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Daphne Greengrass sidled up next to Hermione, the younger witch’s brow furrowed and lips pinched.
“Hello, Daphne,” Hermione greeted politely while she waited on her drink.
She’d grown accustomed to the Ministry’s special events and had a system now. Three drinks, then she could leave. That was plenty long enough to be in attendance. Not to mention Draco hated these things and always begged her to leave early—or not attend at all.
“I have to tell you something,” Daphne whispered.
At the nervous tone of her voice, Hermione turned fully towards her.
Daphne had sounded distraught. She looked torn.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.
She took a deep breath, leaned in close, and whispered into Hermione's ear.
As the words sunk their teeth into Hermione’s head, her gaze cut across the event floor, right to where Draco was speaking with Harry, laughing at some joke.
*******
Draco knew something was wrong.
Hermione had been completely silent the whole walk from the Ministry gala to the apparition point. She had yet to say a word, even as they got ready for sleep.
He was last out of the bathroom thanks to a nightly hair routine and had discovered that she hadn’t gotten into their bed yet. She stood by her side, staring at the pillows, her eyes distant.
A small flash of silver drew his attention to her hands, where she was rolling her engagement ring between her fingers.
“Hermione?” he called out, all kinds of alarm bells going off in his head.
Her gaze flickered up to his. Her expression was blank. Utterly blank.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his heart beating rapidly. His hands were starting to shake.
She clutched her ring in her fist, and said, eerily calm, “How long have you been fucking Astoria?”