𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱

This chapter contains an upsetting theme, please read with caution.

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Grimmauld Place

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HERMIONE had been enjoying her evening far more than she thought she would.

She stood by the fireplace, wobbling and swaying on her flimsy feet as she allowed her the alcohol in her glass to consume her entirely.

Near the beginning, she had felt nothing but nerves coursing through her veins as she watched Draco and Nate ponder off. But with each glass she had drained of its contents, numbed that feeling even further.

People came and went passed her throughout the evening, only Ron hadn't. Or maybe he had — she had barely noticed who was who anymore.

As the darkness drew nearer, the orange, igniting flames that topped the candles and penetrated the fireplace illuminated the many different bodies throughout, the ashen shade of her dress contrasting beautifully with her darker skin the lighting manipulating to the eye.

It had been a while since her glass had been refilled, and it felt as though her previously clouded mind had been defogging, the numbness her drinking brought easing, her temples aching.

More guests arrived after she and Draco, and by now, the room had been an ocean swimming with guests, and only did she now feel as though she were drowning within.

She maneuvered around the people, mumbling little 'excuse me's' and 'sorry's' as she passed through. She fumbled into the hallway, her head spinning, her frail knees threatening to cave beneath her.

Hermione walked over the wood of the floor, her shoes clattering as the struck it with each strive she took. Her body carried her weakly through the corridor, her side slamming into one of the doors, her eyes sealed shut as she caught guard of what had just happened to her.

There was silence on the other side, and she knew exactly why. It was bare; the Black family tree besmirched across the wall there. 

Harry and Ginny refused to go in here anymore, not since Sirius died. To him, seeing the name and where his picture used to lay, now painted over with dark magic to mark his betrayal to his family, it was as though he were stabbed all over.

Even hearing the name earned a wince from him. A sharp and piercing reminder of what once was. Even ten years later.

Suddenly, a harsh breath inhaled from inside the room was heard, and Hermione found herself closing her hand over the knob and shoving it.

Her body lunged forward with the door, not thinking beforehand, her wild curls leaking over her shoulders. She thrusted her arms into the air to regain her balance, and after a second, she'd caught it.

She straightened her spine, the pads of her fingers freeing the lines of creases in her silver dress. She swung the door away, listening to it click back into the frame.

The room was eerie and bleak, the moonlight peering through the window casting a shadow over the floor, a contrast, a difference.

"What are you doing in here?" A low voice asked her, a slight shift in the darkness, her drunken state merely steadying.

"I—" she hiccoughed, her lids heavy and rimmed. "It was a mistake...I'm leaving now. Who—"

"You don't recognize me, Granger?" There was no mistaking this was a man's doings. "When we've been snogging for a week. Shame."