Chapter Twelve: "Mallowsweet"

He had RVSP'd.

He wasn't entirely sure why.

But then, he wasn't entirely sure why he even received an invitation to a housewarming party promoting the expansion of The Quibbler in the first place.
Nevertheless, all these random events that kept coming into his life were testing his wearing patience. If he was insane, the Loony Lovegood crowd might be the best company to be in if that was the current prospect.
Or else, if he wasn't going crazy, he had the worst luck of all time to be constantly reminded of everything and everyone he so desired to forget.

Dressing casual as the invitation suggested, he bought a Muggle train ticket so he had opportunity to escape, sat in the first class car for forty minutes, and stepped off in Dartford. For three hours he ambled slowly towards the Lovegoods new home, gathering his nerve to dare enter it.

And somehow, now he found himself standing in this wonky building filled with acrid purple smoke. It was a mile walk from the city-centre, three stories tall with a giant yard. The wooden cottage-esque exterior was decrepitly endearing, unkempt in the traditional sense, but covered instead with Mother natures caress, vines creeping up the side.

After some time watching passerby's fill the place, he insisted to himself he was living in a fantasy land; he hadn't been booted out yet or maimed.

Perhaps it's because nobody could see him through the heavy haze; he decided to stay indoors to avoid the crowd of people who'd started to amass outside. He could see them through the glass. They were mostly Gryffindors, mostly his age.

Fortuitously, he hadn't been greeted by anybody he knew. Perhaps Xenophilius didn't arrange the guest list, which is why he was allowed entry at all. A wizard in bright green robes with star-shaped spectacles had begrudgingly crossed his name off the list and handed him his party favour; a cork-necklace (to ward off the bad vibes he surely was riddled with.)
Deciding that he had already thrown himself into a bizarre enough circumstance, he donned it without a grimace or a mocking smirk, and strode in, feeling the billowing clouds starting to affect him.

The room he entered for the guests was large, windows and angled columns were holding up the walls. With a fuscia carpet, tables and chairs made of a rainbow mosaic littered the floor, shimmering in the sunlight. Specimens from forests and elsewhere that Luna had caught were hung up in gilt frames with their scientific named listed underneath. A giant moth-like creature with paper thin wings caught Draco's attention immediately once the smoke cleared. He sat beneath it, trying to feign like he was mesmerized in it as an excuse not to socialize.

"Mallowsweet?"

An ancient warlock, in what appeared to be striped pyjamas, offered out a ornate crystal pipe to Draco.

The last time he'd ever heard of the plant was during Divination, when Dumbledore had brought in Firenze to teach half of the older classes. He remembered feeling a calm clarity when the centaur had burned it, for observing constellations in the night sky. But he never knew you could actually inhale it.

Maybe you can't, a voice inside his head reminded him.

Contemplating the kindly old man, he threw caution to the wind. It would be nice to be relaxed, the effect would surely be amplified if taken orally.

"What the hell, I've already come this far."

"What?"

"Yes, Thank you," he corrected graciously. Allowing the gent to light it for him, he sucked it into his lungs like a pro, and then once more for good measure, now playing the waiting game.

It took a bit of time; he lamely admitted to himself he was excited to see if it would work.
Eventually he did feel different, and might've understood now how people like the nutters writing for the magazine came to the conclusion that things like moon frogs and wrackspurts existed.

He was twitching slightly, but felt a strange ecstasy coming from nowhere. This shit must've been strong: Everything was fascinating, and he spent a good ten minutes tracing his palm over the kaleidoscope of coloured glass that molded the table. Another ten was spent staring at a daffodil plant, which kept shaking, and he wondered if something was infesting it, and five was spent on the gigas tinea tacked above him.
He didn't know how long he was sat there, but he was examining a dust particle floating by his peripheral vision when he became aware that his name as being whispered with disdain.

Turning round, very gently, he found Fred and George Weasley pointing at him with confused sour expressions, beckoning somebody over to them. It was Harry.

It must've been the drugs, but Draco started to giggle and felt exceedingly loopy as all three stalked over to him. Fred was the only one who was jumping at the chance to say something to him.

"Welly, welly, well, looks like we got a rare Slytherin in our midst, eh?" the twin laughed, slipping into the seat opposite of Draco to face him. "You look like you been beaten up by a million bludgers, son."

He refused to reply about how he received the injuries to these lads. His shoulder had almost healed up, but there was a nasty black bruise in between his nose and eye, and his hand was an unsettling yellow-green shade.

"Not ready to tell? Not going to milk it for all it's worth? Secret business, hm?" Fred nudged George, who rolled his eyes, not enjoying the humour as he usually would given the locale. "Who invited you?"

Harry was positioned in a locked stance, ready to kick this bastard out, hoping heartily that he was gate crashing.

"Dunno," he replied with a goofy grin plastered in his face, fumbling to open up his brown dragon-hide jacket and retrieving the pink invitation. "But I got this in the mail after I sent my reply."

He slid over his card, glittering with sparkles, which read "Please bring to the door for entry!" in pretty scrawl.

George raised his eyebrow, expecting hostility, then snatched it up and examined it; deciding it wasn't a fake.
"Why'd you want to come here, though? Getting bored of picking out Pansy Parkinson's knickers?"

Fred snickered, but was shut up when the boy he remembered, the one who sneered down his nose at him, put his head in his hands and responded in a measured tone: "Yeah, pretty much."

"Solace won't be attained easily here, mate. Don't expect a friendly audience."

"Does Luna know you're here?" is what Harry finally chimed in, growing frightfully uncomfortable noticing the red rim around Malfoy's eyes. "Are you on something?"

"No idea, actually. Haven't seen her. And yes, that bloke over there shared his fancy herbs with me," he replied merrily.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Draco smiled at his school nemesis who had crossed his arms, fuming. Ultimately refraining from being honest and telling Potter that 'too much' was making him ill. Fred waved his hand in front of Draco's face and shook his head.
"High as a damn kite. Not all there. Shall we go gather the host and inquire about his presence?"

"Please."

"See you in a few then!" Draco called, giggling to himself.

On the other side of the venue, Hermione was trying with extreme difficulty not to let herself be noticed. She was chatting with Luna, Neville, and Dean, and the last thing she wanted was a disturbance that involved Draco. Surely, having been humiliated by her, he wouldn't let an opportunity to confront her pass.

Yet she couldn't help glancing over and had the strong desire to speak to him. Maybe to apologize for pushing him down, maybe she was seeking more answers. Mostly though, it was because a deep-seated part of her kept her awake when her mind wandered to him, and it suggested that perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he was different. If not mad. After all, he somehow was here, the last place any self-respecting pureblood should be seen, without anybody along for the ride.

In any case, she was engrossed. He looked quite nice; she hated that.
Most of the younger generation donned Muggle clothes nowadays, and now he'd gotten used to the trend, he wore them excruciatingly well; his coat was sexy, and he matched it with fitted black pants, big boots, and just a white t-shirt.

He wasn't so proper like he used to be, what with wearing the ridiculous necklace, and leaving his hair messy.

She couldn't get it out of her head that he didn't seem to care about blood or social convention, that much was clear in his job ventures. And with that, that perhaps he really did fancy her. Being able to be up front about it didn't necessarily mean he was plotting like Blaise.

"Good god, why the bleeding Christ is Malfoy present?"
She snapped back to reality as Dean was scoffing; Neville shrunk back out of habit, quite a sight as he had exceeded them all in height. Luna merely observed him like he was an intruding doe frolicking through a suburban backyard.

"Why would he come here? Is he off his head? I thought it was friends only. Luna, did you know he was coming?" Neville asked, turning to her with eyes that were bemused.
Poor kid, he was very paranoid. Hermione deduced he probably thought Luna was dating him in secret. Everyone knew he was in love, but Luna was far too apathetic when it came these sorts of things, and he couldn't just spit it out to ask for a date from lack of confidence.

"No, I didn't. It's very odd, isn't it? I don't think he much cares for me. Never said a word at Hogwarts."

"Count yourself lucky then, eh Hermione?" Dean chuckled, bumping her with his elbow. "I'm going to find Ron, he wanted to set up some kind of match. I don't want to get angry now with him here, feeling too good for arseholes. Thanks for inviting us, Luna. Neville?"

"Anytime," she waved.
Neville appeared to falter, but sighed and followed Dean out onto the patio.

Before Hermione could suggest moving away too, timing screwed her. Harry and the Weasley's were coming up to them, while Xenophilius came bumbling down from his laboratory alongside one of his colleagues, Boris Chrikoff, to introduce him to Luna.

"Nice to meetchu," he patted her hand, while Hermione stood by awkwardly as the three began eagerly discussing the effect darkness had on plimpies.
Harry marched up to her, gesturing to Draco with a scowl, then grinned despite himself as he caught wind of the topic going on behind her.

George cleared his throat.

"Sorry to interrupt my lovely hosts, but we were merely wondering about why a one Draco Malfoy is present?" he extended his hand to Draco, who was still stretched out on the chair, and Xenophilius' normally happy aura darkened.

"A Malfoy? I don't know…I don't recall extending him an invitation. Luna?"

"No, dad, I didn't either. Funny. Perhaps the nargles are behind it?"

Fred stifled a laugh, and Harry spoke: "Would you like us to escort him out?"

"Oh, please don't. It von't be necessary. I invited him. My uncle here, Boris, allowed me to. I apologize, I had no ideas that there vould be so many people here that find him disagreeable."

"Sergei?"
Sergei had just arrived, and was delighted to see that Draco decided to come.
He'd had a long, dull meeting in Moscow, and apparition was tiring to those already exhausted. But he missed his uncle - infamous for getting into trouble with the law - and was very excited the learn news that he was moving close to London. He'd been stuck in rural Russia for Merlin knew how long.

Having known nothing about the eccentricity of The Quibbler, to which Boris was a contributor since its inception, when his favourite relative mentioned that the Lovegoods were pureblood and the daughter went to Hogwarts, he thought it would be appropriate to go, and invite Draco to it. He thought Luna and he might know each other and he wanted to extend a 'sorry'. Because the boy, even if he was partially to blame, was right. And he regretted resorting to violence a few days ago, it was terribly unlike him.

"Hermione." Sergei's eyes grew wide. "I did not expect to see you again so soon."

"You know each other?" Harry asked bewildered.
Fred and George exchanged smirks, minds wandering to something inappropriate about how Hermione seemed to be acquainted with so many men.

"Are you Harry Potter? Pleasure to meet you!" Sergei exclaimed very giddily, and the Weasley's sniggered as The Chosen One blushed scarlet. "And I met her at Draco's party, uh, very briefly."

"Erm – thanks. And oh?" he replied after taking a hearty thump on the back, rubbing the back of his head, embarrassed.

"So, you don't like him?" Sergei posed when Hermione didn't clarify anything further, and the rest were seriously surprised that he even had to ask.

"Understatement of the year, mate. Was quite the little prat for most of school. Made these peoples lives hellish," George explained. "I think he's different now since he dropped his band of idiots, but that's no excuse. He used to call Miss Granger here terrible names."
Hermione pleaded to Sergei not to say a word with a look, when he adopted an appearance of complete disbelief. Luckily, he caught it in time and took it in stride.

"I…I didn't know. Shall I get him to leave, then?"

Everyone turned to Luna, even her father, but she didn't seem at all under scrutiny.

Though Hermione prayed in her head that she'd say 'yes', Luna was unfailingly fair:
"No, that's a bit rude. I think that he's going to behave. If he came by himself, he's probably not looking for trouble."

"Then what is he looking for?" Harry pondered aloud.

Sergei passed a knowing glance to Hermione, who sighed. Then he proceeded to flick up a brow, and spun round, making a trail in the smoke: "Guess I'll go find out."

Once he was gone, Harry commented on the events;"Odd. That was very odd. This is very odd."

"One of Blaise's friends?" Fred asked, and George thwacked him on the side when he noticed Hermione's face fall.

"Pansy's ex," she murmured, and all three hissed as if somebody had just scraped their knee falling on concrete.

"Poor bloke. Glad he got out; seems like a decent human being."

"I think he might be," she admitted quietly, working out exactly what Sergei's intentions were.
He was here to make amends. Which meant a) that Pansy was out of the picture and b) that Draco, despite all his faults, had gotten rid of his malevolent mates for good.

"Wanna go outside?" Harry interrupted, glad the matter had been settled, wanting to be out of the same room as his ex-arch nemesis. "I have a headache from this stuff. I suspect gurdyroots in our near future, Luna made some refreshments. But at least we can join the rest, eh? Hermione, you wanna come?"

"I – " she paused, chancing a gaze at the pair of boys, Draco looking gobsmacked and uneasy at a happy Sergei. Then averted it back at Luna who was entrenched in her wild chat again. "Yeah, maybe Ginny's here now…"

Draco's gaze lingered on Hermione walking away, fixated on the nape of her neck. The soft skin was exposed, her hair parted neatly over her shoulders.
She looked bloody enticing wearing a short ruby lace dress, with a bow on her head to match. It also made him slightly sad to see that she'd dressed up like this, very flirty, as obviously she didn't know he'd be here. He didn't want her to go.

"So, vat's the deal vith these?" Sergei inquired, interest mingled with revulsion, poking a cork on Draco's chest.

"Mate, do you even know what The Quibbler is?" Draco raised after returning his attention to him, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, mystified as to why this man was sat next to him being friendly.

"Nah. Just came to see my uncle, Boris. He's a bit abnormal, but…"
Draco snorted, stopping him to give him the business about the affair they'd attended.

"This trinket wards off invisible creatures we can't see," he explained, with a tone that suggested it was a load of bollocks.

"Huh?"

As venom-free as possible, Draco continued to enlighten Sergei about the kinds of things his uncles crowd researched and wrote about. When Sergei mentioned his calculation for luring him here, Draco guffawed, telling him that Lucius would rather die than be associated with Luna's dad.

"Xenophilius is a nargle-enthusiast, Sergei. My dad prefers insults and gin."

"Nargles?"

"Just…don't worry about it," he tittered, resting his skull down, his senses flaring up again from the mallowsweet. "Merlin, I'm done."

"Ay, does zis smoke actually do something? I thought it was some strange magic."

"Maybe you'll get a contact high. I smoked some, that's why I feel all fucky."

"Fucky? Let's get you away from a moment," Sergei laughed, pulling him upwards and outwards. "Ve can have a proper cigarette."

"You enjoy fags?"
Draco choked once he was re-immersed in pungent aroma, and his Russian companion smacked him better until they could taste fresh oxygen.

"Sometimes."

When they travelled onto the deck, they bent over the railing to observe the guests below chattering, or else tossing a quaffle around. A few of them noticed Draco's presence, but most weren't that bothered once Luna calmed them. The people who would oblige attending the party were fiercely loyal to her, and if she allowed him to stay, the last thing they'd want is to sully her affair by letting tempers take control.

Draco spun round when he saw Ron snarl at him visibly, and leaned back away from the scrutiny to talk. He was buzzed, and felt good, but he wasn't completely sated by this turn of events.
"So, why aren't you cross at me?"

"So, how did you get a battered fist and shiner? And vhy did you come here if you knew who Luna's friends were?"

They both shared a small smile, and thought before they shared their reasoning's.
Draco admitted that he was lonesome and bored, too curious to ignore why he received a letter at all. He was trying to forget about everyone he knew that brought him nothing nice, but it was inevitable that he'd see them one time or another with how little the wizard world was, so he may as well just jump into the deep end with his old schoolmates.
Then, he told him about Tuesday, where he got a lovely visit from his worst nightmares.
Sergei grimaced once he learned why there were cuts on his skin; he confronted Pansy after he sought Draco out.

"My fault, isn't it? I mentioned zat Hermione vas there vith you, vat I thought you had planned. Pansy flipped, and vhen I tried to get her back on track….I wasn't concerned about you. I could see that I vas wrong, because she was so angry at the idea of you liking Hermione, instead of focusing on the issue. She denied it again that she instigated that whole drunken incident you had, but…I know she is lying. I've been a fool in love," he exhaled, stubbing out his cherry under his shoe. "I'm not cross because you vere honest vhen I found you, and I understand vhy you vould have hidden it. I'm sorry for hitting you."

"I'm glad. And it's not your fault, Sergei. I got myself into it. Don't beat yourself up over all this, Pansy is very charming. She can be sweet when she wants to be, but only when she wants something out of it," Draco muttered, feeling his throat become raw.
His lofty mood was evaporating, and he stared down, unwillingly landing on a pretty Gryffindor. Who seemed be surveying him back.

"You think he's handsome."
On the grass, Hermione jumped from her skin when Luna surfaced from nowhere, her gait always like that of a fairy.
Luna peeked at the balcony, and rocked back and forth on her heels next to her pleasantly.

"Who, Sergei? Yes, he is."

"I didn't mean him," Luna said to her innocently.
Hermione flushed pink; she was never a good fibber.

"Don't worry, you're embarrassed by it. I would be too. I won't tell Ginny, or anyone if you'd prefer. But maybe you should go talk to him. He likes you."
Her timbre was always so sincere, and Hermione was beginning to feel hot around the collar.

"He does, doesn't he?" she groaned. Of course he did if Luna could view it plainly. "Is it written all over his face? Or mine? Honestly?"

With such a shrewd friend, did she expect anything less than?

"A bit. I expect that you're worried what people might say. I don't think he'd care about it though."

This took her aback, and she finally let her eyes meet with his; he let a soft smirk fall across his lips.
And her heart skipped a beat.
"And why do you say that?" she whispered, her attention still glued to this dangerous, tempting serpent.

"Because he wore my Butterbeer necklace," she told her gaily. "And he hasn't made a snide comment or scene since he walked in the door."
These were all very true facts. And while she didn't trust him with an inch of her life, her stomach plummeted at the realization that she wanted to.

After all, she hadn't really given him a chance yet, she pulled the rug from under him before he could take her out.

"What do you suggest I do about Harry? Or Ron?"

"They're busy, don't bother them. I'm going to get some tea."
And then Luna was gone.

Hermione felt out of place, separated from the others, and the setting August sun was beginning to burn her shoulders as much as Draco's gaze was.
She needed relief.

"I must be out of my mind - Hey Neville!" she shouted louder, "I need to get out of the heat for a bit. Maybe grab some water."

"Alright," he said mechanically, absorbed on the sight of Ginny whooping her fiancée's arse at make-shift Wizard rugby.

Ron was being tackled by Dean, and Ginny ran like a gazelle past Harry with the quaffle in her grasp to win two on two.
It was certainly a spectacle, but Hermione had bigger fish to fry. Or snakes.
She sauntered as inconspicuously as possible towards the wooden steps, cringing at every creak. At the top, tension gripped her when Draco stood in front of her, holding his breath, frozen.

Nodding her head towards the interior, Sergei grinned sheepishly. When she past, he then ushered for Draco to follow, wiggling his eyebrows. Tentatively, Draco shook himself to prepare for this. Both ecstatic and aghast that the gods allowed him a little chance to escape immediate misery.

Convulsing in the vapour, Draco hesitated to touch Hermione's wracking frame when he emerged back in the foggy room. But when she directed him to a divan that was nestled under a window with thick curtains, she mumbled a thanks when he helped her sit.

"What happened to your eye?" she asked bluntly before they had time to settle, as surely their exchange would be unsettling.

"Blaise punched me," he answered in the same fashion.

"And your hand?"

"I punched him," he declared flippantly. "Pansy, Theo and he visited my flat. Wanted to fight me. Sergei told him about what happened in Harvey Nicholas."

"Nichols," she fixed, under her breath. When he smiled, she only said, "Sorry. And sorry about what happened."

"Not your fault."

They sat pin straight after that, just watching each other, hesitant to start up once more.
Draco didn't want to lead the conversation for fear of saying the wrong thing; Hermione wanted answers but didn't know if she'd like the ones she'd receive.
She also couldn't breathe properly, sensing how warm he was in such proximity. She couldn't understand why her hormones had pointed her in his direction, but here she was testing the waters again; she already went this far.

"Why am I so afraid?" she finally asked, and he tilted his head, contemplating her.

She was looking at her hands. When he lowered to try and catch her eye, he caught it, and the worry it contained made him understand what she meant.

"Because you think that we're too different. You can't help but judge me, and think I am doing the same; you can't help but mull over the idea that I'm going to do something to hurt you, that I have a hidden agenda."

"H-how did you – "

"Because we're more alike than you think," he shushed her, tracing her bottom lip with a gentle stroke of his thumb.

Quivering, she faced away from him, looking out the glass. Her freckles and irises shone from the light.
"How is that? And more importantly, why is it that we place so much value about what bloody house we were in at school? About our past when it's not the past?"

"It's hard to forget mistakes, especially when they sting Hermione. The past makes us who we are, because it matters," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I was mean to you, it's in your disposition to assume I'd continue the pattern"

"I suppose…"

"I'm in dirty Slytherin, love. With that comes the unwritten rules, doesn't it? Everyone is banned from seeing me cause I wear green. Silly, isn't it? But I get it; your house tells you what your strengths are, who you should associate with, and you'll be shunned if you step outside the line. It's almost a death sentence. Automatically I'm supposed to be a vile, scheming prick, right? But for the better part of my existence that was true, yeah?"

"I suppose."

"But you could say the same for you as well. Have to watch your every move, and are scared you'll make the wrong choice?"

"I suppose," she repeated again, tucking her hair behind her ear. "But does that make us the same? I mean, really Draco. Are you going to use the whole Salazar and Godric were best friends thing? Opposites attract?"

"No I wasn't, but that's a fair point," he grinned. "I would definitely say opposites attract."

"Don't get off topic," she blushed, hitting him lightly.

"Well," he simpered, "We have same tentative worry that we'll end up on the incorrect side, we're constantly 'towing the line' as you'd say."

"Yes, but isn't everyone like that? What makes Slytherin and Gryffindor similar? On a basic level, not personal," she clarified, shifting in her seat and lying against the sofa arm, engaged in what he had to say.

"Well, it's all comes down to, in my experience, how we act on our feelings. And our houses have the strongest emotions and strongest reactions."

Hermione emitted a small tick of agreement. Boy did they both know that.

"So think about a situation where we're all livid. Ravenclaw's are so good at deductive reasoning, they wouldn't be rash. Take Luna; she is so unbothered by anything, it's why people are unnerved by her. Hufflepuff's are forgiving and avoid conflict in favour of keeping the bond they had with whomever they're quarrelling with. Dignity I suppose. But not us. We're guided by pride, defending our honour and enacting justice."

"Okay…I don't see where you're going with this."

"The only difference between us is that Slytherins like to hide everything, and you lot like to display everything. If you make a Gryffindor mad and they storm out on you, they'll get a lot of satisfaction out of slamming the door behind them. But a Slytherin, oh we'll leave it wide open, because we'll get the most satisfaction knowing we made you get up to close it."

This logic stunned her. She couldn't open her mouth to reply to it, let alone come up with a counter argument.

"See, maybe Gryffindor is more truthful, but we're both really emotional. You might think that Slytherins are unfeeling, but we all get taught not to parade how we feel; it's weakness. But you know that it isn't. You wear your heart on your sleeve, show honesty, to make people think you're too strong to be wounded. I like to make people think I don't have a heart so they never think I can be."

Words still hadn't come to her, and he finished speaking, out of breath. Embarrassed he'd spoken so long, the sentences had simply tumbled out.

"Mallowsweet?"

The warlock was back, proffering his pipe to them, glazed looked on him. Moving away, he was muttering about dirigible plum soup without response to his offer.
Draco picked up the crystal amused, glimpsing at Hermione, who made a face at it.

"It's not that bad, actually. Had some a little while ago, and made me feel euphoric until I saw you here," he teased, while she felt her cheeks reddening.

"I've rarely smoked, don't much care for it" she divulged, taking it from his hands and examining the magic purple leaves she'd never seen before, but smelled in the heavily-scented room. "Just once at Bill and Fleur's wedding, with Ron," she laughed, a wave of nostalgia hitting her.

"What, cigarettes? No - weed?"
She nodded.

"Really?" he inquired, amazed. "Did it affect you?"

"Made me very tired, felt like crap, actually, I only tried it because I'd been drinking," she guiltily confessed.
He liked her the more she talked about her 'extracurricular activities', and wasn't so straight as he remembered.
She liked him better when he showed he could do more besides sneering and coming up with clever jeers.

"See, we're alike, we make bad decisions under the influence," he joked, nudging her.

Draco Malfoy was acting like a regular person. Draco Malfoy, was smart. He understood how things worked. And the selling point to Hermione, knowing he was essentially friendless, was that he was unlike the rest in his circle. He might be a misfit now he had dug himself into the pureblood graveyard willingly.

Perhaps – just perhaps - now he felt the way she had her entire life.

"Maybe, can you show me how to use it?" she requested timidly. "Help me, you know, to smoke it."

This request was a surprise, but it was evident she was not nearly as uptight as she had been underage. She wasn't a stroppy, serious swot like everybody had always said. Draco thought she was kind, and fun.

A sudden tantalizing idea struck him that would require immense courage. But if he was trying to be more like Hermione, it might be the best option, as it came with rewards he'd certainly reap.

"It would be my pleasure," he told her, producing the black Zippo from his trousers, and holding the piece to his mouth.

Before he sparked it, he instructed her to exhale, and part her lips.
"This is…legal, right?"

He laughed: "If the teachers can use it at Hogwarts…."

She relented, following his instruction after being reassured, anxiety tensing her insides, hoping that her decision wasn't a bad one.

Hearing his heavy draw of breath, and the click of a lighter, she prepared herself, shaking her limbs.
She found the little wisps of smoke trailing out his mouth as he spoke incredibly sexy, and was too entranced in that to realize what he was doing.
"Just relax," he purred, and when she gasped an 'okay' and closed her eyes, he was pulling her tenderly towards him by her shoulders. Breathing the sweet essence into her, as innocent as a stolen kiss could be.

She swallowed the hit, finding the sensation odd as her lips burned from his.
Pushing him back she craved release, and accidentally blew all the smoke back into his face. Coughs tickled her throat, it all went down the wrong way; but they both giggled as he fanned his way through so he could see her.

"Want to get out of here?"

Her boldness was at maximum capacity, but not in vain; Never had anybody offered something so attractive.

"Yes please," he replied eagerly.
She grabbed him by the hand and, like naughty kids cutting class, she yanked him to the door. He was horrified to find Luna there, who had popped up like a hiding ghost at the front.

"Alright?" she asked at his gaping jaw.

"Never better. Thanks for keeping me around."

"It made Hermione happy, so, I suppose you're welcome," she reasoned.

Winking to Draco, he was struck dumb by Hermione's smile while she informed her host that they were leaving.
"That's nice. Hope you had a good time," she sang, skipping back to the elders for more discussions. "Come round anytime!"

"Please tell Sergei I've left!" he called back, and she nodded.

Thrusting out of the place, she pulled him close and apparated to his building, something that surprised him.

"Don't worry, she won't tell. And I did have a good time," Hermione noted, once they got inside his flat.

"Fuck, I had a great time."

She burst into hysterics at the way his face was dazed; the plant had begun its effect. Slamming the door as soon as her shoes were discarded, she snogged him against the wall. Only once so she wouldn't be tempted to be irrational.

"So, do you still despise me?" he asked breathlessly, attempting to peck her when she ducked to go running into his kitchen.

"I never did, or at least, I didn't after I forgot about you at Hogwarts," she teased when he followed her, sitting in his barstool and spinning around in it.
"I just decided," she stopped herself and leaned over the counter, "that while I don't trust you, I want to."

She expected him to sulk, but instead, he bounded up to her, bent over and kissed her across the island.
"You know, you might be the first person in the whole world who is willing to try."

"Do you trust anyone, then? Mr. Brooding Slytherin?"

She was very curious to know how he felt, and propped her elbows up to rest her chin on her hands. He stayed even with her, slanting his body over, and thought a bit before answering.

"Not really. My mother and father I guess, but even then…." he chuckled, shaking his head."'Trust no one', dad said. Don't really think us pureblood kids had the best parenting. It's odd, though. I think I could have faith in somebody like Georgia, who I've spent time with how many times?"

"Georgia is nice. People like Pansy, though…..Perhaps you can't trust them because you know nobody will extend the favour to you back."

He was staring at the floor, experiencing a bit of vertigo, but snapped his gaze to Hermione, who looked a tad bit sad.
"Is that what you were thinking of me?'

"I used to," she confessed. "Guess I'll have to find out if I'm still right."

She was being completely honest; he admired that. It was refreshing.
"Well then, guess I'm going to have to prove you wrong. Tea?'

"Tea? That's it, just tea? No wounds on your ego?"

"Not yet. I'm trying to be charming, in case you haven't been swayed yet," he stuck his tongue out at her and flicked on the kettle. "Is it working?"

"Oh, maybe," she replied coyly. "And if you want to 'sway' me, you should start buying green tea, to make me feel more welcome in your home."

He spun around after opening the cupboard and hung his head, solemnly almost.
"I'm so sorry I forgot it."

"I was joking," she giggled, craning her neck. "Gracious, how much tea do you have?"

"'Gracious'? Are you 90?"

"Yes," she pestered him, shoving him out of the way, fascinated by how many boxes there were. "Why do you have so much? Surely you can't even crack half of these before you're dead."

"Are you high, Miss Granger?"
She was examining the backs of them, rifling to the back of the shelf, with quite a flighty expression.

"Dragon Pearls? Seriously?" she was shaking now, stuttering while she read the packaging; for some reason the titles of them were hilarious. "The Earl of Lemon. Berry Good. Exotica. These are all ridiculous!"

"You are, aren't you."

"Chocolate Mint Whisper! Oh my god."

She slid to the ground, snickering to herself, still clutching the mint tea.

"That one is pretty good, I'll have you know," Draco scolded in jest, highly delighted that he was one of the few who got to witness The Brightest Witch of Her Age a sprawling heap of stoned mess on his kitchen floor.

After a few moments, she wasn't able to calm down, so he asked: "Are you alright, then?"

"F-fine. God, I feel so weird," she disclosed, steadying herself up again and gripping her forehead which was dizzy.

"Yes, it's a very odd sensation. Want to go lie down?"

"Mm, I want you to keep talking to me about houses and things," she hummed, strolling past him and stalking into his living room. "What music do you have?"

Too concentrated on how happy she seemed, he left the clutter and followed her to find quite a sight. She was sitting cross-legged in front of his stereo, repeating her actions from just before by taking apart his stack of albums to examine them.

"You want me to keep talking?" he asked, throwing himself onto his curved sofa. "I won't stop if I do, I can't shut up, especially under the influence."

"That's okay though. I need to get to know you, and the best way to do that is if we discuss everything. You know?"

"I….well, yeah."
He felt himself stressed with the idea that they could talk about everything, because he'd had rare opportunities to do so with complete honesty.
It was a testament to how guarded he'd become when he spilled his guts to Georgia: he was so starved for attention, but too afraid that someone from his past would use his thoughts as a weapon.

"Ooh, you like The Specials?"

She made her selection and popped the disc in, getting up to accompany Draco on the couch as the rock steady beat filled the room nicely.

"I don't know, honestly. I have mostly wizard classical stuff and the Rolling Stones. Roy dropped off some CD's or whatever to try and introduce me to the 'forefathers of punk rock' , whatever that means."

"This is probably lightest of the light then, but it's nice, isn't it?" she questioned, lying down.

He figured that it was because she was thoroughly blazed that she was being so brazen, but he was twice as baked, and more audacious when he was in arms reach of something he wanted. He stretched out too, so their heads were next to each others, bodies in the opposite direction.

"Did you buy the Rolling Stones albums after I told you it was impolite not to research the band playing?"

She was once again acutely aware that he was inches from her, and could sense his cheat rising and falling as he breathed. She could even see his smirk spread on his mouth. Even though they both were staring at the ceiling.
"Maybe subconsciously. I decided watching Mick with you that I liked it a lot. Trying to immerse myself into both worlds is difficult, don't know how you did it for so long."

"You know, you really are so different," she revealed, turning onto her side to observe him. "If somebody told me five years ago that I'd be in Draco Malfoy's Muggle London flat listening to British ska, whilst high, I'd probably report them to the authorities."

"Same here."

"I had it in my head that all the Slytherins were the same. I knew you were mean from being insecure and snobby to pretend like you weren't. You were just trying to fit in."
Saying these things out loud, Draco got the inkling that she was almost trying to dissect his personality to herself. So he wouldn't seem so bad, so she could justify why she was cozying up with such an infamous character.

"I think everybody groups all of the houses as being the same. I hated you cause Potter didn't want to be buddies, and I felt inadequate when the only people who liked me were Pansy; who is just as nasty. And Crabbe and Goyle, who are too stupid to understand. They all sort of dropped me as time wore on, especially after the Tournament. Blaise, who got into the Slug Club and became alpha male, shunned me…so the leeches unstuck me and followed."

"They dropped you? I didn't notice."

"That's cause you were too busy trying lead a normal life away from dark magic. Think I ran out of steam," he smiled.

She trailed her arm across her body to find his hand to grasp it in hers. And he entwined his fingers in hers, thinking perhaps that he didn't have continuous bad luck. Fate, if it existed, could just be testing him for all his past discrepancies and he'd somehow passed to be granted another opportunity to see this girl.

"You know, I don't think I've ever apologized for calling you a mudblood. I am sorry," he murmured, searching her eyes, trying to convince her he meant it. "I don't believe in blood purity, it took me too long to realize how idiotic it is to base someone on status, not merit."

She hoped he hadn't simply said that because of the circumstance they were in, but she believed him. And realized now too that she wanted to get high just so she could speak to him. Without becoming too overwhelmed by the potential consequences she was creating by being here.

"Apology accepted," she whispered after a long pause, feeling everything inside her become constricted, and it was not a turn from the mallowsweet. "I suppose that just looking at you caused me to recall how mean you'd been. I was too busy with NEWT's and moping over stupid things the last few years to notice a change in you."

"It wasn't exactly a change. Not yet. Up until sixth year, I was immersed in that game. I thought that it was what I was supposed to do, was meant for, but then I realized after Potter defeated You Know Who, that all the influences in my life were garbage. My dad was a Death Eater to gain face. No thanks."

Hermione was shocked to hear this, even more than his regrets: "I thought you idolized your dad."

"I did. But I didn't want to escape them per se, my parents….I just had this slow simmering longing to not end up like all my friends. Well, 'friends'. I should be thanking old Lucius; the push to make me go off on my own made me fully comprehend what was going on in my head. Living here is lonely, but it's cause I chose it to be like that. I tried too hard to go in the opposite direction for rebellion, and instead found that being here is better than being stuck going to pretentious clubs and putting on a front. I don't know if I even want to run a company anymore. You were right, it's really shallow."

"But you're good at it, aren't you? You're successful already."

"Yes, so? I have money, that's all. And I'm good at lots of other things, I could just get better at the other ones I like more."

"Are you happy?"

Immediately he felt himself freeze up again when he noticed that she was concerned, genuinely concerned. Their talk had turned so serious.
He so desired to snog her instead of open his mouth, but she was right. They certainly had chemistry that had grown from positive to negative since they'd reunited, but in truth they were strangers. But not for long.

"You know them moments when you look in the mirror and you think 'holy shit that's me'? Because for some reason it feels like the person you're looking at in the mirror is an unfamiliar stranger? Like the last time you saw yourself you were different….? That happens to me almost daily now. Left to my own devices I find myself begin to think about how I'm just one person on this planet in a galaxy, in a universe, or whatever, and for a few minutes ponder the origin and the meaning of existence. And I realize I'm pretty damn useless."

"I do know…but I think you might want to lay off smoking for a while. It might help."
He began to laugh because her tone was so blank.
"But really, despite getting sad as we all are one to do, are you happier now?"

"I will be. Once I emerge a beautiful blonde butterfly from this ongoing metamorphosis, I – Merlin, yeah, I probably should lay off the drugs."

They both giggled at that, and when they'd finished, Draco got up for tea.
Drinking it, they settled in listening to the music until the last track ended.
And then he swapped the first record for another.
And constantly swapped them until the moon was glimmering in the sky.

They must've sat chatting for hours, because it was nearly midnight when Hermione woke up exhausted on his sofa with a saucer on her lap. While Draco was below her, dozing on a shag rug.

Sober, she realized that she'd never texted Ginny where she had went. Or Harry, or Ron. Groaning, she decided would deal with it in the morning, because she actually felt really good. And didn't want to leave. Placing the cup on the coffee table, she pulled a blanket and covered herself with it, dreaming almost instantly about a warm body, tender lips and creamy skin.