Tastes the Sweetest

Part One

TW: These trigger warnings apply to the whole fic! There is toxic Draco, blood play, smut, and just dark things in this fic.
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Hermione hated holidays.

It wasn't the actual holidays themselves that she hated. It was the incessant need for everyone to throw some sort of function to celebrate them. Parties, fundraisers, dinners, galas...Rooms filled with too many people asking too many questions, pretending to get along for the sake of family and festivities.

Hogwarts ran rampant with parties at the holidays, especially in the common rooms. Before the war, she'd heard about them, but she'd never been invited to any. Sure, there'd been Gryffindor parties that she'd attended with Harry and Ron, but how many of them had she been individually presented with an official invite to?

Zero.

Maybe she hated parties, too.

Summers spent in London with her family had consisted of the neighborhood trying to push all the kids their age into being friends. It never worked. Hermione had always been more interested in reading than playing in the Merrywethers' never-cleaned pool.

In August of her Fifth Year, one of the girls next door had invited her to a party to celebrate the end of the summer, telling her it was going to be held at another location. Therefore, no dirty pool. She'd been so excited to be invited to her first Muggle party that she'd decided to dress up and do her make-up. Her mother had driven her there, only to find out the entire thing was a farce.

If there was a party, Hermione certainly hadn't been invited to it.

She supposed she hadn't hated holidays back then, back when she'd just wanted to make friends and enjoy school. But then the war happened. Now, her parents were gone, her friends weren't at school with her, and she wasn't sure what she wanted to do after Eighth Year ended. She knew who she was, but she didn't know who she wanted to become.

She might never enjoy a holiday again.

So, when the rumors of a Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Year All Hallow's Eve party began to spread like wildfire, Hermione was less than enthusiastic. She had no desire to report the rumors, and neither did she have the desire to attend.

Or perhaps she was protecting herself because no one had invited her yet.

"Hermione! Hermione, wait up!"

The sound of footsteps pounding against the stone floor gave Hermione pause in the corridor. She turned just in time for Dean Thomas to come skidding to a halt behind her, his robes fluttering around his legs and his umber skin shining with sweat. His tight, kinky curls were cropped close to his head, having grown out a bit from the shorn style he wore during their younger years.

"Blimey, you walk so fast," he said, panting for breath with his hands on his knees. He stood up straight, flashing her a grin. "Happy All Hallow's! I wanted to know if you were going to the costume party tonight...?"

Hermione felt something twist in her stomach—something familiar. She knew she was eighteen and far from being a girl, but it felt like just yesterday that she'd been invited to a party as a joke. She didn't think Dean would do anything that horrible to her, of course, but it didn't stop her heart from dropping.

She tossed her brown box braids over her shoulder with one hand to feign nonchalance, the ends tickling her lower back as if to remind her to stay calm. She clutched her Advanced Potions textbook closer to her chest.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I don't know anything about it."

He tilted his head, appearing perplexed. "Wow, really? It's in the Room of Requirement after supper."