Chapter Text
They’d had no choice but to come together again today, hidden in Knockturn Alley, away from the ever-present eye of the Junior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic.
Cormac glances at his note cards, then to the people sitting around him. As he starts to speak, the door to the pub bursts open and sends light skittering through the darkness.
A witch stands in the doorway, sunshine like a halo around her head of frizzy ginger hair. His eyes snag on her face, the remnants of scarring still spells S-N-E-A-K across her cheeks.
Marietta’s Irish brogue cuts through the otherwise silent pub. “McLaggen, we decided to stop these meetings.”
“You decided.”
“It’s dangerous—”
All eyes volley between the two. No doubt they can feel the heat and attraction pouring off her. It’s a shame he hasn’t asked Marietta for a drink together. He can’t bring himself to ask—her or anyone—not after the Slug Club incident.
“Sit down and so we can talk through our trauma.”
She huffs, but takes her seat beside a flustered-looking house elf.
Cormac cracks a million-galleon smile despite the nerves building in his chest.
“Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by Hermione Granger.”
Every person raises their hand, though Cormac notices that some seem hesitant to do so. He doesn’t blame them; meeting here, where she might find them, is dangerous.
They must exercise caution.
“Right.” He clears his throat. “We’re gathered here today to support one another as we overcome our collective Hermione Granger Trauma.”
As they nod, his voice grows bolder.
“Draco, you’ve been punched in the nose.”
He scowls, crossing an ankle over his knee.
“Rita won’t tell us what happened, but I want to remind you all that this is a safe space. We won’t judge you.”
She crosses her arms, lips pressed tightly together.
“Ron. A flock of canaries chased you through the corridors while you were trying to snog your girlfriend.”
Ron snorts, glaring at Draco when he tries to disguise a laugh as a cough.
“Mipsy.” A tiny house elf, wearing a tea cozy as a hat, squeaks. “You were freed against your will.”
They cry, big tears dripping down their cheeks.
Cormac exhales.
“And me. Cormac McLaggen, golden boy of Gryffindor and former Keeper for the house team. Led on and made a fool in front of Hogwarts VIP.”
He remembers the party like it was yesterday. The way she looked into his eyes, her beaming smile, and how he’d found her later in the corridor where she’d told him she was only using him. It still hurts.
“Hermione Granger, heralded as The Brightest Witch of Her Age, has destroyed our lives in her quest for power.”
“Hear, hear!”
Cormac sets his notecards aside. He catches Marietta’s gaze, sees the way she worries her bottom lip, and the makeup caked around her scars.
He takes a deep breath, catching Marietta’s eye.
“Have a drink with me?”
They need to stop being afraid.