Author's Note: Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou to all the people who've been reviewing! I noticed some regular reviewers and some new reviewers, and to all I say THANKYOU! I'm sorry I've not been updating everyday, but I've been studying frantically for my upcoming PSAT (which is tomorrow). I'll be back and regular after tomorrow though, so don't fret.
Keep reading and keep reviewing!
"There's something you should know, Granger," said Malfoy, obviously not looking at her.
They were sitting by the fire, the rest of the lights unlit. Hermione was sitting on the ground, her back against the wall, sipping on wine. She was more comfortable in that room than she had ever been anywhere else. It was so simple.
Malfoy draped himself casually but elegantly on the long black sofa. Hermione admired his constant poise – he was diplomatic and elegant even when at rest. His one leg was hanging off while the other was running the length of the sofa. His arm was draped over the back of the sofa and his head was tilted back, resting against the comfy arm. His posture and stature on the couch represented his status in Wizarding society well, Hermione thought.
The simplicity of which Hermione had been thinking was the noted lack of drama. After the scene in Malfoy's bedroom, Hermione soon realized that even though she and Malfoy were far from friends and far from liking each other, they got along compatibly. They didn't have those petty fights. Their only fights were major ones, and when they weren't fighting they were at peace. They said few words to one another, but they both knew they felt comfort in each other's presence. It was the most simple and romantic situation Hermione had been in, and it had only begun an hour ago.
"What's that?" asked Hermione lazily. The warmth from the fire and the liquid going down her throat made her feel unwound, vulnerable.
"A year ago I had a hearing in front of the Wizengamot. It was for the purpose of accusing the Order of the Phoenix of murdering my mother. I didn't specify who it was who killed her, I just went there with the knowledge that a member of the Order committed the crime," said Malfoy slowly. He took his time in continuing. "I finally received a letter back from them last week. They're willing to take on my case and have already been pouring over possible suspects since last month. When I told them about the Sectumsempra they singled it down to one person. Weasley."
Hermione sucked in a breath, about to say something before Malfoy cut her off. "He's going to have to stand trial. I can predict it won't be a very pleasant outcome."
Hermione said, "If…if he's convicted, what will they do to him?"
Malfoy said, "A lifetime sentence in Azkaban at the very least."
Hermione shut her eyes, pained. Her earlier conversation with Harry was haunting her. She realized now that she couldn't possibly accuse Ron of murder. It was Ron, her sweet, endearing Ron.
"Does Ron know?" asked Hermione, a fat tear squeezing out of the corner of her eye.
"I expect he'll be informed soon – tomorrow, even," said Malfoy. His voice was strained as he continued, "You'll have to choose, Granger. Weasley won't forgive you if you side with me, and I can't stand to affiliate myself with you if you side with the possible murderer of my mother."
Hermione clutched her head in her heads, unsure of what to do. She knew that first and foremost she was Ron's best friend, no matter how pleasant Malfoy had been towards her during the past few days. Ron had been there for her since 1st year, and Hermione was not likely to forget that. Who had been there when Hermione lost sight of herself and let herself go? Ron. Who had fought the War by Harry's side, swearing to protect her? Ron. Who always threw her the most outrageous and lavish birthday parties? Ron. Who brought out the passionate and romantic side in Hermione? Malfoy.
Hermione's mind was set. She stood, wobbling unsteadily with the wine glass in hand. Malfoy stood abruptly to steady her and she leaned into his chest, breathing in his scent. Malfoy, still uncomfortable with the closeness, stilled underneath her, but kept his arms around her.
Hermione looked into his eyes, almost afraid of the intensity behind the gray. Her mind was blank as she leaned forward and placed her lips on his, sucking gently. She could taste the wine off his lips, the saltiness of his tongue, and could faintly smell cigarette smoke of the Wizarding kind, and it addicted her. She breathed heavily, taking him all in. Malfoy's hands made their way to her face, cupping it gently. She leaned into him, moaning in his mouth. In the far off distance, she heard the rustling of the wind outside. The sounds of the outside world brought Hermione back into it, abruptly pulling away.
Malfoy pulled back, confused. For a second he looked vulnerable to Hermione, almost boy-like. His eyes had been wide open and she could see the world in them, but then he snapped them shut, and when he opened them again they were the steel she was used to.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered into his ear, "I…I should be with Ron right now."
She pulled away from him, her fingers lingering in his, and walked away, her boots clicking loudly against the marble. Once in the doorway she turned back to him, and saw that his usual glare and snarl was on his face. She waved hesitantly and Apparated out.
When Hermione arrived outside of Ginny's door it was still relatively early, half past six in the evening. She sighed and opened the door with a heavy heart.
"Ginny?" she called, looking up the staircase.
When she heard no response, she made her way into the kitchen. There was a note for her on the counter which Hermione immediately recognized as Ginny's neat handwriting.
Herm,
Harry's in a weird mood today so I'm going over to his place. I'll probably be staying the night so it looks like you've got the place to yourself! Try not to break anything and don't finish off my liquor cabinet!
There's some leftover food from my mum's place on the kitchen table, knock yourself out!
Much love,
Ginny.
P.S. Ron's Cornwall game is tonight. If you get a chance, try to be there for him. There's an after party if they win at some club or another.
The last thing Hermione wanted was to see Ron. She couldn't help but feel resentful towards him. He was, after all, the reason she left Malfoy. Thinking this, she realized that if she left Malfoy, it should be for a good reason. She chose to be on Ron's side, and now she had to live up to that. She would do what she could for Ron, but always with a feeling of betrayal.
She ate by herself at the kitchen table, unable to appreciate Molly's fine cooking skills. She thought over and over of the mess she'd gotten herself into. She had to keep convincing herself that even if she hadn't involved herself with Narcissa's murder, Ron would still have to stand trial.
Did Ron know yet? Was he playing with a worry so heavy that his ability to focus was impaired?
And who am I, Hermione thought, Who am I to ruin Ron's game?
Downing a glass full of scotch, Hermione stumbled to her guest bedroom to change. She wasn't going to stay home all night, no, she was going to Ron's game, and hopefully his after party as well.
She rummaged through her drawers, unable to find an outfit she liked. Hesitantly opening the door to Ginny's room, Hermione made her way through Ginny's closet. She felt no remorse or guilt – Ginny had always offered her clothes any time she wanted. The only difference in their sizes was that Ginny had a slightly larger chest.
She slipped into a short, black dress and high-heeled pumps. She put her hair back into a messy bun, unable to focus enough on the proper spells to make her hair look better. She felt high, above everything else. She was untouchable – just like Malfoy.
As she was getting ready to floo to the Quidditch reception room, she drank a last glass of wine. She was smiling. Everything felt good to her.
Stumbling over on herself as she got out of the grate in Cornwall, a young man helped her up. He was wearing a red uniform and no doubt worked in the building.
"Alright there, miss?" he asked politely, helping her stand.
Hermione felt irritated as she took her arm back. "I'm fine," she snapped. "Where's the Quidditch game?"
He looked at her, concerned, and pointed her in the general direction of the stadium.
He called after her, "But the game's over, miss! It just ended not five minutes ago!"
Hermione ignored him and sauntered on. She made her way outside and across the field to the stadium. She could make out loud shouts and hoots from one side of the stadium, and groans and jeers from the other.
She saw a red figure flying through the air, a jubilant smile on his face. He was flying his victory lap, Hermione noticed.
Once inside the stadium, she made her way to the VIP box, flashing her badge all the while. Ron had given her a lifetime VIP pass to every one of his games.
She seated herself elegantly and took a glass of wine from the passing waiter. She sipped at it graciously, moaning a little in her mouth. She loved the taste of wine; it reminded her of Malfoy.
A door flew open and seven sweaty men made their way in, shouting and cheering. She spotted Ron before he spotted her and she jumped behind him, laying her hands on his eyes.
"Guess who," she said.
He turned around, a surprised smile on his face. "Hermione!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think you'd show!"
He looked at her, admiring her dress. "You look amazing; did you come from a party or something?"
Hermione giggled, "I came for a party."
Ron gave her a peculiar look, but grinned at her all the same, and said, "Well, little lady, you're in luck. We just won."
Hermione squealed and gave him a quick hug. She said, "Darling, go take a shower first."
Ron pushed her playfully and made his way across the room to the other doorway which led back to the locker rooms. He told her to wait for him for just ten minutes while he got his things so they could floo back to his place in London.
Hermione made herself comfortable on the seat again, taking another wine glass. The waiter looked at her, concerned, as if to convey some message of "slow it down."
Hermione ignored him and drank deeply.
When Ron returned, he and Hermione flooed to Ron's place and she waited for him to change and shower. She looked around the cozy house, not having been there in months. She unconcernedly took some sherry out of his liquor cabinet and drank to glasses and was feeling slightly dizzy by the time Ron returned.
Ron summoned a limo – courtesy of his Quidditch captain – and they rode into the Wizarding district of Soho. This area was quite different from Diagon Alley. While Diagon Alley was old-worldly and full of shops for the average witch or wizard, the Wizarding Soho was full of modern commerce, entertainment, clubs, and posh restaurants. Many teenage witches and wizards and the richer side of magical society frequented Soho.
The limo stopped just outside of Movida, a lavish guest list/VIP members only nightclub owned by a Wizard, but the club was primarily Muggle. On occasion a rich witch or wizard would rent out the club for the night, but most of the owner's business came from Muggles.
"I can't believe you brought me to Movida!" Hermione gasped, stepping out of the limousine.
"Well when you've got seven rich blokes and a ridiculously rich coach, you tend to want the best," said Ron, cupping Hermione's back gently as he guided her in.
All Ron had to do was flash the guard on duty a toothy smile and he was let in, no question asked. Hermione quickly followed, eager to take in the famous club. She'd heard lots about it from various friends, especially Ginny, and although she had never had a particular yearning to see the place, she was here now and eager to take it in.
She took Ron's hand and led him to the bar. She ordered a vodka tonic and toasted with Ron's glass, the sound of their glasses clashing ringing through her ears.
Ron excused himself quickly to talk to a few of his friends by the DJ and Hermione wandered the club.
She was asked by a young man who couldn't have been more than 18 for a dance. Oddly flattered, she allowed him to lead her on the dance floor. He was an aggressive dancer, trying in earnest to be as close to her body as possible. Hermione laughed at his attempts, pulling herself further away from him each time. He seemed to take it in stride, though, and it only made him try harder. In the end he made it up to her by buying her a drink. By this point Hermione was becoming thoroughly light-headed and nauseous. She picked up a head-ache reliever potion from the bar, but as the bar was not licensed in potion making, she could only get mild symptom relief.
"Fancy a bourbon?" asked Ron from behind, looping his arm through hers and handing her a glass of bourbon.
She accepted the glass but had a slight frown on her face, which made Ron asked concernedly, "Hermione, everything alright? Maybe you shouldn't drink this."
He motioned to take the glass away from her but she angrily snatched her arm away. "I'm fine, Ron," she downed the glass, "Quit worrying about me."
He made a motion of surrender and patted her back. "Feel like leaving soon?"
"Of course not," she snapped, "I'm still having fun."
She stalked off in search of the ladies' room and proceeded to vomit painfully in the nearest toilet. She felt disgusting and nauseous. She washed her face with cold water and reapplied simple make-up, then made her way back out into the dance floor. She danced randomly and frantically, attracting unwanted attention.
Ron came up to her again, this time with a look of fierce determination. "Hermione, you're obviously not well. I'm taking you home."
He grabbed her arm but she reflexively slapped his face. Everyone around them was too busy dancing or drinking to notice.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ron hissed angrily in her ear.
"Get away from me!" screamed Hermione petulantly, pulling away from him.
But Ron held her firm. "Hermione, you're my best friend and I'm not going to let you make a fool of yourself. You may hate me later, but even you would agree that your reputation has a high price. Let's go."
"I said get away from me, you murderer!" she screamed.
Ron stilled, his face becoming stony. "What the fuck is wrong with you? How much did you drink tonight?"
"I called you a murderer! Not because I'm drunk, because it's true!" she yelled at him.
"What are you talking about?" asked Ron, all traces of humor gone now. He looked at Hermione with an intensity so strong that Hermione had to look away angrily.
"Don't act like you don't know," hissed Hermione. "You killed Narcissa Malfoy. You murdered her. And you're going to stand trial! Yes, you're going to be convicted!"
Ron pulled away from Hermione, recoiling at the sight of her.
Ron was backing away from her now, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Who the hell are you? You're not Hermione. You're not my Hermione."
"I was never your Hermione!" she spat at him, turning on her heel and running away.
Ron Apparated out of the club, unable to deal with the sounds and the happiness around him.
Hermione, who was also both physically and emotional incapable of dealing with the situation, ran in the direction of the bar, breathlessly ordering three shots of tequila and downing them. She was drowning her sorrows and her general health in alcohol, all the while unaware of the damage she was doing to her life.
She cried as she drank and drank and drank. She wasn't exactly sure how she made it home. She vaguely remembered that same 18 year old boy dropped her in front of Ginny's door.
She collapsed on the sofa, unable to make it to the bedroom or change her clothes.
That night she dreamt she was flying over Hogwarts on Buckbeak, the hippogyff, her arms around Harry. She remembered screaming and shouting, half with fear and half with exhilaration, and buckling her knees, she raised her arms into the sky as a sign of freedom and liberation. She could almost feel the cold wind whipping against her hair and the warmth spreading over her skin. She felt alive and feeling and real. She never wanted the dream to end.