The Gloriana Set

Dinner With Theo

Notes:

This chapter is a big turning point, since many of the actions taken have major repercussions—much like the Gryffindor Party and that scene in McGonagall's office. This chapter was already planned when I first began this story and has changed very little since.

Hermione had hoped Ginny would be around to help her dress for dinner with Theo, but Ginny never returned to their room after meeting Harry by the lake. Lavender was a poor substitute, lying on her bed in knickers and a chemise and sneering at Hermione's every move.

"You really should be studying, Lavender," Hermione said as she pulled dresses out of her wardrobe. She was sick of the staring. "At the rate you're going, you'll earn no NEWTs at all."

"I have better things to do with my time," Lavender said, languidly stretching. "We're not all frigid swots."

Hermione's fingers tightened on a hanger, but she said nothing, just held up the blue velvet dress she'd worn to Slughorn's dinner. Theo hadn't seen her in it yet. Lavender watched as Hermione shed her fluffy pink robe.

"See something you like?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "Don't you have some poor bloke to follow around? There must be someone at Hogwarts who likes the desperate, clingy type."

"You'd be surprised," Lavender said wickedly, running a finger from stomach to throat.

Hermione refused to ask; it was probably Cormac or some other rubbish heap of a person. She dressed quickly and fastened her parents' sapphire pendant. She even put on makeup—a little more than usual, she was stalling. She didn't fancy wrestling with her hair in front of Lavender.

In the end, she had no choice; it was either do her hair now or be late to dinner. And her hair, of course, sensed this on some level (she'd long suspected her mane was semi-sentient) and was at its most perverse, frizzing with abandon despite how much Sleakeasy potion she heaped on. Hermione struggled to twist or braid the curls, even with the help of her wand, and the more she worked the bigger her hair grew. Lavender's snide remarks certainly didn't help, and the wretched girl was now sitting straight on her bed, eyes sparkling, giggling uncontrollably.

Flushed and desperate, Hermione did the one thing she'd vowed she wouldn't do: She went to her trunk and pulled out the flat velvet box from Malfoy. Lavender stopped laughing, and her eyebrows climbed into her dark blonde hair at the sight of the clip and hairpins.

"Birthday gift?" Lavender asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. She dragged the diamond clip through her frizzy curls like it was a comb, and blinked in amazement as the clip left soft waves in its wake. She twisted up the thick waves and fastened them easily with the clip, then inserted the hairpins. Malfoy's clip and pins stood out clearly this time against her smoothed dark locks, but that couldn't be helped. Lavender watched sullenly as Hermione teased out a few curls with her wand.

"Have a good evening, Lavender," she said with a thin smile. "You do, I assume, have plans with your mystery man? Off to creep around in a corner somewhere?"

Lavender's dark expression vanished. "You're not the only one who can bag a Slytherin," she purred.

Hermione tried not to react as she tugged candlesticks and three books out of her small beaded bag. Was Lavender sneaking around with a Seventh Year, then? Because there weren't any Slytherin men in Eighth Year except Blaise, Theo, Goyle and ...

Malfoy. Hunched over her bag, a candlestick in hand, Hermione looked sharply at Lavender, who was flushing now with triumph, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, you know who I'm talking about," her roommate said. She licked her lips. "So hot. Likes it rough."