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camillemontespan · 4 years

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ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part six: emerald green]

Master List if you want to catch up

Warnings: NSFW.

Another day of lockdown, another chapter!

@moonlightgem7 @jovialyouthmusic @mskaneko @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @pug-bitch @gooddaykate @princessleac1 @burnsoslow @loveellamae @pedudley @oofchoices @emichelle @simplymissjulia @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @rainbowsinthestorm @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @addictedtodrakefanfic @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet *********************************************

Liam and Camille had a very awkward breakfast with the Walkers - it seemed that everyone had heard Camille the night before. Bianca had teased them by saying, ‘enjoy your nightcap last night, then?’ Liam was slightly hungover and demolished the eggs and bacon set out for him, making sure to shower Bianca with compliments.

Drake focused on drinking his coffee and avoided looking at Camille. If he did, he knew he would be dealing with a boner under the breakfast table. Camille studiously ate her toast while trying to make small talk with Savannah, to no avail as Savannah kept shooting daggers at her and Liam. Because she hadn’t been able to sleep due to Camille’s groans and cries, Savannah had been awake since 3am and she was not happy. She had her hands full with Bartie, who was being particularly demanding this morning.

Bianca was reading the Applewood Gazette and announcing the news in a bid to lift the mood of the room. ‘Oooh the Beaumonts are hosting a Bash this weekend!’ Bianca cooed. ‘It says invitations will be posted asap.. I wonder if we’ll get one?!’

Bianca had been hopeful ever since her chat with Bertrand.

Drake rolled his eyes. ‘I hope not.’

Liam frowned. ‘What’s wrong with the Beaumont’s? I liked them.’

Savannah laughed dryly. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s just Drake. He hates social events. Such a loner.’

‘I prefer to be a loner than a desperate social climber,’ Drake muttered. Savannah’s eyes narrowed and she kicked him hard in the leg.

‘OW!’

‘I’ll aim higher next time,’ Savannah hissed.

Camille kept her eyes on her toast, ignoring the sibling squabble. She knew that Drake had overheard her last night and she wasn’t proud of herself. He had been right next door! Why hadn’t she just stopped Liam before he started to get her all worked up? How embarrassing.

Once breakfast was finished, Liam and Camille bid goodbye. Drake was relieved to see them go. He was about to escape to see Lone Star when Savannah grabbed him by the arm. ‘Come into town with me,’ she said.

‘Sav, why?’ he groaned. ‘I need to sort out the horse-’

‘I need your brotherly opinion about what to wear for the Bash!’

Drake sighed. ‘We haven’t been invited.’

‘Yet,’ Savannah corrected him. ‘Yet. I need to be prepared.’

Drake closed his eyes. ‘I know nothing about fashion-’

‘Duh, I know that,’ Savannah said. ‘But I still need a second opinion.’

‘Ask mom!’

‘No!’ Savannah protested. ‘She’ll pick something.. Floral. Or dull. I need someone with me who has younger taste. Besides, we can catch up.’

Drake clocked what she was doing. This wasn’t a shopping trip. This was an interrogation about him and Camille.

*************************************************

Savannah was picky. Incredibly picky. Anything Drake suggested, she would shoot down in flames.

‘What’s wrong with that one?!’

‘It looks like something a 50s housewife would wear!’ Savannah cried, pushing past Drake to inspect another rail. Drake exhaled, trying to gather patience.

‘It would help if you told me what you’re looking for. Gimme something, Sav.’

Savannah sighed and perused the rails. ‘I want something that says I’m more than just a mom who got knocked up aged 18.. Like, I am so much more. I am sexy and intelligent. I deserve a seat at the table.’

Drake blinked. ‘I meant a colour but yeah, whatever you say..’

‘I will know it when I see it,’ Savannah said, picking up a dress before putting it back. ‘It will speak to me.’

She continued to look through the rails. Drake sat down on a chair, defeated. He would just be patient and wait instead of suggesting anything. Before he could take his phone out of his pocket, Savannah spoke.

‘So, Camille…’

Drake sighed. ‘Yes?’

‘You’ve been hanging out a lot recently..’

God, her tone was so.. probing.

‘Yeah, well, we’ve reconnected,’ Drake muttered.

Savannah held up a blue dress against her body before tutting and putting it back. She glanced at her brother. ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘All the inside jokes are coming back. The flirting-’

‘We aren’t flirting!’ Drake interrupted.

Savannah scoffed. ‘You absolutely are! Oh my God, Drake, it’s so obvious! The banter! Calling her by her last name! The looks.. Oh my god, the looks.’

‘The looks?’

Savannah placed her hand on her hip and gave Drake a steady stare. ‘You both keep looking at each other when you think the other isn’t looking.’

Drake reacted in the worst way possible to this information; he blushed. Savannah pointed at him, looking triumphant. ‘I knew it!’ she cried. ‘You love her!’

‘Shhh, Sav!’ Drake hissed, as if worried the dresses on the rails were going to spill his secrets. ‘I don’t!’

‘Oh please. The feelings are coming back.’

Drake stood up, shaking his head. ‘Alright. You can get the bus home.’

Savannah grabbed him by the arm. ‘I’m just looking out for you,’ she explained softly. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt. Or do something stupid.’

‘Like what?’ Drake asked. ‘What would be stupid? She’s getting married, Sav. I’m not an idiot.’

Savannah sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m just worried. I don’t think you both realise how big this could get if you’re not careful.’

‘She leaves in a week,’ Drake told her. ‘I won’t see her again until the wedding and then I won’t see her again for the rest of my life so to be honest, Sav, I think I’ll be fine.’

Savannah didn’t look like she believed him. She told him so. Drake let out a frustrated groan and began to walk through the store towards the exit. ‘Get the bus back, Sav!’

‘Drake, wait!’ Savannah rushed after him and continued to walk beside him as they strode through the mall. ‘Drake, stop walking so fast! I was just looking out for you. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret-’

Drake spun around to face her. ‘Savannah,’ he said, his voice firm. ‘I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. I’m not an idiot. Just trust me, okay? I’m not going to do anything with Camille. She’s getting married. That’s it. Now, can we please just find you a fucking dress so we can go home?’

Savannah sighed. ‘Fine,’ she finally said. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you-’

‘I get it, Sav.’

The siblings entered a new store and didn’t discuss Camille for the rest of the shopping trip.

*************************************************

The coveted Beaumont Bash invitation arrived in the post two days later. Bianca and Savannah had jumped around screaming happily while Drake dragged himself outside to look after Lone Star.

She had been his horse since he was twelve. He loved her so much; always had, always will. The horse was keen to get out of the stable for a ride and Drake was happy to indulge her. She needed the exercise anyway.

He rode her gently down the dirt path, deciding to go for a trip around the ranch. Drake wore a checked shirt loose over a white vest and his grubbiest jeans. ‘There’s a good girl..’ he coaxed her as she cantered down the path. ‘Feels good to be out, right?’

Lone Star cantered further down the road until Drake could see Camille’s grandma’s house. He was about to turn the horse back but stopped when he saw Camille was sitting out on the porch. She waved at him.

‘Yeah, look, it’s your old friend,’ Drake murmured to Lone Star. ‘Remember Camille? You loved her.’

Lone Star wickered in response. Camille stood up and began to walk towards Drake and Lone Star. Drake swallowed as his eyes studied her; she was wearing tiny denim shorts and a black vest that hugged her breasts and showed a strip of flat, toned stomach.

‘Hey Drake. Oh my gosh, is this Lone Star?!’ Camille cried, running towards them now. She reached the horse and held out her hand for Lone Star to sniff.

‘It’s your girl,’ Drake confirmed.

A wide smile broke out on Camille’s face. She looked delighted to see the horse; her eyes were dancing. ‘I don’t have any apples for you, babe,’ she said softly.

Drake reached into the bag that was slung around his body and handed her an apple. Camille giggled and held it out for Lone star. ‘Or do I?!’

Drake chuckled and watched as Camille fed Lone Star the apple. ‘You are so gorgeous..’ she whispered, her eyes fixed on Lone Star. ‘I missed you.’

‘She missed you too,’ Drake said, trying to be light. He saw Camille blush and wished he hadn’t said anything. He smiled though as Camille continued to speak to Lone Star in hushed tones, the smile remaining on her face.

She looked up at him now. ‘Having a nice ride?’

‘Yeah, it’s good,’ Drake said. ‘You just hanging out on the porch?’

‘Yeah,’ Camille said. ‘Liam is napping, grandma’s planting more flowers. I have a few hours to spare until dinner.’

Drake nodded, letting a silence descend on them. He was not going to invite her to join him for a ride. He was not going to give Savannah any more reasons to lecture him. But the silence between them was excruciating..

‘Can I join you and Lone Star?’ Camille suddenly asked. ‘Me and my girl gotta catch up.’

Drake swallowed. ‘Uhhh..’

Camille turned red. She had realised that it was an awkward suggestion. ‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘Are you going to the Bash? I’ll be there so we can talk then-’

‘Montespan,’ Drake said, interrupting her bluntly. She stopped talking and looked up at him nervously.

‘You wanna ride Lone Star?’ Drake asked her.

Camille’s eyes darted to the horse. ‘Uhhh..’

‘She’d love it,’ Drake murmured softly.

Camille blushed again. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let me up.’

Drake jumped off the horse and helped Camille climb up onto Lone Star. He held her hands as she steadied herself and helped her fix her feet into the stirrups. ‘Not the best horse riding wear,’ he teased.

‘Says you who is wearing jeans?’ she shot back, raising an eyebrow. Drake chuckled and watched as Camille leaned close to Lone Star’s head.

‘Shall we get him to chase us, girl?’ she asked.

‘Don’t you dare..’ Drake breathed.

Camille gave Drake a wink and dug her heels into the horse. Lone Star began to trot up the road before increasing her speed, breaking into a run.

‘Camille!’ Drake shouted. ‘Give her back!’

‘Gotta catch me first!’ Camille hollered over her shoulder.

Drake cursed her and raced after them, trying not to laugh as Camille whooped and cheered.

Camille brought Lone Star to a stop further down the road and waited for Drake to catch up. He was panting heavily as he reached them. ‘You dick..’ he muttered.

Camille giggled. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’

Drake shook his head, smiling, and took hold of the reins. He began to lead the horse up the road, letting Camille relax astride her back. He and Camille chatted easily, like old times.

As Drake guided the horse, Camille looked down at him and felt her heart flutter. Clearing her throat, she tried to settle herself and stop the fluttering that she hadn’t expected to feel.

*************************************************

Savannah had chosen a fuschia bodycon dress to wear to the Beaumont Bash. To her, it said she was sexy and intelligent. To Drake, it showed too much of his sister’s skin.

Bianca was wearing an elegant teal trouser suit with nude heels. Her hair had been blowdried by the best hairdresser in town and she was ready to go three hours before they were due to leave the ranch. Bianca was that prepared.

Drake had hired a suit. He refused to wear the too small suit in his closet and so had enlisted Savannah to join him at a tailor shop. With her help, he had found a black suit, new black shoes and an emerald green pocket square that added a surprising pop of colour. The suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and chest. As Drake examined himself in the mirror, he imagined being a bodyguard because that was what he looked like.

He whistled ‘I Will Always Love You’ by Whitney Houston as he trundled downstairs to join his mother and sister. They were waiting for the taxi to pick them up and they had agreed to pick up Gisele, Camille and Liam on the way.

‘Wow, look at you!’ Bianca shrieked, clapping her hands as she saw her son. ‘You look so handsome!’

Drake grinned. ‘Thanks, ma.’

‘Taxi’s here!’ Savannah hollered. ‘Let’s go!’

The taxi drove them down the road to Gisele’s. Drake clambered out of the car and went to the front door to ring the bell. He waited until the door opened to reveal Camille. He let out a breath as his eyes took her in.

She was wearing an emerald green silk bias cut dress and rose gold strappy heels. Her hair was arranged into a chignon and she wore emerald earrings that dangled from her ears just above her shoulders.

‘Wow..’ Drake murmured, taken aback. ‘You look.. Wow.’

Camille blushed. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. She studied Drake now, her eyes roaming over his body. ‘You look pretty handsome yourself, Walker.’

Drake was about to reply but was interrupted by Liam and Gisele who joined them. ‘Sorry, sorry, we’re ready now mon cherie!’ Gisele said quickly, arranging her red silk shawl around her shoulders.

Liam clapped Drake on the back. ‘Looking good, Drake! You clean up nicely!’

‘You can be my date for the evening!’ Gisele teased, taking Drake’s arm and letting him lead her to the taxi. ‘All the girls will be so envious!’

‘Grandma…’ Camille groaned.

Gisele shot her a wink and climbed into the taxi, cooing as she complimented Bianca’s hair. Camille and Liam arranged themselves to sit beside Savannah. Savannah studied Camille and said with a knowing tone, ‘Camille, your dress matches Drake’s pocket square!’

Liam laughed and looked back and forth from Drake and Camille. ‘So you do!’ he said. ‘How fun!’

Drake wanted to throw the pocket square out of the window.

**************************************************

The Bash’s theme was simple: Jewels. Everyone in attendance had to wear an outfit that was a rich jewel jone, hence why Drake had gone for an emerald pocket square. He refused to wear a green suit; fuck that. Pocket squares were as far as he was willing to go.

Bertrand and Maxwell greeted their guests wearing matching suits made of gold brocade. Maxwell had golden glitter pressed on his cheekbones while Bertrand held a walking cane with a gold diamond set on top. He didn’t need a walking cane; he used it purely for decoration.

‘Drake Walker, you look so suave!’ Bertrand cried, shaking his hand. ‘Good to see you. And Camille, my beautiful little gem stone! Stunning! Green is absolutely your colour!’

Maxwell squealed. ‘You’re both matching!’

Drake and Camille both wished everyone would stop commenting on the fucking green.

Liam was wearing a purple suit paired with a canary yellow tie. He usually wore reserved colours of grey, black and blue but as this was his first Bash, he wanted to push the boat out. As a result, Bertrand instantly fell in love with him.

‘You look GORGEOUS! Where is this suit from?’ Bertrand asked. ‘And the tie? Liam, we simply must talk. Come to my table.’

He grabbed Liam and pulled him away. Bianca and Gisele were looking around the ballroom of the Beaumont Manor, excited to start dancing. Savannah was looking for people she could talk to that weren’t her brother; she found Madeleine and rushed over to bow at her feet.

Drake and Camille smiled at each other, now that they are alone. ‘Bar?’ Drake suggested.

‘Lead the way,’ Camille said. Drake chuckled and placed his hand on her lower back as he guided her to the bar area. His touch burned through the silk of her dress. They stood at the corner of the bar and Drake raised his hand at the bartender. Camille let him order; he chose champagne for her, whiskey for himself.

‘I want whiskey,’ Camille said softly, tugging on his sleeve.

Drake chuckled. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Drake swapped her drink and watched as she sipped the amber liquid. He tried to ignore the butterflies that were flying around crazily like they were on acid in his stomach. But right now, she looked beautiful.

Camille looked up to find him staring at her. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

Drake blinked as if brought back to earth. ‘Yeah, yeah..’

They drank their whiskies in silence. Camille looked around the room, watching people dance and laugh. They looked like they were having so much fun.

Taking a chance, Camille cleared her throat. ‘Let’s dance.’

Drake laughed. ‘Uh, no. Thanks but no-’

‘Drake, come on! Let’s have a good time. We’re here to party, right?’

Drake groaned. ‘You know I hate dancing,’ he said. ‘I’m awful at it.’

Camille shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

She wasn’t going to give up. Knowing he was defeated, Drake tossed his whiskey down his throat and grabbed her by the hand. Camille let him drag her to the dancefloor as if he was approaching his execution.

**********************************************************

Drake aged 17; Camille aged 16

‘Come on, Drake, shake that thing!’ Camille hollered over the music. ‘The song is telling you to!’

Drake rolled his eyes as he stood with his feet planted firmly to the floor in the middle of the ballroom. ‘I am not shaking my ass because ‘Sean da Paul’ wants me to,’ he told her. ‘Nah, I’m happy to just stand, thanks.’

Camille stuck out her tongue and proceeded to shake her ass. She ignored all the guys who were watching her with their mouths hanging open and she danced for Drake to make him laugh.

They were at a party being thrown by the Beaumont brothers. There was no reason for this party other than Bertrand was feeling extra fun this weekend and so invited all the people he knew.

Well. Drake hadn’t been invited. But Camille had and she had been given the option to bring a Plus One so of course, she dragged Drake along. He had told her that he was happy to just stay home, watch crappy TV and play video games but she insisted that he accompany her.

So, here he was, watching Camille shake her ass.

‘How about you just go home, Walker?’

Drake turned to see Neville standing behind him with a smug expression on his face. Drake and Neville never got along, mainly because Neville treated Drake like shit on his shoe. Neville’s family were upper class and rich, while Drake’s were… not. That was the black mark against Drake’s name in Neville’s opinion. Camille would have been tarred with the same brush, except Neville wanted to see her naked one day so he didn’t treat her like garbage, in his opinion.

‘Neville. You’re here. Yay,’ Drake replied sarcastically.

Neville’s lip curled. ‘Seriously. Go home. You’re not supposed to be here.’

‘He’s my friend so yes, he is supposed to be here actually,’ Camille piped up, ceasing her dancing. ‘So how about you fuck off?’

Neville smirked. ‘Charming. Camille, babe, how about you just keep dancing for us and little Drake here can run along back to the trailer park?’

‘I live on a ranch,’ Drake said tightly, clenching his fists.

‘Ranch, trailer park, same thing..’ Neville droned, examining a fingernail. Camille stepped forward, her eyes blazing with fire.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ she said. ‘Seriously, can you just leave us alone? What did we ever do to you?’

Neville chuckled. ‘You haven’t done anything to me, darling. Shame. I can think of some things you can do for me if you were so obliged-’

Drake shoved him hard, making Neville stumble. His eyes widened and he ran a hand through his coiffed hair, making sure it was still fixed in place. ‘How dare you!’

‘Nah man, how dare you?’ Drake muttered, advancing on him. ‘You talk to her like that again and I swear to God, I will come after you.’

‘Drake, it’s okay..’ Camille murmured, trying to pull him back. People were staring now, finding this showdown much more entertaining. She could see Bertrand and Maxwell walking towards them, Maxwell looking terrified while Bertrand looked like he was close to losing it.

‘You feeling brave, Walker?’ Neville sneered. ‘Hit me.’

Drake smirked. ‘No need to ask me twice.’

Clearly, Neville had expected Drake to stand down. After all, Drake Walker was this quiet boy who stayed in the background. He didn’t stand up for himself. He was an easy target. So when Drake’s fist connected with Neville’s face, it was a complete shock. Neville fell to the floor, clutching his face and swearing.

Drake stepped forward to do more damage but was stopped by Camille. ‘No, Drake! Stop! Please!’

Bertrand had reached them now. ‘Drake, Camille,’ he said in a low voice. ‘My study. Now.’

He grabbed Drake by the arm and together, the three of them strode through the ballroom and out to the corridor where the Beaumont study was located. Bertrand opened the door and shoved them both inside.

‘Stay there until everyone is gone,’ he hissed. ‘I will come get you. I just don’t want Neville to cause more drama.’

He shut the door, leaving Drake and Camille in the study.

Drake closed his eyes. ‘Camille..’

‘You idiot,’ Camille said bluntly. ‘You actual idiot.’

She was pacing the floor now, her heels echoing around the room. Drake listened as she began to rage.

‘I didn’t ask you to hit him! You could have just walked away but instead, you hit him and now he’s going to target you at school on Monday! Do you realise how much I want you to make friends with other people who aren’t me? I’d love it if you could make more friends and be happy but with Neville out for your blood, there is no chance of that happening!’

‘Camille-’

Camille whipped around to face him. Drake was shocked to see tears glistening in her eyes. ‘‘I want us to just enjoy our last years of school together! I don’t want people insulting you or calling you trailer trash! I want them to see the Drake Walker I see! The kind goofball who has awesome taste in films but shit taste in music! The guy who can ride a horse and is so much fun to hang out with! It makes me sad, Drake. I want the best for you, that’s all I want..’

Drake was over to her in an instant. He grasped her hands tightly. ‘Camille, nobody is ever gonna see me the way you do,’ he told her, his voice thick. ‘Nobody. They see a guy who lives on a ranch, who wears clothes from discount stores and doesn’t have a dad. They see a loser.’

‘You’re not a loser-’

‘I am,’ he interrupted. ‘Camille.. Kids are evil. They make their mind up about you the first moment they see you. This is it for me. I’m gonna be the guy who is under the radar but will still get picked on when they feel like mixing it up a little. You have the potential to be anything here, you could be a fucking cheerleader or prom queen if you just stopped being my shadow-’

‘I’m your best friend,’ Camille bit back, venom filling her voice. ‘I am not your shadow. I don’t hang out with you out of pity, Drake! You’re the best person I know. You’re my best friend. I don’t wanna hang out with anybody else. You’re it for me. You’re Drake Walker, my best friend.’

Drake swallowed. ‘I.. I bring you down.’

‘Stop thinking that,’ Camille said. ‘You are amazing.’

Drake opened his mouth to protest but Camille pressed her hand against his mouth, silencing him. Drake looked into her brown eyes as she continued to speak.

‘You are clever and kind and funny and cute. You make me laugh all the time and you tell me when I’m being a dick. You protect me and I protect you, that’s how we work. We look out for each other. You have my back. We’re partners. You make me feel like someone, you make me feel like I can do anything. I wish I made you feel that way too, Drake. I want you to know that you can do anything you want and you shouldn’t listen to a damn soul that tells you otherwise. I’ve got your back, always. I’m not leaving you. Okay?’

She lifted her hand away. ‘Okay?’ she repeated.

Drake couldn’t stop looking into her eyes. He hadn’t noticed that they were brown and decorated with gold flecks. They were beautiful.

His eyes flicked down to her lips. She was standing so close to him. Camille’s cheeks turned pink as she became aware that he was studying her now.

‘Drake..’ she whispered.

Drake leaned down, his eyes remaining fixed on her mouth. She tilted her head up and closed her eyes, parting her lips as she did so.

The door burst open and Bertrand entered in a flurry of silk kimono. Drake and Camille sprang apart before their lips could touch.

‘Right, everyone is out!’ Betrand announced. ‘Neville is gone. Now please, get out of my study, thank you.’

Drake and Camille’s faces were bright red and their hands were shaking. They left the manor together and never spoke of their near-kiss again.

************************************************************

Drake and Camille had danced but he really didn’t want to. He felt self conscious and awkward as they danced to the music, despite Camille’s attempts to make him feel better.

‘You’ve definitely improved since high school!’ she cried over the music. ‘Like, much more smooth!’

‘I am embarrassing myself!’ Drake said. ‘Fuck it, I’m going..’

He turned on his heel and rushed off the floor to leave the ballroom, not realising how rude it was to leave a woman standing there. He needed space and time away from the crowds and pulsing music.

He opened a door and let himself in, relieved.

It was the Beaumont study. It hadn’t changed in years. Drake wandered over to the bay window to look outside at the courtyard, pretending he owned this manor and that this was his study. If only he had a glass of whiskey in his hand..

‘You can’t just abandon me, you know.’

Drake turned to see Camille standing at the door with her arms crossed. She didn’t look impressed.

Drake winced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I just got overwhelmed-’

‘I get it,’ Camille said. 'You hate dancing, always have. I should have remembered.'

She smiled weakly and stepped further into the room, looking around at the paintings of Bertrand and Maxwell's ancestors. The fireplace was lit and the lamps in the room cast a warm, cosy glow. Bertrand's desk stood in the corner, impeccably neat.

Camille moved towards the desk. Drake watched her body as her silk dress clung to her delicate curves. She always moved smoothly and fluid, like a swan floating on water. Camille leaned against the edge of the desk and faced him, giving him a soft smile.

'It's been a while since I've been in this room..' she said quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

Drake chuckled. 'Same. Think last and only time I’ve been in this study was when I punched Neville and Bertrand imprisoned us inside here.'

Camille rolled her eyes. 'You and Neville, my god.. He was such an asshole.'

'Still is,' Drake told her, smirking. 'He hasn't changed.'

Camille pulled a face which made Drake laugh. Camille grinned and pulled herself away from the desk to wander across to Drake. She looked out of the window. There was a comfortable silence until Camille broke it. ‘Can I address the elephant in the room?’

Drake frowned, curious.

‘Last night,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if you overheard..’

Drake turned red. ‘It’s okay-’

‘No, it’s not,’ Camille interrupted. ‘It was rude and I’m sorry. You were next door. I feel embarrassed.’

Drake’s jaw set. ‘Nothing I haven’t heard before, Camille.’

Now it was her turn to go red. ‘Drake..’

Drake awkwardly ran a hand through his hair and chuckled despite himself. He looked out of the window again, placing his hands in his pockets. He sighed. ‘I remember the last time we were in here,’ he murmured softly. ‘I nearly kissed you.’

Camille looked down at the floor, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I nearly kissed you too.’

Drake closed his eyes. He didn’t know why he had mentioned that. What was he trying to achieve here? More awkwardness?

‘If you had..’ Camille said, her voice halting, ‘do you think we would have had more time together? Like.. as a couple?’

Was that a trick question?

Drake bit his lip. The two of them were keeping their eyes focused on the window, refusing to look at each other. For some reason, it made them more honest.

‘I think that if I had kissed you,’ Drake said, ‘it would have been the best decision I’d ever made.’

Camille let out a breath. She listened as Drake continued to speak. ‘We would have been together for longer. We would have had more time to establish a relationship before we went to college. Maybe I would have realised how special we were… instead of fucking it up.’

He was aware of Camille edging closer to him. He could smell her perfume that had notes of jasmine and musk. He took the chance to look at her from the corner of his eye; Camille was staring out the window with her chin raised and her jaw set.

‘Camille-’

‘I’ve missed you,’ Camille suddenly whispered. ‘Now I’m back in Texas, I just keep remembering everything. Seeing you again brings it all back.’

Drake swallowed. ‘I’m sorry.’

He jumped when he felt her pinkie finger hook through his. Her eyes remained fixed on the window and the courtyard outside. Drake could feel his heart beginning to hammer against his chest. But he didn’t pull his pinkie away from hers.

Camille looked up at him now, her eyes filled with anguish. ‘Everything is coming back to me, Drake,’ she told him, her voice wavering. ‘Everything.’

Drake’s voice cracked as he replied, ‘Everything?’

Camille nodded. ‘Everything,’ she whispered.

The universe cracked open. Drake’s mouth crashed against hers in a moment of sheer adrenaline. His teeth caught on her lip, making her hiss, and his hand reached up to cup the back of her head as he deepened the kiss, his tongue twisting with hers. Camille let out a groan and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to her.

Their bodies were up against each other. Drake’s hands swept down from her hair to run down her back, bunching up the silk fabric of her dress in his fists. Camille tugged on his lower lip with her teeth, making Drake let out a strangled groan.

If they thought this was wrong, they didn’t say so. All of the passion that had fused their old relationship had ignited again, reminding them of how they had been. Their kisses were desperate and their hands fought to touch as much skin as possible, roaving like wildfire.

Drake pushed Camille towards the desk and picked her up to sit her on the edge. Camille pulled up the hem of her dress so she could move her legs to wrap around his waist. Her fingers pulled at his suit jacket, throwing it to the floor, before making quick work of his shirt buttons.

The strap of her emerald dress had fallen down her shoulder. Drake kissed the bare skin of her shoulders, his lips trailing down her arm to make the strap fall down further. Camille’s head fell back as she closed her eyes to focus on the feel of his lips on her skin. He kissed the inside of her elbow which made her breath hitch.

‘Drake..’

He felt his body react as he heard her breathe his name. It had been so long since he had heard her say it in those low tones. His name was delicious on her tongue.

Drake reached for his belt buckle and unclasped it quickly. He pulled his trousers down, Camille watching him with wide eyes as he stripped. He stood before her now and he could see her eyes darken as she took him in. Without a word, Camille hitched up her dress and pulled down her lace thong.

She spread her legs.

Drake’s lips crashed against hers again, the heat and desperation engulfing him again. He felt her hand wrap around his hard length, furiously pumping along the shaft.

‘Oh god, Camille..’ he groaned in her ear.

‘Fuck me, Drake,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘Please.’

Their eyes met. This was the moment to stop. To think about what they were doing and the consequences of this. They needed to breathe, take some time, pull themselves back.

But as he looked into her brown eyes that were decorated with gold flecks, Drake knew he was too far gone. Camille was too.

Outside the study, due to the music coming from the ballroom, nobody could hear Drake’s low groans and Camille’s cries. Nobody could hear Camille shouting out Drake’s name. Nobody could hear Drake’s heavy breaths and pants as he brought himself closer to oblivion.

It was just Drake and Camille, caught in this illicit moment, lips desperately seeking each other, hands gripping onto skin, breaths hitching and catching as momentum built. Their clothes lay in an emerald green pile on the floor, leaving Drake and Camille stripped bare.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #the royal romance #play choices #trr au

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msjr0119 · 5 years

Text

Marshgate Prison

Part 2 - Rendezvous

NEW SERIES: At Marshgate Prison, New York City- Riley Brooks begins a new job as a Prison guard. The inmates and guards who work there have kept many secrets hiden. Will she become involved in these secrets? How will she react to the common riots that constantly take place in the rough prison.

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*****

Liam was returning home, he didn’t see Riley when their shift had ended- it was as if she was some ghost, her presence was felt but not seen.

Going to the bar on route home, he would do anything to delay returning home. Opening the door, he rolled his eyes back as he saw his wife’s tongue down his brother’s throat.

“Liam!”

“Why are you acting shocked Leo? I live here! Where’s the twins whilst your both like that.” Looking disgusted towards them, he needed to somehow get out of this marriage- even if it meant breaking his children’s hearts.

“In bed! It’s ten o’clock. Have you heard from Connie?”

“No why?”

“Two inmates have been hospitalised, Walker and Brogan. He said if you have time to check up on them. Especially Walker. Apparently you have this odd relationship with him- our father said you’re like best friends or something.”

“Better than being the third wheel. Enjoy keeping my bed warm big brother.”

******

Drake... beat up.... hospital...

“Riley are you okay?” Maxwell asked concerned as he witnessed tears form in her eyes. Riley knew she had to maintain a normal expression- she was shocked, but she had known him days. The two people stood in front of her was his family.

“Yeah- I’ll leave you guys to it. Let me know how he is.”

“Come with us.” Savannah pleaded, knowing that Drake was stubborn and wouldn’t want them there- but after his confession in Barties letter, she knew his persona would change if Riley was present.

“I can’t... he will be with my colleagues...and I don’t know him that well.”

“You know him well enough to kiss him though...” Maxwell raised his eyebrow, knowing she couldn’t argue back. Rolling her eyes back, she knew Maxwell was going to be persistent as he always was, knowing she was going to be arguing the toss- she eventually agreed. But first she needed to borrow something that would hide her true identity.

*******

Riley snuck into the hospital wearing a disguise, knowing that her colleagues would be there. Savannah and Max had told Drake that Riley would visit and to go along with her fake identity. Walking into his room, she felt like her heart had stopped.

“Hey.” He quietly said.

“Hey, are you okay?” Putting on a stupid accent, she knew she sounded like a dick- Drake couldn’t prevent the smirk appearing on his face. Clearing his throat he responded to her eventually.

“Yeah I’m dandy- living the high life.”

“Drake!”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Why would you get involved in a brawl?”

“The inmates, they were criticising one of the guards- the new guard. Saying disgusting things about her.” Clenching her jaw, her eyes widened. Me? Why me? I’ve done nothing wrong to anyone.

“They said they’d sexually harass her, that she’s ‘fit’ and is probably I quote ‘a good shag’... myself and another inmate calmly spoke to them and this is how we ended up. I’m sorry for jeopardising my release, but I couldn’t let them talk about yo- her like that.”

“Don’t worry about ‘her’ she would have been fine. No one would have allowed any of that to happen. Just look out for yourself in future Drake. I need to go.”

“I did it for you.”

“Yes and this is why you was falsely imprisoned Drake. For protecting other people. Please I’ll have a word and try to get you released as originally planned.”

“I’m sorry.” Holding his hand, she felt guilty leaving him- chained up to a guard. Kissing his other hand, she smiled before leaving.

****

Rushing out of the room, holding her tears back- she ran into Liam.

What the hell is he doing here? He could ask me the same.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay Miss?” Riley nodded, knowing if she spoke she would be jeopardising her cover.

“Riley?” Fuck. Carrying on walking through the hospital she ignored his calls - hoping he think he was misunderstood.

Walking into Drakes room, he knew he had just seen Riley. Knowing his father wouldn’t ask the newest guard to check on the injured inmates, his heart sunk slightly due to the realisation that she was probably closer to Drake than people anticipated.

“I’m sorry, please don’t leave me again. Oh. Liam. What are you doing here?”

Liam discussed with the guards that Drake wasn’t a threat and that they should have a walk, grab some air. The guard removed his hand from the handcuff, Liam put his through- waiting for his colleagues to exit before turning to Drake. Knowing he was off duty could cause a scandal for him visiting an inmate- but his father knew that they had a close bond.

“Who was you apologising to? Asking to stay? I swear I saw Riley run out of here crying.” Drake remained silent, Liam now knew his suspicions were correct.

“Is there something going on between you two? If so I need to know.”

“Why? So you can ‘grass’ her up to your father?”

“No, Drake. So I can help you both. I’m no angel as you know. I know how frustrating it is. She’s really nice and beautiful, I’m not going to lie- I wish she kissed me back when I kissed her on the cheek.”

“You kissed her on the cheek?” Drake felt jealous, he didn’t know why? She wasn’t his. He’d known her a couple of days. She was a free woman.

“After her first shift, we went to a bar, I took her home. Kissed her on the cheek.”

“Bad enough that you’re fucking Olivia when you have a wife and kids at home. Beth deserves better. Then you try it with Riley?”

“Beth is sleeping with my brother. She only married me because she conceived our children after a fling.”

“So you’re both as bad as each other then?”

“Yes. I don’t condone relationships inside and I know I sound an hypocrite for saying that- but I can help the two of you. Get yourself back to Marshgate ASAP. Myself and Riley will help you get released as planned.”

*****

The morning after, there was a hand over meeting. Riley couldn’t stop thinking about Drake all night- barely able to keep her eyes open, she had hoped that she wouldn’t get mentioned. Too late Riley thought as Constantine was giving her immediate eye contact.

“As you may all be aware two inmates, were assaulted last night and are currently still in hospital. We have had to bring in extra guards for the mean time. You are all dismissed, except you Miss Brooks.” Shit.

Riley gulped as she remained in her chair, twiddling her thumbs she considered handing her notice in.

“I need you to stay with Liam at all times, until this mess is forgotten. Mr Walker and Mr Brogan were assaulted defending you.”

“D- Mr Walker was due to be released, will this affect it?”

“Unfortunately yes it could do. But we will discuss that with him when the time comes.”

*****

Riley met up with Liam, before she could react he pulled her into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Placing his finger over her lips- he needed answers.

“Why did you ignore me at the hospital?” Raising his eyebrows, he knew she would deny any acknowledgement about being there.

“I don’t know what you are talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you and Drake are in a relationship.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know we were.” Technically her sarcasm was correct, a kiss didn’t mean they were in a relationship. Unlike Liam.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you Riley.”

“A kiss is nothing.”

“A kiss from the most closed off person I’ve ever known. The person who barely speaks a word to anyone but myself.”

“Liam, it was nothing. Honestly. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“When he spoke about you, his eyes lit up even with the excruciating pain he was in. Don’t let your job and his status affect your feelings.”

“What about your feelings with the Queen bitch?”

“I’m married, it was for the children’s sake. She’s sleeping with my brother. Olivia is easy.”

“You’re married?” Riley didn’t expect that type of confession. Liam was handsome but she never expected him to be a cheat- he seemed like the type to flirt secretly.

“Yes, she’s called Beth. I barely see her.”

“Are all Beth’s sluts? No offence...” Laughing to herself thinking about the Beth she knew, she looked at Liam who didn’t look impressed with her comment.

“I don’t know? Why?”

“Oh I went to school with a Beth. She was my best friends little sister. She tried to act like me and Lola but failed miserably.”

“Lola? As in Lola and Beth Hughes?”

“Yes why? Ohhh..... shit. You married Beth Hughes. I didn’t mean what I said... I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“Heh you’re speaking the truth, why couldn’t you have come here before I slept with her and warned me? You’d have saved me from all this. We can help each other you know. Allow each other to release our frustration. Are you with me?”

****

The following morning, Drake returned to Marshgate, looking over his shoulder constantly in case he saw the bastards that did this to him. Attempting to sleep or get the slightest bit comfy was proving to be a difficult task. Liam knocked on the door, insisting that he followed him for an urgent matter.

Drake sighed, assuming he was being escorted to the wardens office to be berated regarding his actions. Slowly sitting up, he pushed himself off the bed and followed Liam.

Arriving at the empty cell at the other end of the wing, Drake assumed it was for his own safety- in a way he felt grateful for his close friendship with the guard. Feeling guilty, Liam pushed Drake into the cell before locking him in it standing guard outside.

“Liam what the fuck?” Banging on the door, he was slowly yet gradually getting frustrated at Liam’s ignorance- until feeling someone’s presence behind him. Playfully covering his eyes, he knew who it was and the pain had seemed to disappear in an instance.

“Care to explain what’s happening Miss Brooks?” Turning around Drake gulped, as he saw Riley in just her shirt- her legs bare, her natural curls hanging loose.

“Liam came up with a plan. A plan that will help all of us. He will stand guard whilst we spend time together and I’ll return the favour for him and Liv. You better make it worth my while, because I’m risking getting sacked for misconduct.”

Dragging him over to the cold bed, she helped him sit down- before straddling him, asking if she was hurting him.

Pulling his head towards hers, she kissed him passionately. Slowly feeling his erection she wanted him there and then. Most people may think she was crazy, unprofessional. But he was like a magnet- the last few days he just kept pulling her in.

“You’re going to have to leave Riley. I don’t want you getting caught. Besides I want to do more than kiss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got five minutes.”

Standing up, she released his manhood out of his boxers- the touch of her hand made him regret not fighting his innocence. Trying to remove her hand, she shook her head.

“Let me see to you, as a thank you for defending me.”

Kneeling towards the floor, she bit her lip-before inserting his cock in her mouth.

“You’re amazing.” Drake panted, Riley looked up at him fluttering her eyelashes. Feeling his cock pulsating at every move- knowing she was pleasing him, she increased her pace.

“Riley I’m going to cum. I haven’t had any sexual contact in years.” Removing her mouth once he had finished, she swallowed- before he helped her stand up. Holding her close to him, she heard his heartbeat still pounding.

“Don’t you masturbate? Also isn’t that the point - to cum?” Winking at him, her true colours were coming out. She wasn’t little miss innocent that she was perceived to be.

“I had no one to masturbate over. But now...”

“Now?” She questioned. Cupping her cheeks, he couldn’t believe that she was risking her job- but she was too damn irresistible. The only person that hadn’t looked her nose down at him- the person that listened to him.

“You’re going to be stuck in my head, on a loop.”

“Ditto. So when I’m at home, I’ll be thinking about you.”

“You’re teasing me Riley. Do you know how hard this is? I want you so bad.”

“Are you in pain?”

“A bit why? But having you here is taking it away.” Slowly and seductively, she unbuttoned each button whilst biting her lip.

“So, what do you think?” Standing in her underwear in front of him, he gulped hard. The matching underwear made him feel turned on. Walking towards her, he pulled her close to him. Feeling her breasts, he kissed her neck. He didn’t want to let her go.

“You are gorgeous.”

“Am I gorgeous enough to sleep with?”

“Yes... any man who’s had you is lucky.”

“So why are you still staring? It’s getting a bit hot in here don’t you think? I think you’re overdressed Walker.”

Drake removed his shirt in an instant before forcing his lips onto hers kissing like crazy, he hadn’t kissed anyone for years- this interaction sent shock through his veins. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, both battling against each other. Rileys fingers ran through his wavy locks- knowing this was wrong on so many levels- the heat of the moment had turned her brain into mush. If Liam and Olivia had got away with it all these years- surely they wouldn’t get caught. Drake pushed her gently backwards laying her on her back on the bed, debating if he could survive the pain or not. Hovering over her, he began to gently kiss every inch of her body- feeling the slightest bit of stubble rub against her skin she didn’t care- this secret rendezvous was intoxicating.

Feeling his warm embrace, she traced her fingers over his muscled abs- he moaned at this slight touch. A touch he hadn’t felt in years. This moment in time was as if he had unexpectedly won the lottery.

“What do you want beautiful?”

“I want you. That’s all I want.”

Drake slid his hand between her legs- positioning his fingers and thumb at her entrance. The slightest touch, made her damp in an instant. Kissing her neck, whilst working his thumb over her clit in a tantalising rhythm, she needed to contain her moans- hoping Liam wasn’t ‘earwigging’. Losing herself in the pleasure, she hoped that he would be released sooner rather than later. All her muscles began to quiver. Feeling breathless already, Drake removed his fingers, replacing them with his tongue- proving a difficult task to stay quiet- she placed her hand over her mouth.

“You taste so good.” He whispered before plunging his tongue deeper inside. Riley needed to scream, instead she dug her nails in his side as his tongue worked its magic on her. Removing his mouth from her, sitting up -he smiled at her expression, her whole body trembled whilst his ached. But he wasn’t wasting this opportunity.

Before she could recover, he slipped inside of her. Holding that position, their eyes fixated on each other. Slowly Drake began to thrust, taking his time wanting to enjoy making love with her. “You feel so good, Riley. I’m one lucky bastard.” He growled before the thrusts became faster and more passionate, hitting her in that specific spot. “Don’t you dare stop Drake!” “I will be soon.” His thrusts were powerful as their bodies rocked in sync perfectly together. Drake’s movements slowed down, as he released himself inside her. She felt his warm seed spill into her. Both laying next to each other, they needed to catch their breath, needing to both exit the cell not looking all flustered.

“Wow! You’re amazing... I must thank Liam.” Drake said, as he fixated his gaze onto her eyes. His hands ran through her hair, he couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful she was.

“No need, I think it was from a purely selfish point of view. I need you to know that I’m now invested in you.” Passionately kissing her again, he couldn’t believe this had happened, was it just fantasy.

“When will I see you again?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Riley, thank you.”

“That was just a tester of what’s to come when you get released.” Feeling hopeful, he had hoped that he would get released on time, and that his actions hadn’t increased his sentencing time.

******

Riley and Liam escorted Drake back to his cell discreetly, Liam laughing at the two of them attempting to act normal. Thanking the Lord that there was a commotion in the dining area that had gained all the attention of the other inmates, there would be no suspicion regarding the trios whereabouts.

A guard came running upto Liam, asking for help. The two of them ran over, Drake watching concerned.

“Tell me what’s going off.” Liam demanded to know the facts before he went barging into the battlefield.

“The mayors daughter and son in law have arrived, they’ve been sentenced for tax evasion. He arrived with a cocky attitude which didn’t impress the other inmates.”

“What’s his name?”

“Vancouver.”

*****

The guards escorted the mayors daughter to her cell, she was putting up a fight- screaming her innocence. Insisting for them to take their ‘grubby’ hands off her and that her father would bail her out.

The guards on the women’s wing had enough shit from her and forced her to socialise with her fellow inmates she would be with for the next twelve months.

Sitting on the table with a resting bitch face, she was scowling at everyone- looking down at them. Rubbing the dust of the table, she was used to luxury- believing she didn’t belong here. It was a shithole and a ‘princess’ like her didn’t belong here.

“What are you looking at?” Olivia snapped and scowled at her old school friend, Maddy bullied her at school using her father’s status as an excuse to get out of the bullying.

“Get away from me!”

“Daddy isn’t bailing you out this time Maddy!”

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #drakewalker #riley x drake #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #savannah walker #liam rhys #trr au marshgate

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obsidianarchives · 5 years

Text

Beneath the Surface - Part 1

The Woes of Imperfection

Hermione Granger walked through the Hogwarts castle with Ginny Weasley, trying to keep her nerves in check. She couldn’t keep her hands still, running them through her thick hair, stuffing them in her pockets, adjusting the collar of her robes as they made their way up to Professor Slughorn’s office.

“It’ll be fine,” Ginny sighed, tucking a lock of her red hair behind her ear. “All Slughorn wants is to fawn over you now so he can say he knew you when later.”

Hermione had heard about the Slug Club from Ginny, Harry, and Neville. From what they’d said, it sounded like a group of kids their new Potions professor Horace Slughorn had chosen as his personal favorites. While she disapproved of the practice, she knew how many connections the man had throughout the wizarding world, and it wasn’t lost on her how important this could be for her future.

“I just can’t believe he invited me.”

Ginny scoffed, “You must be joking.”

Hermione pursed her lips but didn’t respond. The words she knew Ginny was thinking echoed through her brain. She’s the brightest witch in our year. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but the statement felt more like an expectation than a compliment, a threat thinly veiled beneath it. What would happen if she was no longer the brightest? If someone else suddenly studied harder, retained more? What if they realized it was all a lie, just hard work and an unhealthy obsession with getting things right?

She didn’t speak her worries out loud to Ginny — they had plagued her for years even before she’d found out she was a witch, and she knew her best friend’s sister wouldn’t truly understand, even if she tried.

They were the last two to arrive in Slughorn’s office. It was bigger than most of the professors’ offices that Hermione had been to. On the far wall sat a fireplace, a plush emerald couch facing it. Chests and shelves lined the walls, pictures of blinking and smiling people looking out from the tops of almost every surface. A liquor cabinet stood sturdy next to another doorway, which Hermione assumed led to Slughorn’s desk because she couldn’t see it from the entrance. A round mahogany table commanded attention in the center of the main room, surrounded by eight chairs and laden with food Hermione was sure had been brought up by house-elves.

Slughorn’s other guests were awkwardly mingling, a few glancing at them as they entered the room. Of the five other students there, Hermione recognized Ravenclaw fifth year Melinda Bobbin and Slytherin Blaise Zabini. Hermione flushed as she made eye contact with Cormac McLaggen. His eyes were still slightly unfocused from Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts earlier that day, but he smiled at her in what she supposed he thought was alluring. She looked away quickly, to Professor Slughorn, who was dressed in decadent robes of periwinkle.

“Ah, Miss Granger and Miss Weasley! Excellent,” he said, “Let’s all take a seat, shall we?”

They all made their way towards the table, Hermione keeping close to Ginny so that they could sit together. She slid into her seat, her nerves spiking as McLaggen sat heavily in the chair next to her.

“Help yourselves, help yourselves,” Slughorn insisted, reaching for the bowl of buttered peas.

The room was quiet for a moment but for the clinking of dishes. Next to Hermione, McLaggen’s fingers fumbled around the bowl of chicken legs, and it tipped over, the bowl falling with a clatter onto his ornate ivory plate. Ginny snickered and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

“So, Cormac,” Slughorn started as McLaggen rushed to pick up the food, “Have you heard from your uncle recently?”

“I just got a letter from him the other day, as it happens,” McLaggen said with a grating smile, “He’s had quite a lot of work to do at the Ministry, as you can imagine.”

“Of course,” said Slughorn, “There’s quite enough to be going on, what with these perilous times. Still, it doesn’t hurt to plan for the future. Do you think you’ll go into the Ministry like Tiberius?”

The conversation went from there. Slughorn’s small eyes fixed on each of them in turn, interrogating them with updates on their famous or well-connected family members and inquiring about their future goals.

After asking Ginny thoroughly about her hexes and name-dropping the noted author of Harmful Hexes: A Guide to Reactionary Spells Darold Vengecraft, Slughorn turned to Blaise Zabini.

Zabini had been quiet during most of the other conversations, his dark eyes unreadable. Now, he answered Slughorn’s questions graciously, from what new wizard his mother had recently been seen with to what his future aspirations were.

“I’d like to go into the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” he answered, “My mother has taken me on a few of her international trips, so I’m interested in relations between Britain and other countries.”

“An exciting career path!” Slughorn exclaimed, “And one I’m sure you would excel in. I’ll have to connect you with Sandrine Walton, she’s been the head of the department since Barty Crouch’s unfortunate demise. In fact, maybe I should introduce her to Miss Granger as well! The three of you have quite similar backgrounds.”

Hermione was startled at being included, even though she was the only one left to interrogate. She cut her eyes at Zabini briefly, tilting her head in confusion. Though they had had classes together for the past five years, she didn’t know much about the Slytherin other than that he had scoffed at the idea of Harry being the Chosen One on the train to Hogwarts and that she generally saw him alone in the library outside of classes. Was that what Slughorn meant?

Zabini had made a face too, the frown contorting his deep brown face. Suddenly, Hermione realized that they were the only two Black students in the room. Now, she understood.

“Well…” Hermione said, trying to sound diplomatic, “I don’t know if that’s true, exactly. I’m Muggle-born, sir.” That wasn’t to say that being Black didn’t matter in the wizarding world, at least not in Hermione’s estimation. Still, Zabini was the pure-blood son of a famous witch — their backgrounds couldn’t be more different.

“Yes, yes, and I must say again how impressed I am with you,” Slughorn said, transitioning his attention smoothly from Zabini to her, “Mr. Potter spoke so highly of you when first we met, and still you wowed me in our first Potions lesson. With brains like yours, there’ll be many doors open to you once you leave Hogwarts.”

Hermione blushed, feeling pleasure mingled with discomfort. While she had no doubt of the value she could bring to wherever she decided to go, she wondered if what Slughorn said would be true, given the anti-Muggle-born sentiments that had been bubbling under the surface of the wizarding world, now swiftly rising with Voldemort out in the open.

Across the table, an annoyed look flashed across Zabini’s face as he lifted his goblet to his mouth, barely concealing his snort.

Before Hermione could say anything, Ginny spoke up, “Have something to say, do you Zabini?”

He rolled his eyes as he set the cup back down on the table, long fingers wrapped loosely around it. “Only that I don’t know that someone with brains would have been in the middle of that mess at the Ministry.”

Hermione felt a surge of annoyance at the haughtiness on his face. “Perhaps not,” she said, sensing that Ginny was just barely holding back the urge to curse him. She lay a hand on her arm under the table. “But someone with brains would know not to speak about things they know nothing about.”

“Oho!” Slughorn exclaimed, eyes brightening, “How could I forget you were one of the few in the Department of Mysteries in June? Dumbledore is still quite caged about it, but I don’t suppose you could tell us what happened?”

Hermione felt as if a very bright light was shining directly on her, and she suddenly felt wrong. She didn’t want to think about the catastrophe at the Department of Mysteries. She glanced fleetingly at Ginny, who grimaced. Her chest seemed to burn with the memory of the spell Dolohov had thrown at her, knocking her unconscious.

She took a deep breath to center herself. “If Professor Dumbledore won’t say anything about it, I don’t think I should.”

Slughorn frowned, “Oh poppycock. Always the secret keeper, Dumbledore is. But I suppose he’s the only one You-Know-Who ever feared for a reason.”

He moved on then, to asking about Hermione’s background. She answered his questions as truthfully as possible, trying to feel less self-conscious. Everyone listened intently, but for some reason, it wasn’t the fact that McLaggen’s elbow kept “accidentally” bumping into her that bothered her the most, but Zabini’s stare. There wasn’t anything different about his expression, on first glance it seemed to hold a detached interest. Still, Hermione could feel heat rising on her skin under his gaze, and wondered if she was imagining the strange twinkle in his eyes.

…

Overall, the Slug Club seemed fine. Hermione had survived Slughorn’s questions, McLaggen’s clumsy flirting, and Zabini’s sneering. When Ron asked her about it the next morning at breakfast, though she could hear the accusation in his tone, she answered truthfully.

“It was alright,” she shrugged as she scanned the Daily Prophet for any worthwhile news. “About what you would expect.”

Ron scowled and stabbed at a piece of melon on his plate.

He wasn’t the only one, it seemed, who was upset about not being invited to Slughorn’s dinner party.

“Slughorn must be cracking up if he’s forgetting the families who matter,” Malfoy sneered to Crabbe and Goyle as they waited outside of the Transfiguration classroom, his voice carrying across the hall to the Gryffindors. “I mean if he’s letting in filth like Granger—”

“Oh Malfoy if you’re so upset, why don’t you go cry to your father about it?” Hermione said before Harry and Ron could whip out their wands. Ron let out a bark of laughter.

Draco turned pink, “You watch your mouth, Mudblood.”

“Careful,” she said, “Your mother wouldn’t like another of her family members bested by a Muggle-born, would she?”

Draco reached for his wand as Harry drew his in preparation. At that moment, Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, hawklike eyes scanning the hall.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, eyeing the wand in Harry’s hand.

“No, Professor,” Hermione said, grabbing Harry’s arm.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes a moment and then turned, entering the classroom. As Hermione pulled Harry after her, she noticed that Zabini was watching her behind Malfoy, an amused look on his face. The minute he realized she had seen, he looked away, his face falling into its signature scowl.

Hermione turned back to follow Susan Bones through the door, feeling confused. Why would Zabini find anything she said funny — especially when disparaging his own Housemate?

“Hurry and find your seats,” Professor McGonagall called from the front of the room, “We have a lot to cover.”

Hermione made her way to her seat, still pulling Harry along although the danger of him cursing Malfoy had passed. Once she sat down, she decided to disregard Zabini’s strange behavior. Whatever he was thinking didn’t matter. She had magic to learn.

By the time she got to Potions class, she had completely forgotten that morning’s incident. Today, they were working on the Awakening Solution, a potion that increased its drinker’s energy.

Hermione spent the entire hour slaving over her cauldron, making sure she added the minced peppermint at exactly the right moment, plucking the dandelion petals meticulously, and stirring the appropriate amount of counterclockwise times before leaving it to stew for the week. She felt satisfied with the way the yellow liquid shone brightly from her cauldron, and when Professor Slughorn inspected it he exclaimed that her work was very well done.

But when he went to Harry’s cauldron, Slughorn was beside himself. He gushed over him, saying that the shade of marigold that bubbled from Harry’s cauldron could only be the work of a masterful potion maker, the subtlety in the coloring causing him to award twenty points to Gryffindor.

Hermione felt a surge of anger as Harry grinned behind Slughorn’s back at Ron. As far as she was concerned, using the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook was tantamount to cheating, and the praise Harry kept getting grated on her. As Slughorn moved on to Ernie’s neon green liquid with a strained smile, Hermione’s eyes met Zabini’s. Was it her or was the corner of his full lips pulled up? Great, now he was laughing at her, too.

The phrase echoed in her brain again. She’s the brightest witch in our year. Feeling a surge of panic, she tore her gaze away, stuffed her scales in her bag, and stalked off ahead of Harry and Ron as the bell rang.

It wasn’t that she had to be the best in every class — Harry was consistently better than her at Defense Against the Dark Arts and it never bothered her — it was the fact that Professor Slughorn absolutely fawned over Harry when he wasn’t putting in the same effort she was. And what was more, the voice of doubt seemed to be creeping up in her more than usual. If Harry could defeat her with counterfeit instructions, then clearly she wasn’t all that good at Potions to begin with.

“I hope there are mashed potatoes for lunch,” Ron exclaimed, catching up to her.

“Even if there aren’t, you’ll eat everything within a five-person radius,” Harry said with a grin. The Prince’s book was clutched tightly in his hand, his finger holding the place he had been reading before class. Hermione scowled.

She scarfed down her food quickly and hurried off to the library. There was enough time before her next class that she could maybe find something to help her understand more about the properties of the Awakening Solution. She scanned the spines of the books in the Potions section quickly, exhaling as she found A Guide to Precise Potion-Making.

She lugged the heavy book down to the nearest table, dropping her book bag on the chair next to her. She scoured the table of contents before finding the chapter on potion ingredients for alertness. Flipping quickly to the correct page, she began to read.

Based on what was in here, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Odd numbered counterclockwise stirs were better for potions that made the drinkers groggy, but the even number would have the opposite effect. She’d stirred exactly eight times as Advance Potion-Making had told her. Fresher ingredients often yielded better results, and Hermione had only just restocked her peppermint the week before when she realized she had forgotten to get some in Diagon Alley.

“Of course you’ve got the book,” an exasperated voice said above her.

She looked up, surprised. She’d been so absorbed in her reading that she hadn’t noticed anyone else in this section.

Zabini stood at the end of the table, a scowl on his face.

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, that book you’re reading,” he said with a jerk of his head.

“Oh,” she said, “I’m almost done.”

He rolled his eyes, “You don’t even need it, your potion was near-perfect.”

There he was, talking about things he didn’t understand again. She glared at him, “My study habits are none of your business.”

“You know no one’s going to look at you differently if your potion isn’t the precise shade of the summer sun or whatever,” he sounded almost bored, “Everyone knows you know everything.”

Hermione could feel pressure on her chest, heat rising on her cheeks. She slammed the book shut and stood, grabbing her bag and stalking away from him. She made sure to check out A Guide to Precise Potion-Making on her way out of the library.

…

She spent most of her time trying to quell the doubt she felt bubbling up within her every time she failed again at creating the perfect potion. Though there wasn’t much more information in A Guide to Precise Potion-Making that she didn’t already know, Hermione found herself perusing its pages in her free time, trying to forget the way Zabini’s words had needled at her, how they seemed to hit right where she was most sensitive.

A part of this was ignoring her growing irritation with Harry and the Half-Blood Prince, but that was getting more difficult as the weeks passed and autumn arrived in full swing. Apparently, there were spells written in the margins of the wretched book, and Harry had taken to casting them without knowing what it was they would do. Past her own issues, Hermione was appalled by his carelessness.

“It’s nothing, Hermione,” Ron said when she snapped at Harry over it in the common room one evening. He leaned back in his seat, glancing across the room at Lavender Brown, who was pouring over a magazine with her best friend Parvati Patil, “We’re just having a laugh.”

That was the only thing Ron seemed to be relaxed about. He kept making snide comments about the Slug Club whenever he could, suggesting that Hermione liked being “cozied up with McLaggen.” Harry had gotten out of the next two dinners by scheduling Quidditch practices at the same times. While she didn’t begrudge Harry trying to avoid Slughorn’s parties, she hated that his strategy meant that she had to go alone — as Chaser for the Gryffindor team, Ginny’s priority was Quidditch. Hermione saw the value in Slughorn’s dinner parties, and so in the interest of keeping her future options open she hadn’t tried to find a way to get out of them. Still, she was starting to feel more on her own than she had in awhile.

The Slug Club dinners weren’t all that bad though. There was always good food and Professor Slughorn introduced the group to different former students of his who were doing important and interesting work, including the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet and the drummer of the Weird Sisters. Even still, Hermione felt isolated, the pressure to be perfect constricting around her whenever Slughorn introduced her as “a rising star.”

At the same time, she found herself navigating the strange dynamics of the group. Melinda Bobbin was nice enough, but was far more focused on her own ambitions, while McLaggen was perhaps too nice — he kept hitting her on the shoulder every time he spoke to her or cracked a joke. Tracy Dearborn, a third year whose father had dealings with the American magical government, was too young to really understand the importance of being invited and seemed to only be there for the food.

She wasn’t sure how or why, but of everyone in the Slug Club she felt most aligned with Blaise Zabini. Generally, his quiet face rested on disinterest as he scanned the room. Whenever he was asked a direct question he would answer charmingly, his eyes alight and face with the appearance of being open, but once Slughorn turned from him he would settle back into himself, reserved.

Slughorn was harmless in his praise for the most part, but occasionally he would say something to give her pause, and Hermione would find herself meeting Zabini’s eyes across the room in her exasperation or surprise. Each time, it seemed that he had sought her out as well, the confusion or resignation on his face accompanied by a raised eyebrow or a brief frown.

She wasn’t sure why it kept happening — she hadn’t even addressed him since their clash at the library. Even though they didn’t speak to each other, she couldn’t help but notice him whenever he was in a room, her eyes drifting over his tall figure, his dark skin and chiseled jaw. She had caught him watching her too, and found herself puzzled by his searching gaze.

In mid-October, Slughorn hosted another dinner. This time, the special guest was Quidditch star Gwenog Jones. Hermione felt a surge of vindication when Slughorn introduced her. The irony that Harry was missing something that would actually be of interest to him in his effort to avoid Slughorn wasn’t lost on her.

The feeling was fleeting, however, as most good feelings had been since that past Saturday, when she, Harry, and Ron had witnessed Katie Bell rise up from the snow, jerking and twitching after accidentally touching a cursed necklace.

The entire castle was on edge, full of nerves and fear. Only Harry seemed to be fueled with renewed vigor, despite having his Malfoy-Did-It stance shot down by Professor McGonagall.

Even things between the Slytherins seemed tense; on her way to Charms earlier that day, she had noticed Zabini huddled with Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, though they’d seemed to be arguing. At the very least, Zabini had looked uncomfortable, and now, sitting across from her at Slughorn’s dinner table, he seemed reserved, quiet even for him. Hermione looked down at her plate. Why did her thoughts keep drifting to the goings on of Blaise Zabini?

As dinner wrapped up, Slughorn made an announcement, “Each year I like to throw a little Christmas party before break,” he said, “I’ll invite some of my former students — Gwenog, you are of course invited — and you should feel free to bring a guest,” his eyes turned to Hermione, “Miss Granger, I’ll need a list of Mr. Potter’s free dates. I won’t have him missing this little soiree.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, feeling awkward. Her eyes met Zabini’s across the table, but his face was blank. She looked back to Slughorn. “I — yes, Professor.”

Harry’s reaction to that bit of information didn’t surprise her when she shared it with him in Herbology class the next day. Neither did Ron’s.

“Stupid name,” he said under his breath as Harry went to retrieve their Snargaluff pod from across the room.

“Look, I didn’t make up the name ‘Slug Club’.” While she understood his anger, she didn’t see why he had to take it out on her.

“Slug Club,” he said derisively as Harry came back, “It’s pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—”

Hermione’s irritation flared. She had already suspected that he and Harry had been laughing at her being locked up with McLaggen behind her back, but having it thrown in her face was another thing.

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” she threw back at him, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it’s that stupid then I won’t bother!” She’d thought it would be a good idea, asking Ron. That way, the three of them could go together. If Harry invited Neville or Luna, it could be a good time.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it, looking cowed. “You were going to ask me?”

“Yes,” Hermione huffed, “But obviously if you’d rather I hook up with McLaggen…”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Ron said hastily.

He acted nicer to her for the rest of the day, and Hermione was relieved. It felt good to not have to be at odds with her friends for some petty reason or another, especially with everything happening outside of Hogwarts. Tales of disappearances and deaths peppered the Daily Prophet and more and more Hogwarts students were being affected; on most days it felt wrong to be arguing over Christmas parties and nastily annotated textbooks.

Their truce didn’t last long, however. Hermione spent her evening in the common room near the fire, cross-checking her Ancient Rune translations with the textbook. She was just packing up when Harry and Ron entered in their Quidditch robes, Ron looking furious.

“What happened?” she asked, sliding the last of her notes into her book bag.

“You — Ginny — Dean!” Ron’s voice sounded strangled with anger.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then looked to Harry, hoping he could translate. Surprisingly, even he seemed to be struggling with his own deep-seated emotion. He dropped onto the couch, allowing Crookshanks to leap into his lap.

“We ran into Ginny and Dean on the way back from the pitch,” he said, “They were, er—”

“They were snogging! In the middle of the corridor!” Ron shouted. A couple of first years across the room shot a startled glance at him.

“Okay…” Hermione said, glancing back to Harry again, “And?”

“And so I don’t want my sister out in public like some wanton woman.”

Hermione frowned, “Ron, Ginny and Dean are dating.”

“So?” Ron’s ears were dangerously red.

“So, they’re allowed to snog. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Of course you would think so, given that you’ve snogged Krum.”

Hermione felt confused. Why was her brief relationship with Viktor, from two years ago, being thrown in her face? The fact that they’d kissed wasn’t even a secret, and yet Ron sounded betrayed somehow.

“Well yes,” she said slowly, “I’m still not understanding the problem.”

“The problem is, what are people going to think about our family if Ginny’s running around the castle acting like a—”

“Ginny is her own person,” Hermione cut him off, “Her relationship with Dean has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hell it does! I’m her brother!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. They were tired from staring at her homework in the low light of the fire and frankly Ron’s attitude was starting to grate on her nerves. “Perhaps you need something to keep you occupied? So you’re not so worried about what Ginny is up to?”

Ron’s face was flaming now. He seemed at a loss for words, so instead he cursed and stalked off, stomping up the boys’ staircase to his dormitory. Hermione looked at Harry.

“Honestly, what’s been up with him lately?”

Harry shrugged, seemingly lost in thought. Hermione eyed him closely. She had started to suspect over the summer that he had feelings for Ginny, though she hadn’t brought it up with him. She wondered if his brooding attitude had to do with seeing her with Dean.

“Everything okay, Harry?” she probed.

Harry seemed to snap out of his thoughts, “What? Oh, yeah fine.” He moved Crookshanks from his lap and stood, “I’m going to bed.”

He hurried up after Ron, leaving Hermione once again on her own.

…

That Saturday brought the first Quidditch match of the season. According to Harry, Ron’s anger at Ginny and Dean had not only affected his playing but had almost dissolved the team as well.

“I keep telling you you need to talk to him. He can’t keep treating people like this,” Hermione told Harry as they went through their Transfiguration essays together. Ron had already gone up to bed after snapping at two poor fourth years for laughing too loud. He had been giving her the silent treatment for standing up for Ginny.

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry mumbled, sinking down further into his chair. The prospect didn’t seem to excite him.

Still, Hermione had been sure he would do it, especially with Quidditch on the line. She knew Harry wouldn’t be able to face it if he lost his first match as Captain, and to Slytherin at that. But if he had tried to set Ron straight, it didn’t make for a marked change in his attitude.

She came down to the Gryffindor table by herself that morning, tired of bickering with a grumpy Ron and exchanging helpless glances with Harry. She saw them sitting amidst the sea of red and gold, Harry trying to coax food into Ron, who looked slightly ill, his skin tinged green. She paused behind them as Harry poured pumpkin juice into a goblet.

“How are you both feeling?” she asked tentatively, glancing at Ron.

“Fine,” said Harry. He tipped the contents of a small vial into the cup with the juice, “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”

Ron started to take a sip when Hermione shouted, “Don’t drink that Ron!”

Both Harry and Ron looked up at her. Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief.

“You just put something in that drink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just tipped something into Ron’s drink. You’ve got the bottle in your hand right now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, slipping the bottle into his robes.

Hermione fought the urge to tackle him and force the bottle out of his pocket. “Ron, I’m serious, don’t drink it!”

But Ron had already picked up the glass and drained it in one. “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

Hermione was appalled. She bent down low to whisper to Harry, “You should be expelled for that, Harry!”

“Hark who’s talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

Hermione took a step back, feeling as though she’d been slapped. She turned away from them and stormed up the table, her anger rising.

How could Harry do such a thing? Confunding McLaggen hadn’t been about making sure Ron got on the team, it had been about defending her friends. Using Felix Felicis for an official game wasn’t only immoral, it was illegal. Hermione plopped down at the table, but now found her appetite gone.

Of course, she shouldn’t be so surprised at Harry’s willingness to disregard the rules. She’d been dealing with him in Potions class for over a month now as he took credit for someone else’s work and gained an inordinate amount of praise in the process.

She pushed herself up from the table. People were already making their way to the Quidditch pitch, but now she wasn’t sure she even wanted to go anymore. What she should do is go tell Professor McGonagall before the match started so that she could put a stop to this.

But she stopped herself, remembering the last time she had gotten between Harry and Quidditch. When she had told McGonagall about the mysterious broomstick Harry had gotten three years ago, Harry and Ron hadn’t spoken to her for weeks. Could she really go through that again?

She squared her shoulders and stepped out into the cool morning air. She would watch the game, and if things went well — as she knew they would since Harry had given Ron liquid luck — she would confront them again. They were her best friends, she had to at least give them a chance to turn themselves in before she did it herself.

She stomped across the grounds towards the pitch, where the sun shone down on the stands. It was a nice day, but she couldn’t enjoy it, not with anger and determination coursing through her veins.

She got to the stands and joined the line winding up the stairs, her stomach twisting and turning as she thought about what she would have to do. The scent of cinnamon and cloves tickled at her nose as she hurried up, barreling into the person ahead of her when the line stopped abruptly.

“Watch it!” the person said.

She looked up to see Blaise Zabini, in cuffed black jeans and a green and silver color-blocked pullover. He looked annoyed at first, but when he saw that it was her, his face changed, surprise in his eyes. “Why do you look like someone ate your homework?”

“Why do you care?” Hermione snapped.

He opened his mouth to retort, his eyes flashing, but someone else spoke up before he could.

“Oh, don’t mind her Blaise,” Pansy Parkinson said from the next stair up. She tried to look bored, but Hermione could see the wicked amusement in her eyes, “She probably just couldn’t see through all of that hair. Maybe if she did something reasonable to it she wouldn’t invade other people’s personal space.”

Hermione didn’t have the energy for this. Rather than respond, she pushed past the group of chortling Slytherins, ignoring Pansy’s sneer and Zabini’s frown. She continued up the stairs, squeezing through the group of third years who were blocking the way on the next landing.

The game went just as Hermione had predicted, punctuated by the aggravating commentary of Zacharias Smith. His mocking tone agitated Hermione further than watching Ron make his fourteenth save, or the moment she realized that Malfoy wasn’t playing, which meant that in addition to having to deal with her cheating friends she was also going to have to sit through days of conspiracy theories from Harry.

Once Harry caught the Snitch and Ginny “accidentally” plowed Smith over, the stands began to empty, students buzzing after such an exciting match. Hermione took a deep breath and hardened her resolve. She had to hold her friends accountable.

…

The next Monday, Hermione sat on one of the desks in the Transfiguration classroom alone, a group of yellow birds twittering around her head. She eyed them critically as they flew around, sure she could do better. Was it just her, or did they look slightly transparent from this angle?

She had chosen to come here during her lunch break rather than sit alone in the Great Hall. Ron was no longer talking to her, having chosen to blame Hermione for Harry’s manipulation of the both of them. His mocking tone in the changing room still grated on her.

“You added Felix Felicis to Ron’s juice this morning, that’s why he saved everything!” he’d said shrilly, his face red. “See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”

Ignoring the fact that Harry fake-drugging Ron with lucky potion proved he couldn’t save goals on his own, Hermione wasn’t sure what else she could have done. How was she supposed to know Harry wouldn’t actually break the rules given the flippancy with which he had treated them in the past?

Ron not speaking to Hermione didn’t actually seem to be that difficult a feat for him, given that his mouth seemed to be permanently glued to Lavender’s ever since the post-match Gryffindor party. Harry seemed sympathetic to Hermione’s plight, but that hadn’t stopped him from sitting with Ron at meals or walking with him from the common room in the mornings. Hermione didn’t care that Ron and Lavender were together now past the fact that it meant she now had to find a new date to Slughorn’s Christmas party — what really bothered her was the way Ron seemed to pretend she didn’t exist, even though she hadn’t done anything to warrant such behavior.

The door to the classroom pushed open, startling her.

She looked up as Zabini stepped inside, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the birds flying around the room and then narrowing when he noticed her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as one of the birds came to land on her shoulder.

“Practicing,” she said shortly.

He wound his way through the desks, coming to a stop at the one he usually sat at during class. He grabbed the forgotten book lying there, eyeing the birds warily, “Doesn’t seem like you need it.”

Hermione huffed, and pointed at the one circling the chandelier above them, “That one’s wing is faded.”

Zabini rolled his eyes, “Merlin. You try too hard, you know that?”

Hermione’s temper had been quick to rise lately, and it rose now, “Some of us don’t have the luxury of being pure-bloods,” she snapped, “We actually have to work to be recognized.”

Zabini opened his mouth to retort but then he stopped, frowning. An odd look flashed across his face.

He shook his head slightly and turned away, “Whatever, Granger.”

With that, he was gone.

Hermione sighed and slid off of the desk, vanishing the birds with a flick of her wand. Lunch was almost over and she didn’t want to be late for her next class.

She walked through the halls to the Charms corridor on her own, sliding in and out of the swelling crowd, side-stepping a suit of armor that seemed to have the sudden urge to do a jig in the middle of the hall and ducking as Peeves swooped above the chaos, cackling.

She hurried up to the seventh floor and turned, stopping herself just before she ran directly into Cormac McLaggen.

“Oh, sorry,” she said quickly, stumbling around him.

“Oh hey Granger, I wanted a word!” he said. He was smiling at her, his floppy hair falling into his eyes.

“Er, yes?” she asked, glancing in the direction of the Charms classroom and back to him. He looked relaxed as he towered over her.

“You don’t have a date for Old Sluggy’s Christmas party, do you?” Confidence seemed to exude off of Cormac in waves.

“O-oh,” she stammered, “I don’t, actually.” She cringed internally. Why hadn’t she lied? She’d been planning to ask Harry the next time he was away from Ron, but hadn’t yet gotten the chance.

“Excellent,” Cormac said, “We should go together.”

At this point, Hermione felt stuck. “I...I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said, stepping closer to her, his face falling into a mock-pout. He seemed so big standing there in front of her. There was no telling how he would react if she said no — he’d always seemed like a wildcard to her — and she had no idea if Harry didn’t already have a date for the party.

She bit her lip before conceding. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Before Cormac could say anything else, Hermione turned and hurried to class, feeling mortified.

The school began to buzz about Slughorn’s Christmas Party as it loomed nearer, despite only a few students actually getting invites. Hermione had done her best to keep the fact that she was going with Cormac to herself, but word spread anyway.

“I can’t believe you’re going with McLaggen,” Harry said as they sat in the library the day before the party, looking up from his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

“Well I figured you would already have a date by now,” Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

It was Harry’s turn to look uncomfortable, “Not yet. I did get some lovely chocolates from Romilda Vane though.”

“I told you,” Hermione said. Just the day before she had caught Romilda and her friends discussing how to slip Harry a love potion so that he would take one of them to the party.

“Yeah, well I’m not going to eat one so there’s no danger anymore,” Harry shrugged, “Ron’s not too chuffed about you going with McLaggen, you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “And here I thought having a girlfriend would make him more prone to minding his own business.”

“He’s still a little sore about Quidditch tryouts I think,” Harry said, “You know how he gets. I think he would’ve rather you went with Malfoy.”

“You’re joking!”

“‘Course I am,” Harry grinned, “I’m just saying, he probably thinks he’s losing a friend to someone he feels insecure about.”

“He’s the one who started it.” It sounded childish but Hermione refused to feel bad, even if she wasn’t all that excited about her own choice of date.

The day of the party was tense, and Hermione wondered if she even wanted to go anymore. Since the news about her going with McLaggen had leaked, Ron seemed to go out of his way to be rude to her.

They were in Transfiguration class, practicing changing the color of their eyebrows. As Hermione focused intensely on her face in the mirror, trying her hardest to make her eyebrows a bright green, she heard a shout across the room.

She looked up to see Ron aghast, a brilliant handlebar mustache sprouting from above his upper lip. The entire class broke out into laughter, but Ron glared at Hermione, somehow singling her out in the midst of their classmates. Hermione rolled her eyes at his hostility before turning back to her work.

“Now, who would like to demonstrate their progress?” Professor McGonagall called about halfway through class.

Before Hermione could volunteer, Ron thrust his hand into the air, jumping up and down in his seat. “Ooh, ooh Professor pick me!”

Heat rose on Hermione’s cheeks as Professor McGonagall rose an unamused eyebrow at Ron and chose Slytherin Daphne Greengrass.

For the rest of the class, whenever McGonagall asked a question, Ron would mock Hermione cruelly. Tears welled up in her eyes as McGonagall finally snapped at him, threatening to take away House points, and when the bell rang, she was the first to leave the classroom.

This wasn’t fair. She knew she had done nothing to warrant Ron’s bullying. Sixth year was hard enough with her classes and the threat of Voldemort without Ron acting so harshly towards her. She was done, she decided as she wiped her tears in the bathroom, Luna Lovegood patting her back serenely. It was okay, she thought. Friends grew apart sometimes.

Harry was waiting outside of the bathroom, her book bag in his hands. “You left your stuff…”

“Oh yes,” she said. How was it that she had gotten so worked up that she’d forgotten her things? She took a deep breath, “Thank you, Harry. Well, I’d better get going…”

She hurried off before Harry could say anything further. She needed to pull herself together before having to sit alone, yet again, at dinner.

She changed into more comfortable clothes and snuggled with Crookshanks for a bit before grabbing a book and slipping out of her dormitory. The halls were almost empty, most of the student body down in the Great Hall.

The noise of the Hall swelled as she got closer, and she took a deep breath at the top of the landing, fortifying herself before descending the staircase to the entrance hall.

Zabini was exiting the Great Hall as she came to the bottom of the stairs. He noticed her and glanced behind himself, into the Hall, before walking directly up to her.

“Hey,” he said, “Everything okay?”

Hermione stared up at him, surprised. She eyed his face, his furrowed brows, warily, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his school robes. “Because Weasley was being a git.”

She felt a surge of indignation, an urge to defend Ron to Zabini, a Slytherin who often kept company with the Malfoys and Parkinsons of the school. But she stopped herself. None of those people were supposed to be her best friend. And Zabini, who was supposed to be like them, was standing in front of her, looking down at her with more concern than she’d gotten from Ron in a long time.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. She tilted her head at him, wondering what had made him come up to her.

He nodded once, looking satisfied, before abruptly turning away, raising one hand in a wave, “See you at the party.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, unsure if her response had reached him as he hurried down the staircase that led to the Slytherin common room.

To Be Continued

#HogwartsBSU #Blaise Zabini #Hermione Granger

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