Shades of Grey
Chapter Seven: The Celebration
"A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."
- Proverb
The rest of August passed by in a blur, with no real lead on the Hallows. Hermione had Owled Harry, concerned about the whereabouts of the Wand and the Stone—without either of them in their possession, Bellatrix would be nearly too powerful to defeat. If she had two of the items required to be the master of death, who was to say she wouldn't find some way to obtain the Cloak from Harry, as well? Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and the bushy-haired Witch groaned inwardly at the thought.
Sighing, Hermione sat at the table located in the tent she shared with Malfoy, looking over the books she'd purchased at that quaint little bookshop with Draco. She'd filled the margins of the text with little notes, and had dog-eared specific passages she wished to return to. Murmuring to herself, Hermione reached for her copy of A Modern History of Powerful Wands and Their Owners, locating the section on The Elder Wand and flipping the tome open to the correct page. The worn pages fluttered as she frantically flew through the book, and she exhaled slightly when she finally found the correct page. Nibbling on her thumb nail, Hermione began to read a highlighted passage to herself.
"Often dubbed as the Deathstick, or the Wand of Destiny, the Elder Wand was, by definition of the children's tale of The Three Brothers, manufactured by one of the trio of Peverell brothers—most specifically Antioch Peverell. According to the classic children's story, Peverell was the brother who was granted a wand powerful enough to beat any dueling Wizard in combat.
The story first appeared in the first edition's publishing of The tales of Beedle the Bard, and was dubbed as originating as early as the 13th century. Though many Wizards and Witches are skeptical of its existence, those specifically educated in the art of wandlore claim that there is too much evidence of the wand's existence to profess otherwise. Among its feats, the Elder Wand is said to be able to perform tasks that even the most powerful of Wizards would be unable to with ordinary wands—such as, but not limited to: mending another wand damaged beyond normal magical repair, producing a Patronus Charm powerful enough to flock off an army of Death Eaters, and producing magic strong enough to destroy an opponent's wand."
Hermione furrowed her brows together, circling bits of the passage she found particularly helpful, such as what claims the book held on specific magical abilities that the wand possessed. She felt her stomach churn slightly and she pushed the book away, her worst fears realized.
If Bellatrix found the Elder Wand, they'd be as good as dead.
"Granger, the bloody Owl finally came," Draco growled as he stomped into the tent, and Hermione jumped slightly, blinking as she adjusted her eyes to the dim setting around them. She licked her lips and turned to face Draco, sighing in exasperation and snatching the letter from his hand. He snickered at her reaction, and she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Though things with the Malfoy Heir had grown slightly less…hostile since she'd discovered him reading her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in secret, that didn't mean he didn't irritate her beyond belief. He certainly did live up to the insufferable, aggravating demeanor she'd claimed he possessed all those years ago.
"Is it from Harry?" Hermione inquired, though the scrawl on the front of the letter told her right away. She was worried that Harry wouldn't be able to locate her in order to reply to her urgent message—after spending some time in the Forest of Dean and deciding they'd had no real luck, Hermione had re-located the pair of them to a forest she was unfamiliar with, on the border of England. She slipped her finger under a crease in the back of the envelope and ripped it open, pulling the letter out and reading it quietly. She felt Draco's presence upon her, and resisted the urge to snap at him to bugger off. Irritatingly enough, she knew he had as much a right as she to read Harry's letter. The realization was almost unsettling.
Hermione,
I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you, but I wanted to make sure this Owl wouldn't be intercepted. Not much information has been discovered yet on our end about the whereabouts of Bellatrix—I suggest you take those scrolls I had Neville retrieve for you two and try and figure out where she might be hiding.
As for the Stone, after the Battle last year I believe I disposed of it somewhere near the school. You should check out the Forbidden Forest. I know it's not the most ideal vacation spot, but considering you're with Malfoy, I'm sure it can't be much worse. Let me know how you are, and I'll keep an eye out for things around her. Thank you for the tip about the Cloak, as well—I'll be sure to keep it well hidden.
Oh, and Hermione, I hope this reaches you in time, but…happy birthday. Everyone in the Order sends their love.
- Harry
"It's your birthday? When?" Draco inquired immediately, and his question was more like a demand than anything else. Hermione inhaled sharply, her grip on the paper tightening. She crinkled the parchment slightly, straightening her back and folding the slip of paper back up. She slipped it in her pocket and turned around, tucking a strand of bushy hair back behind her ear and regarding the books laid before her with a feigned sort of interest.
"Today," She said quietly, biting on her lower lip slightly. In all honesty, she'd nearly forgotten about her birthday. It wasn't that much significance, though, not really—she was turning twenty, and to most Witches she was sure that was a big deal of sorts, but Hermione couldn't focus on something as impractical as her birthday. There were things to be done and plans to be made, and she couldn't very well just drop everything to have a bloody birthday cake and open presents! Honestly!
"Why didn't you tell me, Granger?" Draco pressed, moving to plop down across from her on the other side of the table. Hermione lifted her brown eyes and they locked with his silver ones instantly. She arched one brown brow as if to challenge him, struggling not to smirk at his comment.
"You?" She sputtered, incredulous. "Why would I tell you, Malfoy? It's of no consequence to you, really."
Draco shrugged, unable to really come up with a proper answer to her question. She eyed him closely, her lips parted slightly. He was attractive, she noted, what with the slope of his nose and the fullness of his lips. He was pale, and while the lack of complexion could be considered a turn-off to most, Hermione found herself rather enthralled by the color of his skin. His alabaster skin looked delicate and soft, and the tips of white blonde hair that hung over his forehead caused his light grey eyes to stand out strikingly against his pale skin. Clearing her throat she looked away, wondering why she was noting his features. She—she hated him!
Nevertheless, she noticed that the young Malfoy was shifting closer to her from his position at the table, and she tensed suddenly, her eyes narrowing into slits as she appraised him suspiciously. What was he bloody doing?
"In that case," Draco murmured, and she found that it was the first time she'd been in such close proximity to him. Her nostrils flared slightly and she dug her fingernails into the wood of the table, her mind racing with the possible insults he was no doubt ready to toss at her. She braced herself for comments about her unruly hair or the conservative sweaters she was known for wearing.
But none of her predictions came true.
Her predictions never came true when it came to Draco Malfoy, she'd discovered.
"Happy birthday, Granger," He murmured, and Hermione noticed that, up close, his eyes didn't appear so hard and cruel. The dark grey melted into something brilliant, and as her breath mingled with his, she swore she could feel her heart thunder erratically in her chest, pressed directly next to her rib cage. But she…she couldn't be nervous—not around Malfoy, of all people! She hated him—she hated his insufferable height, and oh, she hated the snarky comments he made, and—and she hated that damn pale blonde hair and those stupid—those stupid lips that always smirked at her when she was making some ridiculous comment, and…
And she was blushing.
"Yes, well, you've said you're happy birthday, I suggest we get back to working on our plans," Hermione hissed, wishing more than anything that the pink tint that occupied her cheeks would disappear. She licked her lips and was prepared to reach out for the book in front of her, but Draco had snatched it from her grasp.
"Don't you know how to have any fun?" He asked, exasperated. She glared at him and huffed, folding her arms across her chest and giving him a haughty glare. Oh, of all the ridiculous things—he—he was insufferable!
"I do, as a matter of fact," She responded coolly, jutting her chin forward in defiance.
"Then prove it," Draco challenged, his eyes narrowing just as hers had. And he was still so bloody close to her! Insufferable, suffocating git…
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione wailed, letting her head sag and hang in her hands. She exhaled softly and groaned, running a hand through her hair and meeting his silver gaze with her hazel one.
"You need to have fun," Draco stated coolly, and suddenly his gaze grew hard…determined. He reached underneath the table and brought out a bottle of wine and set it down on the tabletop. Hermione blinked twice and tugged her lips into a slight frown.
"At least on your birthday," He added, a smug little smirk occupying his features. Hermione's brows knit together in confusion, and she placed her palms flat on the table, hesitant on reaching for the bottle. What was he playing at? And where had he even obtained the thing?
"But where did you—" She began, only to be cut off.
"I brought it along with me," He said simply; evasively. She could tell he didn't want to be questioned on the matter, and though every fiber in Hermione's being pressed her to continue to pester him for information, she refrained.
Hermione eyed the bottle before her skeptically, tucking her arms closer to her torso. She exhaled slowly, debating on whether or not she should take up Malfoy's…tempting offer. She'd never been drunk before—well, a few times she'd come close during her years at Hogwarts when she went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry, but never…never mind-numbing drunk. She had to admit, as much as she normally protested to such irresponsible displays of behavior, it did sound—dare she say—appealing?
"If I have a hangover tomorrow," She stated stiffly, snatching the bottle by its neck and jerking it towards her. Her dainty fingers curled around the cool bottle and she uncorked the lid, forcing her eyes to meet his amused stare. "Then I'm blaming you."
"Fair enough," He responded, the corners of his mouth twisting into a slight smirk. She managed to scowl half-heartedly at him before fixing her attention back on the wine before her. She was hesitant; although it sounded thrilling to let loose, if even for one night, they still had so much to do! There was planning, and organization, and mapping out the scrolls they had before them, and—and—
Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione lifted the bottle to her mouth, parting her lips and pressing the plump curve of her open mouth against the neck of the bottle. She tilted her head back slightly and squeezed her eyes shut, taking a drink. The wine was dry, though settled well in her stomach. She brought the bottle away from her mouth with a slight pop, licking the fruity taste from her lips and staring at him.
"Well?" He inquired, both of his brows arched forward. She noticed that the gesture caused his forehead to crease, causing a million angry lines to etch across his face. The thought made her giggle slightly, and she struggled to fight the slight smile off her face. She wasn't allowed to laugh or smile—not when it came to him.
"It tastes…" Hermione began, knitting her brows together as she processed the flavor. It wasn't…undesirable, just…just different. "…interesting."
"Interesting being positive feedback, I presume?" Draco pressed, taking the bottle from her. He tilted his head back and took a swig, causing Hermione's face to wretch in repulsion. That was her bottle of wine, what was he doing! Oh, Merlin, what was she even saying? Her bottle of wine—honestly, was she planning on downing the entire thing?
"Malfoy, that's—unsanitary!" She sputtered, indignant as she rested her hands on the table. He chuckled, and with a furrowed brow Hermione brought her hand up, swatting his arm. "And stop laughing at me! It's not funny!"
"You have to admit, it's a little funny," Malfoy slurred, his lips twisting into a slight grin. His eyes shimmered as he stared at her from across the table, and Hermione stifled the need to stand up and move away from him. The way he was gazing at her was unsettling.
"I don't have to admit anything," She sniffed, huffing slightly. "And besides, you've ruined the wine! How am I supposed to drink now that you've bloody chugged half of it?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Granger, I only took a sip. I have another bottle lying around in my bag, and I assure you—I have no illness you could potentially catch."
Hermione glared at him for a moment, hesitating on taking the bottle that he held in his outstretched hand. It was unsanitary and vile and—and—the all-knowing smirk that occupied the corners of his mouth revealed that he didn't think she had it in her to drink after him. So, with a determined glare, she snatched the bottle from his hands and took a long, determined gulp, her ears ringing slightly as she finally set the bottle down on the table.
"You, Malfoy, are insufferable," She stated, jabbing a finger in his direction. Draco snorted slightly, and she swore she saw the hints of a smile dominate his features.
"Admit it, Granger, you find my charm irresistible," He stated with a slight shrug, and there was no longer any doubt in her mind.
Draco Malfoy was smiling.
"I believe repulsive is the word you were looking for, Malfoy," Hermione commented, finding herself unable to stop the smile that spread across her own lips. Damn him—stupid, irritating, blonde mass of…she cleared her throat, the smile fading from her lips, and stared back down at the table before her.
Oh, hell.
"So," Draco began, diffusing the tension that had settled between them. Hermione exhaled, her shoulders sagging forward as Malfoy chugged some more of the wine. She waited for him to swallow patiently, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt. "What did you want for your birthday?"
She blinked, taken aback by the question. Her cheeks flooded with color when she recalled a promise she had made to herself a few weeks before her birthday, and Hermione shyly shook her head, determined not to cave and reveal such a secret to him.
"Nothing," She assured him, though by the way Malfoy appraised her, Hermione could tell he didn't buy it.
"I don't believe you," He challenged, and Hermione narrowed her eyes into slits instantly. She jerked the wine bottle from his grasp, downing the rest of the liquid and slamming the glass bottle on the table.
"I said it was nothing," She spat, her chest fluttering slightly. She could feel her vision start to blur and cursed herself for her intolerance towards alcohol. The expression on her face caused Draco to chuckle, and he soon produced another bottle of wine. He uncorked the top this time, taking a long drink and sighing slightly.
"So touchy," He slurred, his mouth twisting into a grin. She could tell he was starting to get tipsy himself, and she couldn't help but giggle at the image of an intoxicated Draco Malfoy. He probably stomped around and grumbled about the inferiority of everyone else—it was the only thing she could expect from one as egotistical as he.
"Do you know what I think, Malfoy?" Hermione commented suddenly, her voice low. She leaned forward, her nose crinkled and brows furrowed as she stared at him with determination. Her face was close to his now, and as she blinked away the haze that occupied her mind after the alcohol, she once more noticed the brilliant color of his eyes. They weren't dark grey, or dull and hollow—they were bright and brilliant. A million shades of grey.
"What's that, Granger?" Draco murmured, and she shook her head, inhaling sharply and snapping herself out of her thoughts.
"I think…" She began, her voice thick. She scooted forward slightly in her seat, reaching for the bottle and wrapping her fingers around its cool neck. "I think I frighten you."
At this, Draco gave a burst of amused, drunken laughter, his shoulders shaking as his face contorted itself into a grimace of sorts. Hermione took a swig of the wine, hearing the growing ringing in her ears once more. Merlin, she could feel the blood rush through her face, and suddenly she felt far too warm in her jumper. She rolled the sleeves up as Malfoy calmed down from his fit of laughter, watching him carefully.
"And why in the bloody hell would you say that?" He demanded, taking another drink. She sat straighter, though the scenery before her blurred slightly, and her nostrils flared in concentration.
"Because I'm the only one who challenges you," She stated simply, hiccupping slightly afterwards. Draco paused, the bottle close to his lips once more. His eyes were shimmering with the glaze of a man on his way to a drunken stupor, and Hermione couldn't help but to notice how brilliantly the silver orbs seemed to glow in the evening. She blinked twice, startled that she was so seemingly infatuated with the color of his eyes, struggling in vain to remind herself that she hated him. She hated him, she hated him, she bloody well hated him!
"Is that so?" He managed, leaning forward again. "In what way, Granger?"
Hermione swallowed the forming lump in her throat, feeling her hands grow sweaty. She rubbed them on her trousers, leaning forward and meeting his gaze with a haughty glare.
"I'm an enigma to you," She managed to slur, her lips tingling from the alcohol. Her fingers itched to reach out and down the entire bottle; to forget about what she'd blurted out and let things be. But she was Hermione Granger, and therefore silence was not an option.
"A complete and utter mystery to you!" She said with a bitter laugh, flinging her arms about carelessly. Draco had released the wine bottle by now, and in her excitement, Hermione nearly knocked it over. She stifled a giggle, clumsily grabbing the bottle and bringing it to her mouth for another swig, the slightly bitter liquid flooding her system and pumping through her veins. "I bother you because you can't figure me out. It's so foreign to you that someone like me—a Mudblood—" Hermione shivered at the word before continuing. "—can be this successful. That someone with my genes is able to be well-known and respected in the Wizarding community."
Growing heated, Hermione stood on shaky legs, walking across the table towards him. The wine bottle swung by her side as she walked towards him, and she fumbled slightly over her feet in the process. She swung the nearly empty bottle at her side, tilting her head back and downing the rest of the bottle. She'd never been so reckless, so carefree—and as twilight settled around them and the alcohol charged her newfound confidence, Hermione found that she was able to reveal the thoughts that had dominated her mind for so long.
"How does it feel, Malfoy?" She spat as he stood, craning her neck to gaze up at him. Her head was pounding slightly and her lips felt numb as she spoke, but she hardly cared. The adrenaline rush that she extracted from this experience was pleasurable, and the toxic words that spilled from her mouth sounded pleasant on her tongue. "How does it feel to be beneath someone like me?"
"You think I'm beneath you?" Draco managed, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. Hermione panted angrily, her breasts brushing against his chest in the process. She noticed how close in proximity they were; how his breath mingled with hers, and how his lips…
No.
"Yes," Hermione croaked, though the conviction in her voice was depleting. "For years, you've tried to make me feel weak! Inferior! You condemn those who aren't like you to make yourself feel better about what you are! About what you became! You might have Harry and the others fooled, but not me! I know what you are, Malfoy!"
"And what am I?" Draco snapped, his voice rising.
"A bloody ungrateful, spoiled Death Eater!"
Draco recoiled as though she had slapped him. His face wiped itself of all emotion for a moment before contorting into rage and…and some other emotion Hermione couldn't interpret in her intoxicated state. He looked so wounded and broken, and it wasn't until his hands balled into fists that she was able to realize the weight of her words.
"No, Malfoy, wait!" Hermione slurred as he turned to leave, fumbling over herself. She stumbled forward, clawing at his shirt and trying to force him to turn around. When he didn't, she skirted around and stood in front of him, pressing her hands against his chest.
"I—" She began, biting on her lower lip. "I didn't mean that. It was rude to…to suggest something like that. After all, you've been so helpful with the mission, and I just…" She trailed off, realizing that nothing she said would be able to fix what she had just broken—a silent understanding that they had shared between each other. She had shattered the delicate glass world they had both encased themselves in, and her stomach churned as she reflected on the past few weeks, noting that they had behaved rather civilly with one another.
And she had ruined it.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy," She breathed, her hands flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beat fast beneath her fingertips, and it sent a chill up the length of her spine. His expression didn't soften, which unsettled Hermione more than she was willing to admit.
"Don't bother—it's done with," He stated stiffly, taking her hands and shoving them off him. Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly, and her knees wobbled slightly beneath her. She ran a hand through her unruly hair, studying him closely as he managed to glare at her.
"A kiss," She sighed softly, rubbing the side of her face. Draco blinked once, wiping his face of the angered expression it had contorted itself into.
"What?" He asked, confused.
"A kiss—that's what I wanted for my birthday," She said quietly, grabbing the hem of her shirt and twisting it in her hands. She felt the lump rising in her throat once more, struggling not to shrink away in shame under his hot glare.
"You've…never been kissed before?" He sputtered, his words slightly slurred. She expected amusement and mockery in his tone, yet heard none of it. Only shock. Hermione's head was aching at this point, and she closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself before responding.
"I've…been kissed, yes, but…none of it was ever like what I imagined."
"What? The men weren't real?"
"Oh, honestly, how can you—" Hermione began, cutting herself off when she remembered the comment she had made concerning him mere moments prior. Fine. That was a fair shot.
"No, they were real, I just…wanted it to be special."
"Special…I don't think I follow."
"Honestly, Malfoy," Hermione said in exasperation, exhaling in a huff. "I just…wanted to kiss someone and feel something. With Krum, I was still so inexperienced and uncertain and…and with Ron, it just…it didn't feel right. It wasn't what I imagined a kiss being like when I was younger."
"So…a kiss," Draco said after several moments of silence, some of the malice and resentment in his tone dissipating.
"A kiss," Hermione repeated, her voice hardly above a murmur. She looked up, her hazel eyes meeting his grey ones, and for just a moment, their eyes locked, and an unspoken conversation passed between them. Draco bent his head down slightly, and Hermione felt her neck craning forward. So close, she could feel his hot breath against her face, and she could see each individual eyelash. His lips were so close to touching her own, and…
"Goodnight, Granger," Draco murmured, backing away and releasing her from the fog she'd somehow managed to slip into from being in such close proximity to him. Hermione exhaled in a rush, blinking furiously and feeling the muscles in her back loosen. Her mind was buzzing and her ears were ringing again, and she turned around and watched as Draco walked towards his cot, pulling his shirt off and climbing into bed. She clutched her chest, her nails digging into the soft material of her shirt as she licked her lips and stared at his form until he fell asleep.
After staring at him for what felt like hours, Hermione's head slowly began to clear, and she admitted to herself what she wouldn't dare in hours of sobriety.
She didn't hate Draco Malfoy. Not at all.
a/N: Hey, everyone! Here's the part where I come up with excuses and apologize for not updating in a while. In all honesty, I've been very hectic, and therefore my writing muse has fled. Between finishing up high school, AP exams, my eighteenth birthday, and graduation, I've just been too busy to take care of anything else! Either way, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because it was pretty entertaining to write. I thought they could use some downtime, and what better way than to get Hermione tipsy for her birthday? Hahah, I hope you're all well! Review and let me know what you think, your comments are appreciated xxx.