Sweet
Hermione felt as if she were in a dream as Theo dragged her through the crowded drawing room and towards his group of friends. Her legs felt like they were made of lead; her heart fluttered like a hummingbird in her chest.
Hermione kept her eyes down as they approached, suddenly painfully aware of how out of her depth she was. She gripped Theo’s hand, grateful for something to hold onto.
Pansy, the birthday girl, was the first to spot them.
“Theo, darling!” she exclaimed, jumping up from the arm of the armchair that she was perched on. She held her arms out for Theo, careful to not spill her flute of champagne as she hugged him close. “I am so happy to see you! How gorgeous is this?” she asked, pulling back and gesturing around the room, which had been decorated for the big event. Gold balloons levitated in the corners of the room, floating all the way up to the tall ceiling, elegantly contrasting the emerald wallpaper. Strung lights and candelabras gave the room a warm glow, adding to the air of elegance and sophistication that the room would have, on a normal day, exuded.
“I was so worried about where to host, you know, with our house still being renovated, but Narcissa and Lucius were so sweet to offer the Manor.” She glanced back at Malfoy and offered him a warm smile. Hermione stared, eyes wide – she had never seen a look of genuine warmth on Pansy’s face before. The only time she had seen the girl smile was when it was at someone else’s expense, and even then the smile never reached her eyes.
Pansy glanced back at Theo, her eyes still shining. Her gaze then shifted to Hermione. Hermione offered her a small, polite smile. This was the time for it all to fall apart, for one of them to say something, crack a joke, make a sly remark…
But Pansy simply held the smile that was still on her face, straining to keep it in place. She put her arm around Hermione, giving her the barest definition of a hug. “So glad to see you too,” she said.
Pansy may have been the devil reincarnated at school, but she was nothing if not a gracious host and birthday girl.
Hermione hugged her back, somewhat stunned. When you’re used to being ignored, even the most lukewarm welcome feels like being embraced with open arms.
Theo proceeded to go around the circle, greeting everyone and giving hugs and handshakes while Hermione stood awkwardly behind him.
“Love what you’ve done with the place, Draco,” Theo said cheekily when he reached Malfoy, clapping Malfoy’s hand in a firm clasp.
“Mother and Pansy had the time of their lives doing it up for the party,” said Draco, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “They even did my room. I was getting dressed for practice this morning and found glitter on my jersey.”
Pansy snorted. “We didn’t do that. That was probably on there from the last time you went into London to party after a big win. What do you get up to on your weekends away, anyway. You never tell us.” She pouted and crossed her arms at Malfoy in mock upset.
Malfoy simply smirked and took a sip from his flute.
Hermione felt unmoored. It had been a while since she had observed a group of friends like this, and even longer she had been a part of one. The banter, the history, the closeness – it made her feel like more of an outsider than the fact that she was on a scholarship and they were all children of some of the richest and most powerful men and women in the country.
To hide her discomfort and give herself something to do she lifted her empty flute to her lips, sipping on nothingness. Draco’s eyes landed on her at the motion.
Usually, looking at Malfoy felt like falling or having the ground swept away underneath you, so clear and cold were his eyes. But now, in the dimness of the room, with his grey eyes being swallowed by his pupils, Hermione had no trouble meeting his gaze and standing steady on her feet.
She refused to smile at him like she had at everyone else. His mouth twitched as his eyes fell on Theo’s hand, still wrapped around Hermione’s.
“We’ll catch you all later,” said Theo to the group. He tugged lightly on her hand. “Let’s get something to drink."
~
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
They were in the kitchen. Tall, wide windows overlooked where the party had bled out of the house and into the Manor’s massive garden and its Olympic size swimming pool.
“No,” agreed Hermione, taking a deep breath, glad to have a moment to collect herself. “It really wasn’t.”
Theo looked like he was about to say something else when his eyes shifted over to someone behind her shoulder.
“Crabbe’s looking for you, Theo,” said a voice that Hermione would, unfortunately, recognise anywhere. “I think he said needs help with the music.”
“Ahh,” said Theo, clapping his hand lightly on Hermione’s shoulder. “Hold still, I’ll be back in a second.”
Hermione turned, watching as Theo dashed past Daphne and back into the drawing room.
They stood still for a moment, looking at each other across the wide expanse of the kitchen before Daphne sauntered her way over to the black marble counter where Hermione was standing.
Daphne stood close and poured red wine from a crystal decanter into a clean glass. Hermione eyed her elegant figure, which was sheathed in a perfectly tailored silver sequin dress.
“Don’t think that just because we’re being polite to you tonight that you’ll actually become one of us.” She picked up an orange from a fruit bowl and started slicing it on a chopping board with sharp, precise cuts. A peach followed.
“We’re doing this for Theo, not because we actually like you,” she said, looking down as she was slicing the fruit. “Well, Pansy and Draco are doing it for Theo. As for me?” she plopped the fruit into the wine. “I couldn’t care less about pleasing him.”
She turned to face Hermione. Even with boots on, Hermione was still shorter than the blonde.
“Have you ever had a sangria, Granger? I fell in love with them in Spain. Such a beautiful drink to have in the summertime.” She handed Hermione the glass, smiling with deadly sweetness. “Here, try some.”
Hermione reached for the drink. She was unsure of how Daphne could have had time to poison the drink with Hermione watching her make the entire thing from scratch, but she was reluctant to drink it anyway. Before Hermione’s hand even touched the glass, however, Daphne twisted her wrist.
Hermione gasped. Red rivers ran all over her white dress and down her legs, coating her in sticky, syrupy liquid.
“Oh! Shoot!” said Daphne, in fake surprise. “I am so clumsy, Hermione, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m sure it’ll be okay though, no one will notice. Clothes from charity shops are usually stained, aren’t they?”
She could feel tears, hot and angry, straining to burst from her eyes. She clenched her shaking hands into fists. Maybe if she clobbered the blonde over the head with the fruit bowl…grievous bodily harm charges wouldn’t hurt her chances of getting into Oxford that much, would they?
No. She shook her head and stood upright. “I hope you have a lovely evening, Daphne,” Hermione said, her voice shaking. “Maybe I’ll see you around the pub again. It’s a great place for a date night, especially for the next time that Malfoy is forced to take you out to dinner against his will.”
It was as if Hermione had slapped Daphne, the way the blonde staggered back. A look of pure hatred came over her features, twisting them into something ugly and spiteful. “You little-”
Hermione walked away before she even had a chance to finish.
~
“Come on, come on,” Hermione moaned, scrubbing at her dress over a bathroom sink. She hoped the Malfoys weren’t too attached to the white handtowels she had found in the upstairs bathroom, which were now stained a faint pink. She wasn’t sure if she was trespassing by making her way onto the deserted first floor, but she desperately needed some peace and quiet and, most of all, privacy.
She scrubbed at the wine stain in vain. Instead of washing out, the stain just turned into a lighter shade of red and seized more territory on her dress.
Hermione slumped onto the closed toilet seat, throwing the hand towel into the sink in defeat. So much for hoping that the evening wouldn’t end in disaster.
Hermione put her head into her hands, rubbing her palms into her eyes until a kaleidoscope burst behind her eyelids.
She pushed her tears back, refusing to let them fall. She already dreaded the thought of walking through the party on her way out, possibly encountering her classmates and Theo in her now ruined dress; she absolutely refused to add a mascara-streaked face to her look.
Hermione desperately wanted to go back to the school. She wanted to throw her dress in the bin, take a shower, and curl up in her four-poster bed with a book, dispelling all thoughts of her real life and replacing them with a less depressing fictional one.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Hermione jumped onto her feet.
A slightly flushed Malfoy stood in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was him.
“What are you-” he began, before his eyes landed on her dress.
Hermione folded her arms across her chest, knowing the action did little to cover the stain. “I was just heading out, sorry,” she said underneath her breath and tried to get around him and out the bathroom door.
He held his arm out, blocking her exit.
Malfoy didn’t say anything, just looked at her, at her dress, at the expression on her face, with a slight frown. Hermione stared up at him, craning her neck.
She could hear the music downstairs, feel it thumping underneath her feet. Its beat matched the pounding of her heart, beat for beat.
As she stared at Malfoy, she could feel her mask falling, little by little. Her arms slowly uncrossed themselves and hung loosely at her sides.
She was so, so tired.
A flash of something unreadable crossed his eyes.
“Come with me.”
He turned and strode out of the bathroom. Hermione stood still for a second, thinking that maybe she had misheard him.
“Granger.” His voice came from somewhere far ahead.
She left the bathroom and found him making his way upstairs, ascending to the darkness of the third level. She jogged to catch up to him, wondering where he could be taking her.