Sorry for such a long break, life got in the way, but here is the next chapter!
As Hermione trailed after the steady stream of Gryffindors back towards the common room, she attempted to stretch her aching shoulders, wincing as she felt the tendons in her neck resisting. She'd gone straight from her last class to the library, where she immersed in perfecting an upcoming transfiguration paper, working so intently that she nearly missed dinner, arriving just as everyone else was finishing their last bites. After muttering the password to the Fat Lady, she made an immediate beeline to the dormitory, where she cocooned herself in a large, fluffy blanket to transition from academic to leisure reading.
Though her roommates usually lingered in the common room to gossip by the fire, the night of the Halloween party apparently required some serious preparation, and they followed closely behind her. Hermione attempted to lose herself in the book she'd selected, a topical new book about historical warfare, but found it difficult to tune out the progressively vicious brawl that was transpiring over who had first priority over the shower.
She was getting into a fascinating segment about ancient armor enchantments when a silky green washcloth was inexplicably chucked over her head, obstructing her vision.
"Hey! What was that for?" Hermione yanked the scrap off her head to see Isabel standing in front of her bed. Her arms were crossed authoritatively, although the fluffy pink bathrobe she wore made it impossible to take her seriously.
"I'm just giving you your costume for tonight," Isabel said innocently. "I'm surprised you haven't asked for it yet."
"Oh, I forgot about the sodding costume." In fact, until the shower fiasco a half hour ago, Hermione had forgotten about the Halloween party entirely and had been content with her plan of reading for the evening.
Hermione lifted the skimpy piece of fabric off her bed in disbelief. "This is supposed to cover my body?"
"Only some of it, of course." Isabel grinned. "Oh, don't look so appalled. I showed you the costume before, remember? In the catalog?"
Hermione vaguely remembered the page being thrust in her face and wished she'd given it a proper look over before waving it off in placating agreement. She should've known. She eyed the costume suspiciously. It didn't seem to cover enough to be a top, let alone a dress unless there was some sort of obscure stretching charm attached to it.
"I didn't know it would be made to fit an actual fairy."
"You'd better start getting ready soon." Isabel said, breezing deliberately past her comment, picking up a brush to begin combing her hair, "It's nearly nine."
"The party doesn't even start until ten," Hermione groaned, sinking deeper into the warmth of her blankets. "I don't need an hour to get ready."
Isabel eyed her up and down, skeptically. "Are you sure?"
"Sod off." Hermione rolled her eyes, but nonetheless, closed her book and climbed out of bed compliantly. She snatched her bathrobe from its hook and stalked off towards the bathroom without turning back, refusing to indulge Isabel's gloating smirk.
"Atta girl," Isabel called after her, before turning to face the mirror, vehemently muttering hair-straightening charms.
After letting the scalding water soak the tension out of her muscles and shaving her legs for the first time in an undisclosed (but significant) amount of time, Hermione reemerged from the bathroom to find her room transformed into a state of complete and utter chaos, instantaneously nullifying the calming effects of her lavender body wash.
Her immediate instinct was that a robbery had occurred, judging from the array of clothes and shoes strewn violently across the floor, until she saw Parvati hunched over her wardrobe and tearing through its contents, wobbling in one boot as she in searched desperately for its pair. On the other side of the room, Lavender looked close to hysterics as she scrubbed an unsatisfactory eyeshadow look from her face, her lip quivering dangerously. Isabel was commandeering the full-length mirror, squeezing her breasts forcefully up into a tiny strapless bra.
"This is my lucky bra," she wheezed, "it gives me the best cleavage. The only caveat is that I can't bloody breathe."
Her chest strained as she pulled the clasp shut, pulling down her dress over it. The whole costume created quite the effect. Isabel's pale, delicate cheekbones had been colored with a rosy, pink blush, and her eyes were drawn out with thin, winged eyeliner. She had brushed blue sparkles across her eyelids to match the pale blue of her costume, and her hair fell in a sleek, glossy sheet over her shoulders. Even before she slipped on the wings, she looked so fairy-like that her costume was already apparent.
"You look amazing," Hermione said honestly. She felt herself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to look like Isabel did; to be so unobjectionably, effortlessly pretty.
Even though she must've already known it, Isabel smiled bashfully. "Thanks, Hermione." She perked up. "Now, we've got to get you ready!" She looked Hermione over critically but not unkindly. "Let's start with your hair."
Hermione allowed herself to be herded over to Isabel's desk chair, where her bum had no sooner touched the seat when the other witch immediately grabbed a section of her hair. Hermione felt a surprising warmth emanating over her head as Isabel began with her enchantments, her tight curls immediately softening and loosening, reaching all the way to her lower back once released from their tight, frizzy coils. Sensing the gravity of the project ahead, Parvati soon flounced over to assist, bringing her immense collection of cosmetics to embark on Hermione's makeup. Hermione, vaguely uncomfortable from the preening, tried to hold still as Isabel pulled her hair in various directions, while Parvati applied various creams and powders against her face. She tried to keep her eyes from streaming as Parvati valiantly attempted to apply eyeliner to her waterline and pat a shimmery bronze eyeshadow onto her eyelids.
Hermione was impressed with the confidence with which the two witches worked. Though she occasionally threw on a bit of mascara or blush on special occasions, she'd never been much good with makeup and had always been too scared to experiment. But Isabel and Parvati seemed to be operating as if it were second nature, grabbing tubes and brushes without a second glance, chattering amiably as they worked. By the time they stepped back, Hermione's face felt stiff and unfamiliar under the makeup, her eyelashes weighed down by the mascara. She looked around, anxiously, but her view of the mirror was blocked by Lavender, who was reapplying her lip gloss with one hand, a plastic cup of wine in the other.
"It's already a quarter past ten," Lavender whined, giving her lips a smack. "Let's hurry up, shall we?" Despite the nasty expression on her face, Hermione couldn't deny that Lavender looked quite pretty. Her matching costume was a dusty, rosy, shade of pink that complemented her complexion and hugged her curves flatteringly.
"Nobody wants to be the first one at the party, Lav," Isabel responded, lightly, snatching the wine bottle from Lavender's desk and pouring three more cups. "We're in no rush." She turned to face Hermione, handing her one of the cups. "Were you planning on going out in your bathrobe? Well, if you were, I suppose Halloween would be the night for it."
With her three roommates standing in front of her in their matching slips and wings, Hermione suddenly became aware of the fact that her own costume still lay discarded on her bed. She suddenly felt nervous. Even on Parvati, who was shorter than Hermione, the dress, a rich, plum color in her case, was provocatively short.
Hermione cautiously retrieved the silky dress from her bed. The fabric was a brilliant, deep, emerald hue with a delicate lace top, and Hermione couldn't help feeling that it was far too pretty to belong on her body. It felt foreign, even as she slipped it over her head, the silk cool and smooth against her skin.
"Ooh," Parvati squealed, "you look beautiful in green."
As Lavender abandoned her lip-gloss application to refill her cup with another generous serving of wine, the mirror was finally freed for Hermione to catch a glimpse of herself for the first time. She stared, stunned by what blinked back at her, pondering what dark magic Parvati and Isabel could've done to yield this effect. Her hair had been smoothed into long, loose curls that cascaded over her shoulders, the shorter pieces framing her face delicately. Her brown eyes were intensified by a subtle smokey eye that made it look as if she were constantly smoldering. A peachy blush gave her cheeks a heightened, lively glow, and her lips were tinted with a soft, reddish color.
She'd expected to look silly and overdone, but it was nothing like the plastered-on faces of makeup she sometimes saw on her peers. She still looked like herself, she thought with relief, just… enhanced, and elevated. She looked quite pretty, she found herself thinking in surprise. She looked confident.
The dress, on the other hand, she wasn't so sure about. It was impossibly short, grazing the top of her thighs, leaving her legs utterly exposed. The delicate straps draped into a dangerously low neckline, warning against any sudden movements. It was utterly beautiful and felt utterly, positively, mortifying.
"This looks like lingerie," Hermione squeaked, tugging down the ends of the dress, futilely willing it to lengthen.
"Technically it is lingerie," Parvati said, unhelpfully.
Hermione groaned and took a gulp of her wine, relishing as the cool, crisp liquid trickled down her throat.
"It looks bloody fantastic, who cares if it's lingerie?" Isabel snorted, taking a sip of her own wine.
"My arse is out," Hermione craned her neck to evaluate.
"Then it's a lucky night for everyone." Isabel cut her off, grinning. "It's Halloween, don't be such a mum. Tonight is meant to be fun." She stood up and turned to face Hermione, putting a hand firmly on her shoulder, her expression suddenly serious. "You deserve to have fun."
Hermione hesitated, struck by the sincerity of her tone. She thought of all the weekend nights she'd spent in, cooped up studying every possible bit of information for exams, or rewriting papers until they were perfect. Despite herself, Isabel's comment reminded her of one that Malfoy had made in the library the week before. It's still a paper. That's your idea of fun, isn't it? She took a final glance at herself in the mirror, and before she could talk herself out of it, downed her glass.
"Fun, right. Should we get going?"
Isabel's grin broadened impossibly wide. "I thought you'd never ask."
XXX
The warmth of the Great Hall hit Hermione like a wall in contrast to the frosty air of the corridor, compounded by the distinct, sweet, aroma of alcohol.
"Bloody hell, the planning committee spared no expenses, did they," Parvati gasped.
The hall had been completely transformed for the night; all semblances of the bright, regal atmosphere vanished. The normal lighting had been replaced with dim, hovering lanterns that reflected an eerie orange light, and fog curled up in wisps around the perimeter. The long tables had been removed, and the front of the hall cleared for a stage, where a band of ghouls was crooning over a loud, thumping bass. The space beneath the stage had been fashioned into a dance floor, which was already crowded with rowdy and rather wobbly-looking students, drinking in laughing, clad in costumes of varying levels of absurdity and scandalousness.
Distracted as she took in the setting, Hermione stumbled into Isabel in front of her. Shit, she thought, grabbing onto the witch's wing to steady herself, was she tipsy already?
"Sorry," she squeaked, forcing herself upright.
"I wonder where our Gryffindor boys are," Lavender giggled, as a group of Hufflepuff seventh-year boys dressed as pygmy puffs passed by. Her words were already soft and muddled from the wine. It was impossible to distinguish anyone from the hazy dance floor.
"Oh, there they are," Parvati chirped. Hermione and Lavender both instantaneously followed her finger, over to a large, brimming refreshments table. The back of the hall had been fashioned into a lounge of sorts, with black velvet couches and armchairs behind the refreshments. Ron's ginger hair identified him clearly, his back was turned to them as he chatted to Harry and Seamus, who was ladling a frighteningly orange liquid into their cups. Before any of them could say anything, Lavender had already zipped off purposefully in their direction, her pink dress a blur of determination. Hermione tried to ignore a twinge of irritation bubbling up in her stomach. She locked eyes with Isabel, who merely shrugged before motioning to follow.
"Those ears are just adorable," Lavender was giggling when they caught up to her, reaching up to flick the drooping cat ears on Ron's head. Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron had clearly not thought to get a costume and had snagged an extra pair of animal ears last minute. Harry was shifting his feet, looking uncomfortable to be standing between the pair. His eyes lit up gratefully when he saw the rest of the group approaching.
"Hermione, hi!" His tone reflected the same surprise as his face as he took in the matching trio.
At Harry's exclamation, Ron spun around, his eyes widening impossibly large when they landed on Hermione. Lavender looked annoyed.
"Woah," he said, his eyes fixed on her dress, mouth gaped slightly. The tips of his ears-tinged red. "I didn't know you ended up getting a real costume. You look…um… very nice." The flush spread to his neck. Embarrassed, Hermione resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest.
"Thanks, Ron," she said, feeling determined not to fawn over him like Lavender.
"We all have matching costumes," Lavender interjected, straightening to reveal her own costume. Ron glanced back and forth between the two costumes, seemingly unsure about where to look. He took a glug of his drink.
"Right, fairies. Sound."
"What're you guys drinking?" Parvati asked.
"It's jack-o-lantern punch," said Harry, lifting his cup. "Some Ravenclaws came down with it a little bit ago. It's a bit like pumpkin juice, but damn strong." Hermione noticed the large, hollowed-out pumpkin on the drinks table, brimming with the shimmering orange liquid.
"Sounds perfect." Lavender beamed brilliantly. "Will you come with me to get a cup?" She blinked sweetly at Ron, the hand she placed on his arm insinuating that it was more of a statement than a question.
"Er, sure." Ron allowed himself to be herded off by Lavender. Harry glanced at Hermione worriedly, but she kept her expression deliberately neutral.
"Not into the Halloween spirit, then, huh?" she said, motioning to Harry's mere orange tee shirt.
Harry smiled sheepishly. "No, I didn't get the message that people were, uh, really gonna be dressing up."
Hermione, reminded how out of character her costume was, flushed again and fought the urge to cover her arms over her chest. "Fair enough."
"Ooh!" Parvati, ever the savior of the night, pointed over to the corner. "Dean's come in with firewhisky!"
Hermione felt the witch's grip lock determinedly around her wrist, and she grabbed Harry's arm with her other hand, the bloody wings smacking him repeatedly across the face as they were pulled across the hall by the other witch. The other Gryffindor boys were plopped down in the plush chairs, passing the amber bottle back and forth. Dean and Seamus wore ridiculous matching leprechaun hats, and Neville, already looking a bit tipsy, was dressed in a lumpy mandrake costume that was very clearly handmade.
Dean's eyes widened when he saw the group approach. "I'll be damned. A trio of fairies, is it? Sheeesh, you lot clean up nice." His eyes lingered appreciatively on Hermione as she sat down across from him. "Very nice. Oye, where's the fourth of your posse?"
"Getting punch," Parvati said, reaching for the bottle as she plopped down into the chair next to him.
"Her loss," Seamus grinned. "This stuff's way better. Stronger, too. Pass it around, Parvati, quit bloody hogging it."
"Ugh," Harry grimaced as he swallowed down a shot of the hot, amber liquid, handing it off to Hermione. "That really never does get easier, does it?" Hermione nodded in agreement, her throat burning too much to speak. She did her best to choke a gag and blink back tears, praying her makeup wouldn't smudge. Isabel might as well have been drinking unicorn tears from the ease with which she swallowed it down. Seamus looked positively love-struck as he watched her wash down another shot. Dean snorted, taking back the bottle for a long swig himself.
"Now it's really a party."
Harry's grimace deepened into a frown as his gaze locked on something across the room.
"Trust the Slytherins to pick dementors as their costumes. Why can't they just be bloody cats like everyone else."
"They might as well be dressed as death eaters, if you ask me," Seamus scoffed. "Fucking psychos with their fucking cloaks."
Hermione followed his gaze. Sure enough, a group of Slytherins was making their way through the hall, donning flowing, inky black dementor's capes and gaunt, pale face paint. In Malfoy's case, she noted as she spotted him in their midst, it hardly looked different from his ordinary fairness. With his jaunt jawline and tall, lean figure, he exuded a dark, quiet yet powerful presence as he crossed the hall, towards a group of seventh-year Slytherins at the drinks table. The group immediately made space for them in their group, one of them instinctively passing a drink over to Malfoy, who accepted it with a subtle nod. The authority and standing that he held in the group were obvious, even among older students. Hermione wondered what he was saying, as he leaned down to mutter something quietly to Blaise, who grinned wickedly in response.
"Have another." Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts by Parvati thrusting the bottle at her. "I want to dance but I want to be utterly smashed first." She already seemed part way there, Hermione thought, noting the flush rising in the witch's cheeks. This time around, the firewhisky went down smoother, eased by the fuzzy blanket the alcohol was beginning to wrap around her head.
"I've probably had enough of this for now," she said, handing the bottle to Harry. Her voice sounded slower, sleepier, even to her. A warm, silly feeling was beginning to bubble in her stomach, and she had a suspicion that a very stupid smile was plastered on her face. Harry actually giggled into the bottle.
"You're drunk, aren't you, you lightweight," he said gleefully.
"You're drunk," she accused, pointing to the glasses that now sat crookedly across his nose.
"I'm so glad you came out tonight, Hermione," he said, slurring lightly. "I haven't seen you let loose like this in too long. I love when you get drunk."
"Shut up," Hermione laughed, the warm feeling expanding.
"Cheers to that," Seamus said, chasing another swig with the last of his punch. "To a night of letting loose."
"Hurrah," chanted a visibly drunk Neville, spilling punch down his chin.
"Every Friday is a night of letting loose for you," Isabel punched Seamus on the arm. "But seriously," she said, looking back up at Hermione. "It's good to see you enjoying yourself properly for once, instead of getting your daily excitement from reading something from the restricted section." She stood up. "What'da all say we get up off our arses up and off to dance?"
Hermione felt a little off-balanced as she stood up, feeling the effects go to her head. The music, which had seemed obnoxiously loud to her before, now seemed perfect, the rhythm pulling her body to move with it.
"And I don't know what Lavender's trying to do," Isabel whispered as they headed out towards the dance floor, "but for what it's worth, Ron couldn't keep his bloody eyes off of you."
Hermione smiled self-consciously, waving her away. "Let's not talk about him," she said. "Let's just dance."
"If you insist!"
For such a pretty girl, Isabel was an absurdly atrocious dancer, immediately breaking out the wildest, most ridiculous dance moves Hermione had ever seen, her body contorting in ways Hermione didn't even think possible. Hermione was in tears, laughing, as other witches who swayed gently, shot dirty looks in their direction, keeping a wide berth from Isabel's flailing limbs and wings. Isabel didn't care a bit, jumping to the music. Even Harry, usually rigid as a flagpole, was bobbing awkwardly along. Seamus nearly wiped out half the dance floor in a failed execution of the worm that seemed likely to result in some serious bruising.
Parvati, in a moment of uncharacteristic assertiveness, persuaded a fifth-year boy to fetch them a round of drinks with a bat of her eyes, demonstrating unexpectedly skillful dance moves, captivating boys all around with the swaying of her hips.
At first, Hermione felt unsure about what to do with her body, awkwardly and carefully stumbling along to the beat. Parvati pulled her into a full, ballroom dancing style dip, and she felt herself finally loosening up, laughing as Parvati nearly dropped her to the ground. Soon enough, she found herself, for the first time, dancing unapologetically and without self-consciousness, too tipsy and happy to be worried about what she looked like. She moved to the music, surrounded by her friends, surprised by how naturally the movements came to her. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she should do this more often. It felt good to let go of the stress and control with which she operated, even if just for a night. She closed her eyes and let her body respond to the beats.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed someone was watching her from the corner of the dance floor. Malfoy was standing just beyond the edge of the dance floor, standing rigidly among his thrashing peers, his expression unreadable, but his gaze fixed intently on her. Their eyes locked, and rather than appearing embarrassed at being caught, he held her gaze. She held it back. She suddenly became aware that she was slightly out of breath from the dancing, her face warm and her curls, despite the endless charms, beginning to coil back up around her face. A sheen of perspiration was beginning to form on her back, causing the already tight dress to cling to her body. His gaze dipped down from her eyes to scan her body, and when he raised them again, a curious new look was on his face. He almost looked confused. He raised his drink to his lips, taking a long, deep sip. Emboldened by liquid courage, she had an impulse to march up to him and demand to know why he was standing and staring in the corner like a creep, when she heard Isabel's voice, loud and slightly clumsy, in her ear.
"Am I gonna have to get a bodyguard for you?"
"What?" Hermione said, nervously. She hadn't meant for anyone to witness her little stare-off, and she felt oddly defensive about whatever weirdness was occurring between her and Malfoy.
"From all these boys," Isabel laughed. "They're all practically drooling over you."
"Oh," Hermione said, relieved that she hadn't caught the encounter. "That's hardly true."
"Sure it is. Hey, where the hell are Lavender and Ron? I haven't seen them all night."
Hermione had no answer for her. Despite all the fun, she'd kept an eye out for Ron's ginger hair and stupid cat ears, hoping he'd show up on the dance floor, but there had been no sign of him or Lavender since the drinks table. Even though Isabel seemed sure he'd been looking at her earlier, and she was sure she'd seen it herself, a pit of doubt was beginning to grow and grow in her stomach. Why hadn't he come to dance?
She glanced quickly to where Malfoy had been standing, but he'd vanished somewhere into the crowd.
"Ermione," a large, sweaty arm wrapped clumsily around her shoulder. "There y'are." Hermione nearly buckled under the weight.
"Merlin, Neville, how many firewhiskys have you had?"
Neville's head lolled lazily to the side. "Dunno. I lost count, I'guess."
"Right, I can see that." Neville's eyes were glazed over, a sleepy, disoriented look over his face. Every time he blinked, his eyes lingered shut, as if he were about to fall asleep standing upright.
"What do you say we get you some water, yeah?"
"Mmmm, water." Neville stumbled over his own feet, nearly taking out a whole group of fifth years. Hermione grabbed his arm to steady him, waving a hand in Harry's direction.
"Oi, we've got a bit of a situation over here," she called. Harry looked up, mid dougie, and immediately bolted over, grabbing Neville's other arm to support his weight. Dean caught on too, coming to their aid, leaving Seamus to flirt hopelessly with a group of sixth-year Ravenclaws.
"Dumbledore's beard, what did he do, take troll tranquilizers?" Dean asked, bewildered, as they steered Neville off the dance floor.
"Trolls're yucky," said Neville, wisely.
"So they are," Hermione concurred. "Will you go fetch him a drink while we sit him down, Dean? A drink of water, that is."
"On it," Dean said, heading off towards the drinks table.
Hermione and Harry settled Neville into a chair, narrowly avoiding tipping the whole thing over.
"Hermoonie, I'm so glad you're my friend," Neville said, sinking deep into the plushy pillows. The leaf of his mandrake hat drooped limply to one side. A sleepy smile was fixed on his face. "R'ly am. I dunno wha I'do without ya. Both'a you guys."
"I'm glad we're friends too, Neville. I'm beginning to think firewhisky might not be our friend, though," she said, pulling him upright as he began to tip again.
"I'm surrious," Neville insisted. "No'oneels would go wach plants with me. Is nice tha you do tha for me."
"Oh, Neville," Hermione said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I watch plants with you because I enjoy it. You're a good friend." She knew he was obliterated, but the emotion in his words still touched her. Neville was usually quite shy about expressing his feelings, but it was nice to hear that he valued their walks the way that she did. She smiled as she looked at the sweet, round face of her friend, painted with little green leaves that were now smudged.
Harry reached up to straighten Neville's hat.
"Oh, good, Dean's got us drinks!" Neville tried to sit upright, teetering dangerously.
"Alright, here we are." Dean slid into the seat next to Neville, handing him the cup of water.
Neville compliantly took the cup, taking a long sip, dripping water down his front. "Hey, thasnot firewhiskey," he accused.
"Whoops, my mistake." Dean grinned at Hermione and Harry. "I think I'd better take him back to the dormitory." Neville's eyes were beginning to droop, his head bobbing with imminent sleep.
Hermione nodded. "That's probably for the best. Nobody wants to end up with a mandrake puking in the punch bowl."
Harry snorted. "Hey Neville, what do you say we hit after party in the Gryffindor tower, yeah?"
"Hell yeah," Neville slurred, allowing Harry to help him to his feet.
"No, no," Dean said, waving them away. "I've got him. It's my fault for letting him have so much firewhisky. I've gotten to used to Seamus's monster of a tolerance."
"Let me help you get him back," Hermione insisted, standing up with them.
"You've done enough, seriously. It's not every day Hermione Granger goes to a party. You two stay and have fun, I'll be back as soon as he's down for the night. Besides, you can't hold him up anyways, or get into our dormitory."
"Are you sure?" Harry said, worriedly, following as Harry and Dean steered Neville towards the exit. "I can at least walk you part way."
"You lot are staying at this party even if I have to perform a foot-sticking spell," Dean said firmly as they reached the doorway. "If you're not out dancing Isabel when I get back, I'm going to sabotage your next potions assignment."
"Alright, fine." She smiled weakly, resigned, stopping in the doorway. Harry and Hermione watched as Dean began to guide Neville down the hall. "Thank you, Dean."
"Don't thank me," he said. "Merlin knows you two've cleaned up after me on more than one drunken night." He waved as he approached the corner of the corridor. "Say goodnight, Neville."
"G'night Herrmm," Neville called over his shoulder. "Goodnight Harrree."
"Goodnight, Neville," they called back, waiting for them to be out of sight before ducking back into the Great Hall, hearing their drunken singing echoing off the walls. After spending a moment in the corridor, the thick heat hit Hermione like a wall.
"God it's hot," Harry moaned, wiping his glasses. "I can't even bloody see, my glasses are all fogged."
"Poor Neville," Hermione fretted. "He'll be feeling awful tomorrow."
"He's not cut out for firewhisky," Harry agreed. They lingered briefly at the deserted edge of the hall, accustoming themselves to the heat and savoring the final moments of quietness in contrast to the chaos of the dance floor ahead. "Should we head back out there?" Harry suggested, squinting out towards the dance floor, in search of their friends. "We're doing everyone a disservice by depriving them of our dancing."
Hermione began to laugh but felt it die in her throat as she faintly registered a familiar giggle over the music. "Did you hear that?"
Harry nodded, frowning. Hermione peered towards the sound, which appeared to be coming from the dark corner, furthest past the exit. She took a step in the direction of the noise, growing closer until the image began to materialize through the fog until it was unmistakable.
"Holy shit," Harry said in disbelief.
A couple was standing in the corner, locked in a passionate kiss. The girl's dusty pink dress rode up her legs as she reached up to press herself closer to the boy, whose arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. Hermione watched in horror as one of the boy's hands slipped down to cup the girl's bum, who, in turn, moaned and raised a hand to run through his ginger hair. Hermione's heart sunk to her stomach, her feet frozen in place, her mind blank. When Ron, unaware of his audience, began to back Lavender into the wall, lifting her leg to wrap around his hip, the spell was broken, and Hermione could watch no longer. Her mind was still frozen but her feet whipped around and began carrying her, frantically in the opposite direction, far away from the scene.
Harry ran after her. "Hermione," he called.
When she was far enough away, she finally stopped, her heart thudding so loudly in her chest that she felt it in her ears. She leaned against a table, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to make sense of what she'd seen. It proved to be useless, as the words seemed to swirl around her brain nonsensically.
"Hermione," Harry called, catching up to her, his eyes wide. "Oh god, Hermione, I'm so sorry. He's a git. A real idiot. Should I go interrupt and say something?"
She shook her head violently.
"He's got a lot of nerve, acting like that, when everyone can see there's been something between you. Oh fuck, I'm sorry."
Hermione stopped listening, willing her heart to stop pounding. She inhaled deeply and lifted her hands to her cheeks, but to her surprise, she felt no tears. The emotion that twisted in her gut, she realized, overshadowing sadness, was anger. In fact, she was positively fuming. Something inside her snapped, thinking about Ron's hands on Lavender's body, and the way she'd allowed herself to be sidelined by him repeatedly, waiting around for him to make a move. Everyone had assured her over, and over that he liked her, that something was inevitable between them, and she'd even been sure he'd given her signs that he felt that way, but she was tired of being taken for granted, forgiving the constant wishy-washy behavior, just for him to jump at the first chance to stick his tongue down someone else's throat. Never again, she vowed to herself. She was done. She willed herself to open her eyes and stand up straight. Harry was watching her, his eyes wide with concern.
"I'm fine," she said tightly, her resolve hardening. She had set out to have a fun night, and she'd be damned if she went home crying now. She inhaled deeply, forcing air into her lungs. She exhaled, feeling the thumping in her heart begin to dim slightly. Harry watched her as one might watch a bomb. She realized she'd coincidentally, in her flight, ended up at the punch table. She poured herself a cup, and downed it just as quickly, wincing as the strong taste hit her throat. She poured another. "If that's what he wants to do, that's his choice. I hope it's bloody worth it because I'm done."
Harry nodded. "Good. He's my mate but he's acting like shit, and you're too good for him," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He's out of order."
"It doesn't matter, it's done," Hermione said, taking another deep swig. "I won't let him ruin tonight." Without another word, she marched off towards the dance floor, leaving Harry to follow warily behind her.
Hermione pushed her way through the crowd until she found Lavender, Parvati, and Seamus, right where they'd left them, in the center of the dance floor. Hermione's face must have been something dangerous because Isabel's eyebrows raised as they approached.
Seamus, unsurprisingly, caught on to nothing. "There youse are," he yelled, thumping Harry on the back. "About time. We've got our house's reputation to uphold out here on the dance floor."
"Oh please," Parvati rolled her eyes. "It's not a reputation if you're the only one who thinks it."
Seamus swatted her playfully. Isabel gave Hermione a concerned look. "Is everything okay?" she asked discreetly, leaning in to be heard over the music. Hermione gave her a most reassuring smile. "I'm fine. I just want to dance."
Just then, the band played the opening to one of their most popular songs, and the crowd roared their approval, drowning out any response from Isabel. Hermione felt herself being jostled around her as her peers danced, but she didn't mind, welcoming the distraction. She finished her drink and allowed Harry to pull her into dance.
For a while, the distraction worked, as the music took hold of her body once more, the loud instruments drowning out her thoughts. Harry worked valiantly to keep her spirits up, spinning her into a clumsy twirl if he sensed a frown forming on her face, and Hermione was filled once again with gratitude for her friends. She was almost able to forget what she'd seen, her mind growing pleasantly clouded from the punch and the heat of the dance floor.
She was mock-slow dancing clumsily with Isabel when she noticed the girl peering over her shoulder, a frown forming on her face. "Is that… Ron and… Lavender?"
Hermione's heart sank. She whipped around, and sure enough, the pair was walking towards the dance floor, arm in arm. Lavender was giggling profusely, leaning tipsily into him as they walked. The dizzying emotion washed over Hermione again.
"I'm going to go," she said to Harry, backing up from the impending scene.
"I'll come with you," he said immediately, stepping to block Lavender and Ron from her sight. She smiled weakly.
"No, I really just want to be alone right now. I just need to go to bed. Just do me a favor and tell Ron that I don't want to speak to him." Without waiting for a response, she turned and darted through the crowd, making a direct line for the exit.
As she stumbled out of the Great Hall, she narrowly avoided faceplanting on the steps. She must have been drunker than she thought, she realized, trying to blink away the fogginess in her brain. She charged wobbly towards the haven of the Gryffindor tower, desperate to escape. She rounded the corridor corner at full speed, slamming directly into a wall, sending her flying backward onto her bum with an 'oof.' As she remained on the floor, too stunned and her head spinning too much to move for a moment, she realized that walls didn't make 'oofs' and that it was not a wall at all that she'd run into.
"Jesus, is that you, Granger? Where the bloody hell are you off to at this hour in such a hurry?" Her heart sank impossibly deeper. Just when she thought her night couldn't get any worse. She lifted her head to see a very confused-looking Draco Malfoy peering down at her. She groaned as she brought herself into a seated position, willing herself to remain upright.
"None of your bloody business. And normally, you know, people apologize when they bump into people and knock them over." Even as she spoke them, the words sounded jumbled and slow.
"You ran into me," he retorted. His gaze ran over her as he took in her disheveled form and slurred words, his eyes widening in shock. "I'll be damned. Is the Hermione Granger drunk right now? What would McGonigal say?"
"Mind your business, Malfoy." Hermione silently cursed herself for giving herself away. She attempted to stand up defiantly, but as she climbed to her feet, the world seemed to suddenly flip over on itself, displacing her center of gravity.
"Jesus, Granger," she heard Malfoy say again, his voice closer this time, and felt a pair of firm, warm arms wrap around her, pulling her upright right before she hit the ground again.
"Oh, hog monkeys," she spluttered as she fought to regain her bearings, grabbing onto his shoulder to steady herself. As the dizziness finally began to dissipate, she lifted her head, her eyes widening with shock as her nose nearly collided against Malfoys. Her mouth dropped open, mortified as her mind caught up to the situation. Malfoy had caught her as she'd drunkenly tried to stand up, after drunkenly falling over after drunkenly running into him. His hands still firmly gripped her waist, his arms braced as if expecting her to tip over again at any moment. Her arms were still gripping his shoulders for support.
"Hog monkeys?" he sneered. His breath sweet as it brushed against her face. "That would be your version of a cuss, wouldn't it?" She blinked to clear the blur from her vision, her eyes focusing on the faint, tiny freckles dappled on his nose. She'd never noticed them before. Then again, she'd never been close enough to him before to notice them, before now.
"Are you about to be sick, Granger? I really don't want to get vomit on my nice shoes."
Hermione blinked, realizing she'd been staring dumbly at his face. Damn, she needed to get a grip.
"I'm not going to be sick." She straightened, dropping her arms and stepping back, thankful that she remained steadily upright this time. "Sorry for crashing into you." She moved to step around him, determined to get back to the dormitory with what little dignity she had left.
"Hold on a moment," Malfoy stepped in front of her, blocking her from continuing down the corridor. "You didn't answer my question. Where are you running off to in the middle of the party? The library's closed this late, you know." His voice had an edge, goading her.
"I did answer, I said to mind your business," she retorted impatiently, trying again unsuccessfully to step past him. The last thing she needed was to be humiliated by Draco Malfoy of all people right now, but he stood firmly in place.
"Off to meet a secret crush, perhaps?" he pressed on. "Find a new bloke who fancies your flashy little costume?" There was an intensity in his gaze that contradicted his light, jeering tone.
Hermione, who had forgotten about her less-than-dressed state, crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. "What's it to you, Malfoy? Why do you even care where I'm going?"
"Just doing a public service," he crooned. "Someone should let the bloke know that just because you put on some wings and a slutty dress, you're no less of a freak."
The anger and mental exhaustion that had been bubbling up inside her snapped again, and Hermione went in on him, pointing a finger in his face.
"Well, you know what, Malfoy? Putting on a spooky cape doesn't make you any less of a pathetic coward. I've had a bloody hellish night, and the last thing I need is to be slut-shamed by a lousy ferret with hair gel. All I fucking want is to get back to my room so I can get the hell to sleep, and I'm done with letting you get in my way and torment me just because you're bored with your own pathetic life." She kept her head high, but her voice was shaking, the events of the night catching up with her, and she pushed past him finally to flee down the hallway before he could make another degrading retort or see the tears forming in her eyes.
"Granger, hang on," she heard him call after her. She tried to walk faster, but her inebriated state betrayed her, and he caught up to her almost immediately.
"What?" She turned to face him, not bothering to hide the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. She was utterly exhausted, her head was spinning, and she felt utterly defeated. Her empowered rage had faded into a raw sadness, and she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed. To her surprise, he made no comment about her disheveled state.
"It would be ungentlemanly for me to let you walk back alone in your state. I'll walk you back."
"Un-gentlemanly?" She repeated in disbelief, the word slow and clumsy on her tongue, wondering if her drunkenness was making her hear things. Since when had Draco Malfoy cared about being a gentleman?
"A sign of poor breeding," he went on. "Come on, let's get you back home." Without further comment, he began walking in the direction of the Gryffindor common room.
"Malfoy, don't be ridiculous," Hermione said. "That's not necessary. Neither of us wants to make this walk together." She tried her best to walk in a convincingly straight line. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I find that hard to believe. You literally fell on me. Twice. How am I to say that you'd get home ok? If anything were to happen to you, I could be liable. I'll see you to the door."
"As if you'd care if something happened to me," Hermione mumbled under her breath, but his spine stiffened slightly, and she knew he'd heard.
They walked in silence for a moment, the only noises were their footsteps against the stone floor. She veered slightly as she walked, catching whiffs of crisp cologne if she wobbled particularly close, before veering sharply away reactionarily. It was well past midnight, and the corridors were barely lit, and cool from the fall nighttime air. As they crossed the corridor, Hermione shivered as a breeze floated in from a tall window, blowing against her scantily clad form. Without looking, she felt Malfoy's gaze shift to rest on her, as the moonlight cast a new light upon them compared to the dreary corridor darkness of the basement.
"So if it wasn't to slink off with some guy, why did you leave the party early then?" Malfoy asked finally, his tone neutral.
Hermione opened her mouth to make a clever response, but whether it was because his voice inexplicably lacked its earlier mocking tone, her mind and her mouth weren't on the same page. "Ron kissed Lavender," was what slipped out, her trembling voice revealing more truth than she'd intended. She felt the tears bubbling up again, and she swiped at them angrily, embarrassed to be crying yet again in front of Malfoy. She waited for his response, expecting him to laugh at her for ever expecting Ron to like her, but he was silent.
"Oh," he said finally, a touch of surprise in his voice, but none of the malice she'd expected. He paused. "And you really have a thing for Weasel, right?"
She sighed and then hiccupped, unable to stop the tears. "I thought I did. I know he's not perfect, and I haven't always been sure we're right for each other, but I still care about him and it hurts that he would do that when he knows it would hurt me." She hadn't meant to blurt it all out, and she knew she'd regret oversharing when she was sober, but it was strangely cathartic to confide in Malfoy, someone who had no conflicting interest with Ron or felt the need to vouch for him.
"Weasel's a brainless loser, and Lavender Brown is a whiny cow," Malfoy said simply.
Hermione choked out a laugh, which turned into a sob. "Mostly I feel like an idiot for spending so much time and energy trying to ignore little things or fix things so that they would work when he'll jump at the first girl he sees." She sighed again. "I'm pathetic."
Malfoy shook his head slowly. He looked almost amused.
"What?" she snapped.
"You have an uncanny ability to blame yourself for other people's fuck ups," he said. "It's almost impressive."
She glanced over at him through watery eyes, taking in his thoughtful expression, his gaze fixed forward as if looking at something she couldn't see. She tried to look for his freckles, but he was too far away for her to make them out. "Why did you sound surprised, before?" she sniffed, "when I said that Ron kissed Lavender?"
He shrugged; his eyes still fixed forward. "Well, as I said, Weasel's a pig who lacks any form of critical thinking skills, so I'm not really surprised that he'd fuck up at some point…" He trailed off.
"But?" Hermione prompted, confused by the direction he was going.
"I'm just surprised that he could even look at Lavender sodding Brown tonight when you showed up looking like that," he said finally, his eyes flicking over to her, lingering on her exposed collarbone. His voice was so quiet she was almost certain she'd imagined the words. They were almost at the top of the tower, nearing the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Hermione, unsure what to say, was quiet as they approached the portrait.
Malfoy lingered at the top of the stairs. "Well, Gryffindor's golden girl is back in one piece."
She could've vanished inside without a word, but she hesitated.
"Malfoy," she said, tilting to face him. She was thoroughly, utterly scrambled from the night's events, and she was unsure what to say. Thank you? Goodnight? Somehow, nothing seemed to capture it. His freckles were visible again, as she looked at him, and their eyes locked for the first time since their walk began. Hermione was sure hers would be red and puffy by now, her mascara streaked down her face, but he held her gaze as if studying her face. He reached out slowly, almost cautiously, and wiped a remaining tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. It was surprisingly soft against her face, and it lingered there, stroking her cheekbone lightly.
She held her breath, hoping he couldn't feel her pulse thumping. She suddenly felt dead sober. His hand trailed to brush a rogue curl out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear with a gentleness she would not have thought him capable of. Despite herself, despite every rational thought in her brain, she found herself leaning in towards him, and he tilted his chin down slightly until they were mere inches apart. When he took a small step closer, she inhaled, the sweet, crisp smell of him filled her lungs again. For a moment, time stopped, and he gazed down at her with a look she'd never seen on him before, or on anyone.
"Sweet dreams, Granger," he said softly. He stepped back, and retreated down the hall, leaving Hermione stunned in place, her chin still tilted upwards as to look better upon his face.