January turned into February which turned into March. Hermione found herself buried in projects and papers as the midterm season approached at the university. Perhaps buried was not the most accurate word (she had most of the papers completed well before the midterm season began) but she still felt the stress of the impending deadlines.
Despite the deadlines, Hermione still managed to make every Wednesday dinner, now always with a dessert in hand whether it was her week or not. Every dessert Hermione picked up from Della's bakery was divine; if Hermione hadn't known any better, she would have assumed Rowle had slipped amortentia into the baked goods. They were addicting.
Her friends had come to expect the desserts at their weekly gatherings. So far she had brought cake, tarts, Danishes, and biscuits. The cake was always her favorite though; she discovered that she had developed something of a sweet tooth from the baked goods. Growing up in a family of dentists led to minimal sugar consumption as a child and Hermione figured she was making up for lost time.
Tonight, she had brought her favorite: the same cake she bought the first time around when she watched Thorfinn finish his meticulous decorating. It was comical to think of such a large, abrasive man capable of such softness and patience required to decorate desserts.
She giggled to herself at the thought. She had seen him almost every Wednesday since that first time and was always met with the incorrigible flirting the wizard was known for; he had also frequented the bar on Saturday nights and always seemed to make sure to seek her out. He was, however, now wary of accepting free drinks from her. For good reason, she supposed.
She supposed she had come to expect their biweekly meetings. How odd. Better stuff that thought back down into her subconscious.
"Alright Hermione, I have to go to this bakery you've started going to," Ginny announced between bites of cake. Ginny had always had something of a sweet tooth. At least bringing in the mystery desserts had distracted Ginny from wishing to visit the bar she worked at. For now.
"Nope Gin, I've got to keep a few cards up my sleeve," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Ron reached over and grabbed a second slice of cake.
"Those cards you're holding have made me gain at least a stone in the past month," Ron said. Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes.
"I'm sure the two to three slices aren't helping," Ginny replied. Ron shrugged and placed a fork full of cake into his mouth.
"How has work been going?" Hermione asked to no one in particular in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. She had nothing to hide. Really! She didn't. But…it would be much easier to not have to explain that she was frequenting a bakery that a known Death Eater happened to be working in.
Harry was the first to respond. "Same old, same old."
"Same," Ginny replied. "Just more practice, like always. We do have the weekend off to "clear our minds" before our match with United next week."
"You? A weekend off? That's been a minute, Gin" George joked, pulling something from his pocket. He held up a small glass bottle full of a purple, shimmery liquid.
"If you have a weekend off, I propose a night out this Friday, " George continued, looking to Ron for support. "Ron and I happen to be meeting with the owners of the new nightclub that opened in London to propose a new product they might be interested in."
"And this new product is?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. George winked.
"I'm so delighted you asked Hermione. This is Eye of the Beholder. We brought it a few weeks back when we were still working out a few kinks."
"Woof," Ginny exclaimed, smirking.
"Very funny Gin, we've finally figured out how to make it work on humans," George replied, rolling his eyes.
"This is the potion that reveals who thinks you're attractive, right," Harry asked. George and Ron nodded.
"We are going to start putting it on the shelves next month, but Ron came up with the brilliant idea of also marketing it to bars as a special cocktail."
Ron nodded again, taking another bite of cake. "Why not take the guesswork out of having an awkward conversation with someone only to realize they weren't interested? A nightclub is the perfect place to do that."
"Is it based solely on physical appearance or personality as well?" Hermione asked, eyeing the potion warily.
"That's the beauty of it," George replied. "Their perception of you is what the potion uses. If it's your first time meeting them, its going to be mostly physical. But if you talk and get to know them, that will reflect in the auras you are able to see."
"So if they think you're a right foul git, it will reflect in the aura you can see," Ron supplied.
Hermoine scrunched her face. "Sounds like a great way to hurt your own feelings, if you learn something you didn't want to know."
"Eh, risks/benefits. The only people we don't recommend to try it out are people in relationships. We definitely don't to get caught up in a nasty breakup," George shuddered.
"I think a nightclub is a great idea," Harry offered, patting Ron on the shoulder. "I'm a little shocked you guys want to go into business with Zabini and Nott though."
Ron scrunched his nose and shook his head. "It's not a matter of want to, more just good business. We've already had a lot of customers come in practically raving about the place and its only been open the last month."
"Sorry, I think I've been out of the loop a bit. Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott own a nightclub?"
"Hermione, have you been living under a rock? The Apothecary has been the biggest talk of the Wizarding World for the past month!" Ginny exclaimed, blue eyes wide.
"I mean, I haven't really been in the wizarding world in a bit between work and school." Hermione offered, a flush finding its way onto her cheeks. Though she knew Ginny did not have malicious intentions, Hermione felt reminded about how she had felt a bit like a stranger in the past year. Caught between the wizarding and muggle worlds and trying to find a place that felt comfortable. Sure, she used magic at home, brewed potions, and read the Prophet but was not surrounded by witches or wizards during most of her day to day. She had felt more in the loop when she was training at St. Mungos.
Now she was surrounded in muggle Uni by students a few years younger than her or at work with muggles who were nice but had different interests or goals than she had. Besides Wednesday dinners, her only connection to the magical world had been Thorfinn (who was cut off from that society even more than she).
"Then its settled, we are going to the Apothecary on Friday night," Ginny said. Hermione bit her lip and contemplated. Maybe a night out wouldn't be so bad, even if the club was owned by Zabini and Nott. And it would be nice to not be the one serving drinks for a change.
"Fine, Friday it is," Hermione replied. Ginny squealed and engulfed Hermione into a suffocating hug.
Hermione found herself getting ready as soon as she arrived home from class on Friday. Her midterms were completed and she was actually looking forward to a night out with her friends. It had been a long time since they had all been able to go out together, and longer still since Hermione had actually been willing.
It had been a while also since she had been out in the wizarding world in a social setting. She wasn't necessarily avoiding anyone or anything in particular but she knew word had gotten around when she had walked away from her Healer training position and people loved to talk. Rita Skeeter in particular had felt the need to post a rather nasty opinion as soon as she had caught wind of the scandal.
Having to read an article about yourself that read "War Heroine Cracks Under Pressure" detailing her resignment from the healing program would leave a sour taste in anyone's mouth.
But tonight she would dress up and have a wonderful time with her friends and not worry about it.
Crookshanks sat on the bathroom counter and watched her as she got ready. She had used Sleekeazy's to tame most of her curls into sleek waves. Ginny had warned her that the club had a dress code (typical of Zabini and Nott) and so she put a little more thought into her attire than normal. She had even put on bloody eyeliner, for Godric's sake.
Makeup was strewn on the counter along with muggle magazines detailing various makeup techniques and styles. She had bought them in a panic this afternoon on her way home from class. Crookshanks had watched her with a bored expression as she removed and reapplied her makeup 3 different times. Despite what the magazine had promised, no she did not look like Julia Roberts once the makeup routine was perfected.
Her dress had been approved by Ginny (not approved per se, but rather strongly encouraged) and was a simple black satin with a halter high neckline. The dress was short and stopped around mid-thigh. The attribute of the dress that made Ginny say, in a direct quote, "Fuck yes", was the fact that the dress was backless until the upper portion of her lower back.
Hermione had been unsure, but one look from Ginny silenced those thoughts from manifesting out loud.
Satisfied with her appearance (and positive that Ginny would fix her up as needed when they met up), Hermione scratched Crookshanks on the head and apparated to their meeting point.
The Apothecary was set in an unassuming street in Muggle London. From the outside, it looked to be a drab office building. Hermione could see the glamour fading along the edges. The "crack" of an apparition sounded into the air.
"Hermione, you look amazing!" Hermione turned to see Ginny running towards her at full speed (a very impressive feat considering Ginny was wearing heels) and was suddenly engulfed in an enthusiastic hug. Hermione could smell the subtle tang of wine on Ginny, who had likely had a glass (or 3) while getting ready.
Ginny looked stunning and wore a midnight blue dress that brought out the flames of her hair. Ginny had always been an effortless beauty but there was something about the way she had done her makeup tonight that just made the rest of her just glow.
Harry, Ron, and George trailed behind Ginny, each looking smart in their dress pants and overcoats. George approached her first and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Bloody Hell Granger, you look great!"
Hermione blushed under the attention, unused to so much focus on her. "I had to give a little effort at least to even make it in the club in the first place."
Ron reached around in his pocket and pulled out 3 vials of Eye of the Beholder, the purple liquid catching the shine of the street lights. He offered two of the vials to Hermione and George, along with a small card.
"What is this?" Hermione asked, holding up the card.
"A guide to what the colors mean when you see them," George answered, downing the liquid.
Hermione glanced back down at the card:
Red: Intense Attraction
Pink: Attraction
Yellow: Caution (Proceed with)
Brown: Disdain (Probably should avoid?)
Black: Hatred (Best to avoid at all costs)
Green: Friendship/Platonic
White: No impression
"I mean I guess this is somewhat helpful but what does this actually mean?" Hermione asked, the card giving only a little bit of clarity.
Ron shrugged. "It really comes down to your interpretation. These are just guidelines."
"That is so unhelpful, Ron."
Ron laughed and chugged down the drink. Hermione eyed it warily. Harry and Ginny stood to the side, watching the interactions take place. She snatched one of the cards out of Ron's and skimmed it.
"Come on Hermione, just try it! For me?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed and gave her a trying smile before downing the entire vial in one gulp. Grape flavor. Nice.
The potion was…odd. She didn't know exactly what she had expected but the weird glowing aura that surrounded her friends was not it. They all seemed to be bathed in angelic light that fell behind, each of somewhat different colors. Harry and Ginny both were green (a sign of the platonic love she felt for them?). George was also mostly green though shimmery pink swirls could be seen (okay, so maybe she had always found him attractive).
And Ron…well Ron's had a mixture of green and pink the same as George's but also had a glow of yellow as well. Caution. Maybe it was her subconscious trying to remind her of their failed relationship.
She looked over at George and Ron. "Definitely a lot left to interpretation."
George shrugged. "Feel free to bring it up in our post-distribution updates meeting."
Hermione rolled her eyes. The group made their way to the entrance of the inconspicuous office building and Hermione could feel the glamour pull away as they walked through the front door. Immediately inside, instead of meeting the expected desks and stationary of a drab muggle office, they were met with a beautiful foyer with an enchanted night sky (similar to the one found at Hogwarts) within a domed glass roof. Greenery covered the area, with various vines scaling the walls, moving slowly like slithering snakes.
Which, speaking of snakes, there were plenty of Slytherin-esque motifs hidden around the foyer, some hiding carved in the granite of the columns that lined the area or others scaling the vines in the form of animated ceramic. Typical Slytherin behavior.
The line to get in was long, filled with a few familiar faces from her Hogwarts days but most faces belonged to unknown patrons already in various states of intoxication. The group stood in line, waiting to be allowed entrance.
"Looking good, Granger." Hermione turned to see Blaise Zabini looking down at her, a signature Slytherin smirk gracing his features. He looked handsome, as he always did, and wore a midnight blue suit that looked custom-made. Hermione felt subconscious in her choice of dress, especially when Zabini stared down at her like a predator. A yellow aura glowed around him. Caution.
"Uh, thanks Zabini."
"Zabini," George said, tipping his head towards the Slythein. Hermione could not be more grateful for George Weasley in that moment as Zabini's attention turned to him and Ron. Hermione looked over her shoulder at Ginny with a worried expression, to which Ginny shrugged and sent her a wink.
"Glad you all could make it. If you will follow me, I'll go ahead and get you inside so that we can discuss our business further. Theo's waiting just inside."
The group followed Zabini past the line and bouncers (and were met with many scowling faces and whispers at being allowed a VIP entrance) and through the entrance of the club.
Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the club. She had expected something similar to the Muggle clubs she had seen on television or described in her classes but this was nothing of the sort. The club practically oozed wealth and class. There were three levels, each with a different yet cohesive theme that she could only barely glimpse at. The bottom floor held the dance floor complete with a band onstage.
Mist hung around the dance floor and all the crevices to give the appearance of boiling cauldron, sultry and hot. The same vines hung around the walls, slithering like snakes, though these had endless petals drop down onto the patrons, dissipating like bubbles once they made contact. The ceiling of the club had been transfigured into the night sky, not much different than the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The most striking difference was the emphasis the sky put upon the white and purple glow of the Milky Way, leading to playful illumination across the club.
"It's nice, isn't it, Granger?" A voice said behind her. She turned to meet its owner.
"Nott," She replied, nodding to her old schoolmate. "I would say so, though I'll be the first to admit my knowledge of nightclubs is lacking."
"Hermione Granger lacking in knowledge? Never thought I'd see it," Nott replied, a laugh gracing his boyish features. He had grown into his figure since she had last seen him years ago and was significantly less gangly than she could remember. He was dressed similarly to Zabini, though his suit took on a dark, forest green hue. His brown hair was pushed back though a few stubborn pieces fell into his eyes. Hermione's eyes however were drawn to the glowing pink and yellow aura around him. She couldn't stop the flush rise to her cheeks and was grateful she had spent the time doing her makeup to obscure some of the redness of her skin.
"Theo, stop flirting," Zabini said, shooting Hermione a wink. "Let's take the Weasleys to our office to see their product in action."
Nott smiled, his features warmer than Zabini's. He turned to Hermione, Ginny, and Harry and nodded. "Potter, Weasley. Good to see you."
"Nice place, Nott." Harry replied, shaking the man's hand. Nott returned it and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"We shouldn't be gone long, feel free to explore or grab a drink. On the house, of course," Nott said, winking at Hermione. All she could do was nod as Nott and Zabini led George and Ron to what she could only assume were the back offices.
Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny, who both eyed the establishment with childlike wonder.
"Do you want to go look around?" Ginny asked, her speaking voice louder than normal to drown out the music in the sea of bodies they found themselves in.
"I think I need a drink. I'll catch up with you guys!" Hermione replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her choice of dress if Zabini and Nott's reactions had anything to say about it. Harry frowned at her.
"You sure? We can go with you," He said. Hermione shook her head.
"No, go enjoy! I'll catch up."
Ginny and Harry nodded and began to walk around the crowded space to take note of all the intricate details. Hermione looked around until her eyes made contact with the bar and could instantly feel herself begin to relax at the idea of taking a sip of liquid courage. The potion she had taken was odd, as it gave a strange white glow behind most of the people in the club (the white meaning no impression) and she could feel herself almost spinning at all the sights and sounds her brain had to process at all once.
She finally made it to the bar and was pleasantly surprised that it was not so packed that she had to push people out of her way. She gave the bartender a soft smile.
"A glass of champagne, please."
"Coming right up, love."
"Granger?" A low voice said beside her. She turned with wide eyes to come face to face with Thorfinn Rowle. In her mission towards intoxication, she had developed a tunnel vision for the bar, completely blocking out all the other patrons.
"Rowle?" She replied, blue eyes meeting brown. She felt herself swallow as she took in his appearance. He wore a blue suit with a white button-down, though instead of a tie to complete the outfit, he had left the top three buttons undone, teasing at the blond hairs on his chest. His hair was pulled back in a bun in a way she could only describe as 'messy elegance'. The icing on the cake of his appearance was an aspect he wouldn't have even been aware of: around Rowle's head glowed a fiery red aura that made Hermione's palms sweat and her mouth run dry. Intense Attraction.
Rowle frowned. "Do I have something on my head?"
Fuck, he noticed me staring. She blinked her eyes quickly and gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I uh, lost my train of thought."
He gave her an odd look and opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the bartender handing Hermione her champagne flute. "Here you are, love."
"Thank you," She replied, taking the flute a little too quickly and taking a little too big of a sip (or swallow, rather) of the champagne. The bubbly drink began to warm her insides and she could immediately feel herself begin to relax under its liquid touch.
"You look good, Granger," Rowle said, taking a sip of what appeared to be whiskey. He towered over her, like the brutish Viking he was, and so found her neck craning to meet his ocean gaze. She felt herself flush and was grateful for the makeup she had agonized over earlier in the day.
"You, you too Rowle. Nice to see you in something other than an apron," She joked, taking another sip of her champagne, very aware of how quickly the liquid line of the glass was growing shorter and shorter with each sip.
"Hey now, I look fucking good in an apron." He replied, sending a wink her way. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the potion she had taken earlier but she felt no better than a schoolgirl speaking to a crush. About Thorfinn Rowle of all people. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"I'm a little surprised to be here myself, to be honest," She replied, looking around the club before finding Rowle in her line of sight once more. "My friend Ginny had a Friday night for the first time in a long time and there's only so many times you can say 'no' to a night out."
"The Weasely girl who plays for Holyhead, right?" Rowle asked, moving closer to her due to the increased volume of the music.
Hermione nodded and smiled. "Yes, I hear she's quite good. Though I wouldn't say I'm the best judge of quidditch skill."
"Hermione Granger admitting she might not be the best at something?" Rowle teased, his eyebrow raised. Hermione took another sip of her drink.
"We can't all be good at everything, Rowle."
"Thorfinn."
"What?" She asked, feeling herself shouting up at him due to the blare of the music.
"You should call me Thorfinn." He repeated, his head ducked down so that she could hear him better. His warm breath was so close to her face, that she could smell the teasing hint of whiskey on his lips.
"Oh." She replied, looking back at him with wide, brown eyes. "Then call me Hermione. To make us even."
"I think I'd rather keep calling you, Sweetheart," He replied, winking as he took a sip of his drink. She felt all the breath and nerve leave her body and so she attempted to take another sip only to discover her flute was empty. Fuck.
Rowle. Thorfinn had noticed and made a gesture towards the bartender, who walked up to the bar and gestured towards Hermione's empty glass. "Another champagne for the lady."
The bartender nodded and grabbed Hermione's glass. She looked up at Thorfinn. "Oh, you didn't have to do that."
Thorfinn shrugged. "To make up for all the drinks you've had to make me."
Pieces of unruly, blond hair had begun to fall on his face, shielding his eyes in an almost boyish fashion. She found herself staring, the glow of the red aura causing shadows to dance in his loose tendrils.
"Here you go love," The bartender said, holding out another glass to her. She grabbed it and sent a small smile his way. She took a sip of the champagne, her much-needed weapon on a night like this.
"I don't want to keep you if you're here with someone," She said.
"Just here with some of my mates," He replied, looking out into the crowd for his friends until she finally spotted one. He pointed to them discretely, his finger close to Hermione's line of sight. "That over there is Hadrian Mulciber, failing miserably at flirting as always."
Hermione saw a tall man with dark blond hair and striking blue eyes, looking as though he were unsuccessfully trying to talk to an uninterested witch. She giggled at the sight.
"And over there is Rabastan Lestrange, drowning his sorrows in a fire whiskey, as per usual." At this, Thorfinn pointed a the Lestrange man who was nursing what appeared to be a dark liquid in a rock glass.
"And over there is Drake Travers, who is. Well, I don't really know what his goal was tonight if I'm being honest." At this, Thorfinn scrunched his eyebrows in thought as he pointed to a man on the dance floor, appearing an attempt at dancing with various witches (and unlike his friend Mulciber, actually doing so successfully).
"So, what you're telling me is that all your friends are accounted for and I'm not keeping you from anyone?" She giggled, the champagnes putting bubbles in her head. Oh if only Ginny could see her now, flirting with Thorfinn Rowle of all people. Speaking of which, where was Ginny? Hermione found herself scanning the crowd in search of the redhead and only stopped when she found a glimpse of red hair in a shadowed booth.
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Sweetheart."
"Oh, well I supposed I could say the same," She replied. She pointed over at the scene of Ginny and Harry snogging violently in a somewhat concealed booth (an emphasis on the word 'somewhat'). "I don't think my friends are missing me much either."
Thorfinn chucked at the sight and let out a wolf whistle, that was lost in the crowd of music and noise. "Surprised Pious Potter isn't worried about that making headlines in the Prophet."
Hermione simply smiled. "It's not Harry I'd worry about. Ginny can be right-scary when she wants to be. She's threatened a reporter once or twice for invasion of privacy."
"I can imagine. I haven't seen her play, but I imagine she's just as much of a hothead of the pitch as I hear she is on."
Hermione nodded. "You'd be right."
The pair settled into a comfortable silence, Thorfinn having moved closer to her than she realized so that they were almost touching. Hermione let the music and the lights and the atmosphere of the club fill her senses and she realized she was having a much better evening than she had anticipated. And while she would have to thank Ginny in the morning for forcing her out, she felt even more grateful for the conversation she had with Thorfinn. She hadn't realized before now just how comfortable she had grown in his presence. He had become an unexpected constant in her life, and while she didn't know what that meant just yet, she was grateful for it.
"Do you want to dance?" He asked, bending down to whisper in her ear. His warm breath tickled at her and she felt shivers trail down her spine.
"I'm not very good," She admitted. Thorfinn laughed.
"Neither am I, but two wrongs make a right, right?" He replied, gesturing out to the dance floor.
"Definitely not what that means," She replied, but let herself be led out anyway. He grabbed her hand, his so much larger than hers, and began to lead her through the crowd of people. She could feel her confidence grow at the beat of the music picked up, her body itching to sweat and move.
And then she felt someone bump into her so hard that the champagne flute she held was pushed into her body and spilled down the front of her dress. She let out a startled 'oh' and Thorfinn turned to look and see her stumble, the champagne dripping from her dress.
The culprit was steadily pushing away but not before Thorfinn grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face the taller man. "What in the fuck man, watch where you're fucking going."
"Thorfinn." Hermione breathed, trying to assure him it was fine and that her dress was black and it was nothing a quick scourgify couldn't fix. Thorfinn could not hear her, however, because his eyes widened when he came face to face with the culprit.
"Kiernan? What the fuck?"
The culprit, Kiernan, held many similarities to his brother though the major differences were the baby face that revealed his youth and his bright green eyes that seemed to be mixed with terror and the glassy sheen of someone utterly drunk. Hermione realized she recognized Kiernan from a news article the Prophet had released a few months early detailing the Wizengamot seats post-war. Kiernan, at 16, now represented the Wizengamot seat for the Rowle family in lieu of Thorfinn due to Thorfinn's parole.
"Thor, I uh, I um, good to see you," Kiernan slurred, his words coming out in stutters as his gaze moved lazily around the room.
"What in the fuck are you doing here, you're supposed to be at school," Thorfinn said, his voice full of rage and disappointment, growing louder with each sentence.
"Thorfinn," Hermione said, gently touching his arm and gesturing to the attention he was bringing on them. Thorfinn looked between her hand and Kiernan before sighing and leading Kiernan towards a more secluded area of the club. Hermione felt a little awkward following, a bit like an intruder in a family affair, but she couldn't stop her feet from following the large man (and a piece of her knew he wouldn't mind).
Thorfinn had finally led his brother to the secluded area and sat him down in a chair, standing over him like a scolding parent. Which, in a way, he was. Kiernan was utterly sloshed, his head bobbing from side to side as though he were trying to stay awake and engaged. Hermione felt for the poor teen, who would not only be nursing a wicked hangover tomorrow but had to deal with the very public confrontation with his brother.
"How did you even get here? You're supposed to be at school." Thorfinn asked, his eyes alight with anger. Hermione stood a little behind him, trying not to intrude as best as she could. She did a silent scourgify on her dress and freed it of the spilled champagne.
"Portkey," Kiernan breathed out. Hermione knew something was up by the way his face turned greener by the second that he was not long for the world of the conscious and so she wordessly transfigured the champagne flute that she still held into a large bowl and handed it to the teen.
"This is so fucking-" Thorfinn didn't have time to finish his sentence before Kiernan began to throw up the contents of his stomach that Hermione had handed him. Kiernan continued to dry heave, his head moving back in forth as he looked miserably into the bowl of vomit.
"You don't have to see this," Thorfinn said, turning to Hermione with obvious embarrassment on his features. He looked the most insecure that she had ever seen him and she immediately felt for both males in front of her. She gave him an encouraging smile and touched his arm once more. He seemed to relax under her touch.
"He's not the first Hogwarts student to get drunk and he won't be the last. I do have to give him points for creativity. Rather daring to use a portkey to sneak off campus and into an exclusive club."
Thorfinn looked between Kiernan and Hermione. "Don't give him any ideas, he might try it again."
Hermione shook her head and glanced at the poor boy with his face over the bowl of vomit. "I don't think you have any worry of that."
Thorfinn sighed. "I need to take him home. I have no idea how I'm going to get him back to Hogwarts without him getting in more trouble than he's already in. I can't even fucking apparate."
Hermione could feel her heartstrings pull and she immediately knew what she was about to suggest but maybe it was the champagne or the soft spot she had come to hold for Thorfinn that led her to blurting out, "I can take him back. Once he's a little more sober."
Thorfinn looked down at her with an unreadable expression and Hermione suddenly felt unsure, vulnerable. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea. And so the champagne kept her talking. "I mean, you can both come stay at my flat while he sobers up and I can apparate him back to Hogsmeade in the morning. Is that strange? Was that strange for me to suggest? If so, just forget about-"
"Hermione," Thorfinn said, his voice leaving his lips like a prayer. She felt her body grow still as he towered over her and nodded his head. "I can't ask that of you."
"You're not asking, I'm offering."
Instead of answering, he continued to look down at her. His own body was dangerously close to her own. If she wasn't acutely aware of his teen brother vomiting his guts out only a few feet away she would dare call the gesture romantic.
"I mean, of course, I might require a cake in exchange if that would even the playing field."
"Two cakes," He offered, holding up two fingers at her. She smiled and nodded.
And so that was how she found herself unlocking the key to her flat to the two Rowle men. Hermione had cast a disillusionment charm over them on the walk back to her flat (lest a Muggle or even a magical person watch Thorfinn practically care a younger version of himself down the streets of London). Kiernan had whispered apologies to Thorfinn throughout the experience, though Hermione knew he would remember very little of the exchange in the morning. She had offered Thorfinn a hang-over potion to give to Kiernan in the morning.
"He needs to suffer a little," He had replied. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to argue.
"I'm sorry for the mess," Hermione said as she opened the door to her flat. Thankfully, she didn't keep it terribly messy but she did have her schoolwork strewn across the kitchen table.
"If this is what you call a mess, I'd hate to see your standard for clean," Thorfinn replied, setting Kiernan on the couch. To his credit, Kiernan had vomited out most of the alcohol in his system and was snoring rather soundly on Hermione's couch. Hermione grabbed a blanket and placed it over the teen boy.
Thorfinn stood rather awkwardly in the living room, unsure of what to do now that his brother had been deposited. It was all rather embarrassing, the entire situation. The icing on the cake is that he couldn't even apparate his brother back to school because of his parole. He felt useless. And yet, Hermione had taken it in stride and thought nothing of it, offering to help as much as she could.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" Hermione said, biting her lip. Thorfinn nodded and followed her to the kitchen, his palms growing sweaty like a teenage boy meeting with his first crush. He took a seat at the dinning room table. Hermione's eyes widened and she attempted to clean off her schoolwork before he could notice.
However, he read the notes quicker than she anticipated and looked up at her. "This is what you're going to university for? Teaching?" He said, nodding towards the papers she now held crumpled and disorganized in her hands.
She nodded, shoving the papers into her backpack.
"Like a professor?"
"No, um, for younger kids. Really, magical children too young to attend Hogwarts."
Thorfinn looked at her curiously as she grabbed a bottle of wine and poured him and herself a glass. "You want to open a school?"
Hermione nodded, taking a sip of the wine. "Someday I do. I just feel like it would help even the playing field between children born into magical families and those born to muggle families."
"In what way?" Thorfinn asked, his voice genuine and his eyes trained upon her as she spoke. Hermione could feel the heat rise to her face and she was once again thankful for makeup she wore as it concealed her thoughts. The aura potion that she had taken hours ago had begun to fade, but she could still see a faint red glow around Thorfinn.
"I didn't really know what was happening to me when my powers came in. Neither did my parents. Not until Professor McGonagall showed up at our door and explained that I was a witch. It was a very abrupt transition, going from being a normal muggle to having my entire world change. For the better, but still very jarring for a 10-year-old kid."
"I've never thought of it that way," Thorfinn said, rubbing his chin in deep thought.
Hermione shrugged. "Most people from magical families never have to. You're born into the world you'll inhabit for the most part unless you're born a squib, who in that case also has an abrupt transition into their new life depending on how supportive their family is."
Thorfin nodded but didn't respond. He could only think of his Aunt Della, who had been shunned from his family for the sole purpose of her birth and lack of powers.
"I think that's a really noble goal." He said, taking a sip of the wine and letting the dry tannins coat his throat. "I'm sure you could get funding and support for it."
"That's the goal, eventually. I just need to finish my classes at University so that at least when I try I sound as though I know what I'm talking about."
"I'm sure no one would ever accuse you of not knowing what you're talking about."
Hermione let out a humorless laugh. "You'd be surprised. The Prophet's a cruel place."
"You're not wrong there," Thorfinn replied, taking another sip of wine. They sat in silence for a while until Thor felt something big and fluffy brush against his leg. He looked down to see a large, orange cat witht he ugliest face Thor had ever seen.
"Oh Crookshanks, leave him alone." Hermione scolded without bite. Thorfinn reached down to allow Crookshanks to sniff his hand. Which he did, paused, and promptly walked away with disinterest.
"You know, indifference means he likes you."
"Oh?"
"He would let you know almost immediately if he didn't like you. He's not very fond of men."
Thorfinn grew a sly smile on his face as he gave her a daring look. "And does he encounter a lot of men in your flat?"
Hermione choked on her wine, sputtering as Thorfinn laughed at her reaction. "I don't think I'm going to even deign that with a response, Thorfinn Rowle."
Thorfinn laughed harder, a deep belly laugh that caused Hermione to drop all pretend pretense of irritation and marvel at the sound of the large man's laughter.
The pair continued to talk for another hour, finishing off the bottle of wine between conversations. It felt very simple, having Thorfinn in her kitchen and sharing a glass of wine. Odd? Perhaps. But not unwelcome.
Hermione could feel her eyes grow heavy, unable to stay awake for much longer. She led Thorfinn to the guest room and left him equipped with blankets and pillows. She stood at the door, looking up at the hulking man who stared down at her. His eyes were a tad glassy from the wine and the whiskey (she knew hers were as well) and there was a part of her that wanted to stay up and speak to him the entire night.
"The bathroom's the first door on your left and I'm just down the hall if you need anything," She said between yawns. She could tell he was trying to keep a yawn from escaping as well.
"I really do appreciate this, Hermione. I think it's one of the most considerate things anyone's done for me."
She smiled softly at him, sleep so close to winning out. She reached out her hand and touched his arm, her small fingers barely able to grasp his bicep. "We're friends, Thorfinn. What else would friends do?"
"Friends," He repeated, an unreadable expression appearing on his face before it changed into his standard shit-eating expression. "Of course we are."
And his smirk grew larger, if even possible, when he gently grabbed her hand that way holding onto his forearm, and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly and keeping his blue eyes trained upon her brown. She felt her heart stop, skip a beat, and flutter, all at the same time. She felt frozen in time. But time only stopped for a few more tantalizing seconds before he pulled his lips away and dropped her hand gently.
"Goodnight, Hermione," He said, winking at her before backing into the guest room and closing the door in her face. She stood there bewildered for a few seconds, contemplating on opening another bottle of wine and downing the entire thing herself.
Just what had she gotten herself into?