Chapter Text
She had a sock in her mouth.
That had to be the explanation for the dry, furry feeling that was preventing her from swallowing, but she couldn’t seem to spit it out.
With a groan that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in an army of Inferi, she rolled onto her back and winced at the daylight pouring in through the window. She was still fully dressed, her jumper twisted uncomfortably around her body and jeans clinging tightly as her shoes messed up the sheets. Twisting her head in a vain attempt to stop her hair from suffocating her, she spotted her wand laid neatly on the bedside table beside a piece of parchment and a small vial of shimmering sky blue liquid.
She sat up gingerly, fighting down a wave of nausea as she reached for the note.
Drink me. DM.
She frowned, turning the note over to check for any more information before picking up the vial and squinting at the swirling blue contents. She didn’t recognise the potion, which grated on her in itself, but she did recognise the looping swirl of the handwriting and the questions it created only made her head hurt more.
It made no sense for Malfoy to give her a potion, let alone expect her to drink it with no explanation. He either assumed she trusted him, hoped that she did, or didn’t care if she actually drank it or not. Her head hurt too much to work it out.
She wasn’t even going to attempt to figure out how he had got it past the wards and into her room.
The world swayed horrifically as she tried to stand, gravity claiming her again and sending her slumping back down to the bed. Laying sprawled on her back once more, she reluctantly allowed herself to remember the reason for her pain.
Drinking… all the drinking… stumbling… verbal diarrhoea… shouting…
They had tripped drunkenly into the common room after curfew and interrupted a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Wizarding Chess tournament. Ron had leapt up at their appearance, upending the board and angering Michael Corner who had been on the verge of winning. His irritation was fully eclipsed, however, by the red-faced screaming of Ron as he began to hurl abuse at the Slytherins and accuse them of attacking her.
Pushing the girls behind them, the three Slytherin boys had lifted their chins and been prepared to deal with whatever was thrown at them. Hermione, however, would not accept that, and let her rage fly free in all its intoxicated glory. Shoving a wide-eyed Theo out of the way, she had planted herself in front of them and pointed her wand at Ron’s chest, insisting he either calm down or lose a testicle.
“...you’re not fit to be in Gryffindor…”
His words echoed in her ears as she remembered the furious spray of spittle hitting her face as he had yelled at her. She couldn’t even recall most of it clearly, but those seven words had seared their way into her heart.
She was proud of her house, it had been her home and part of her life for most of her teenage years, but to Ron it was more than that. He had been raised in a family of Gryffindors; had always known he would be one. The Weasleys were the outsiders of Pureblood society, shunned by the Sacred Twenty-Eight as blood traitors, and Ron had clung to the idea that they had nothing to their name other than being quintessentially strong and courageous Gryffindors. Gryffindors were the heroes, Ravenclaws the brainiacs, Hufflepuffs the peacemakers, and Slytherins the enemy. It was part of his identity, and he took any perceived challenge to this worldview as a challenge to himself personally.
It scared her to see how much hatred and judgement had burrowed into his heart because of the war. So much so that he was apparently willing to choose his hatred over their friendship.
Unity seemed to be an impossible goal when bare tolerance was too much for some.
Stomach rolling, she pushed herself back up to sitting and looked down at the small bottle that was still clutched in her fingers. No matter what had happened in the past, she couldn’t deny that Malfoy had been better to her since the summer than her best friends had. He seemed to see her mask for what it was and hadn’t once used it against her. Contrary to all of her expectations, he’d actually helped her and asked for nothing in return. And while he might only be trying to make amends for the past to assuage his own guilt, his actions meant that she was finally beginning to heal, and that meant something to her.
“How bad could it be?” she muttered aloud, pulling the tiny cork out of the bottle and swallowing the single mouthful of potion.
For one awful second, she thought the entire contents of her stomach were about to reappear. In the next, a delightful cooling sensation rushed through her in a soft wave, clearing her head, washing away the nausea, and leaving a subtle peppermint aftertaste on her now-clean tongue. She glanced down at the empty vial in awe, realising that he had sent her the most effective hangover cure that she had ever used. The Apothecary in Diagon Alley sold them, but in her limited experience it tasted like rotting slugs and still left you with a queasy stomach.
Standing, she huffed a disbelieving laugh at how normal she suddenly felt as she gathered clean clothes and headed for the bathroom that she shared with Parvati. She was keen to get on top of her homework now that she felt well again, especially as it would provide a welcome distraction from thinking about the previous evening.
Dressed in comfortable leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, satchel of books slung over her shoulder, she stopped in her tracks as she reached the entrance hall and saw the Quidditch banners waving over the stairwells. Cursing under her breath, she dithered, wanting to avoid the crowd that she could hear in the Great Hall, hyping themselves up for the first Quidditch game of the year. Not that she had a single clue who was playing; she had never cared for the sport in the slightest.
She squeaked in surprise as a Hufflepuff fourth year, fully decked out in a bright yellow and black costume, blew a kazoo in her ear and ran past her with a shout of laughter. The library called to Hermione, tempting her to just head straight there and hide, but the angry growl of her stomach said that she would be miserable without breakfast after all the alcohol she had unwisely consumed.
Resigned, she walked into the Hall and instinctively made for the Gryffindor table. Upon spotting Ron sitting with Dean and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she faltered again and paused halfway to the table. Ginny glanced at her before quickly leaning over and saying something to her brother, who turned to look at Hermione with a scowl. The rest of the team followed, a small sea of heads turning to unabashedly stare at her in response to whatever had been said, and she felt herself take a reflexive step back as if threatened.
Catching Ron’s angry gaze, she heard his harsh words replaying in her mind, and for the first time in her time at Hogwarts, she wasn’t sure she would be welcome if she sat with them. The thought stirred resentment in her gut and she pushed her spine straight. She refused to cower or apologise when she hadn’t done anything wrong, though she was certain that they expected her to.
Turning on her heel, she found Luna smiling at her as she approached from the Ravenclaw table, her renowned roaring lion hat tucked under her arm. “Good morning Hermione. Are you feeling alright?”
Hermione smiled warmly at her and pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Yes, thanks, are you off to the game?”
Luna nodded dreamily as she stroked the fur on the lion’s head. “You should eat before the food disappears, you know.”
“I know, I was just…” Hermione hesitated awkwardly. “Deciding where to sit?”
The blonde looked briefly confused before reaching out to gently pat Hermione on the forearm. “Just sit with your friends. See you!”
Hermione blinked stupidly as Luna walked away, humming happily. It was, as usual, sound advice from the bizarrely wise girl, and Hermione drew up her courage as she made a decision.
It took fifteen steps to reach them. “Can I sit with you?”
Theo’s mop of brown curls bounced as he nodded enthusiastically, shifting along the bench to make space. “Of course!”
Blaise laughed from opposite him. “Way to play it cool, Nott.”
Hermione bit back a smile as Theo gave Blaise the finger in response, tucking her bag down by her feet as she helped herself to some pumpkin juice.
“Bold move, Granger,” Pansy remarked from her other side, brow raised in clear question.
Hermione shrugged. “If I’m being made out to be the villain, I may as well sit here.”
A beat of silence fell before Pansy cackled loudly, attracting attention from along the Slytherin table as she raised her glass to Hermione before draining it. Hermione could feel eyes and ears on them as she tried to focus on her breakfast, her pulse refusing to settle in the oddly quiet Hall.
She felt a nudge on her foot and looked up from her plate to find Malfoy watching her. She raised a brow in question and he searched her face before leaning forward.
“You drank it,” he stated quietly.
She nodded slowly. “I didn’t think anything could make me feel worse than I did when I woke up, it wasn’t much of a risk.”
He took in her teasing smile and snorted. “You’re welcome.”
“He gave you one of his hangover cures?” Daphne asked from beside him, looking surprised.
“And you drank it?” Blaise asked incredulously.
Malfoy rolled his eyes at them. “We got her hammered, I thought we probably owed her one. I’m not that much of an arsehole.”
Theo laughed. “Aren’t you?”
“Well he didn’t tell me what it was, or how he got it into my room while I was sleeping, but I’m grateful that I didn’t vomit everywhere so I’ll just say thank you,” Hermione said as she buttered some toast.
“House elf,” he admitted with a smirk, raising his palms in mock surrender as she glared at him. “What? I was perfectly polite.”
A hesitant tap on her shoulder interrupted the complaint she was about to throw at him, making her turn to find Isabella Tintwistle leaning towards her from the next table.
“Hey,” the seventh year Hufflepuff whispered, glancing warily at the Slytherin’s around her. “You can sit with us if you’ve fallen out with your friends?”
She felt Theo stiffen beside her as everyone in earshot turned to witness the interaction. Hermione, however, pasted on a saccharine smile as she replied. “Thanks, Isabella, but I’m fine here.”
Surprise rippled over the Hufflepuff’s face as Hermione turned back to her breakfast, effectively dismissing her. Hermione gave Theo a friendly nudge as she took a bite of toast, trying to reassure him while ignoring the heavy silence in the room.
“Well this is awkward,” Tracey hissed, grunting as Pansy kicked her in the ankle.
“Traitor.”
The single word was loud enough to filter through the whispers that had begun again, ensuring that everyone heard. Her heart stuttered as she recognised the voice as Ginny’s, and it was immediately followed by a bark of laughter from Seamus. Hermione’s cheeks heated as she felt the word like a physical blow, but she refused to react in public. Kingsley had told her to lead by example, after all.
Malfoy caught her gaze, the smallest crease on his forehead betraying his concern. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take another bite of toast as she gave him a minute shrug.
“Do you want to work on Runes this morning?” Theo asked her a few minutes later, as the general noise levels in the Hall settled back to normal.
Hermione abandoned the rest of her breakfast, taking a final sip of juice. “You’re not watching the match?”
Malfoy scoffed. “Useless Puffs versus Cocky Dickheads? Sounds thrilling. No thanks.”
Blaise chuckled at that as Theo shook his head. “Draco makes a mean hangover cure, but I’m still in need of a quiet day. Library? I’ll drag us all there.”
She nodded, grabbing her satchel and standing. “I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
Escaping as Blaise began to whine about the idea of studying on a Sunday, she confidently made her way out of the Hall without a backward glance. The Gryffindor team had left for the Quidditch pitch a few minutes earlier, but she knew that the rest of the school were watching her every move.
She also knew that she couldn’t hold her composure for much longer.
Passing the main staircase, she walked quickly towards the central courtyard and slipped into Classroom Eleven. Closing the door behind her, she leant back against the cool wood and took a shuddering breath as she checked around for signs of life. Dumbledore’s old enchantments still lingered in the now unused space, the Forbidden Forest seeming to stretch out before her as realistically as it had when Firenze had taught Divination there three years before. Not that Hermione had seen much of it herself, having happily discarded the subject before then.
Moving further into the room, she wearily dropped her bag at the foot of a knobbled tree and heaved a weighted breath. Emotion pressed down on her, making her chin drop from the force of it, but she tried to let the panic rise rather than fight it. When it didn’t, she frowned, raising her hands to find them not shaking at all.
Yet the pressure behind her eyes persisted, and a small, trembling sigh escaped her lungs as she realised that this was not panic at all. She wasn’t being tugged back into memory; she wasn’t suppressing fear and grief until they overwhelmed her. This was about the now, not the past. She was hurt by her friends’ easy abandonment of her; by the way they were treating her like she meant nothing to them. By the fact they had chosen their hatred over her friendship.
This wasn’t trauma, it was sadness.
She gave a soft gasp as her knees buckled, the weight of it pulling her down, but long arms wrapped around her before she could hit the ground. Scooping her back to her feet, they turned her and pulled her into a solid chest, tucking her close as the first sob clawed its way out of her throat.
Her hands fisted the front of his shirt, gripping tightly as she cried for the hurt and the loss until the fabric was soaked through and her sobs had subsided into soft hiccupping breaths. Her fingers loosened as she began to calm, her hands sliding around his back as she pressed her cheek against the comforting warmth of him and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
The scent of spearmint and familiar cologne surrounded her as she stood in his embrace for several quiet minutes, the world settling back into place and leaving her feeling balanced again.
“Don’t,” he murmured as she opened her mouth, making her frown.
“Don’t what?”
His chest rumbled slightly, as if he was annoyed. “Don’t apologise or try to dismiss it. They’re fucking arseholes and you’re allowed to be upset.”
She pulled back a little, craning her neck to meet his stormy grey gaze. “I wasn’t going to.”
He released her, briefly running the warmth of his hands down her arms as he eyed her dubiously. She pursed her lips. “I was actually going to ask about the hangover potion. You made it?”
His face split into a grin, making something in her warm further. “Of course you were. Swotting even when crying.”
Wiping her cheeks, she bent to scoop up her bag before giving him a dirty look that had zero feeling behind it. “Shut it, Malfoy.”
He laughed, giving her a knowing look as he cast a subtle drying charm on his shirt. “Shut it, Granger? Or do you mean ‘please go into full and rampant detail, oh Master of Potions’?”
She huffed. “Come on, oh Master of Potions, we need to go. Theo probably thinks we’ve abandoned him.” She turned at the door to give him a pointed look. “You can tell me on the way.”
His deep chuckle made a smile spread across her face, her chest feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “Only if you keep calling me Master.”
“Seeing as you’re the one following me around, I’d say that you’re more the lapdog than the master,” she joked.
He leaned in close as he went to pass her, his smirk making her breath catch.
“Woof.”