Hermione?"
"Aren't you going to–"
She freed her arm from his grasp and gestured up and down her body.
"Cop a feel? No thanks."
"No, you git. Aren't you going to disillusion me?"
"Nah."
Then he pulled her with more force than she was capable of opposing.
Just like the last time, Malfoy was sitting behind the piano in the middle of the room. He looked up when they entered and frowned. The tapers where burning low and were few in number: two by the door and one glinting on a stand next to the piano, encasing him in a fuzzy orb of light.
Theo picked one from the side of the door and dragged Hermione to the chaise. He placed the candle on the floor as he sat, and its light spilled into the cracks and turned them...
Golden.
"Sit, Hermione."
She did. Woodenly.
"I'm actually done here," Malfoy called in a brittle voice. He was looking down at the piano keys, still frowning deeply.
"No," Theo contested, "You aren't. And you know you won't be able to sleep if you don't play."
He sighed. And slowly, like the leaves of a touch-me-not plant unfurl once danger has passed, his scowl faded. He closed his eyes. His hands lifted, poised elegantly over the keys, his long fingers so perfectly still that Hermione twitched with anticipation.
And then they descended with the suddenness of a snapping whip, and the silence... the fucking all-pervading, maddening, parasitic silence... was blown apart.
Hermione might have recognised what he was playing, (it did sound vaguely familiar,) had he been playing it at its intended tempo. But whatever it was had been sped up tenfold, a hundredfold, and it was perfect, perfect, perfect.
It was the scream caught in her throat.
Draco's head was bent and he was staring down beadily as his arms and shoulders rose and fell tumultuously. His sleeves were rolled up all the way to his elbows, exposing, after ages, his faded Dark Mark. It was distorted slightly by the veins that stood out on his forearm.
The music was utterly frenzied and booming. It wasn't thunder, it wasn't crashing waves, or some vagrant god's fury –
It was war.
It was the roar of combating giants, and the fall of a thousand trampling feet. It was the death rattle, and a choir of cacophonic screams. It was the howl of your best friend as you held him back when all he wanted was to avenge his fallen brother –
And he pushed and he pushed –
It was a cry of No Harry No
A giant thrashing snake
The sickening THUD of an enormous boulder
Charge Avada Kedevra Rookwood Kill
It was the sizzle of a hex, the clash of opposing curses, the clatter of a falling wand.
Hermione gripped her knees, till her hands were snow white.
He showed no mercy, even when he stopped. There was no slow petering out. He didn't bring them down gently. He just stopped. Just left them hanging in that discord. And even though silence had technically regrouped, it was powerless.
Draco was panting, hands still fixed in position, and that added to the impression that the music was still playing. He jerked into motion abruptly, and swung his legs around the bench. He got up and walked to the door without a word or look of acknowledgement.
Just as suddenly, Hermione felt Theo tugging at her arm.
The cracks were screaming out at her, a screaming chorus harmonising with the inexorable phantom-music. They seemed to be bottomless, reaching down to the core of the earth... angry jagged fissures that could ooze lava at any point...
They were making her dizzy. She looked away, stumbled, frantically grabbed onto Theo's elbow...
He said something she couldn't quite hear. Her heart rate was spiralling out of control.
Draco was a good twenty paces ahead of them, marching with purpose or desperation or both. His head was bowed just a little, but his back was straight. His shoulder blades looked taut with strain, stiff and unyielding like they'd felt against her cheek when they'd sailed over blistering fiendfyre.
...Lava spurting from the cracks...
"God, I just–"
"Hermione? What – what is it?"
"I just – just – wait here, please. Stay right here."
She whimpered and dashed to the nearest window, throwing it open with such vigour that it was amazing it didn't blow apart. She leaned out as far as she could. Cool breeze soothed her scorching face. She filled her lungs with fresh air and breathed out hard, hoping that it would expel her demons.
The sky was smooth as ever – not a cloud, not a crack.
She only turned around when her heartbeat had stabilised. Theo was still exactly where she'd left him, looking at her with misty eyes. Draco was long gone.
There was a moth on the canopy of her four poster bed. Hermione could only make out its silhouette through the gauze. She lifted her hand and shot up a small gust of air. The cloth ballooned out and the moth took off, fluttered mindlessly around the room once before landing on her stomach.
It wasn't a moth at all. It was a little folded up piece of parchment that read:
Do behave tonight. Theo is watching you.
She shook her head and laughed, sitting up unwillingly. Outside her open window, dusk was progressively darkening... she couldn't possibly procrastinate any longer.
She showered slowly, took an unnecessarily long time washing her hair. Then, wrapped in a towel, she rummaged through Pat's cast-offs, looking for something suitable to wear. She ended up choosing a simple and plain olive green slip dress.
She dried her hair and left it to froth and frizz as it wanted to. Harry's gift to her – the jade pendant – was the only jewellery she wore.
Not remotely in the mood to linger in front of the mirror, she left her room; which happened to be at the exact same time that Hannah and Daphne were leaving theirs. The latter, with a demeanour as icy as her blue dress robes, stalked away immediately. The former smiled and walked down the stairs with Hermione. They didn't have anything to say to each other, but Hermione was dreading the moment she would skip off with Neville. Maybe she could attach herself to them anyway? She knew Theo had gone to fetch Luna, and nearly everyone was probably already downstairs. She just wanted somebody by her side.
Her hopes were dashed when Neville and Hannah got engaged in an extremely long and forceful cuddle. She couldn't hang around without feeling like a shameless voyeur.
So she moved ahead and stood by an armchair, forlornly drumming her fingers against its headrest. She wished she hadn't dallied for so long.
Oh, she was being pathetic. She absolutely could walk into the Great Hall alone.
Her resolve was further strengthened when Terry and Anthony popped out from the boys' dorms and Terry did that thing where he looked at her.
The corridors were largely full of curious younger students. Hermione ignored the whispers and nudges, looking straight ahead and nowhere else.
There was a thin golden arc drawn around the base of the Grand Staircase: An age line. She wondered whether there were some unfortunate kids with long beards currently moping in some corner.
The doors to the Great Hall were closed, and their frame was decorated with golden gladioli, emitting a strangely welcoming glow. As she stepped closer, she could discern a distinct humming noise, and she knew all she had to do was pass right through the doors. For a moment she wavered, (she tapped her heels together three times,) and then she dived in.
Fortunately for her, the hall was filled to the brim. It felt a lot like she'd walked through the barrier at King's Cross, except that the people chatting and mingling were carrying beverages instead of trolleys, and were better dressed. The long house tables had been replaced with smaller circular tables, arranged in concentric circles around the largest centre table... which was where she was expected.
Hermione edged her way inward with her arms wrapped around her waist. Perhaps not the most confident of stances, but she wasn't keen on brushing against anyone. Even the slightest graze may end up being a catalyst for small talk.
The place had been beautifully decked up. Golden floral arrangements in tall vases stood in the spaces between tables.
"'Ermione!" she heard when she'd just about reached her middle of the hall, and it was Fleur, waving at her from a table in the innermost circle. The Weasley table was missing one George, one Charlie, and one Ron. Hermione went around to Mrs. Weasley and put one arm around her shoulders in an awkward sort of side hug. The woman smiled and patted her hand, but she was clearly very out of sorts. Ginny and Mr. Weasley were both turned towards her, as if ready to spring from their seats and leap to her side at a moment's notice.
Hermione concluded the customary hello's and how are you's and left with as much haste as propriety would allow.
When she finally got to her seat, she was met with a multi-voiced cry of her name.
"Good evening," she said, nodding at Kingsley, McGonagall, and the assorted collection of Ministry and Wizengamot members. She didn't bother studying them at all, and quickly looked to her left. Ron, and just beyond him, Harry. They grinned at her, with strain, yes, but also the kind of purity that she'd missed so much.
"Hi," she grinned back.
Harry was sporting a stubble, and it suited him. In contrast, Ron was clean shaven and his hair was freshly cut. He was also wearing a set of very striking Chinese style burgundy robes with gold embroidery.
"You both look extremely smart," she told them.
"Thanks," Harry laughed, and rubbed his jaw.
"You look lovely too," Ron said, "I mean, of course you do."
Then he turned distinctly red.
Hermione looked away. The glass in front of her was tragically empty.
"It's like the Yule Ball," Ron muttered into her ear, "Tell it what you want."
"Right." She skimmed the mouth of the glass with one finger. "Merlot."
Instantly the plain tumbler turned into a wine glass filled with rich crimson liquid.
The three of them were mostly left alone. They chatted amid themselves, in relative privacy as Kingsley's booming voice dominated the airwaves. Hermione heard all about their first real mission – tracking down a maverick group of self-proclaimed Death Eaters... who actually turned out to be a lot of jobless pranksters.
"It was mortifying," Harry groaned.
"I still say it was a set up," Ron insisted, "Robards was testing us. Look at him, smug twat."
He pointed completely not subtly at a man sitting only a few seats down.
"Hermione, we're useless without you," Harry added as he kicked Ron from under the table. Also not very subtly.
XXX
To say the whole event was an utter failure might be a touch too harsh, but it was exactly what Hermione was thinking.
Not long after she'd put away her second glass of wine, Kingsley made a one minute long, generic speech about strength and progress. Then it was time to eat, and it seemed like all conversation died. She wondered how many people were remembering the circumstances under which they'd dined a year back. Of course, she was thinking about how she'd barely been able to choke down half a bowl of soup in the Burrow... how she'd run up to cut away the burnt ends of her hair.
"...told them don't do it..."
Ron was grumbling under his breath, as he savagely cut into his steak.
His family – save for him and Ginny – were the first to depart. They appeared to set off a domino effect, as more and more people took their leave. Even before pudding was served, the whole bundle of officials at their table stood to go, and Hermione took the opportunity to sneak away. She zipped over to a table in the second circle and dropped into the lone empty seat. Theo and Luna smiled at her, and she opened her mouth to say –
A mordant voice spoke up from her other side: "Oh look, we've been graced by the company of a guest of honour."
Hermione's turned to scowl at Malfoy, but he wasn't even looking at her.
Dressed in plain but sharp grey robes, he was tinkling the ice cubes in his glass of firewhiskey and watching the women who'd been so harsh at his trial leave the Great Hall.
Over the next half hour, Hermione developed an itch on the souls of her feet that was begging her to sprint to her room. She did her best to keep chattering; in addition to the three already mentioned, the table housed Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Hannah as well, so there weren't ever any lulls to stew in.
But then the food and dishes were cleared, and Neville and Hannah left. Dean and Seamus wandered to the other end of the hall.
After they'd moved, the table next to theirs was revealed, where Harry was sitting next to Andromeda, and he was cradling Teddy Lupin in his arms. Even from a distance, Hermione could tell his eyes were bright like their hue had been picked right out of the aurora borealis. Ginny stood behind him with her hands clasped, watching the whole scene tenderly.
Hermione called for her third glass of wine. Well, she could very well take advantage of the fact that all classes for the next day had been cancelled!
Kingsley left, Andromeda left. A group of Aurors left. Slughorn and Vector left. A few moments later, Luna said she was going to spend some time with her father. So Theo put his head down on the table in a sulk.
The hall was more than half empty.
"Fuck it all," Malfoy muttered.
He reached into his pocket and took out a bottle of whiskey. He reached in again and pulled out an unexpectedly large green bottle of who knows what. Then he reached in again and out came a small bottle of some clear spirit.
Hermione was both mystified and mesmerised by the spread. Malfoy jarred her out of her stupefaction in the most unexpected way.
"Hey, Weasley! Over here," he called.
What?
Ron took a detour from his journey to Harry and Ginny and barked, "What?"
"What've you got in that hipflask you're carrying?"
"What's it to you?"
"I have a feeling I can make good use of it."
"Sod off!"
Malfoy offered his absolute worst smirk and gestured to the bottles in front of him. "You see these? I'm going to concoct the greatest beverage ever made. If you contribute, you'll get to partake."
"You're mental."
Ron's eyes narrowed at he took in each bottle. He tapped a nail against his hipflask, and pursed his lips shiftily.
"Maotai. It's a Chinese–"
"I know what it is," said Malfoy shortly, "So what's it going to be?"
Ron placed his loot on the table. Hermione thought her jaw might get unhinged and fall to the floor as he settled into the chair Neville had vacated, and leaned forward as though grudgingly interested. She whipped her head around when Theo began to chuckle. He looked up at her with gleaming eyes... and winked.
Malfoy set to work with the methodical precision of a veteran potioneer. He conjured four wide mouthed shot glasses and began tipping the various liquors into them, pretending like he knew exactly how much of each needed to go in, adjusting the height with which the liquid fell like it mattered.
Hermione sat back and stared at his profile, still not able to digest what was going on. He was smiling slightly, and his eyelashes fanned over his high cheekbones that were flushed pink – the way, she'd noticed, that they did when he was in his cups. The line of his nose and the lock of hair falling over his forehead displayed extreme compositional harmony.
"And... done," he announced. He pushed one glass full of muddy ochre awfulness towards Theo. "One for Theodore, the Fucking Bore–"
"Prick!"
"One for Granger the Grating. One for the Weasel King, and one for Malfoy the Magnificent. Bottoms up."
Was this some kind of go at redemption? Was this a peace offering? Did Ron even realise...? Draco had offered him a drink, not poisoned, and he'd accepted, and –
Ron threw the drink down in one gulp, and resurfaced red-faced and sputtering, "ACK! Fuck! Oh shit!"
He slumped and thumped his chest.
When Theo had his, he died a similar death. Malfoy simply grimaced and coughed lightly.
"Another?" he asked.
"Yeah," Ron replied.
"Hermione hasn't touched hers!" Theo bleated.
"Hurry up, Hermione!"
She frowned. Bringing the glass up to her mouth made her aware of how pungent it smelt.
"Get on with it, will you–"
She gulped it down.
And it promptly tried to make its way back up again.
"Gah," she choked and clutched her throat, "Ohmgord."
Her eyes were watering and they were all laughing at her. She felt goose pimples break out all over her body and closed her eyes to suppress a shudder. It had tasted bloody foul.
By the time she'd somewhat recovered, there was another glass in front of her.
"No," she asserted, "No more."
"Oh, grow up, Granger."
She looked up, affronted, only to watch as Malfoy, Ron, and Theo all knocked back their shots at the same time. It was too much of a challenge for her to back out of. The second one was just as bad as the first. Surely her oesophagus had melted. She could see shooting stars streaking across her peripheral vision.
"One more?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy. 'M going home."
Ron swiped his hipflask off the table and staggered away. He also nearly collided with a vase.
"One more without Maotai?" Draco amended.
He didn't wait for a response. Once the drinks were fixed, he shoved them towards Hermione and Theo, and their fates where sealed.
"Not much better," Theo gasped, later.
"Not at all," Hermione agreed.
Her hands and legs and lungs and heart where buzzing and burning.
Theo dragged his chair back and tried to stand... in vain.
"O Sa-lah-zaaar," he wailed. It took him four tries to succeed. "Luna. I need Luna."
And so it was that Hermione and Draco remained alone at the table. She didn't want to leave.
"One more?"
"Yes."
Why did she say that, you ask? Well, shut up.
She sagged deep into her chair. When Draco put her glass before her, she couldn't reach out far enough to get to it. He chuckled, picked it up and brought it to her, leaning back into his own chair in the process. He was gripping the glass at the base, and Hermione took hold of the top. The tip of her little finger touched the tip of his thumb.
All the vibrations in her chest and extremities plunged into the bottom of her stomach in one fell swoop. She inhaled sharply, and when she looked up at his face, he was watching her expectantly with a single arched brow.
"Shall we?" he ventured in a low voice.
"Yes," she breathed.
After that one, she felt like her head had blown off her shoulders and shot through the ceiling. Well, technically, since the ceiling was the sky, her head had blown off into space. And there it would float for evermore.
"If you say one more," she warned, "I will... You... Don't you dare say one more."
He sniggered.
She held out her glass to him. This time, his thumb ran along the length of her finger. Her head, wherever it was, performed a summersault. The thrumming in her gut acquired an electrical charge. The point of contact was scorching.
He had no problem placing her glass on the table with his long, capable, piano playing arms.
"I'm surprised you're still standing," he drawled.
"What?"
His hair really shone, didn't it?
"I said, I'm surprised you're still–"
"I'm sitting."
"Psh, twit." He pushed some of that shiny hair back and continued, "You don't look like you'd have a very high tolerance."
It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "After all that I've been through, what's a bit of alcohol?"
His grin was wide and toothy. The colour in his cheeks had all the delicious decadence of rococo pink. She wondered if it was warm to touch. His eyes were lidded, foggy with a drunken haze...
She wanted to lean in and look right into them to ascertain their exact shade.
But she leaned in and whispered, "How about another one?"
Bad idea, baaaaad idea, screamed her head from beyond the Milky Way. But he looked positively delighted so her head could go dive into a black hole.
Not again.
She'd woken up on a sofa – a realisation that she gathered after a quick eye open/eye shut motion – and the long moments that followed were just a blaring repetition of not again.
Not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again
"I know you're awake, Herms."
She cracked open one eye and looked at Ginny sprawled on the floor, surrounded by cushions. She too looked like she had just woken up.
"Urgh."
"Indeed," Ginny deadpanned, "How awful are you feeling?"
"Very," Hermione croaked inaudibly. "Ahem. Very."
Ginny smirked. "I should think so."
They weren't the only one's who'd decided to kip in the eighth year common room. Seamus was snoring from the window seat.
"What–" Hermione shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, "–Ah, shit. What happened?"
"You got completely cabbaged. I think you must have figured that out by now."
She whimpered and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, but..."
"Well, see, Harry and I had slipped away for a bit, and when we came back, you had your arse planted on the floor, and Malfoy had just about wet himself laughing."
"No!"
"Um, yes."
"Did anyone... who else saw..." Hermione's hand fell away from her face and she gasped with horror. "Did McGonagall–"
"Ha, no. She was too busy chewing up Dean and Seamus for trying to modify a few paintings. Did you know that apparently nobody appreciates tits on medieval knights?"
Hermione sat up properly, and yeah, it fucking hurt to sit. The cloak that had been draped over her slipped to the ground.
"But Ginny, how did I get here?"
"Harry carried you," she grinned, "Obviously he couldn't go up to the girls' dorms, and I wasn't sober enough to be of any help, so... this sofa it had to be."
Hermione felt like she was looking at the world through a fishbowl. Everything was bleary and wavy. Her eyes closed of their own accord and her head snapped back. They flew open again when Ginny squealed.
"Oh Merlin! You're still drunk."
"I... ugh... think you might be right. God, oh god, I'm going to be sick."
All aches and instability forgotten, she slapped a palm against her mouth and bolted. Her bare feet slapped against the floor and her elbow suffered a painful collision along the way, but somehow she made it to her room, to her loo, in time to throw up violently.
Once she was through, she put down the toilet seat and sat down, bending forward till her head rested between her knees. Her brain was a sneakoscope whizzing like mad inside her skull. Her entire GI tract was burning.
She closed her eyes and didn't move for ages. Not asleep, not awake, just aware that the world was an eddying bay and she was a jellyfish.
"Aaaaargh," she moaned when she stood up.
She had to stay that way for a long while too, with her hands pressed against her stomach. Only when she was sure she wasn't going to collapse, she slipped the straps off her shoulders and let her dress fall to the ground. She stood under a hot spray. No matter how much shampoo and body wash she used, she could still smell alcohol.
She brushed her teeth twice.
Before getting dressed, she turned her back to the mirror and peered over her shoulder. There were indeed splodgy bruises on her bum. A touch of murtlap essence was the need of the hour.
She considered just falling back into bed, but she couldn't bear the thought of being shut in that room all by herself. She was actually still feeling a bit tipsy; she needed some fresh air.
Downstairs, Ginny was just on her way out too.
"You look better," she quipped.
"Shower helped," Hermione shrugged.
"Yeah, I'm going in for one of those too. Where are you off to?"
"A walk."
As they strolled down the passageway together, Hermione looked at Ginny from the corner of her eye.
"Did I say anything stupid while I was out of it?"
Ginny cackled. "You went on about Malfoy being the best drink maker in the world."
"I didn't. Please tell me I didn't."
"You did. You kept trying to steal Harry's glasses while he carried you, you giggled a lot. You passed out somewhere between the sixth and seventh floor."
"That's it," she lamented, "I'm never drinking again. Theo is going to kill me."
"What for?"
"He told me to watch myself–"
"He's got no right to criticise you," Ginny beamed, "He was babbling when Dean and Neville dragged him up to his room."
They branched off in opposite directions at the staircase. Students were lolling about the castle in casual clothing, at ease. It seemed that they were allowing themselves some normalcy once again, now that the 'big day' had gone by. There was chattering, laughter, coughs, sighs, arguments galore... and absolutely no silence. Hermione marched through it all and out into the Hogwarts' grounds.
It was another beautiful day. Somewhere under that same glorious blue sky, George was taking stock of a new landscape. Mrs. Weasley was probably at her son's grave.
And speaking of graves, Dumbledore's white tomb gleamed from a distance, so stark against the vivid green of the grass around it. She averted her eyes and headed towards the other end of the lake. She would sit on the shore, and bask in a morning of bucolic peace. She would roll up her jeans and let the sun cleanse her. She would let her skin absorb the earthy scent of the grass. She would –
She would come to a dead halt when she'd spot Draco sprawled in the exact spot she'd hoped to claim.
However, she didn't feel any desire to flee. On the contrary, she felt an inexplicable gladness, and her legs carried her towards him even before she had decided that's what she'd do. She just really wanted to talk to him, about anything really.
Dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt and slacks, he was lying flat on his back, arms behind his head, and eyes closed. They opened at the sound of her approach; his brow rose in his customary way. Hermione had to smile.
"How's your arse?"
Her smile dropped.
"None of your business."
He sniggered as she gingerly settled a short distance away from him.
"It's all your fault," she accused.
"Nonsense. That last one was your idea."
"The whole... thing... was your idea."
He flouted her assertion with a flippant grunt, and closed his eyes again.
"How are you feeling?" she queried.
"I feel like I'm dead."
Hermione leaned back on her arms and gazed upwards. "That's a strange thing to say."
"Okay."
"What I mean is–"
"Please don't elaborate."
"You can't feel like you're dead, because you've never actually been dead. You have no experience, no idea what deadness feels like. So at best, you can claim to feel like what you imagine being dead feels like."
"Granger," he groaned, agonised.
She allowed herself a secretive vindictive grin. "Don't feel bad, though. Nobody knows what being dead feels like. Aside from ghosts, of course, but they must always feel dead – that's just their way – so it's a bit redundant."
"All right. Thank you for burying me under such a teetering pile of bullshit–"
"Harry died. Kind of. But I don't think that counts. He had a very singular experience. I don't think you meant that you felt dead in a particularly singular way–"
"How about this," he barked, "You make me wish I was dead."
She glanced his way to find him glaring at her.
"Yes, you could say that. It would be stupidly dramatic, but sure."
"Your incessant nattering will be the death of me."
"Ye–"
"The inane, incomprehensible pedantry of your argument is potentially deadly."
"ALL RI–"
"If I imagine the bleakness of death, all I can envision is a rocky desert and your voice echoing endlessly."
"And you Draco – you bore me to death and I–"
"Ah, ah!" he crowed, "You mean I bore you to what you think death might be like."
"Damn it!" she grumbled.
He laughed. She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn't look back. Over the grassy fragrance she'd been craving, she could smell his cologne.
"There's a muggle artist called Damien Hirst. One of his most famous works is a tiger shark preserved in formaldehyde, stored in a giant glass display case."
He was silent for a while. She tried to picture what expression he might be wearing. Probably one that conveyed how daft he found her.
"An actual shark?"
"Yes."
"And that's... art?"
"Yes. But can you guess what he titled it?"
"Oh, do tell. I'm on tenterhooks," he droned.
"It's called The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living."
He practically guffawed, and she just had to look. His eyes were squeezed shut, his head was thrown back against the grass, platinum blond spilling into green...
She was laughing right along with him.
As he calmed, he opened his eyes and stared at her. She had to turn away again.
Quietude reigned after that. The sun got hotter with each passing minute, adding to Hermione's headiness. She so badly wanted to lie down. She was dying to lie down. Watching sunlight dance on rippling water was hypnotic.
Draco stood up and dusted the back of his trousers.
"You're going?" she asked.
"Yeah. Thomas and Finnigan said they be up for some quidditch about now. See you around, Granger."
"See you," she mumbled.
She watched him walk away, getting smaller and smaller, till she lost the battle against gravity and lay down. A sigh escaped her lips and she stretched out her arms as though hoping for something divine to burst through the sky and embrace her.