Chapter Forty-Two
Welcoming Seamus back is seamless.
His laugh is as hearty as she remembers, and he gives her a bear hug that takes her feet off of the floor. He definitely doesn't like Draco, but he's happy to let everyone know how much he likes the comforts of Paris. They spend a half-hour or so catching up, but when it comes time to talk about Dean, that's when the alcohol really comes out.
It starts with everyone taking a drink in his name. That translates into more drinks. And more. And soon, it's mayhem. The noise is unbearable. Pinky's frantic with trying to clean up after Neville, who really can't hold his liquor at all. Hermione, Faye, and Ginny are acting foolish, racing each other to see who can roll across the floor in the Floo room the fastest. Ron and Tillian are playing a drunken game of wizard's chess that has them alternating between screaming at each other and saying, "No, but I love you, mate," over and over again. Seamus and Harry are on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably and hugging each other.
When Ginny drunkenly asks them what's got their knickers in a twist, they tell her they're crying over Seamus' long-lost grandmother, who traveled to Timbuktu and apparently, never came back.
Just when everyone's starting to come together with the intention of playing a silly game, Pinky appears in front of Hermione. She's covered in sweat, panting, and smells like bile. There's a soiled towel tossed over her shoulder.
"Forgive Pinky, Miss. Mister Longbottom is in the loo, and Pinky is tired, but Pinky needs to tell Miss something."
Hermione blinks. There are two Pinkys, spinning around each other in circles.
"What?"
"Master Malfoy is home."
Hermione shrieks and staggers to her feet. Faye helps her, and both of them snicker.
"Where is he, Pinky?"
"Why do you sound so excited?" Seamus asks, slurring his words and wiping his obnoxious tears. "Last bloke I want to see is him."
CRACK.
"That's unfortunate, since this is my home."
Everyone in the room screams. Loudly. The wizard's chess set goes flying into the air, the pieces cascading all over the floor. Drinks are spilled and spluttering laughter is heard coming from Ron at the sight of Tillian, his head and face dripping with Firewhiskey.
Draco is standing there, undoing the buckles on his arm guards. They're made of dark brown leather.
Hermione stomps over to him and puts her hands on her hips. "You didn't have to do that. You were already in the house."
He smirks. "And?"
"You, sir," she says, holding up a warning finger and squinting up at him, "are made of poop."
Harry starts laughing, practically howling, and he doesn't stop. He's rolling on the couch, clutching his stomach and hitting Seamus' arm.
Draco's eyebrow arches and he crosses his arms over his chest. "And you, witch, have had too much to drink."
"Don't be silly." Hermione tries to wave a dismissive hand, but it makes her dizzy. "I've only had on-two-wenty-thirty-two. Thirty-two."
"Thirty-two drinks, hm?" Draco shakes his head. "I'm impressed you're still standing."
"Yeah, well...I'm an impressive sort-of woman." She saunters toward him, heedless of watching eyes.
"Oh, is that so?"
She comes to a stop in front of him and pops her hip, flipping her hair over her opposite shoulder.
"Are you impressed?"
Faye leaps at Draco, throwing her arms around his neck and hanging off of him like a monkey. "Malfoy's back!" she sings. "Malfoy's back! Malfoy's back!"
His expression is deadpan as she shakes him and generally makes a nuisance of herself. When she finally stops, it's so she can bounce over to Tillian and tackle him, knocking his chair over and sending them both crashing.
"Who cares if he's impressed? He's a right piece of rubbish, is what he is, " Ron says, but it sounds like a vicious snarl. He's storming toward them, and Hermione's at least sane enough to know someone's going to die if she doesn't do something about it.
She moves in-between them, holding her hands out at her sides. They both stop and look down at her.
"Please," she says with a dramatic bowing of her head. "Do not battle over me. My heart is not anyone's to claim."
Draco looks like he's trying very hard not to smile. "But whatever will I do as long as a rival for your affections exists, Granger?"
"I'm not your rival!" Ron slurs. He lurches forward, but Hermione's still-outstretched hand stops him. "I'm not. She's my girlfriend."
"Oh, really?" Draco says, a smile finally spreading across his face. "Hear that, Granger? You're his girlfriend. Isn't that nice?"
Hermione makes a sound of exasperation. "I'm not your girlfriend, Ronald. Go and sit down."
Ron sneers at Draco before going to the couch to join Harry, who's hooting in his attempt to stop laughing. Hermione worries he might pass out; all he's done is laugh or cry for the past hour.
"She's lying, by the way," Ginny says, slinging her arm around Hermione's neck and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "She's only had three drinks."
"Three, and you're already sozzled," Draco says. When he looks at her, instead of the anger she expects to see there regarding Ron, there's a humorous sparkle in his grey eyes. "A lightweight, are you?"
There's a thud, followed by the sound of broken glass. They turn to look.
Somehow, Faye has managed to twirl into the wall and knock some sort of antique down near the fireplace. It's shattered on the stone hearth. She stands there, nursing a wound on her palm.
"Oopsie," Faye says with another drunken giggle.
Hermione sees Draco's eyes dropping to where Faye's blood is dripping. Before she can process it, he's turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the room.
"What's with him?" Seamus says with a hiccup. "Mad that his daddy's expensive toy got broken?"
"No," Faye says brightly, holding her wounded hand up for everyone to see. "He's a—"
"Really queasy man!" Tillian shouts. "He doesn't like blood."
Faye grimaces. "Right. Right. Well, I'd like to get a bandage. Dipsy?"
As Dipsy appears to help Faye, Hermione makes a decision to follow after Draco. Ginny looks puzzled, but doesn't say anything as she leaves.
Hermione travels the hallway, peeking in doors until she finds him. It's in a room she can only describe as his study. She's never been inside it. There are books, enchanted things displayed on the walls, and a desk that looks ridiculously expensive.
She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. Draco is in the corner, making himself a drink at a floating bar. Hermione sees he's doing it himself, not using magic, so she can tell he's agitated.
"Is someone hungry?" she asks.
He sneers over his shoulder at her. "Does your boyfriend know you're in here with me?"
Hermione hop-skips over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. She hugs him, pressing her cheek to his back. She can feel his rib cage expanding with every breath. His body is comfortably warm. Safe.
"He's not my boyfriend, and you know it," she says.
"Yeah, whatever."
She makes a sound of frustration. "You really are a poop."
"And you're drunk," he says, finishing his drink and taking a sip of it.
She sighs and steps back from him. "I'm not that drunk."
"Really." He huffs.
"Yes, your poor attitude sobers me up a bit."
He shakes his head and takes another sip. He walks over to his desk and leans against it.
"Did you leave because she was bleeding?" Hermione asks, following him.
"Yes," he says tersely.
"Maybe if you were home sooner, you could have been fed sooner."
"Are you offering?"
She thrusts her wrist out and stares at him with a challenge in her eyes.
"Knock it off, Granger," he says, averting his eyes. "I'm not feeding off of you when you're like this."
"Like what?" She moves closer, stepping in-between his legs and tilting her head back so she can look at him. Even leaning, he's taller than her.
"Drunk," he says and after swallowing another sip, says, "Belligerent. Annoying. Bratty. Shall I go on?"
Hermione's got stars in her eyes again, she can tell. They're certainly dancing in her head. He's so handsome. And tall. And he did very naughty things to her on Christmas. She leans forward, gazing at him like he's the moon and she's the sea.
"You're so pretty," she says, dragging the words out.
He rolls his eyes. "Salazar, fuck."
"Why don't you just come drink with us?" she asks with a pout, plucking at a button on his shirt. "Try to get along with them, maybe?"
"That is a very, very funny joke, Granger."
When he starts to take another sip, she grabs onto his wrist and gives him the most enticing smile she can.
"I'll let you rail me."
"Granger, you are drunk."
She scowls and lets go of him. "Fine. Then don't rail me. Just come drink with us though, won't you?"
His head pulls back on his shoulders. "What is it with you and the word railing?"
Hermione ignores him, relaxing one knee so her body presses into his. She walks her fingers up the center of his chest. "Remember that time you were drunk and you did lots of nice things to me?"
"Yeah, the time you took advantage of my inebriated state."
She gasps as though delighted. "You...should totally come and drink with us, and then later, when we're both sober and really boring, you can exact vengeance on my cunt."
He chokes on his drink and is unable to stop himself from letting out an incredulous laugh that lights up his whole face. She's greedy for it. "You are fucking ridiculous, Granger. I have no idea how you come up with this shit."
"Did I tell you that I think you're pretty?" she asks. "Because you're really pretty."
"Granger—hey!"
She leaps on him, holding his face in her hands and kissing him on the lips again and again and again. Not giving him much more time than to sneak words in edgewise.
"Okay. Okay, okay, okay! Granger. Oh, my God. Fine!" He grabs her by the waist, his touch burning her skin as he pushes her back. "You're a right terror, and you are never getting drunk again."
He pushes past her, taking his drink with him, but she's quicker than he expects. She grabs the glass out of his hand and returns it to the desk.
"You just said—"
"You can get another one in there with us. Carry me."
"What?"
"Come on," she whines. "Carry me on your back."
He looks bewildered. "...why?"
"Because I'm royalty, remember?"
He throws up his hands in defeat and turns around. She jumps onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. He curses under his breath, curving his hands underneath her thighs and hiking them up to his hips.
"Onward, knight," she says.
"I'm literally going to kill you."
"No, you aren't. I'm a good girl."
"That is debatable."
When they get back to the room, everyone's in the middle of a drinking game. They're laughing and having a good time, but when they see Hermione and Draco, they go silent.
"He's carrying you," Harry says.
"As he should," Hermione replies. She drops down and goes to where they have a collection of Firewhiskey bottles waiting on a table. She brings one to Draco, who snatches it out of her grip, cracks it open with his teeth, and storms over to the fireplace.
"It's the best we're gonna get out of him," Hermione says. "He's a Broody McBrooderson."
"He was carrying you," Harry repeats.
"Yes, and?" Hermione steals a gulp from his Firewhiskey. "What are you gonna do? Arrest me? Show me this game."
The game obviously devolves into tomfoolery. Ron is in a terrible mood, and he spends the time glaring at Draco. Draco just stares into the fire, because he really does like to brood, and the other boys decide to play Exploding Snap. Faye and Tillian are canoodling in a chair. Ginny and Hermione are sitting on the floor in front of a couch, whispering and giggling about nonsense, making fun of the guys and planning. Plotting. Creating an insane idea.
"You think he'll say yes?" Ginny whispers. "He seems so cold."
"He gives us whatever we want," Hermione whispers back. "I bet he will."
"Are you sure? He seems like he can barely stand to be around you guys."
"Because he's moody," Hermione says. "But he'll say yes."
"If you say so."
"Don't sound so discouraged," Hermione says, pinching Ginny's upper arm. "I really want to do it."
"Well, so do I!" Ginny hisses. "I've been cooped up in that damn estate for days!"
"Then believe in yourself!" Hermione hisses right back. "Believe in me!"
They glare at each other for a moment before they fall into another fit of giggles at Hermione's absurd dramatics. Then, with excitement in their step, they scramble to their feet and make a mad dash across the room. The smiles on their faces are quite literally not sane as they skid to a halt behind him, prompting him to turn and face them. He looks first at Ginny's open-mouthed smile, then at Hermione's equally-open-mouthed smile.
"Draco, we have an idea!" Hermione shouts, positively vibrating.
He gives her a sour look. "Why are you yelling?"
"Listen," Hermione says, her hands balled into fists near her chest and shaking in animated exhilaration. She doesn't think she's ever had a better idea in her entire life. Ever. "Can we go to London?"
He stares down at her with a strange expression, his gaze washing over her face. He's disgruntled, that's clear, and Hermione can't be sure because of the fire, but she thinks he might be...blushing?
"That's not...a good idea," he says, and he clears his throat.
She puts her hands behind her back and leans forward toward him. She's surprised to see him leaning back, his eyes wide.
"Please?" she says.
"Granger..."
"Pretty please?"
"We'll go to the Muggle side," Ginny says, clasping her fingers together. She's bouncing on her feet. "Can we, Malfoy? Can we?"
He looks completely thrown off by her addressing him.
"You can't go alone," he says. "I don't think you should."
Hermione moves even closer. He stumbles back a step. Her smile is sickly-sweet as she reaches up and pokes him in the nose.
"Please, Draco? You're so pretty. You're tall and scary and pretty."
Draco scowls and drops his head into his hand, exasperated and clearly fed-up.
"Salazar's beard," he mutters. "Fine."
Ginny and Hermione both squeal like little girls.
"Really?" they cry simultaneously.
"But you're not going alone. I'm going with you. And you'll be changing your appearance with magic, just in case."
Hermione grabs his face and squeezes his cheeks.
"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful boy! Everything you say and do is so perfect."
Draco pushes her hands off. "Yeah, fine. Go get ready."
Hermione grabs Ginny's hand and tugs her out of the room, briefly yelling at the others to take a Sober-Up because they were finally, blessedly going out.
Nobody takes a Sober-Up, of course, and the appearances they craft for each other are bizarre. It takes them an extra fifteen minutes to be able to leave because Seamus and Harry find it hilarious to keep giving Ron a huge arse. Draco looks like he's about to hex someone's head off, and like he regrets every decision he's ever made in his life up until this very moment. Neville is incapacitated, somewhere in the Manor with a likely panicked Pinky.
And they go to London.
It's so ridiculously simple. They Apparate there, everyone too drunk to question how the Hell Draco was able to Side-Along seven people with him for miles, and the rest is a blur. Hermione doesn't remember much about it other than the fact that they stumbled upon a nightclub, went inside, and danced until their feet ached. Ron tried to get her to dance with him, but she managed to melt into the crowd and double back to get to Draco. Draco didn't dance with her, of course, choosing to stand against the wall with his arms crossed and look like a haunt. Hermione didn't care because she danced on him, in front of him, around him, and didn't care how annoyed he was.
There was one moment toward the end of the night where a slower song played, and Hermione was dancing in front of him, completely lost in it. She doesn't know if she turned around herself, or if he turned her around, but he took her by the hand and pulled her against him. His eyes burned down into hers as he kissed the back of her hand, and then her knuckles.
Perhaps it was the liquid courage the Firewhiskey had given her. Or perhaps it was the way he was looking at her, but she stopped dancing on him, in front of him, and around him. She danced for him, her hands sliding up his chest and into his hair, and her hips swaying to the beat of the music. She remembers Draco's eyes dragging down her body, drinking in the sight of her moving for him in a way that made her shiver.
With the people pressing in around them, the thumping of the music, and flashing of the lights, Hermione could almost imagine they weren't who they were. That they weren't Hermione Granger the witch and Draco Malfoy the wizard-turned-vampire. Here in the Muggle world, where everything was fine and normal, while the wizarding world was a Medieval dystopia full of death, pain, and fear. She could pretend that they were boyfriend and girlfriend. They were on a date. She loved him. And her boyfriend could stand and watch his silly girlfriend dance and try to climb him like a tree.
Hermione doesn't know if anyone saw them, but since Ron's still alive, she figures he must not have seen them. She thinks that maybe Ginny saw, but she can't be sure. She was a bit busy snogging the sense out of Harry. Tomorrow, there will be consequences. Things will be remembered. Hangovers will be endured. Words will be said and suspicions will be introduced.
But none of it matters because a silly girl loves a beautiful boy, who she thinks might love her back, and they danced in London two days before New Year's Eve, with all of her friends nearby.
By the time they got back to the Manor, everyone was exhausted and drunk enough to pass out in various places in the Floo room. But Draco picked Hermione up where they couldn't see and carried her up to her room. She remembers thanking him for everything, for her friends, for taking them to London, for giving up so much for her. She remembers him not saying anything. And she remembers him laying her down, tucking her in, and kissing her forehead.
She doesn't know what happened after he laid her down because she had fallen fast asleep.
Safe.