The Unexpected Shindig
“You cannot be serious!” Lily gawked at her twin, eyes wide as she watched the girl drape a beaded necklace over her neck.
“No, that’s the imbecile in your house. He once asked me if I was sure both our parents are Muggles, you know?” Hermione rolled her eyes, gaze focused on the mirror in Lily’s dorm as she contorted the strands of beads to sit nicely against her chest.
It was odd to see her sister so dressed up. Even when Petunia begged her, Hermione would refuse flouncy clothing - only pulling out a dress when going to weddings or fancy occasions. Hell, she went on dates in collared shirts and corduroy trousers.
Yet, on a random Friday in May, here was her sister donning a long gauzy gown and all the adornments that came with such an item. Her hair was pinned half-up with floral clips and twisting curls - a crown of braids that cascaded into neat ringlets against her shoulders.
The dress itself was something out of a magazine. The bust was fitted nicely, tucked pleats beneath her breasts that made her chest seem larger - the neckline tugging to meet where her bra began. Long, billowing sleeves coated her lithe arms, with a long and flowing skirt that ended with attached ruffles to match. Though it was patterned, it was by no means overly gaudy. Small floral buds - dark blues and dim yellows - coated the fabric, similar to a Liberty print that Lily had spied in a catalogue some months prior.
And it was frankly bizarre for Lily to stumble upon her sister dressing this way, especially when she’d barged into Lily’s dorm room with her charmed satchel and demanded help with pinning her unruly curls in place.
“You can’t just… go to a seventh year party!” Lily hissed, eyes darting the closed door as she pitched her voice lower. “Just because your boyfriend invited you along, doesn’t mean the professors won’t give you detention when they shut it down. And you told Petunia about it, judging by that necklace of hers that you’re wearing! You really think she won’t tattle to mom and dad?”
“I know she won’t.” Hermione turned to her with a grin. “I’ve bribed her for her silence.”
“Blimey.” Lily eyes were wide. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”
“Choose impressed.” Her sister offered, grinning faintly as she went to organise the bag that lay on the vanity. It was a small shoulder bag with a long strap. One that Hermione had charmed to fit more than its exterior would suggest, some months prior. No matter how much Lily begged, Hermione refused to do the same for her own satchel - instead handing her the book she’d found the spell in and wishing her ‘good luck’.
“Where’d you even get the frock, anyhow?”
“Well, Auggie's sister works at Twilfits, so he wrote her to ask a favour.” Hermione shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the nepotism that had gifted her such a lovely frock. “Petunia found the fabric and sent it to the shop so Edwina could use it for a couple pieces.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a lovely a dress, and a skirt for Petunia.”
“Nothing for me?” Lily gasped, outraged.
“Not until Christmas.” Hermione retorted. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“I suppose I can allow it, then.” Lily grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. “Rookwood’s sister does make lovely things.”
“Auggie’s is a gem, Lils.” Hermione grinned, her reddish lips stretching lopsided. “You’d like him if you got over his surname.”
Augustus Rookwood had been a surprise sorting in their year. The Hufflepuff boy, a half-blood from a family that despised all that weren’t ‘pure’, was a fairly decent fellow once a person looked past his stuttering and hopeless insecurity. According to Hermione, he’d grown up quite a bit since his awful introduction to Lily in first year. She very much doubted it, but liked her sister too much to say. With his rather pinked face and sharp features, he would hardly win any beauty contests. Still, he was smart enough to place alright in their year, and he knew far too much about Herbology. Enough that he’d helped the Amelias (Bones and Abbot) found a business at Hogwarts selling… more unsavoury plants.
And, though he was a Hufflepuff and one of Hermione’s many friends, Lily simply did not like him. Not because of his surname (as Hermione believed), but because she knew for a fact that he had a crush on her sister. Why else would he give her favours like that?
“Ugh!” Lily groaned, flopping onto her bed with all the dramatics of a teenager. “I forbid you from going to this party.” She declared, leaning up on her elbow as she pointed at her twin.
“Seriously?” Hermione arched a brow.
“Deadly.” Lily retorted. “We’re only fourth years! You can’t go to a party where everyone will be drinking.”
“Because you forbid it?” Hermione asked, reaching for a pair of dangly earrings that Lily recognised from Petunia’s jewellery box. “Or because you’re jealous that you weren’t invited?”
“Well, I…” she spluttered in reply, sitting upright.
“Just put on a frock, for God’s sake.” Hermione shrugged, turning back to the mirror to thread the earrings into her ears. “I doubt anyone will mind if I bring you with me.”
“I don’t want a pity invite.” Lily scowled.
“It isn’t pity, you toerag.” Her twin rolled her eyes. “I came here because I honestly thought you were planning to sneak in with Marlene and Alice.”
“They’re what?” She gasped.
“I’m fairly certain that they are.” Hermione shrugged, pale eyes glinting wickedly.
“How’d you know?”
“Dreamt it.” She grinned.
“Ugh, I hate your predictions sometimes.” Lily grimaced. “But, if everyone’s going, I suppose I ought to get ready.”
“Glad you’ve come around.” Hermione beamed, quick to shove a hand into her bag and thrust some bundle of fabric Lily’s way. The girl caught it on instinct, blinking as she unravelled a rather low cut shirt. It was a lovely shade - a sort of periwinkle - with neat stitching along the hems. “Petunia sent this for me, but I hardly have the chest for it.”
“Are you sure?” Lily blinked, eyes darting from the soft fabric to her sister’s warm face.
“Quite certain.” Hermione nodded, turning back to the mirror as she fussed with tucking stray curls into her braided crown. “Though, speaking of, you ought to write Petunia back and ask her to send through that nice plaid skirt.”
“The purple one?” Lily asked, clambering from her bed as she went to pull her loose shirt from her body - a soft smile as she tugged the hand-me-down over her plump chest. A brief glance in the mirror informed her that it was a perfect fit, the fabric clinging quite nicely to her shapely form. It was a pleasant bustier, ruched in the centre of the bust and tied with a bow behind the neck. At her waist, it drew inwards to pleasantly accentuate the curve of her hips.
“That’s the one.” Hermione reached for the mascara, plumping the wand before she swiped it across her lashes. “Petunia says it’s too small for her now, but she reckons it’ll fit you nicely.”
“Not you?”
“I’m too skinny.” She shrugged.
Lily rolled her eyes at that but did not speak her inner complaint.
Her sister was always doing that. Lamenting her perfectly lithe form, her beautifully slim body, as she loudly wished to be shaped like her twin sister. It was something of an unspoken thing in the Evans family that somehow Lily had not been blessed with a body like her sister’s. Hermione took after their father - skinny and perfectly average in height. Compared to her twin and elder sister, the curly haired girl simply stood apart as something far more palatable, especially to their mother.
Henrietta Evans was a plump woman that consistently lamented her size. From the plump chest that two of her daughters had inherited (Hermione was somewhat unfortunate with her rather flat chest), to her large hips, their mother often spent her time on fad diets and forcing her children to join her exercise. Childbirth was allegedly her curse. Before having the twins (as she so often liked to complain), she had been just as slim as her youngest child. It was unfortunate for her, that Hermione clearly did not appreciate her constant self-flagellation wrapped in empty compliments. Instead, the youngest of the Evans sisters would forcefully express excitement to look like her sisters one day, citing them as the most beautiful people in the world.
If only Lily could believe it. At least Petunia did, always so very touched by how loudly her sister loved her. It saved their older sister from going the curse of diet after diet.
“You look bewitching.” Hermione’s kind voice snapped Lily from her dour thoughts as the ginger girl glanced her sister’s way. Her pale eyes were bright, her thin cheeks pulled upwards into a gentle smile.
“It is a good fit.” Lily begrudged, moving to sort through her wardrobe, hunting for the right skirt to match the lovely top.
“I know.” Hermione grinned widely. “Lupin won’t be able to make eye contact.”
Lily’s face blushed scarlet, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“Oh… shut up!” She spluttered, reaching to throw a pillow her sister’s way. “And go snog your boyfriend or something!”
“Gladly.” Hermione winked.
*-*-*
In her other life, Hermione had not seen much of Gryffindor’s raucous celebrations. There was a war going on, after all. One that lingered within the walls of the castle - painting each achievement with its bitter truth. Even when their team won matches or exam season finished, there was always a fight for their lives to taint whatever fortune they found.
But in the seventies, as war loomed but did not envelope the castle… well, parties were commonplace. From the spirited dancing and smoking of the Hufflepuff house, to the raucous letting down of hair of the studious Ravenclaws, there would always be random Fridays with a curfew set for the younger years. The Common Room would be blocked for those under the age of sixteen, and mayhem would ensue.
It was Hermione’s good luck that in this life she’d happened upon the affections of one of Gryffindor’s most energetic members.
Fabian Prewett was simply a force to be reconned with. He was as fiery as his bright ginger hair - orange waves swept back with gel - and as brilliant as his wonderful smile. When the pair had begun dating the year before, Hermione ought to have known it would lead to moments like this. She ought to have suspected that he’d beg her to attend one of Gryffindor’s parties once he was old enough to attend.
That night, he was waiting for her at the base of the stairs to the girls dorms. His hair was neat, his smile blinding. A dark blue shirt coated his muscular form - thick arms from his role as a beater on the Quidditch team. Corduroy flares matched the rather Muggle ensemble, with black boots upon his large feet.
All in all, he looked quite the dream. A perfect movie star waiting for his perfect girl, hand already extended to pull her in as she descended the stairs. His hand snaked around her waist, dragging her close as he planted a kiss upon her styled locks.
“Blimey, you’re tryna give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” He greeted her, pulling back just enough to offer what she could only describe as an incredibly cheeky grin.
“Hello, Fabian.” Hermione smiled up at her boyfriend.
“Hello, Hermione.” He replied with a soft grin, eyes roaming her body until they rested on her own - a heated warmth to the dark blue irises. “You look bloody incredible. My whole House’ll be jealous you’re on my arm. Where did you get that dress?”
“Oh, this old thing?” She laughed, smoothing imaginary creases on the shoulders. “Let’s just say, Auggie owed me after all the help I’ve given to his illicit business.”
“Oh, yes.” He chuckled. “And how did my perfect-record Hermione end up working in the smokeable plant trade? You’ve never had a single detention, oh wise Sage.”
“The Amelias needed someone that no professor would consider to move their product.” She shrugged, eyes glinting wickedly. “And, well I suppose I was owed a touch of rebellion.”
“A touch?” He raised a brow. “You’re the only person Professor McGonagall permits to call her by surname.”
“Exactly! It’s not rebellion if everyone lets you do it!” She huffed. “Even Dumbles tolerates my nicknames.”
“Oh, rue for you.” Fabian laughed. “How awful to be everybody’s favourite.”
“I’ll bite you.” She glared as he leant closer.
“I’ll enjoy it.” He grinned in reply, breath tingling his skin.
“Oh, stop.” She swatted his arm in jest, eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to give me the tour?”
“Certainly, my darling Seer.” Fabian extended an arm for her to link hers to - his hand gently clutching at her own, thumb rubbing over the thin sleeves.
True to Gryffindor’s spirit, the Common Room was utterly strewn in golds and reds. Though she’d seen it dozens of times in this life - from studying with her sister to secret sleepovers with the girls - she had never seen it decorated for a party. Sparkling streamers defended from the walls like curtains of glitter, twirling against the warm glow of candlelight. The high ceilings were enchanted much like the Great Hall, only with bursts of golden sparks like shattering stars.
Chatter, laughter, and the strong smell of firewhiskey coated the air, mixing with the soft hint of the butterbeer that a few of the younger lot were drinking. Someone had managed to levitate a Muggle turntable into the centre of the room, spelling Bowie’s tunes to fill the twinkling air. Battered and worn armchairs had been pushed aside to give way for a makeshift dance floor - students giggling and twisting as their chatter matched the volume of the beat their feet shifted to.
It was Gryffindor at its rawest and most brilliant. Filled with reckless, loud, and utterly unforgettable mirth.
“Which of your housemates organised this?” Hermione queried, eyes roaming the burgeoning mess - tipsy antics soon to turn drunken as punch flowed from glass bowls and bottles rolled across the rugs.
“Well,” Fabian grinned, “Titus McLaggen likes to think he sorted everything, but between you and me, it was that Potter boy in your year.”
“Really?” She blinked.
“Uh huh.” Fabian smiled wickedly. He always did so when he knew something she didn’t. “Potter got all the music and decorations set up so that the seventh years would let him and his group join in. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be allowed since they’re only fourth years.”
“I’m a fourth year.” She pointed out, arching a brow.
“Ah, but my Mione, you’re with me.” He winked at her, grinning as she blushed prettily.
“You’re rotten,” she snacked his arm lightly, though the twinkle of her eyes and twitch upwards of her lips gave away her approval, “see if I come to another one of these.”
“You will.” He replied with certainty.
“Is that so?” She arched a brow.
“Of course.” Fabian nodded. “You love me.”
“Begrudgingly.” She tutted. “Now ask me to dance, won’t you? I didn’t wear this dress for nothing.”
“Oh, certainly, my lady,” he grinned, bending to bow before her - hand extended for her to take. “A gem like you simply must be shown off.”