Lost

The Slug Club party of April 15th began just as Hermione expected: exquisite and positively awkward. Upon their arrival, she, Ron, and Harry were greeted by a server (Hermione recognized him as one of the Hufflepuff sixth years) holding a tray of intricate glasses filled with bubbling amber liquid. She grabbed one to be polite, but decided it best to slowly sip; her companions excitedly downed their glasses in a gulp or two. She gave them a look as their cheeks grew rosy.

"Oh, lighten up 'Mione, it's a party," Harry teased, fiddling with his glasses before looking around.

Hermione rolled her eyes and joined his curiosity, observing the spectacle of indulgence that was Slughorn's private quarters. She took a sip.

Tables groaned under the weight of delicate pastries, charmed goblets that refilled themselves with the finest Butterbeer, and a heady mix of perfume, potion fumes, and the warm scent of roasting chestnuts in the fireplace. His office, decorated with shimmering fairy lights and ornate cushions in deep emerald and gold, felt more like the drawing room of an aristocratic wizarding family than the quarters of a Hogwarts professor. Hermione sipped again, watching the enchanted butterflies flicker on the chandelier  

Around her she spotted Slytherins of all shapes and sizes, parents of grandiose achievements no doubt. She even recognized a Greengrass sister, but was unsure which one. Hermione, though proud to be included, found herself feeling a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't just that she disliked the self-congratulatory air that permeated the room⁠—it was the fact that she'd noticed she was the only Muggle-born present, which, in the company of those surrounding her, made her feel a bit scrutinized.

Her eyes washed over the heads of hair around her, locating Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini over in the corner chatting to someone she couldn't quite see. She found Ron hovering the food table, piling his plate with pumpkin pasties and some form of deviled eggs. She grinned in amusement, Harry following her gaze and quickly hopping over to join him. Deciding she wasn't feeling peckish, she wandered off, admiring the old books that adorned the oak shelves. Another sip.

She held her free hand behind her back as she took mental notes: Slughorn had such an eclectic mix, ranging from the deeply academic to the flamboyantly self-indulgent. She paused at the sight of Golpalott's Guide to Poisons and Antidotes before she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

She whisked to see a well dressed Neville, his impossibly tall frame quaked in intimidation. He beamed a smile of relief at the sight of her, his crooked teeth peeking behind thin lips. Hermione hugged him joyously.

"Neville! Fancy seeing you here. Enjoying yourself?" she asked, pulling away with a bit more warmth than she'd arrived with. He somewhat smelled like a mix of soil and attic space.

Neville sighed. "...Not really. Graham Montague's been talking about his family's rare potion ingredients for the last fifteen minutes. I think he was expecting me⁠—well, probably not me, maybe Slughorn⁠—to be impressed."

Hermione chuckled. "Well, to be fair, you do love Herbology. I would've thought you'd be interested in at least some of it."

He huffed. "Not that much. Anyways, you look really nice. I like what you did with your hair there."

"Oh,” she grinned, “thank you. The credit goes to Ginny, she did just about all of this."

They shared a smile before Hermione caught sight of Cormac McLaggen walking towards them. Her stomach turned at the brief eye contact⁠—he had this absurd look on his face that she presumed he thought was seductive. His eyes were hungry, darkening at her as he drew closer.

"Um, Neville, I hate to do this but I have to leave you. Ron and Harry are at the table, you should join them!" 

Before Neville could respond, she darted past him and disappeared into the crowd, hoping McLaggen couldn't see her. She mumbled an apology after bumping shoulders with someone, not bothering to look back until she felt well enough out McLaggen’s sight. Her eyes roamed about, searching the faces around her for someone familiar, before⁠—

"Granger! Is that you?" Her eyes met Nott's, who glanced over her figure in amusement. He was alone, thank Merlin, a drink reeking of cinnamon in his hand. "Damn, you clean up nicely!"

"Nott,” she huffed, “pleasant seeing you⁠—" He swatted his free hand lazily in the air, a glint in his eye.

"Nah, no small talk, you and I are too interesting. Sorry about the boys giving you a hard time the other day. Not every day the Gryffindor princess pays us a visit."

She raised a brow, thinking back to the Slytherin locker room. "The what?"

"Y'know, you, the epitome of wit and goodness. Don't tell anyone I said that, I'm a bit loose at the moment."

She observed his face, looking at him with a bit of freshness. It was nice to be complimented from someone wearing green. She took another sip, the bubbles growing delicious on her tongue.

"Nott, if you don't mind me asking⁠—" 

"You can call me Theo, 's'alright."

"⁠—Theo," she paused, licking her lips and feeling oddly personal, "what did McGonagall want from you? Sorry if that's too intimate..." 

He raised his eyebrows in delight. "My dad's sponsoring this event, and good ole Slughorn put me in charge of the details. I actually designed this, d'you like it?" 

Hermione looked around, astonished at the enchanted fireflies hovering the ceiling. She must admit, it was a gorgeous affair. 

"It's brilliant!" She emptied her glass and placed it on a nearby end table. Theo beamed, his presence buzzing under the alcohol's bidding, and handed her a new glass. 

"Thanks. McGonagall wanted to keep me in check, prevent anything from getting to, erm, questionable. She's a strict one, that. Oversees everything these days. I'm glad you're here, actually. It's going to be a wicked one. We Slytherins are diehard partiers—I’ve always wondered if other houses could keep up. Be sure to try some drinks later, we’re rotating the selection as the night ages."

She tilted her head, confused. "Going to be wicked?"

"'Mione! There you are!" Ron huffed, instantly cutting away her train of thought. He looked exasperated, his skin completely pigment-free, save the flush on his cheeks. He had a mixture of terror and fluster on his face, his hands grasping at her arm. "'Mione, we ha⁠—" 

His eyes locked onto Theo before going stiff. The air grew heavy, but Theo bowed his head at them. Hermione took a drink in the discomfort.

"I'll leave you to it then, Granger. Weasley. Stick around, it'll be a night to remember." He smirked then, reminding Hermione of someone she had yet to see tonight. Theo walked away as she turned to Ron, annoyed.

"Ron, I was in the middle of⁠—"

"We have to go. You will not believe who's here." 

She looked at him with some pity⁠—she knew he hated these kinds of events, even if he did practically beg to come. He gingerly peeked over her shoulder, then hid back as if he were caught, his face somehow growing even paler. Concerned, Hermione turned and saw the slick black bob of Pansy Parkinson swishing toward them. She had a mangled smile on her face, a glass of maroon liquid in her goblet. Her eyes examined Hermione in judgement before switching at Ron, an eyebrow flicking upward. 

"Granger," she hissed. "It seems Slughorn takes interest in all kinds, even rare zoo animals!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, irritation stomping out what could've been a pleasant mood.

"Parkinson. Have you come for tutoring? I heard you've been a bit lacking in potions." 

Pansy rolled her painted eyes, the shadow on her lids shimmering. "When I want lessons on how to look like a swotted beaver, I'll find you." She winked at Ron, sending a laugh at Hermione's throat while she dipped her nose into her glass. "What? Enjoying your vices? Miss Perfect, drinking underage. Didn’t think I’d live to see it." Her eyes twinkled, slightly suspicious.

"This is funny. You're funny." Clever, Hermione. She blinked, discovering this new heat inside her. The alcohol had introduced itself, a blush rising to her cheeks. Pansy held a nasty face as she cocked a hip.

"Whatever, Granger. Maybe slow down...men don't like drunken tarts stumbling about. Too bad Weasley here doesn't know what class acts like." She grazed Ron's shoulder, his ears burning red on impact. Hermione tried to hold in her amusement by covering her mouth, but her eyes gave way. Ron looked offended.

"Mm, I'd have thought you were more subtle about being desperate. By all means, don't mind me." Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ron in a "This is your battle, not mine." and wished him good luck before moving towards a side of the room she hadn't yet visited. Ron’s mangled noises disappeared into the crowd.

The colors in the room seemed it bit brighter to Hermione, and she was feeling very brave, until⁠—

"Ah! Miss Granger!" Slughorn took her hand in greeting. She jumped in shock, a bit ashamed to be under the influence in front of her professor. "I was beginning to think you hadn't come!" He took a swig of something brown and fuming in his goblet, his eyes glazed over and frozen in delight. Oh perfect, we’re both sloshed. 

"P-Professor, how are y⁠—"

"Granger, I hear the Veritaserum is going swimmingly! Draco there told me everything you did! You really are a wonder, yes." He had a difficult time holding eye contact with her, his balance swaying a bit. She wasn't drunk like that, was she? She needed Harry and Ron to check her...

She paused, comprehending what Slughorn just said. She looked over her shoulder, searching until she saw him. Malfoy was several feet over, conversing casually with Montague, a dark-haired Slytherin girl around his arm. He looked bored, ignoring the girl's persistent clawing at him. The sight of him made Hermione's blood curdle, and she turned back to Slughorn.

"Malfoy told you what, Professor?"

Slughorn either didn't hear her or ignored her; he stumbled forward and pressed his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice.

"Yes! Well, I believe I've chatted with just about everyone. Right. Miss Granger here⁠—yes..." he paused, lost in search of words, leaving it silent. It was horrific for Hermione; every pair of eyes in the room aimed at her like she was supposed to take it from there. She felt herself blush at the spotlight, a shy smile peeking from the corners of her mouth. She shifted her gaze briefly to meet Malfoy’s sharp, grey eyes, a cold sensation creeping over her skin, before snapping away. Slughorn coughed, attracting everyone's focus again. "Theo? Theo, where's Theo⁠—" he circled around, stopping when he spotted Theo across the room. "Dear boy, see to it the place gets cleaned up. I'm turning in for the night." He looked at the crowd around him, a cheeky grin along his rosy cheeks. "I hope this night becomes as unique as each and every one of you. Huzzah!"

He turned and hobbled up his stairs, the group sending him off in applause. Hermione sighed, relieved at the thought of going to bed as Slughorn's door closed behind him. She emptied her glass, placed it on a nearby table, and turned on her heel to find her friends. She made to leave in a quick motion, but after a few steps, a cool, firm touch gripped at her forearm. She froze, her attention bouncing from her arm to Malfoy (the girl was gone, Hermione noted), who was fixated at the stairs. She tried to pull away, but his grip grew tighter; he flashed her an annoyed look.

"Malfoy, what⁠—"

"Ladies and gentlemen! It. Is. That. Time." Theo's voice boomed over the crowd, the volume sending Hermione into a paranoid panic. She wasn't the only one; everyone that wasn't a Slytherin flinched, shushing Theo. "Don't worry, friends. Sluggy won't hear a thing. Let 'em in!" 

Hermione turned in horror, Malfoy finally letting go when the door to the hallway opened. A hoard of students poured in and crowded her, their shoulders butting into hers. Laughter and shouting flooded the space above them and made her head rattle. She tried to see over the sea of school robes, desperately searching for bright red and black heads of hair. She found Ron and Harry still by the food table and pushed her way through to meet them. Before she could speak, the lights went out, causing a few shrieks and whoops. Hermione heard someone shout something foreign, and bright bursts of colored light flickered upwards, illuminating the space in hazy shades of red, green, blue, and yellow. Plumes of smoke rose from the floor and bubbles floated about, the enchanted butterflies playfully circling about them and radiating their own glow. It was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen...it reminded her of those clubs in London that she was too young to visit. Before she opened her mouth to speak, instruments appeared at the top of the stairs⁠—right next to Slughorn's door—and started playing amplified wizard rock. Everyone shouted in celebration, couples and friends dancing and laughing together.

"What the hell is happening?!" Hermione shouted at Ron. He leaned down to her ear, his yelling practically silent against the deafening music and crowd.

"I tried to find you⁠—they silenced the doors! Slughorn has no idea! Pansy let it slip when you left, they were planning this all along!"

Hermione saw Theo laughing and jumping in rhythm, basking in the spotlight and energy. He flicked his wand, several trays of pink bubbling drinks floating about the room. He hollered something and leaped, Hermione letting out a shriek, before his palm caught the iron curve of the chandelier. 

"Swinging from the chandelier! He's mental!"

Hermione recognized the voice behind her, whipping around to find Ginny, saturated with laughter. 

"GINNY? How'd you get here?!"  Drunken electricity filled Hermione's insides, her frame practically vibrating. The heat from the alcohol amplified in her stomach, causing her vision to twinkle a bit. She felt like she could run laps around the castle, even in her dress.

"I got word a few minutes ago, I used Harry's cloak! Don't tell him! I didn't wanna miss out! Come on, come dance!"

Ginny pulled at Hermione's arms, dragging her to a spot with more space. Ginny grabbed a glass, inhaling deeply and beaming in bliss. They started hopping, Hermione's shoulders bobbing before she raised her hands, sheepishly dancing along to the music. Her heart was pounding⁠—this felt like some sort of dream, or something that happened in those fantasy books her mum liked so much. Ginny danced along, giggling and shaking her head around. 

"God, it smells so good in here! D'you smell that?!" Ginny howled, her hand covering the side of her face. Hermione inhaled, the perfume in the air intoxicating her senses. Something about it was familiar, and so, so enticing...was it cedar? Ginny offered Hermione her glass, but she politely declined, deciding she was plenty intoxicated. Something about the herbal mist in the air made her head feel sticky and heavy, the alcohol lulling her into a blissful bravery. In that moment, she let go, allowing the pulsing of music and joy take her over the edge. Hermione danced, unashamedly, a smile plastered on her face. She felt her hair and dress bounce around, not a single thought about exams or unpleasant interactions with others plaguing her fun.

Ginny glanced behind her, a look of an idea growing in her eyes. In the dim red glow, Hermione saw her face stretch into a grin. Ginny suddenly approached her, stumbling and pushing Hermione backwards into something tall and solid. She heard a sneer amidst the noise, recognizing its creator without a second thought.

"Will you watch where you're going, Granger?! I can only handle you ramming into me so many times⁠—"

Hermione groaned, turning to lock eyes with Malfoy for the second time tonight. His pupils were dilated and a prominent blush housed itself in his cheeks. He set down his empty rocks glass and picked up a champagne flute from a tray, the pink liquid shimmering and popping. He stared at her quietly, tipping his head back for a sip. His tie had been loosened and his neck was smudged with the slightest bit of lipstick. He smirked at her, raising his eyebrows in sheer amusement. She glared while his presence flooded her like ink in water. She looked for Ginny, hoping she had some support, but she was nowhere to be found. She turned back to Malfoy, his white eyelashes glowing under the lighting. She had to admit, he looked dangerously attractive, like a silver wolf among average woodland creatures. Her drunken state made no attempt to filter the thoughts between loathing and admiration.

"You sure do uphold your legacy! Look at you, that's some fine upper-class cosmetics!" She wasn't subtle, nodding at his neck. He didn't drop his smirk.

"Speaking of cosmetics, did you know that you reek? The whole room practically burns my nose⁠."

She frowned for a moment—he was looking at her a bit oddly... Actually, he was looking at her like she was a delicious mutton chop on a silver platter. Hermione did something she never thought she’d do when sober: she gave him her middle finger. 

Malfoy’s smirk grew into a grin before he leaned down, his breath hot on her ear and making her insides recoil. His voice was honey: deep, thick, and painfully sweet. 

“You don’t belong here. This is a Slytherin party, Granger. I don’t think you or your little lion friends can keep up.”

He pulled away a few inches to gauge her reaction, his eyes hovering her own before brushing over her face. He started with her forehead, then cheeks, then nose, and paused at her lips, some cold tingles suddenly prickling at her core. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and the cologne on his skin.

A flare of courage pulled at her chest as she remembered Ginny’s words. Time to pull his strings. Why not? It’s a party…

She tilted her head up to took at him under her curled eyelashes, her dominance flicking on within a heartbeat. Before he could move away or try another witty insult, she leaned forward to his ear, her lips grazing his skin in a feather-light touch as she whispered:

”Prove it.”