Chapter 12
The next few days saw Hermione stubbornly ignoring the shift in atmosphere between her and Malfoy. She had been getting so good at the eye contact – despite him assuring her she needn’t bother – but now she was back to square one. She avoided him in every way she could, terrified of how his view of her must have changed. He’d said he’d never seen her as below him, despite how he’d acted, but surely he must now. For a few blissful weeks she’d been secure in the feeling that he saw her as an equal. That he saw her brains and courage and determination and couldn’t help but admit she was just as worthy of existence as him and his money and blood status.
That must have changed now.
She’d been so silly. And frivolous. And vain. She’d always been confident that if nothing else, at least no one saw her as shallow. But now Malfoy knew just how weak she’d been, how much his taunts about her beaver-teeth had hurt her.
He hadn’t laughed at her yet. Not openly. She had to give him that. But their… partnership – maybe… no, not a friendship – their alliance hadn’t felt the same since. Hermione felt much too vulnerable in his presence.
Her next extraction had been a nightmare. It was more of the same, of course. Receiving letters from Viktor. How he’d held her when she’d been wet and freezing after the second task. Kissing Viktor...
Hermione did her absolute best to hide her embarrassment under layers and layers of frustration – mostly at herself – but she knew it wasn’t entirely effective. Malfoy, thankfully, hadn’t pushed. She’d felt only a constant, subtle buzzing from his thread that she’d refused to approach.
After classes finished on Friday, Hermione made her way straight up to her dormitory and collapsed into bed. She felt like she might be getting a fever. Surely a nap wouldn’t hurt.
Her plans were derailed by a sudden earthquake.
Jolting awake in a panic she saw Daphne leaning over her, wand out and using it to shake her mattress violently.
“On no you don’t, Granger. I’m not doing pre’s alone.”
Hermione simply groaned, smothering her groggy face with a pillow.
“Get up! I bought the good stuff, don’t worry. It’s got an inbuilt hangover cure and everything. We’re getting fucked up tonight.”
After confiding in Daphne about her situation, Hermione had grown steadily closer to her. It was nice having someone to vent to about Malfoy and his bullshit. And she knew it comforted Daphne to have the occasional metaphorical shoulder to cry on over her sister’s illness. Over the last couple of months, Hermione had learnt Daphne was shrewd, blunt and practical to a fault. What she hadn’t learnt was that she was apparently a party animal.
“Ask Sue,” Hermione mumbled into her pillow half-heartedly.
“I did. Her and Padma have Charms club until six.”
Hermione finally removed the pillow from her face and gave Daphne her best attempt at a glare.
“You don’t honestly want to start drinking now, do you? It’s barely four! Besides, I’m not much of a drinker.” She didn’t like how out of control it made her feel. She always felt like too much would cause her to slip, and she’d say something too blunt, or too weird, or too real. She really couldn’t afford that tonight. Not with Malfoy in the room.
“Not yet. But we start at six p.m. at the latest. The next two hours are for our art, which we absolutely do not want to do when we’re inebriated.”
“Our art?”
“Yes, we can start with your hair. Go shower. Use this,” said Daphne, dropping two small bottles onto her stomach.
“What… I- I’m still confused about the art thing.”
“Our art, Granger.” Daphne said, gesturing vaguely towards herself. “The hair, the makeup, the silhouette! We’re not going to a pajama party you know.”
“That stuff’s… art?” Hermione scoffed.
“Art, science, mating ritual – call it what you want but you can’t do it while drunk so go wash your hair. I’m going to try this cream in it.”
Hermione might have put up more of a fight if her hair hadn’t been itchy and disgusting and very much bothering her all day. But it had. So she stomped off to the bathroom with Daphne’s products in hand.
When Hermione emerged in her dressing gown she found Daphne ruffling through a bunch of clothes strewn out on her bed, dancing along to some Weird Sisters music coming from a tiny record player.
“That was quick!” Daphne said cheerily, beckoning her over. “Stay still, there’s a technique to this.”
The next twenty minutes consisted of Daphne scrunching cream into her hair and drying it with her wand while Hermione tried desperately not to nod off.
“Aaaand, done! That worked soo much better than I was expecting.”
“Hmm?” said Hermione groggily.
“Look, look!” Daphne said, bodily dragging her off the bed and in front of the dorm’s full-length mirror.
Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. Her hair was completely transformed. Her mane of untameable frizz had been replaced by a mass of shiny, brown, voluminous curls that fell to somewhere slightly past her shoulders. What?
“What… this is… how?” she stuttered, gaping at her reflection.
“It’s mostly about moisture. My sister has curly hair. Seeing yours in the state it usually is has been bothering me for a while. It’s wasted potential.”
“Are you telling me… that all I had to do was moisturise it?” Hermione’s heart sank down to her knees as she thought of the years of hopelessness she’d dealt with for apparently no fucking reason.
“Well, it’s a bit more than moisture. It’s…”
As Daphne explained the ins and outs of Hermione’s own hair to her, she held up several of the clothes on her bed against Hermione’s dressing gown. Eventually, the threw her a set with instructions to put them on.
“I have my own clothes, you know.” Hermione protested.
Daphne looked her up and down before grimacing. “Look, no offence, but I just don’t trust you enough. If I’m going to be seen with you then you’re going to be looking hot. Now go change. We should be about the same size.”
The clothes Daphne had deemed appropriate turned out to be very tight. The black jeans were scratchy and stiff on top of probably cutting off circulation in her legs, but the dark blue shirt was soft enough, and Hermione would have liked it very much if not for the way it ended about an inch above her bellybutton.
“Ahh, Daphne?”
“Yeah?”
“These clothes are a bit tight.”
“Yeah, I thought they might be. Come out and I’ll adjust them.”
The adjusting did return the blood to Hermione’s legs, but it didn’t stop her from feeling very exposed. Daphne, who apparently had no such qualms about exposure, was wearing a fitting black… thing that looked to be more rope than shirt. Seeing she’d forgone jeans for a pair of tiny black shorts over shear, dark tights made Hermione worry for her sanity. It was the middle of winter. They’d be in a dungeon. What was she thinking?
The next stage of their ‘art’ consisted of Daphne making up Hermione’s face flawlessly, and Hermione completely botching Daphne’s.
Luckily, Daphne seemed to find it more endearing than anything else, and their laughter joined the Weird Sisters as the soundtrack to their night.
While Daphne was doing what she could with Hermione’s mess she urged Hermione to pour their shots.
“That’s not sensible. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Don’t worryyyy. Built-in hangover cure, remember? Besides, there’ll be food there.”
Hermione acquiesced, pouring whatever it was into the two tiny glasses Daphne had produced from nowhere. Hermione spluttered as it burnt her throat going down.
“Ooh, this is smooth.”
“S-smooth?” coughed Hermione.
“Yeah, for vodka anyway.”
So that’s what it was. The writing on it did look Cyrillic. That annoying detail served to bring Viktor – and consequently Malfoy – to mind, sending blood rushing to her cheeks.
Another twenty minutes and three shots in, Daphne finally noticed her strange mood.
“What’s up with your face? Are you blushing?”
“No…” Hermione said meekly.
“Oh my god you are!” Daphne looked at her with wide, shining eyes and an unabashedly open mouth. “What’s going on? You’d better dish, Granger. That eyeshadow’s expensive so you owe me.”
“Nothing’s going on, I just get red when I drink.”
But maybe she could tell Daphne. A small voice at the back of her mind reminded her that she’d told Daphne a lot of things, and never once had she been judged or patronised.
No. That was the alcohol getting to her. She couldn’t be… too her right now. That was dangerous.
“I-,” Daphne gleefully poured Hermione another shot, “-smell bullshit. Is it Malfoy?”
“W-what?” Hermione spluttered.
“Is it Malfoy? He’s been weird lately. And every time he’s been weird this year it’s had something to do with you. Did you guys have a row?”
“No… no row…”
Maybe it would make her feel better, just to come out with it. Not it exactly. But some small part of it.
“It’s just that… the last two extractions have been super embarrassing.”
“Details. Now.” Daphne said, looking a bit wild as she glued her eyes to Hermione’s and downed another shot.
Why not? thought Hermione, downing another one of her own.
“Do you remember Viktor Krum?”
“Merlin’s balls Granger you slut!” Daphne shouted, eyes shining with mirth. “You slept with him didn’t you?”
“What?! No! No no no no no! We just… there was the ball and then we kissed and Malfoy saw all of it and he probably thinks I’m so stupid and I want to die!” Hermione hid her face in her hands, not wanting to look at Daphne’s amused face right now.
“What? Why would he think you’re stupid?”
“Because of how I… acted. I got all excited about getting dolled up and not looking like me for the first time and I absolutely swooned at any sign of attention and he could feel all of it. Ugh!”
“Ohhhh… I remember that ball. The blue dress, right?”
Hermione nodded.
“Did you do a twirl?”
Hermione blanched. “How did you know?”
Daphne burst into incessant giggles at that. “Merlin’s beard you’re adorable. You’re acting like liking pretty dresses and makeup is wrong or something. That’s normal, dingbat. And Malfoy knows it.”
“But it just felt so… vain looking back on it.”
“Granger, Malfoy is the last person on earth who could fault you for vanity. Watch him rock up to a school party in some stupidly expensive watch and tailored dress shirt. Oh, not to mention his hair!” Daphne rolled her eyes as she flopped back against her bed, bumping her elbow in the process.
“What about his hair?”
“You’re not allowed to repeat this, but Theo says he does these stupid purple treatments once a week to stop it from looking ‘brassy’. Whatever that means. He literally started waking up early because the other boys would complain about how long it took him to do his damn hair in the mornings. Trust me, you’re not the vain one here.”
Hermione’s eyes widened at these new tidbits of Malfoy lore. It might have been the alcohol – it was definitely the alcohol – but she could feel her need for caution slipping away. She felt a deep affection for Daphne all of a sudden. She was her friend. And the only one she could really confide in right now.
“So that’s how he gets it to look so pretty.”
Daphne gawked at her for a moment before quickly schooling her expression into something neutral.
“So you’re a fan of the snowflake look?”
“I do love winter…” Hermione stared out the floor to ceiling window right next to Daphne’s bed wistfully. The landscape was a picture of clean, white hills sloping gently into distant, grey mountain peaks. Trees reached their bare branches into the sky, raw and messy and unrepentant. The black lake was still and smooth, the ice around the shoreline persistently reaching for the centre. The Slytherin common room was under that lake. What view would Malfoy have had during these months?
“Sooo, does that mean you like icy, emotionally unavailable bastards too?” Daphne said with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s not entirely emotionally unavailable…” Some small voice in the back of Hermione’s mind was telling her to shut the fuck up but she didn’t really understand why. Daphne was her friend. She was brilliant and wonderful and always there for her and had given her this very nice drink that she very much wanted to continue drinking.
“I don’t doubt you. He’s not as shit of a person as people think he is. I’m going to need some details though.”
“You’re right! He’s really not.” Hermione said, pouring herself her fifth – sixth? – shot. “He’s been weirdly good about my meltdowns. And my parents. He seemed worried about what I’d be doing over Christmas. Oh! And he shows up early for every session and makes the room smell like roses.”
“Roses?”
“Yeah, I said I liked them one time and he’s been doing it since. And back when we found out about the autism thing, he said I didn’t have to make eye contact if I didn’t want to and said he wouldn’t judge me if I flapped my hands… which I don’t do much anyway but he never comments when I’m fidgety and Padma comments all the time and I feel like I need to hide it around everyone else but not him. And not you. You’re such a good friend, Daph.” Hermione clumsily reached out to pat her on the leg. The jeans restricted her movement more than she would like.
“Oh, it’s Daph now?”
“Yeah! Let’s stop with the surnames. We’re friends right?”
“Ok… Hermione. Merlin, that feels weird.”
For some reason, this was absolutely hilarious to both of them. When they’d calmed down from their laughing fit, Daphne took Hermione by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. The slight blurriness of Hermione’s vision made this relatively tolerable.
“So, you’re warming up to Malfoy?”
“I guess. He hasn’t laughed at me about Viktor yet but-” Hermione gasped. “Daphne!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Daphne oh my god I’m fucked!” Hermione flopped dramatically onto the floor.
“Huh?” Daphne said, hauling herself up from where she’d all but fallen on Hermione.
“He’s gonna find out! Oh no no no no no…”
“Find what out?”
“About my problem! I can’t tell you – I can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone. There’s no problem. I didn’t say anything. UGH!” Hermione rolled onto her front to hide her burning face.
Thankfully, Sue and Padma chose that moment to creak the heavy wooden door to their dormitory open and shuffle in.
“Oh, hey g-”
“Sue! I love you so much – you’re the best! Please don’t think I hate you!” Daphne cried, pulling herself from the floor and stumbling over to embrace Sue forcefully. “I know you think I’m rude but it’s just because you’re so nice all the time and I don’t know how to deal with it and I’m sorry…”
Sue, for her part, looked like she might burst into tears. After a few seconds she hugged Daphne back, the tiny girl almost lifting Daphne off her feet in enthusiasm.
“Oh my god I actually did think you hated me! I’m sorry if I came on too strong,” Sue said, grinning from ear to ear.
“No no no! You’re lovely, I’m just not used to lovely people. You too, Pads!”
“Thanks…” said Padma, eyeing Hermione clumsily arranging herself into a sitting position. “How much have you guys had to drink?”
“Oh yeah yeah yeah, come have some vodka.” Daphne made a valiant but terrible attempt at a Russian accent. “Oh, and speaking of Eastern Europe, Hermione was just telling us how great Viktor Krum is in bed.”
“WHAT?!” Hermione shrieked, clambering to explain herself in the face of two very dumbstruck girls staring at her. “It was just a kiss!” She was sure her cheeks were scarlet.
“You kissed Viktor Krum? Oh my god I totally forgot you knew him. Tell me everything! Is he really gonna transfer to the Belarussian team after this season? Was he mad about that ref call for…” Hermione quickly lost track of Sue’s questions as they got more technical. Thankfully, Daphne saved her by pouring each of the girls a drink.
“Oh- sorry, none for me, thank you,” said Padma quickly.
“Oh come on, don’t be a party pooper,” Daphne insisted.
“Sorry. It’s a religious thing. I really can’t.”
“Religious?”
“Yeah, I’m Hindu.”
“What’s that?” Daphne asked, sounding genuinely curious.
And that – in true Ravenclaw fashion – lead to a long and in-depth discussion on faith. Hermione wished she hadn’t been too drunk to properly follow it. At the same time, she loved how she was getting to spend so much time with her roommates. She really liked these girls. When the sorting hat had placed her here, she really hadn’t expected to fit in anymore than she had with Parvati and Lavender, but here she was. She rocked side to side in contentment, not caring for once whether someone commented on her odd way of moving.
“Ooh, you know what we should do?” said Sue, who was four shots in and very red for some reason. “Truth or dare.”
“Sue, is that really-” started Padma, but she was cut off by a loud, “Yeah!” from Daphne. Hermione’s blood froze.
“How about if we don’t wanna do something we can take a shot. Except Pads who has to do a mantra,” Sue suggested. Hermione could have kissed her. She was absolutely not telling anyone about her feelings for a certain blond git, no matter what the rules were. But she hated lying, and was doing way too much of it lately as it was.
“Sounds good to me,” she said.
“I’ll go first!” Sue asserted. “Daphne-” she extended her arm theatrically towards the girl. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Daphne answered immediately.
Sue pouted and thought for a moment before asking, “What’s one thing you like about everyone in this room?”
“What? You know these are supposed to be embarrassing, right?”
“Yeah, but you seem to be most comfortable acting like you hate us, so I’m thinking this will be embarrassing enough for you.”
Daphne sighed heavily. “Fine. Sue, you accepted me instantly despite my sneaky, snaky origins. Padma, you’re considerate and you keep Sue in line-” Sue huffed at this. “-Hermione, you… listen to me when I need someone to vent to. Hermione!”
“Huh?” Hermione jumped, still a bit on edge.
“Truth or dare?”
“Ahh… dare.” She really didn’t want anyone asking uncomfortable questions.
Daphne smirked and, without missing a beat, said, “Describe your ideal type.”
“That’s more of a truth than a dare,” said Padma, and Hermione thanked her lucky stars. She had an ally.
“Alright then, would you prefer to describe him through the medium of interpretive dance? Or her, sorry. We support the gays in this dormitory.”
Sue and Padma both stiffened at this.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, thankful for a momentary distraction.
Both shrugged her off with a ‘nothing.’
“Don’t change the topic, Gra- Hermione. Get dancing.”
“I’d really rather not…”
“Alright, then. I’ll allow you to use your words, but I want detail.”
Would it be too suspicious to just take the shot? Daphne wasn’t asking her to name anyone. Surely it was better to just be vague. Besides, the alcohol had drawn her into a pleasantly buzzy state of trust and affection. It couldn’t hurt. These girls wouldn’t hurt her.
“Well… I guess historically I’ve gone for quidditch players…” she murmured. “And I like guys who are reliable, and considerate. And smart… I can’t think of much else.”
While Sue jumped to tease her about Viktor again, Hermione did her best to ignore Daphne’s knowing smirk. How much harm could really come of it?
They continued the game until Padma pointed out that it was already a quarter past eight, and a very inebriated Daphne leapt into action. Despite her pleas, neither Sue nor Padma wanted to come to the party, and so Hermione and Daphne left the almost empty bottle in the dorm for Sue and made their way down the stairs to the common room.
Hermione had never been so drunk in her life, and had to hold onto the railing to keep from falling down the very wobbly staircase. Something in the back of her mind told her she should be alarmed but the rest of her mind couldn’t stop laughing long enough to care. Daphne’s insistent ‘Shh!’s were made somewhat inconsequential by her own laughter as they descended, but at the bottom she grabbed Hermine firmly by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes and impressed on her the importance of not being caught drunk by any teachers. Hermione didn’t want to upset her friend and so took several deep breaths to pull herself together.
Thankfully, the girls managed to not run into anyone of authority on their way to the dungeons, and were soon standing in front of a blank stretch of wall. At Daphne’s knock, the wall dissolved, a sixth year Slytherin boy on the other side ushering them through.
Hermione’s first thought was that Harry and Ron really hadn’t done this room justice when they’d described it in third year. The lighting was dim, yes – especially when compared with the bright airiness of Ravenclaw tower – but the ceilings were almost as high and grand. Three of the walls were taken up by massive windows that peered straight into the lake. Both the elaborate ironwork surrounding them and the serenely-swaying kelp in the distance gave the impression of serpents. The stone floors were covered with ornate green and silver rugs, many bearing the Slytherin crest, The room was surprisingly warm.
Hermione didn’t have much time to marvel, however, as a flash of red hair obscured her field of vision. Suddenly Ginny’s arms were around her.
“You came! What did you do to your hair? It looks amazing! Come have a drink.”
Hermione was overcome with a rush of affection for Ginny. Unfortunately, it came with a side of guilt as she remembered the conversation she’d been having with Daphne just before.
“Gin, you know I love you right?” she slurred at Ginny’s back. For better or for worse, the loud thumping bass drowned out her words as the scantily-clad red-head pulled her over to the punch table.
It was more crowded than Hermione had anticipated, but her wave of anxiety was quickly squashed as she downed the brightly coloured drink Ginny had handed her. Ginny stared at her, open mouthed.
“Hermione… how much have you had?” Ginny asked, her voice a mix of concern and awe.
Hermione shrugged. “Ask Daph! Wait- where’s Daph?”
“Hey you!” Daphne appeared behind her, grabbing her hand and twirling her around as they both dissolved into giggles.
“Behold, Weasley – my latest masterpiece! Can you believe how good her hair looks!?”
“Oh, oh! Sorry I didn’t introduce you. Ginny – Daphne – Daphne – Ginny!” Hermione all but shouted over the music. “No house prejudice, ok? We’re all friends here.”
Ginny scoffed. “You realise I’m in Slytherin right?”
“Enjoying the proximity to the kitchens?” Daphne asked, grinning.
“Well yeah, obviously. But I do miss being able to see in my own common ro-”
Their voices were drowned out as Hermione looked past Ginny’s shoulder and saw –
Fucking hell.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
Oh no.
He was looking at her. Straight at her. Dressed in a disgustingly well-tailored shirt with his head cocked and a dark-coloured drink half-way to his lips.
Hermione could only stand and stare as the barriers in her brain fell away and the overwhelming truth of fucking-hell-he’s-hot washed over her. Hermione was swimming, floating – maybe drowning – in an ocean of slow, sensual base and flickering torchlight. She was powerless. But free. So free. And with that, she let herself be taken by the currents.
She barely felt her feet as she walked over to him. All she felt were his electric eyes on her and the buoyant feeling in her chest, under her skin, straightening her spine and keeping her looking directly into the storm.
“Granger.” Malfoy was the first to look away. He inclined his head towards her in greeting, seeming uncharacteristically off-kilter.
“Draco.”
His eyes snapped back to her, face open and shocked. Oh. She wasn’t powerless after all.
“Malfoy! You little shit! How long’s it been?” Daphne’s voice cut through Hermione’s trance like a whip. She jumped before composing herself, hiding behind her drink.
Had she seriously just done that? Had she seriously just done that?
“Not long enough, Greengrass,” he drawled, straight back to the Malfoy she knew and… hated.
They grinned at each other and tapped their drinks in a makeshift toast.
“Weasley.” Malfoy inclined his head towards Ginny politely.
“Why are we talking to him?” was Ginny’s response, directed toward Hermione. Daphne saved her.
“He’s my old housemate. And I, for one, want to know how long he spent styling his hair for this.” Daphne quipped.
Theo Nott, draped over the armchair next to the pillar Malfoy was leaning against, barked out a laugh. “Oh, the stories I could tell you, Daph!”
Hermione couldn’t help smiling, her joy at seeing Malfoy be the butt of a joke for once overcoming her mortification at her own actions.
But Hermione soon lost track of the conversation, gaze drifting back to Malfoy’s face as he swatted at the accusations of vanity like flies. As her newly-enlightened eyes raked over his straight nose, the curve of his jaw, his fucking eyes, the way his shirt fit, she couldn’t really blame him.
When Hermione finally managed to tear her eyes away, she saw Theo Nott smiling widely at her. She smiled back. That was the polite thing to do, right?
Or maybe she’d been too polite.
“Wanna dance, Granger?” he asked, still grinning.
She panicked. “I really can’t dan-”
“Nonsense. You’ve been tapping your drink the whole time. You just gotta tap your feet as well. It’s easy.”
She’d been tapping? Oh no. She hadn’t noticed. She’d been noticing lately how her hands could never stay still when she was anxious, or happy. Or both.
But as Nott – Theo, as he insisted – dragged her onto the makeshift dance floor, she couldn’t remember why that mattered. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe nothing really did. Except the bass and the beat and the way she so easily fell into them.
She quickly finished off her drink, placing her glass on a nearby side table before moving boldly closer to Theo, her shoulders bouncing along to the music.
Turns out, Theo was a terrible dancer. Or maybe Hermione was. Either way, they both thought it was hilarious as he grabbed her hands, spinning them both around in a circle as the music hit a crescendo. Hermione felt so viscerally real in that moment. She felt like after a lifetime spent in her brain, she was only just now finding out about her arms and legs and hands and feet and flickering lights and the thrill of letting go.
It was an addictive feeling. She grabbed at it like a lifebuoy. This was joy. This was freedom. She couldn’t let this go. She didn’t ever want to go back to the real world.
Eventually Ginny pulled her away from Theo to dance with her instead. Daphne – her ally – brought her drink after drink. She loved Daphne. She loved Ginny. Even if she was rude to Malfoy. Malfoy…
If there was anything that could take her further into this – this glorious abyss of here-and-now-and-nothing-else – it was him. With his lightning eyes and wit like a scalpel and unapologetic confidence. God, she wanted him to look at her.
Where was Malfoy?
Her world was too hazy at this point to know how she found him, but when she did he was pink in the cheeks and looking as clueless as she’d ever seen him. She couldn’t help but grin at this new version of him. It was endearing.
In a surge of Gryffindor courage, she took his drink and downed it in one, laughing as she took advantage of his shock to drag him onto the dancefloor.
If Theo was a terrible dancer, Malfoy was abysmal. At least he was at first. He stood stock still, red-faced and staring at her like she’d grown an extra head. That wasn’t what she wanted. Frustrated, she grabbed his face and forced it towards her, eyes boring into his and hips swaying to the beat. Something passed between them then and finally, finally he shook her up in exactly the way she was craving. He ran his hands over her waist and pulled her closer, moving in time with the bassline. The strange, weightless feeling that had been in her bones all night settled into something solid in her abdomen. As the bass intensified, she matched it, pulling herself closer, running her hands over Malfoy’s chest. Every inch of her felt charged. She was full of… something. And she needed someone to take all she had to give.
“Hermione… are you alright?”
Hermione. He’d called her Hermione. Of course she was alright. She nodded happily as a new song came on. She knew this one.
“How much have you had to drink?” Malfoy asked. God his voice did things to her.
She shrugged, honestly having lost count, as she took his hand and spun around. When she came back to face him he was dragging her off the dancefloor. What?
“Daphne?”
Why were they looking for Daphne? Hermione was happy with just him. More than happy.
“I think Granger’s ready for bed.”
What?
“Oh, hey you!” Daphne exclaimed, wrapping Hermione in a suffocating hug before grabbing her face and holding two fingers in front of it.
“How many sees can you- How many can you fing- How many-”
“Merlin’s beard, Daphne!”
“Oh my god Draco I have goss! So much goss! UGH! But I can’t tell youuuuu!”
“Ok, we all need to get back to Ravencl-”
“Noooo! Theo’s getting me anoth-”
“You’ve had enough drinks! C’mon, we need to get Hermione back. She’s off her face.”
“I’m nnnnot off my…” Hermione forced out, finding it disturbingly slurred.
No. This couldn’t end. He’d been touching her. Looking at her. Touching her. She’d fall apart if he left her like this.
“OoOooh, you wanna get Hermione back to the tower?” Daphne burst into laughter at this.
“Yes! And you. Merlin’s beard how much have you had?”
“It’s ok, she likes winter. She likes winter!”
“Look… stay here. I’ll find your jacket,” Malfoy said, placing Hermione’s hand gently but firmly in Daphne’s as he went off in search of the garment.
As soon as he was gone, Daphne took the opportunity to pull Hermione onto the sofa she was lounging on. Hermione fell back into it, not realising how tired she was.
Daphne burst into laughter again and for some reason it was infectious. They had barely gotten themselves together when Malfoy returned with Daphne’s jacket and draped it over her, pulling them both off the couch and shepherding them out of the loud, dark common room and into a cold stone hallway.
Hermione immediately felt exposed. But the buzz of alcohol and the presence of Daphne beside her calmed her enough that she was able to make it up several flights of stairs with almost no incident. Almost – because Daphne tripping on the last staircase before Ravenclaw tower set them both off, their laughter prompting Malfoy to frantically shush them both as he herded them into the common room.
“Oi! You’d better get her to bed, okay?” Malfoy hissed at Daphne before making a beeline for his dormitory.
“Where’s my goodnight?” Hermione cried out petulantly, draping herself over a nearby armchair. She really was tired. What time was it?
“Yeah yeah… don’t be too jealous.” Daphne said to Malfoy’s back, yawning. “C’mon, bedtime!” Daphne dragged Hermione off her armchair and over to the base of the stairwell leading to their dorms.
Hermione couldn’t help but look forlornly back at Malfoy. He met her gaze for half a second before deciding his shoes were more interesting. It was like she’d been stabbed in the gut. Suddenly, the alcohol loosened its grip and she was right back where she’d started. Right back to herself. Right back in her head where she hated hated hated him because he was a death eater and a bully and the slur he’d thrown at her for six years was now a scar on her left arm that would never heal.
Daphne pulled her up the stairs like a ragdoll. Hermione was too numb to resist. When they reached the dorm they collapsed immediately onto Hermione’s bed, facing each other.
“Tell. Me. Everything.” Daphne said, turquoise eyes boring into hers.
In a moment of clarity, Hermione realised she knew. Of course she knew. If there was anyone with the right combination of proximity and street smarts to see through Hermione’s bullshit, it was Daphne.
An icy chill rolled down her spine. Daphne couldn’t know. She couldn’t…
But as she looked into Daphne’s now familiar face, something in her broke. Tears filled her eyes as she crashed into her friend like a wave.
“I can’t… I can’t… I don’t k-know what to do!” she sobbed.
Daphne didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push her. She just held her as she sobbed, stroking her hair.
“We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out…” she cooed softly as Hermione drifted off to sleep.