Chapter 7
October 31st.
Hermione, biting her lower lip, continued to rub her cheekbone with a napkin. Her skin was starting to burn, but in her stubbornness she couldn't stop. Her chest had returned to a steady rhythm only a couple of minutes ago, when she leaned against the edge of the sink after a short run through Hogwarts.
Three. Damn him. Two o'clock in the morning.
The indignation was slowly calming down. And the freshness, even a little dampness, that greeted her in the bathroom of the elders, sobered her up. She allowed herself to start thinking clearly, and instead of replaying the ridiculous kiss in her head, Granger remembered how wonderful this day had started.…
«We have a great idea!»
Harry and Ron told her at breakfast. But even then, doubts arose in her, because usually all the chaos begins with this very phrase?
«Well, Hermione, it's going to be fun!» the guys insisted, clinking their pumpkin juice. «Let's go?»
It was difficult to doubt the truthfulness of their words. She had no doubt that it would be fun when all the sixth-year students gathered in one room. All faculties and one Room of Requirement. Granger was sure that somewhere on her face during the lessons there was a monosyllabic inscription that this idea was extremely bad. Ginny Weasley wiped it off with her creams, tones, lip gloss and… makeup?
Ginny decided that a «festive» look would not hurt, and if Hermione stoically refused the costumes of the pirate, fairy, McGonagall and Merlin-knows-who else, then she could not escape from the small drawing on her cheek.
«It's very… nice,» Weasley muttered, drawing line after line. Hermione would like to answer this statement, but it was so ticklish that she could barely hold back a sneeze. Mom told me that the paint on the skin is a shitty business.
Especially the orange one.
Especially when it's a symbol of a holiday like Halloween.
«Ginny,» Hermione began dully, frowning. «Did you know that the pumpkin head symbolizes both the end of the harvest and scares away evil spirits?»
«Hermione, don't turn around and frown, or the drawing will smudge.»
«And also…» she longed to calm down and speak out, so the flow of her words was persistent. «Jack and his will-o'-the-wisp will haunt our lost souls.»
«That's it!» her friend breathed out in relief, closing the makeup box. «Let's go have fun, my soul.»
«Restless!»
Hermione managed to note her unusual appearance in the mirror: brightly painted eyes, an accentuating look of the drawings, which could have been considered cute if she had been a little dumber and treated the pumpkin as a simple festive attribute. The cherry was a wonderful, but slightly sticky and not at all delicious lip gloss, which Ginny reminded her of even a month after her birthday.
I wonder how long this damn tube will take to run out?
She's not getting a second one, is she?
«Granger!»
«I'm coming!» She rolled her eyes, wishing herself ephemeral luck and wishing that this fancy pumpkin could really scare away evil spirits.
***
Sometimes it seemed to her that she didn't like people. And this was expressed in the inability to speak the same language with them. As Harry sometimes put it, she had her own personal, «Granger's.»
This is what she successfully attributed to the fact that she spent half an evening in a chair. In the distance with a glass of firewhisky, which her friend had given her. I couldn't even be outraged by the presence of alcohol. The strict headman in her died at the moment when she did not go to tell McGonagall about the underground duels.
And only wary nods and greetings became her companions for this holiday.
While Granger was thoughtfully twirling the damn glass in her hands, watching the amber liquid, Harry and Ginny were chatting with their team about the first match of the upcoming season, and Ron… eh. Ron was hanging around the Lavender Brown fairy. They were talking intimately on the couch, almost hugging, dancing comfortably, hugging, and she could only imagine herself in the place of a blonde, whose waist was hugged by strong male palms.
Music. Alcohol. Stupid useless conversations. And there is zero benefit.
For some reason, she estimated her efficiency in the last three hours in those strained two sips of firewhisky.
Well, one almost-useful conversation with Neville about a new variety of Snargaluff.
If she finally managed to talk to Cormac, who was constantly staring in her direction, then the evening would definitely be considered «well spent.» But this brave guy did not dare to approach himself, which surprised her.
Maybe Gryffindor does not understand male psychology, and somewhere in their own thesaurus there is a recommendation: «Languid glances towards a girl will attract her to you literally and figuratively.» If suddenly this turns out to be true, then she will personally talk to the compiler of this manual. Even if it turns out to be the Minister of Magic himself. Especially if it turns out to be him. After all, somewhere in the minds of these people, a logical chain has broken, which will definitely not be repaired without it.
«Hermione, let's go!» from an already roughly composed plaintive letter to a hypothetical minister, Ginny came running and pulled her out.
Breaking out of her thoughts, she just shook her head.
«Where is this…» Granger swallowed her unnecessary indignant «more». Because she was unceremoniously grabbed by the palm, which had been thoughtfully propping up her chin all this time, and pulled to another corner of the room. The liquid from the glass in his other hand splashed awkwardly, settling in drops on his fingers.
«I've found us a twelfth player!»
The eyebrows of those sitting in the circle rose as if on command.
To the surprised looks of Harry, Ron, Blaze, McLaggen, Lavender, Parkinson, Lovegood and several other Slytherins she didn't know, Granger, still holding a glass in one hand, just shrugged.
She has nothing to do with it at all.
«Truth or dare!» exclaimed Weasley, sitting down next to Harry, explaining at the same time why she was called. «I think you know the rules, everyone has three actions and…»
«Why did you say I was the twelfth if there are eleven of us?» Granger interrupted in disbelief, taking a seat on Ron's left hand. On the other side, not surprisingly, was Brown. But she was distracted from the thought of Ron's hand on Lavender's lap by a sudden response. A lazy voice sounded behind him:
«I'm back.»
Hermione froze.
Somewhere to the side, Malfoy was sitting comfortably on the arm of the chair where Zabini was sitting. Also with a glass in his hands.
They hadn't seen each other in weeks… almost.
«Now it's twelve,» Ginny drawled, throwing a piece of paper with her name on it into the hat, and added, hinting that she wanted to start playing soon. «Hermione, and you can stop counting and being boring.»
She took a sip from her glass. The third one all evening.
Ron, picking up on his sister's joke, laughed:
«It's Hermione.»
«That's it! Let's go!»
Ginny hastily shoved the hat at Harry, who pulled first.
«Truth or dare…» the papers in the hat rustled as the guy chose. «Lovegood?»
«Dare!» the girl clapped her hands.
«Braid a pigtail…» the devils danced in her friend's eyes, hinting that he had come up with something, in his opinion, ingenious. But when Potter looked in her direction, the witch was ready to use silencio. «To Hermione!»
«Harry!»
Her voice rose to a falsetto, not only does she look strange with this pumpkin, she is also extremely outraged.
And he shakes his head, chuckling.
«Yes, by the way, the Moon,» the true daredevil waved off and ironically whispered to the Moon so that everyone in the circle would definitely hear. «She hates it when people touch her hair. So… good luck!»
Granger exhaled, realizing that going to meet Lavender was not as scary as quarreling with Harry at the Slytherins. She stoically sat still, sipping alcohol in small sips while her hair was touched by other people's hands. Merlin… it's creepy. Awful. An unacceptable violation of her personal boundaries.
Her hair always smelled of chamomile shampoo fragrance.
And if they absorb the smell of some tart essential oils from Lovegood's palms, she can't stand it. Too sweetly and politely, Luna braided a careless spikelet for her, remaining pleased with herself and her work. But, contrary to expectations, Hermione, like any other girl, did not run to look in the mirror, but only snorted and went into her own thoughts. They were more interesting than this stupid game. Now Luna was pulling out a piece of paper, and she was wondering why Malfoy was avoiding her.
Hermione herself is not completely sure about this hypothesis. There are not enough introductory notes, or rather, the reasons. Sometimes he came up almost every day, demanding a kiss, and then, starting from her birthday, he began to make do with one kiss a week. And… these «debts» are given as a reminder of the first kiss. Inexperienced, when she tried to somehow get out of it, crushing his lips, and the guy did not react. Only in the last few times, something seemed to be missing from his side. It was as if the spark had disappeared.
Or has the interest gone out?
Draco wasn't just not trying or messing around, it was like he was… indifferent? The ice had returned to its rightful place, and it was left to wonder if those four kisses of theirs were not the inflamed imagination of her little head.
She was startled out of her memories of the last few weeks by Blaze's voice:
«Malfoy, truth or dare?»
«Truth.»
Zabini was clearly encouraged by the opportunity to tease a friend and ask an interesting question. However, Draco's calm voice indicated that he did not expect a provocative question from his friend. But he was already in a rage.
«Why did I come back to our room last month and find you on my bed?» At his friend's raised eyebrow, he hastened to justify his maneuver by muttering into a glass of firewhisky. «No matter how much I asked, you didn't answer, so you left me no choice.»
Zabini took a sip, winking at Malfoy.
Maybe he didn't want to answer because it violated his personal boundaries?
Although, what personal boundaries are there if Zabini, returning in the morning and falling on his bed with a hangover, landed on a peacefully sleeping friend. Hermione did not catch this moment, leaving earlier so as not to catch anyone, but for some reason she imagined this picture of herself like this.
«My bed that night, Blaze, sheltered a guest,» Malfoy replied emotionlessly.
«Which one?» the whole circle joined in chorus.
«What other guest?» Blaze opened his mouth in disbelief. «Our room is sacred because we don't bring anyone into it, Draco!» and held out with interest. «Yeah, right?»
The Slytherin never heard the answer to his question, because Malfoy just waved it away, rolling his eyes.
«It doesn't count!» Cormac was the first to wake up.
«Yeah, that's not the answer,» said Ron.
No, no, no, that's quite an answer!
She wanted to jump up from her seat and protest, but that would have sounded strange, so Granger only shifted her gaze to the calm and unflappable Draco.
«I have nothing to add,» he retorted, not caring.
«Then you perform the punishment action, and the move goes over… Cormac!» Ginny insisted instructively, nodding at Zabini. «Blaze, pass!»
«Yes, yes, well,» he looked around the room thoughtfully and said. «Draco, tell that blonde from the hufflepuff over there that she has the most beautiful boobs you've ever seen in your life!»
Beautiful… what?
Boobs?
While the whole company was watching the execution of the punishment, Hermione felt a pang of jealousy. Lavender allowed herself to bury her fingers in Ronald's hair and kiss his neck. And she was muttering something about her perfect forms.
«Now I am,» McLaggen's face became eerily pleased when, pulling a piece of paper out of his hat, he declared the last name. «Granger!»
I wanted to automatically correct: «Miss Granger, sir.» Somewhere in his extremely pleased tone was hidden a slice of bitter lemon, which made Hermione wince.
Malfoy had already returned to his seat. Not alone. That blonde, following her admirer, comfortably perched on his lap, twirled a cocktail glass in her hands. And the «admirer» himself was glaring at Cormac.
«Truth,» the Gryffindor clicked in her own way.
I've never liked this nonsense.
«Tell us… Hermione,» the boy in front of her, amused, winked. «Who was your first kiss with?» shaking his head, he corrected it. «If there was one, of course.»
Now he doesn't like it any more.
He looked at her expectantly, his lips stretched into a smile. Sarcasm and self-satisfaction penetrated to the very bones. If she were an empath, she would now feel his quiet joy at victory. But what does he get out of this victory?
Yes, he had put Hermione Granger in a corner without knowing it. Or is it still suspecting?
So he bit his lower lip, waiting for an answer.
Lying is not an option.
The piece of paper in his hands will light up if she lies. In another case, Hermione will not just drop out of the game, which she wants, but also fulfill the punishment.
Games with magic jokes were sometimes surprising.
She wondered whose tense posture was bothering her more now. Ron or Draco. Are they expecting an answer? If Malfoy, of course, is afraid that their little circumstance will be revealed, then why did Weasley put his hand on her shoulder? He wanted to say something, but after the hair, would Hermione care about the next attack on her personal boundaries? Where there is one, there will be a second.
«I won't answer,» she clicked defiantly, shaking her voluminous braid off her shoulder. «Give me your punishment.»
«Kiss,» McLaggen lifts his chin triumphantly. «A kiss. Me.»
«Here?» her voice cracks skeptically.
«Are you shy?»
Fuck you, she thought as Granger handed her half-empty glass to Ron and got to her feet. Somewhere to the side, Malfoy grunted, chasing the girl who had been fingering his hair from her lap.
Once in front of Cormac, the Gryffindor pulled the guy to her by the shirt in a matter of seconds. She should be playing Quidditch with such a reaction, not him. Touching the corner of his smug smile with his lips, evil seeps:
«Don't you dare. Get closer to me. More.»
Quietly. So that the phrase remains only between them.
She runs her lips over his, leaving a sharp smear of poisonous strawberry gloss. The damn piece of paper in his hands turns green, which means that the task is completed. With brilliance.
«I'm going to put on some lipstick,» grabbing her purse from the floor and heading towards the exit without turning around. «Brown, I'm passing the move on to you.»
The glass remains in the hands of a stunned Ron, while the firewhisky, diluted in her blood, pulls her to the bed. Into a sweet dream. Granger left the noisy room and, once in the corridor, took a deep breath of the dampness of October. Contrary to her wishes, she put gloss on her lips so that she would not be caught in a lie. But the desire to be alone and reflect on what had just happened did not go out in her.
She stood peering out the window. There are almost no stars in the dark, dark sky. But the soul becomes calm only from the realization that they are there. There definitely is. And I wanted to dive into this vast emptiness of the sky. Behind them, probably.
Alcohol affects her so much, it dawned on her after the thought came that a cigarette was not enough to complete the picture.
Nasty tobacco smoke.
Tart.
The one she'd only tried once. Therefore, he remembers how it bitterly settles on his lips, hangs in saliva, in his throat.
«Granger.»
Her last name sounds like that burning tobacco in his voice.
Men's palms were leaning on the windowsill, restraining her movements. And the ring with the coat of arms of the Malfoy family left no doubt who was behind it.
She whispered:
«What»
I turned around, feeling like I was in a cage.
«Malfoy,» she had to lift her head to meet his gaze. And her voice sounded doomed.
In my head, several thoughts were circling at once, fixated:
She had to return his cloak.
She has to stop all this.
She loves Ron.
But his breathing is disarming. And her malleable inner girl wanted to. No. She wanted to know why Malfoy had been indifferent and cold in recent weeks.
His hand hovered next to her face.
«Let's trick the devil too, Granger?»
He's not stupid. She had been waiting for this conversation all evening, unaware of it herself.
«Come on.»
«Do you need something from me?»
«Yes, you're right,» he breathed, running his thumb over his cheek, smearing a small pumpkin. «I really need something from you.»
Malfoy did not look away, continuing to rub the orange paint on her skin. Without looking up from this activity, he took possession of her lips, leaving his rage on them. He bit me. He swiped his tongue, fiercely trying to prove something with his movements. But lips are not words. These are emotions, this is pain and desire that appeared in the heat of an argument. In the heat of a ridiculous accident.
The taste of alcohol doubled, and she thought that if she held a match, they would both burst into flames.
Somewhere on her fingers there was still the taste of firewhisky.
To her surprise, Draco kissed the corner of her lips, which he had never done before, and whispered:
«That glitter didn't suit you terribly,» the Slytherin grinned and asked. «Do you want to stop this, Granger?» from confusion, from surprise that they touched foreheads, Hermione nodded in confusion, not yet fully understanding what Draco wanted to convey. «Then, listen…»
— Hermione!
Later, Granger will not be able to remember what she heard first: a friend's scream or the clink of a glass falling out of her hands and ignominiously smashing on the tile.
It was lucky that no one came running to the bell.
The man's fingers, which somehow managed to untangle her braid and bury themselves in her hair, were gone.
«Ginny, I…» she swallowed, feeling the familiar weight of the waterfall of hair on her shoulders. «I'm going to bed.»
Her friend's confused nod, which meant they would talk later, became a false start. It was the start of her long run… from herself. And it wasn't just in the maze of corridors at Hogwarts that she was afraid of getting lost.
.
.
.
Already wiping the orange paint off her face, Hermione Granger realized that she and Malfoy were capable of deceiving more than one devil.