Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ow!”

“Sorry–”

“Can you watch what you’re doing with that, please?”

“You know, this wouldn’t be an issue if you would just do your makeup yourself.” Ginny pulls away in a huff, throwing the eyeliner pencil she had just stabbed into Hermione’s cornea to the side. “I’m basically done anyways.”

“You’ve only done one eye,” Hermione reminds her.

“It’s a rock concert. Half eyeliner is, like, edgy.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“You’re so uptight .” Ginny stands with a flourish. “God, we’re going to be late at this point. Ronald !”

“You can calm down, you know,” Harry mutters, wandering down the stairs. “Ron’s changing. He’ll be down in a second.”

“You look nice.”

“It’s just a black shirt.”

“What’d you do with your hair?”

“Washed it.” Harry grins, then cocks his head. “Funky makeup, Hermione.”

“I’m taking it off–”

“Oh, come on – I worked hard on that one eye! Don’t– don’t! I’ll do the other eye in the cab.”

“A cab? Ron’s not driving?” Harry asks.

“Parking will be a nightmare.”

“Blaise’s band is that popular?”

“Well, they’re not popular, per se–”

“Oh, God .”

“Is it weird music? Like all new age and ‘innovative’?”

“Stop it, no. They’re just not big yet. But because it’s Blaise’s birthday, Pansy and Draco– who I’m sure you remember from school– went all out and invited, like, a million people to the show.”

Hermione’s eyes slide to Harry’s. 

“Uh huh.”

“It’s good music. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Sure.”

“Stop it! I promise!”

“God, Gin, I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before–”

“Just don’t ruin my brand new boyfriend’s birthday, please–”

“ Boyfriend ?” Ron shouts, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “Since when ?”

Ginny throws up her arms and stomps away, her subsequent shouts fading as doors slam. “ And the fucking cab is here, anyways! ” Punctuates her point from all the way across the house.

“How uncharacteristic–”

“Is she nervous ?”

“I don’t really remember Blaise from school,” Ron admits. “I remember Draco, that’s for sure–”

“Everyone remembers Draco,” Harry mutters. 

“Blaise is nice, I think.” Hermione leans over the table to get up close to the mirror, hand shaking as she tries to match her eyeliner. 

“ Nice ?”

“Ginny said he comes and visits her at work.”

“At work ?” 

“When they get breaks during practice he brings her lunch– don’t look so shocked, Ronald, they’re dating .”

“Those are closed practices! I know because I’ve tried to get in there to meet her coach!”

“Are we going? Ginny’s probably left us by now.”

Hermione sighs, resigning herself to lopsided eyeliner. “I just hope the music is good.”

“Are we expected to hang out with Blaise and his friends?”

“Probably. It is his birthday.”

“Exactly– see, why would he want to spend it with us?”

“Because he wants to see Ginny naked–”

“Don’t speak about my sister that way!”

“Pansy and I had a class together once.” Harry could always change topics with dizzying ease. “She’s… funny.”

“Didn’t she rat you out to a teacher?”

Harry shrugs. 

“Well, they’re all musicians anyway, right? Maybe they’ll just be high and drunk the entire time.”

“God hoping.”

“We really have to get to that cab.”

“Everyone act excited in front of Ginny,” Hermione says. Ron and Harry plaster on big, fake smiles, and Hermione can’t help her grin. “Good! Off we go!”

///

The bar is loud and crowded and decked out in odd, sort of goth birthday decorations which make Ron snort as soon as he sees them.

“ Behave ,” Ginny hisses.

“ Happy 23rd, Blaise ,” he says, dropping his voice as low as it will go. “ May the darkness envelop you eternally –”

“Ginny!”

Hermione turns just in time to see Ginny get swept up by Blaise Zabini, who still looks exactly like how she remembers him from school, if not just a bit older. He spins, and Ginny shrieks, giggling and batting at Blaise’s shoulder, face pressed up against his. Harry, not as conspicuously as he probably thinks, makes a face. 

“You gonna introduce us, Gin?” 

Harry’s question goes unheard. 

“Oh my god, Blaise, these decorations–”

“I know, they’re ridiculous–”

“It’s like a Batman-themed party–”

“Stop it!”

Ron scoffs, interrupting the high pitched banter. “So you can make jokes about it, but I can’t?”

“Ron!”

Blaise isn’t fazed, and sticks his hand out. “Ron, it’s good to formally meet you. We must have passed each other in the halls, like, a million times–”
Before Ron can actually touch Blaise’s hand, Blaise is already pivoting. “And Hermione and Harry, you too, it’s really incredible to connect like this–”
He turns again, leaving Hermione’s hand in the air. “God, where are Draco and Pansy?”

“When do you guys go on?” 

“A couple minutes– hold on, you all need drinks! One second.” 

And then he’s gone.

“Wow, Gin–”

“He isn’t usually like this, you know.” 

Hermione laughs. “I got the impression in school he was much calmer.”

“He’s just nervous.”

“He obviously likes you a lot.”

“Stop it,” Ginny mutters and shoves Hermione lightly.

“And you definitely like him–” Harry interjects, which leads to a much heavier shove. “Ow!” 

“Lights are dimming– you guys, it’s starting, stop it–”

“Where is BLAISE ZABINI!” Comes screeching through the speakers, interlaced with ear splitting feedback, and the crowd erupts in shouts. “Oh, my bad, my bad–”

“Give me the mic, Pansy– Pansy –”

“Give me a spotlight– are there spotlights?”

“I have a flashlight.”

“Perfect–”

The solitary beam flicks on and rolls over the crowd before stopping at the bar, where Blaise stands. Like he promised, he has four bottles of beer balanced in his hands, and Hermione catches him mouthing something at Ginny before Pansy, at the mic, demands his attention again. 

“Happy birthday, big guy ,” she says, and Blaise bursts into laughter. “My dear bandmate and childhood soul mate, Blaise Zabini, turns 23 today, so I’ve invited all of our friends and family and business associates to celebrate with us, our band–”

“We are Arachnoid Cyst, currently lacking representation–” Draco mutters into the mic.

“Shush– Blaise, will you please come up here, so we can start the show?”

The lights above the makeshift stage flicker on, and Hermione gets a good look at Pansy and Draco for the first time in years.

“God, Draco’s daddy would die if he saw,” Ron mutters in her ear.

She can’t help but agree. Draco is shirtless, flowers tucked in his hair, with jeans so tight she can’t imagine they’re comfortable. Contrasted with the uptight, uniformed guy she knew from school, who most often was being led around by his dad, she almost can’t believe it.

Pansy shrieks as Blaise climbs up on the stage, drawing Hermione’s eyes to her.

Oh. Oh .

Hermione doesn’t really remember Pansy from school at all. Maybe from the periphery, or something like that. They didn’t really have classes together, or friends in common. Pansy may have won a few awards for the school, for something sports related, but even that’s just swimming out of Hermione’s grasp, blurry and indistinct and probably not completely true. But even without context, without the past to compare to, she’s still shocked. 

Pansy is decked out in tattoos. The short, glittery dress she wears does nothing to cover them. Flowers and dragons and monsters crawl up her arms and across her chest. People and suns and moons wrap around her legs, big splashes of neon color that catch the dingy lights. She turns around, revealing a gigantic compass taking up her entire back. Hermione squints, trying to piece out the words around it, but Pansy shifts and her long, slicked black hair covers it. 

“Are we ready?” Draco asks.

“Mm, almost,” she murmurs in response. “How’s your bass, Draco?”

“Ready.”

The three of them fall into silence as Pansy picks up her guitar and starts tuning it. She flicks at the strings, the slight sound bellowing through the amp. 

After a minute, she smiles. “Hi, everyone. We’re Arachnoid Cyst–”

“And we’re currently looking for representation–!”

“ Draco !”

“ One, two, three, four !” Blaise shouts, and with that, the show starts.

And they’re actually pretty good. Hermione loathes to admit it, especially because she was so looking forward to making fun of Ginny for her shitty rocker boyfriend, but she even begins to enjoy herself. 

Pansy and Draco and Blaise scream into their mics, loud and lamenting and mostly unintelligible, and Harry and Ron bring drinks over, and when Ginny runs up to the front of the crowd during Blaise’s first drum solo she drags Hermione along with her, and they stay there the rest of the night. Hermione laughs and dances and forgets about mostly everything, her surroundings a sliding blur, and at the end of the show there’s cake and Pansy shouts for everyone to sing, a chaotic happy birthday to you . She might remember shots in the back room with the band, cringing when Ginny and Blaise kiss sloppily, folding into Ron’s side in the back of a cab, and falling asleep on her couch surrounded by people. All of it drips with guitar and tattoos and gorgeous, confusing music. 

///

Hermione wakes up dying of thirst and with a killer headache. And it’s early, too early, because the sun is just barely rising and blasting in through the living room’s open curtains, but she’s dangerously close to pissing herself so she sits up, grits her teeth through the head rush and swirling nausea. There’s a groan to her right, and it takes her a second to realize that she isn’t alone. 

She peers around the room, checking off people in her head as she sees them. Pansy is stuffed onto the couch next to her, Harry and Ron are splayed out on the floor, almost spooning, and… that’s it. She squints, but Blaise and Ginny are nowhere to be found, and neither is Draco. She moves quietly and slowly, careful not to touch Pansy, who now has shoved her face fully into the couch cushions. 

Hermione stumbles into the kitchen, seeking water, and stops short. At their dinky little dining table, Draco sits. He’s got his hands wrapped around a mug, and he’s staring resolutely out the window.

“You’ve got a pond out there,” he says, and even though his voice is soft, it sends a bolt of pain through Hermione’s head.

“Did you happen to find the painkillers?”

He holds the bottle up. “I took a few, hope you don’t mind.”

“God, no.” Hermione falls into the chair next to him. “How long have you been up?”

“Long time. I’m essentially nocturnal.”

She nods, opens the bottle, and swallows a few pills dry. Draco turns back to the window. With nothing to do, she pulls her chair towards the wall and leans against it.

She doesn’t realize how close she is to falling asleep again until Draco speaks. 

“How do you guys afford this house?” He asks. “This is insane.”

“Uh, luck, I guess. Ron’s brother, Percy, he– he’s got all this money from his fancy banker job, so he built this house for him and his wife a couple years back,” she answers, not opening her eyes. 

“He lives here, too?”

“No, uh, his marriage ended a couple of months ago. He had a whole crisis about it, and moved to Singapore without telling anybody. He says he’s discovering himself, or whatever, and until he gets back we can stay, maintain the house, all that.” 

“So all four of you live here?”

“Mmhm. Thank god Percy was planning for at least three kids.”

Draco laughs. “The bar from last night was smaller than your living room.”

“He should have been an architect.” She smiles. “It was a good show last night, by the way. You guys are really good.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t do bigger venues? You have the crowd for it.”

“Not really. We– the three of us weren’t great at school, really–”

“That is not true, Draco,” Hermione interrupts, finally opening her eyes. “You were my biggest threat for top of the class.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was good at tests, but, like, not real life stuff, you know? I don’t know how to manage our money, or market the band, or how to navigate all these contracts the big venues are always making us sign. I don’t know about any of that.” He yawns. “Neither does Blaise or Pansy, so we just kind of steer clear.”

“You just have to take some courses, you know. At a college or something. That’s what I did, after university. I had this law degree, but didn’t want to go to law school, but I had all these bills and no way to pay them– I took these courses and it helped with all the basics of finances. Was able to learn enough to get a job in it, at the very least.”

“So what do you do now?”

“Bookkeeping for all these local businesses. Consult on contracts from time to time. Do you– do you do the band full time?”

“I bartend, too.” 

“What about Pansy and Blaise?”

“Pansy’s a hairdresser, Blaise waits tables."

“Harry’s working in a restaurant right now, too, while he waits for a teaching position to open up. Where’s Blaise at?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “That cafe across from the football field. How do you think he and Ginny met?”

“God, of course.”

“Ginny’s on her way towards an Olympic medal, the way Blaise talks about her.”

“It’s not out of the question.”

Draco smiles. “Here, I haven’t touched it,” he says, sliding his water towards her. 

“Oh, Draco, no, I can get my own.”

“No, seriously, I don’t really get hungover, so you can have it.”

“Liar.”

“I swear.”

“I just cannot believe you.” But she takes the water, anyway.

She sips at it while she and Draco sit in silence. He eventually closes his eyes, and Hermione allows herself to slouch against the wall and fall back asleep.

She wakes to Ron and Harry stampeding through the kitchen, begging for painkillers and coffee and bitching about their sore backs. She tosses the pill bottle at them and groans, her legs numb from sleeping in the chair. She stands, and stops abruptly again.

Out by the pond, the one that Percy carved out and filled with koi himself, dreaming of an idyllic life with the woman he loved, Draco lies, so still he could be dead, hand drifting just over the surface of the water.

“What is he doing?” 

“Quiet, Ron.”

“Seriously, Hermione–”

“ Ron –”

“Christ, Ginny’s got us hanging out with weirdos–”

“Shut up and go get us food. God.”

She pushes past him, back out into the living room, which is still quiet. And she slows to a stop, mostly because Pansy’s awake, sitting upright on the couch, and Hermione stares, uncomfortably aware of how loud they must have sounded from the kitchen.

“We’re not weirdos, Granger,” Pansy murmurs, rubbing at her eyes.

“I know that.”

“Good. What food is Weasley picking up?”

“You’re staying?”

“Free food in a nice, big house, Granger. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hermione smiles slightly. “Great.”

///

“But he’s nice? Like he’s a nice boy? Very kind? Didn’t pressure her into anything?”

“ Ma –”

“From what I saw of him, he seemed very considerate, Molly.”

“Good. Good.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “When I tell you he’s perfectly fine, you don’t believe me, but when Hermione says the same thing–”

“Forgive me if I trust her judgment more than yours, Ron.”

Hermione bursts out laughing, and both Ron and Molly turn slightly red. “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she says, and Molly smiles. 

“ RON ! NEED YOUR HELP!” Comes a shout, and Ron sighs, pushes away from Hermione’s desk.

“Are we still driving home together?” He asks.

“Yep, of course.”

“Alright, I’ll rush George and be out in a bit.”

Molly shakes her head as he runs out, very nearly clocking his head on the doorframe as he goes.

“How’s that one car? The red one Arthur was all worried about?”

“Owner picked it up this morning. Ron was able to deal with it all by himself.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yes. He’s stepping up, you know. He knows that George and Charlie don’t want to stay in town, working at the family mechanic all their lives. I think he wants us to know that he’s all in.”

Hermione turns back to her computer. “Mmhm,” she replies, as normally as she can. 

“Right?”

“Well, payroll is all done!”

“Oh! Thank you, Hermione, so much, thank you–”

“I’ve printed out these forms–” she points to the printer drawer, “and they need to go straight into the tax season binder. Everything else is all organized, though. Should I put the big book upstairs?” 

“No, I’ll do it.”

“You know, if you switched to completely online, Molly–”

“No, no, no. I’ll haul around the ledger till the day I die, Hermione.” Molly comes around the desk and kisses Hermione on the head. “Thank you again, love,” she says, and then disappears up the stairs. A crumpled check for 20 pounds is left on the desk. 

And Hermione doesn’t care that she barely gets paid for this. The Weasleys, Molly in particular, have fed and housed her for years on end, and that more than enough makes up for it. She knows they feel guilty though. One year at Christmas, Arthur got drunk enough to beg for her forgiveness, to tell her that they all know she gets paid buckets more by the other businesses she works for, and they can barely live with themselves over it. 

She insists every day that it’s fine. She just wishes they’d believe her. 

“Hey, you ready?”

She looks up from the check, smiling when she sees Ron hanging in the doorway. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good, because I’m deadly craving a milkshake.”

“That makes no sense.”

Ron doesn’t say anything when she leaves the check on the table. She gets in the passenger seat of his car and listens to him talk about this truck that he and George are struggling to get running, and then muse on what flavor milkshake to get (Hermione gets banana, he gets chocolate) before she finally interrupts.

“Your mother thinks you’re committing to the family business,” she says, and his face falls.

“You could’ve let me have a few more minutes of peace, ‘Mione.”

“She’s aware that George and Charlie are on their way out, but not you.”

“I’m just–”

“I know.”

“How do I even–”

“I know.”

She knows that Ron has no idea, in fact, what he wants to do, but he wants to try something new, anything new, before he settles in to run the family business for the rest of his life. She knows. 

“God, when did we become adults, Ron?”

He looks at her sideways. “What?”

“It scares the shit out of me.”

He’s quiet for a while, and she begins to think that he completely misunderstood, until he sighs. “Yeah. Me too.”

///

“ NO !”

“ Yes –”

“She didn’t!”

“She certainly did, Ronnie, now pay up–”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hermione interrupts, smacking Harry’s arm. “She turned around!”

“ YES !”

Ginny’s head pokes out of the bathroom. “What is with the fucking chaos–”

Harry cackles. “Your brother just lost 50 pounds because he thought Maria was going to choose Brandon over Levi, when she’s had SO much more chemistry with Levi this entire time–”

“She’s turning around, Harry, so I wouldn’t be too sure about that–”

“ Quiet !” Hermione hisses.

“ Brandon… ” The TV simpers, “ I’m so sorry. ”

“THAT’S IT ?” Ron booms. “ FUCK !”

“Your stupid off-brand Bachelorette is destroying your fucking brains,” Ginny declares as she blocks the TV.

“Wow, Ginny, what a tight black dress you have on–”

“Christ, why are you so dressed up?”

“Arachnoid Cyst has another concert in an hour.”

“Of course,” Ron mutters, sipping his beer.

“And you’re all coming with me.”

“Funny, Gin,” Harry selects the next episode. “But we’re kinda busy, here.”

“Well, Hermione is the only one that’s been formally invited, but you all just need to get out of the house so badly –”

“What?”

“What! Why not me or Harry?”

“Obviously she makes a better first impression than the two of you–”

“Or she’s a hot girl, and Blaise likes to pack the crowd–”

“Shut up , Ron,” Ginny snaps. “God, you’re the worst, and Draco invited her, actually, so–”

“ Draco ?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Draco and I are quite friendly now, apparently,” Hermione says, standing.

“Then can you get dressed so we can leave?”

“Where’s that 50, Ron?”

“Die, Harry.” 

“Hermione, can you wear that one black dress you have so we match–”

“That dress is unbearable, Ginny.”

“You look so gorgeous in it–”

“Fine–”

“What should I wear?” Ron asks, and Harry snorts. “What!”

“You’re just so fashion forward, Ron, I can’t bear it–”

“ Die , Harry–”

Ron lunges for Harry, and they’re still tussling and bickering twenty minutes later in the backseat of the cab with Hermione wedged between them.

“Since when are you and Malfoy friends, Hermione?” Ginny calls from the luxury of the passenger seat. 

“We talked.”

“ When ?” Harry asks, and Ron takes advantage of the brief distraction to grab a chunk of his hair. “ Ow !”

“After Blaise’s birthday concert.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Not much.”

“You don’t talk about much, but he invites you specifically to this?”

“What’s with the interrogation?”

“We’re all just curious, I think,” Harry says quickly, shooting an obvious look at Ginny, who still doesn’t seem satisfied.

“Here,” the driver says, and everyone fumbles for cash to press into his hand. 

They file out of the cab, and Hermione immediately smacks into Ron, who has stopped in his tracks. 

“Oh,” Harry says.

Oh , indeed. While the other venue for Blaise’s birthday wasn’t classy, or huge, or even objectively nice, this venue is much smaller and… Hermione searches for the word.

Creepier? Darker? Murdery-er? All apply.

“You’re sure this is it?”

“Yes. We’ve been texting all night.”

“So…”

“So we should go in. They’re about to go on, and I want to talk to Blaise beforehand.” Ginny takes a brave, resolute step towards the door. 

“Well, what if Harry and I go grab beers somewhere else, because we weren’t technically invited–”

“ Stop it, Ronald, get in there –”

Ron yelps as Ginny shoves him towards the door, past the questionable debris littering the ground and punched out windows. Hermione loops her arm around Harry’s and follows.

Blaise is on them the second they’re in, grabbing coats and pressing drinks into hands and mostly just kind of swooping around, chattering nervously.

“This is thrilling, really just a tremendous compliment, thank you, welcome, do you need anything else? Anything? Anything at all–?”

“Blaise,” Ginny cuts him off. “We’re good. Thank you.”

He nods, seeming to finally let go of a breath he’s been holding for a while. “Great. We go on in about half an hour. We got pushed because there were some lighting problems.”

“Shouldn’t you go find Draco and Pansy?” Ginny asks, an interesting edge to her voice. Her eyes dart to Hermione’s.

“Yes! Yes, I should. Of course. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere–” 

“Harry and Ron, I need help getting drinks.” Ginny tugs on their arms.

“Your boyfriend already got us plenty to drink,” Harry says with a grin.

“No, seriously–”

“What about Hermione?”

“Yeah, Ginny, what about me?”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “She’s a big girl and she’ll last for two seconds without us.”

She proceeds to drag Harry and Ron away, and Hermione can’t help her laugh at the confusion all over their faces.

“Hermione! It’s great to see you– thank you for coming–”

She jumps a little, laughing nervously at the sudden appearance of Pansy, Draco, and Blaise. They’re dressed similarly to their last performance, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and staring at her with wide, creepy grins.

“Hi, uh, Ginny should be right back–”

“We’d actually like to talk to you, Granger,” Pansy says. She holds out a drink, which Hermione reluctantly takes.

“Oh? About what?”

“Draco mentioned you do bookkeeping and consultant work–”

“Yes, yeah, but if you’d like me to help you out I actually have this form I can email you–”

“That’s great, but–”

“It’s just so I know exactly what you need so I can plan accordingly–”

“We would like your help and expertise, yes–”

“I’d hardly call it that–”

“Hermione!” Draco exclaims, and she steps back.

“Sorry, Draco–”

“No, no, no, we’re sorry,” Blaise interjects. “We’re sorry, because we’re not being clear enough.” He shoots a look at Draco, who winces. “We have a more permanent, regular job that we’d really like you to do. A sort of managerial job, you know.”

“We’re all sober right now, by the way.” Draco chimes in. “We can completely control ourselves. And– and we already have a loyal fan base, and a deep love for the music we create and a total commitment to this band and each other–”

It strikes Hermione like a slap across the face. They're marketing themselves to her. Trying to show how reliable they are, how talented, how hugely, potentially successful they

could be, if only she helped them.

“You want me to… what? Work for you?”

“Be our manager, more specifically.”

“I’m– I’m not an agency, though. I don’t have any connections or funds or notoriety–”

“We don’t need that,” Pansy says. “We need help with contracts and money and shit like that–”

“I know nothing about music, I just don’t think I can help you guys in the way that you think I can–”

“Hermione, you’re mistaken. We’re not asking for a favor based on a flimsy conversation we had a couple weeks ago.” Draco’s voice is determined. “We are hiring a woman we know to be intelligent and thoughtful and who has incredible references–”

Hermione swivels around. Ginny’s big, brown eyes are staring at her through the crowd.

“What I do for the Weasley family is completely different,” she protests. God, she was going to murder Ginny in her sleep.

“Not really,” Blaise says. “Ginny and Molly took me through what you do for them on a day-to-day basis, and it’s really not that much–”

“Oh my god –” 

“It’s not as creepy as it sounds,” he continues, “like seriously–”

“Okay, well, it sounds kind of fucking creepy–”

“Blaise doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Draco interrupts, desperation shining through in his voice. He and Blaise start talking over each other, flailing and panicking, and Hermione suddenly feels nauseous.

She turns away, but a tattooed hand darts out to grab her wrist.

Pansy stares at her.

“We want to go on tour.”

Hermione can’t help but stare back.

“And– and there’s this band, and they want us to open for them on tour. And we have a really great opportunity to go all around Western Europe, but they want us to sign this huge fucking contract. Like ‘can’t even imagine reading it in one setting’ type contract, and you went to school for law, and you read all this taxes and bookkeeping bullshit, so don’t even pretend like you won’t be able to do it–”

“I–”

“We’re scared. So scared. Mostly because we’re stupid and don’t know how to do this by ourselves. We need a manager to guide us. Market us. Turn us into something. And you–” Pansy’s grip tightens. “We’ve met a lot of smart people. They can read contracts and they can manage money, but they’re not you, Hermione Granger.”

Pansy is sharp, with dark makeup and slicked hair and tattoos of teeth scraping down her arms. She is manipulative and cunning and clearly just flattering Hermione in a last ditch effort to get her to help them. It’s clear. Her thumb is over Hermione’s pulse.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t think I can do what you’re asking me to.”

“Did you say yes? Did she say yes? You did? Ah! You did!” Ginny appears, hanging on Hermione’s shoulders. Pansy pulls away a moment later, and the combination of factors shouldn’t bother her as much as it does.

“Gin–”

“I’m going to get us more drinks–”

“ Ginny –”

She turns to Blaise for help, but he looks nauseous and won’t meet her eyes and it hits that she’s done this to him, she’s devastated him like this, and she barely makes it out the door of the bar before tears, inexplicably, begin running down her face. 

///

Two days later, Hermione still feels like shit. 

And who can blame her, honestly, because Ginny has wasted no moment in reminding her what a giant, disappointing shell of a person she is, not that she’s using those words, but that’s how Hermione feels, anyway, and it’s just shitty , okay because she doesn’t know why Blaise, Draco, and Pansy were so focused on her, but they shouldn’t have been. Should have just left it alone. Now she feels shitty for being truthful about her own abilities. She could have been stupid and just tried to rush into it, and then everyone would have suffered for it. She tried pointing this out to Ginny, that meddler, and she refused to listen. It’s just all so stupid and complicated.

Plus, work has been slow, so the only thing to take her mind off of it has been the leaky pipes in their kitchen. And she is not a plumber, so even that hasn’t been productive. 

She’s crouched under their sink and folded like a fucking pretzel and water is dripping on her and she feels like shit. 

“Hermione, do we have enough food to cook, or should we order out?”

“I don’t know, Ginny, I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Okay, jeez.”

“Can you not?”

“What am I doing?”

“Stop being pissed at me for–”

“It’s a great opportunity! Why wouldn’t you just do it?”

“Why did you have to volunteer me?”

“I didn’t! They asked about you!”

Hermione straightens without realizing and bangs her head on the cabinet. “ Ow !”

“Would you just stop? You’re making it fucking worse, I’ll call a plumber, it’s fine–”

“With what money?”

“It doesn’t cost money to call a plumber–”

“ Ginny !”

“Where are Ron and Harry! They can help!”

“They’re at the grocery store.”

“I went yesterday, what could they possibly need–”

“ FUCK !” The pipe, which has been groaning and leaking for the last two days, finally bursts, and water comes pouring out onto Percy’s beautiful, handcrafted hardwood floors. “Turn off the water–”

“I know, I am, stop nagging at me–”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Just grab a mop, and paper towels, and everything we have to get this water up, please.”

Ginny does as she’s asked, and appears a few minutes later with every cleaning supply in existence. “Want me to mop or scrub?”

“Water ruins hardwood, so let’s get everything dry first.”

“Okay.”

Hermione inhales, exhales. Maybe they were okay already. 

“You could have done it,” Ginny mutters, too soon, and anger rises again.

“Ginny–”

“You could have. You can do anything. I don’t know why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared , Ginny. I just have a life that I can’t up and leave for a continental tour. I thought you understood that.”

“Everything you do you can do remotely. Don’t even lie– I know you can. That one time you were sick you kept up with all your work.”

“Well, okay, but what about–”

“Me and Harry and Ron?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be fine. We’re always going to be fine.”

“Whatever, yes, but I don’t know Blaise like you do, Ginny. Maybe I don’t want to spend however long crammed in a tour bus with three strangers. Maybe I don’t want to be responsible for three strangers’ careers .”

Ginny doesn’t reply for a while, and they go on working in silence. 

“I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Yeah.”

She sighs. “I am sorry that I intervened and showed them around the garage without asking. I just– I believe in you so fully , and I know that if you wanted to do the manager thing, you’d be so good at it. And, you know, a tour is fun. I thought you might have fun.”

And Hermione doesn’t know what to say about that.

“HELLO!”

“They’re finally home,” Hermione says. “Ron? Harry! Can you help us in here?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Ginny snaps, dropping the mop right as Hermione reaches for it. 

“Ginny!”

“Shit, sorry.”

“Hey, guys– ah, the pipe finally went.” 

“Help us, would you?”

Ron shakes his head. “It’ll have to wait, Hermione, because…” He fumbles with a bag behind him, and then, to her horror, pulls out a case of beer and a container of fucking party decorations. No –

“ What is that?”

“Tensions have been high, lately, so we thought–”

“No.”

“A party!” Ron and Harry yell, beaming from ear to idiotic ear. 

“Oh my god,” Hermione mutters. She turns to Ginny. “Did they tell you about this?”

Ginny shakes her head. “No… they did not.”

“Ronald–”

“I know, the kitchen is flooded and the sink is busted, but we’ll make it work. It can be an outdoor party, and I’ll call a plumber right now–”

“A plumber costs money ,” she and Ginny say at the same time, and Ron groans.

“We have money. It’ll be fine. Guests are showing up in five, so you might want to go change. I’m going to go set up outside!”

“Harry–”

“He’s really deadset on this, Hermione, you might just wanna–”

“Since when is he a party planner?”

“He’s trying to find his passion,” Harry reminds her, grinning. “Maybe this is it?”

“Who even is showing up?”

“Most of the people we know.”

“I had to turn the water off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Yikes.”

“Harry, please, please , will this be the shortest party in the world?”

“I’m not really good at ending parties, ‘Mione, but I’m excellent at starting them, if you know what I–”

“You did not just say that–”

“Christ, have some dignity. Just do what I ask, please . I need to get these floors clean–”

The doorbell rings, and Harry jumps. “First guests!” He calls out to Ron, who whoops from the backyard.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t!”

“I’m inviting Blaise!” Ginny exclaims, and runs up the stairs.

///

Harry does not shut down the party like she asked him to. It does stay almost completely outside, which is a relief, but doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a fucking party . 

It gets even worse when not just Blaise, but the entirety of Arachnoid Cyst shows up and Hermione, stricken by awkwardness, resolves to avoid them completely. And that’s difficult, because the three of them take up so much space with their tight pants and instruments strapped to their backs.

“I hate you,” she hisses again at Harry, whose reply doesn’t change.

“No, you don’t.” He presses a drink into her hand. 

“When will this be over?”

“You’re usually a lot drunker and having a lot more fun by now.”

She can’t dispute that. 

“Blaise’s band is going to do a few songs. Come listen with me.”

“Don’t you have any social awareness–”

“Yeah, yeah, you rejected them and it’s awkward, but who cares? We’re all adults.”

“We are not!”

Harry laughs. “Stop taking everything so seriously, Hermione.” And he drags her by the arm out into the backyard. Ron’s actually made it quite pretty, with string lights she’s never seen before, and the band is setting up right by the pond.

“I don’t know if I have it in me for a rock show, Harry.”

“Ginny said they’re doing something different. Chiller.”

And it must be true, she supposes, because there are no drums, only an upturned bucket, a tiny, portable keyboard, and an acoustic guitar with nothing else. No bass, no amps, or anything like that. 

Pansy glances up, catches her looking, cocks her head.

“This is a bad idea,” Hermione tells Harry.

“Why?”

“Because–”

“If I was behaving this way you’d smack me upside the head.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would. And I’m more gentlemanly than you are, so I won’t do that, but you have to stay here with me, okay? It’s worse if you refuse to look them in the eye.”

“God, I suppose you’re right.”

“Hello? Can I get everyone’s attention, please?” Calls Draco, and the crowd hushes. He smiles, looks down. 

He’s looking at the koi. Hermione’s stomach turns. 

“We’re Arachnoid Cyst,” He continues. “Thank you for having us.”

He pulls a tambourine from a bag and gestures to Blaise. “Good?” He asks, and Pansy, tuning her guitar, nods.

Blaise counts them in, and while at the other shows what followed was loud and chaotic, now all that starts is a simple drum and tambourine beat, and Pansy strumming the guitar.

It’s beautiful.

“ Been traveling these wide roads for so long ,” Pansy sings, and her voice, which Hermione’s never heard individually, is like a gut punch. She didn’t know she was capable of it. “ My heart’s been far from you, ten thousand miles gone. Oh, I wanna come near and give you every part of me, but there’s blood on my hands, and my lips aren’t clean .”

The three of them sing in unison, “ Take me to your river, I wanna go .”

“Shit,” Harry murmurs, and Hermione almost laughs. Yeah. Shit.

“ Oh, go on. Take me to your river, I wanna know .”

It’s so beautiful, and so delicate, and everything in Hermione swirls. No, that’s not quite it. It’s like her entire body is leaning in, and she can’t stop it for the life of her.

They’re undeniably talented. God.

Pansy breaks off again, singing, “ Tip me in your smooth waters, I go in ,” she looks up, and meets Hermione’s eyes dead on. It’s like she’s been laid bare in one moment, with one glance. “ As a man with many crimes, come up for air, as my sins flow down the Jordan .”

Pansy doesn’t miss a beat. Her eyes skip around the small crowd, and Hermione notices everyone changing. Shifting, sinking into the music. Her lovely voice.

The song comes to a close. Hermione claps, she knows she does, but all she registers is a buzzing in her ears. 

Pansy, Blaise, and Draco are dragging out more instruments, packing away others. Pansy’s pick skitters out of her hand while she’s not paying attention.

“Hermione? You good?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, one second.”

Hermione pushes through the mingling and the polite small talk and crouches, fingers scraping through the grass until she finds it.

“Pansy,” she says, and that’s all she can say before Pansy’s hand is in hers and all words leave her abruptly.

“Thank you, Granger. Didn’t notice.” Pansy starts to pull away. Hermione can’t stomach it. Tattoos and glittering shoulders and long, dark hair, all moving farther and farther from Hermione.

“I’ve been thinking about it. The tour, I mean,” she blurts. 

It’s not a lie. She has.

Draco and Blaise’s mouths drop into little o ’s.

Pansy’s eyes narrow. “So?”

Hermione could laugh. So? So, it’s a terrible idea. It’s upending her entire life to do something she doesn’t even fucking know how to do . It’s three careers in her incompetent, unknowledgeable hands. It’s so dumb she can’t even comprehend why she’s still thinking about it. 

But Pansy’s thumb is over Hermione’s pulse, and a tour sounds exciting , and she can do all of her current work remotely anyways, and Pansy is staring at her, asking her so? , touching her, and she feels like she could do this, maybe.

A tour.

She might be stupid. 

“We need to talk specifics,” she says, and Blaise and Draco laugh, exhale, grin. “I myself need a contract, for one. We need to discuss salary–”

“We have no money,” Pansy interrupts.

“Shush!” Blaise says, right as Draco winces.

“We have money,” he insists weakly. Pansy shakes her head.

Hermione smiles slightly. “We’ll figure it out, then. Do you guys have that contract with you? I’d like to take a look at it now,” Hermione says, and Draco nearly falls over himself running to get it.

Harry and Ron sit with her on the curb in front of the house as she reads. They pass a joint back and forth, leaning on each other.

“Can’t believe you said yes,” Ron murmurs, half asleep.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Me either.”

“Nah, it’ll be fun, I bet. Plus, free travel.”

“I’ll have to pay for my own hotel room, but nothing else. Have to admit that’s pretty classy.” She shrugs. “If they had signed this thing without reading it, they probably would have been fine. Very generous terms for an opening band.”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t.” She snorts. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Just call us and we’ll help you,” Harry tells her, and he sounds so sincere she can’t help but believe him.

“You’re going with them?” Ron asks. “On tour?”

“I imagine. There will be a lot to sort out on the road. And they asked me to, so.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“It’s a… five month stint.”

Ron shakes his head. “We’ll be elderly by the time you get back.”

“I’m going to miss you two so much,” she whispers. “I should just stay.”

“No!” 

“You have to go,” Harry says. “It’s going to change your life, I bet.”

“Sure, yeah, maybe–”

“You have to go,” Harry repeats, more determined. He looks at her, eyes vaguely red and lips pressed together like he would rather die than not make this point. “I swear, Hermione, this tour is going to change you. Change your life. For the better. God, it’ll be amazing.”

“Granger!”

They all turn, Ron yelping a bit, to see Pansy hanging out of the doorway. Sweaty, grinning, glittering in the night, guitar hanging around her neck.

“You gonna watch the rest of our set or what?” 

She almost laughs. “I feel like I’ll have plenty of opportunities to see you play these next few months.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “We’re different every time. Duh.” And disappears back inside without another word.

“See,” Harry says. He pokes her arm. “Life changing.”

Later that night, after everyone has finally left and she can walk through her house in silence, she sneaks into Ron and Harry’s shared bathroom, tacks up a list of the tour dates on the mirror. She circles the show she knows they can make it to. Scrawls, you better, in the corner.