Poison & Wine: A Dramione Fanfic

Poison & Wine

A Gothic cathedral was as close to Hogwarts as one could get in America. With its stained glass windows, elegant stonework, and large oak doors, it was at least a decent replica of the Great Hall. Hermione had seen her share of cathedrals around the UK and in France, on trips with her parents in the summer. But the once grand church that sat on the edge of her small liberal arts college campus was mostly abandoned. She'd seen advertisements for the campus choral group's performances. The occasional charity marketplace.

But now, with a full moon above it, the empty cathedral had been reclaimed for a Halloween party. The bare trees outside cast shadows on the ground beneath her feet. She hadn't planned on celebrating Halloween. It was hard to find much magic in it here, without her friends or the massive pumpkins she was used to seeing when she was at school. But she'd received a strange invitation and cobbled together a costume hoping that there would be a few friendly faces from her classes. It was probably not worth trying to make friends in her last year here but she'd made a promise to herself that she would try it anyway. She didn't want to admit to being lonely. Sending an owl across the Atlantic was painfully slow, and neither Harry nor Ron had any interest in Muggle forms of communication like email.

She could hear their well-meaning teasing. After two years and two months at a Muggle university, on an accelerated course of study, Hermione Granger had finally put her books down long enough to attend a party. Alert the authorities. Though she doubted there would be any at this party. Outside of those wearing cheap costumes, at least.

The invitation said that the party would begin once those who sought to toil and trouble arrived. Hermione took that to mean about ten, when most college parties began. Not that she'd actually been to any. With a final tug at her "I pulled all of this from my existing wardrobe" costume she joined the throngs of people making their way through the doors. She bumped into a particularly tall man dressed in all black, holding a pair of cat ears in his hand. When he caught her staring at them he sighed and put them on, as if to say, "Happy now?" before storming off into the crowd.

People mingled between the pews and in the aisles and against the stone walls. Where the altar once stood was a line of folding tables. In the corner, in front of the remains of the organ, was a DJ flanked by massive speakers. The sound echoed into the rafters. Laughter and conversation and music.

There was the usual muggle drinks — cases of cheap beer, a few kegs that various people struggled to pump, stacks of red solo cups. And there, at the center, was a massive cauldron. Had Hermione not been a witch it would have looked impressive. There was a smoke machine behind it, hidden by various empty bottles. And someone had fashioned lights to give it a spooky aura. It looked like a vat of amortentia. The liquid inside was a sickly magenta color, with some small bubbles from whoever stirred it last. But instead of smelling like peppermint and sandalwood and fresh cut grass and all of the other things she found attractive, it smelled of cheap alcohol and sugar. A disastrous combination. Especially in the hands of a bunch of early twenty-somethings.

As disastrous as the wizard who had saddled up to her at the makeshift bar. It had been a couple years since she'd seen him.

The platinum hair was a bit longer, and more artfully tousled than the once slick style he'd worn it in at school. To muggle eyes, he probably seemed to be dressed as some sort of rock star — pointed boots, fitting black trousers, a loose white shirt, unbuttoned to the navel. But the shoes were dragon hide, and the rest was just his usual attire presently slightly differently. Like he'd mussed himself up on the way there.

"Couldn't be bothered to wear a costume?" She said, hoping for nonchalance and to avoid curious glances from anyone nearby.

He ladled some of the toxic-looking drink into a red plastic cup, filling it nearly to the brim. "When anyone asks, I just let them come to their own conclusions. Apparently I'm either someone called Jareth or a vampire—"