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III: The Moon

"And then there was the time that I tried out for the Falmouth Falcons, you should have seen it, I blocked nearly all of the shots but then Basil Horton nearly drove the quaffle in with me. It was their mistake to not take me on as keeper - they nearly won the League Cup, but I could have made that happen for them."

Cormac McLaggen was driving Hermione batty.

The more he spoke, the faster she would drink her Butterbeer hoping that it would dullen her senses. It was as if Cormac didn't even realize that she was standing there, completely uninterested in learning of his 1001 Quidditch tricks. She scanned the crowd, seeing some of her classmates and professors awkwardly socialize under the tinsel covered decor. Where is Harry? she thought, hoping that he would somehow manage to pry Cormac away from her enough for her to escape.

"You're quite lucky I'm here tonight," Cormac continued, "I nearly dropped out of Hogwarts last year, but my father wouldn't hear of it. I told him my talents were being wasted every year that I wasn't playing professional Quidditch…" Hermione tuned him out. Although he was in every sense of the word 'eye candy' he was just as equally self-absorbed, uncouth, and unable to take a hint.

"Cormac, Cor-Cormac," she said, having to repeat herself to get him to stop talking, "Could you get me a drink, please, I have to use the loo." He looked a bit startled, as if he didn't realize she had been standing there.

"Oh, sure," he said, his hand patting her on her backside as she gasped with a jump, briskly walking away from him.

As soon as he was out of range, she made her way to the most secluded place she could find: the balcony. Slipping behind the sheer curtains, she pressed her back against the cold stone wall and reveled in the quiet. She ran her hands impulsively over herself, smoothing out her dress. She wore a thin periwinkle gown made of silk, fitting her form and flowing elegantly to her ankles. She felt so very feminine. It was a shame that her appearance was being wasted on the oaf McLaggen. She had even spent half an hour perfecting her hair into flowing waves that draped at her shoulders. She shrugged, at least word would get back to Ron that she was over him and she was looking pretty doing it.

Slughorn's office was blessed with a stunning view. She could see the lake, over the Forbidden Forest, even to the edges of the grounds toward Hagrid's Hut. Her gaze lingered over the tall, thick trees of the Forest and it made her remember that night. I wonder how he's doing, Hermione thought, I wonder what he's doing, and what he was up to that night in the Forest.

There had been a lot of rumors that revolved around Draco Malfoy that year. That he was a Death Eater, that he was behind the malicious cursed item that harmed Katie Bell, that he was up to no good at all. Hermione didn't know if she believed it, after all she had watched Malfoy grow up from a spoiled little boy to the cold, distant man he was now. As a child he was full of himself because he was taught to be full of himself; it's easy to be a villain if you're born into the Dark Arts. But a Death Eater at sixteen? Let alone a Death Eater who was capable of severely harming someone? No, she didn't think he had it in him.

"Harry!" she whispered to herself, having spotted the raven haired head that she recognized very well. Finally, the party was starting to take a turn for the better as she made her way toward Harry, Luna, and Professor Trelawney. Luna and Professor Trelawney appeared to converse very comfortably with one another, which Hermione was grateful for.

"Just don't let him find me, please, I cannot take another moment of him," Hermione pleaded to Harry who nodded supportively.

"Of course, Hermione, though it's your fault you invited him in the first place."

"It was either him or Zacharias Smith," she said, "and I think I made the wrong choice." Harry rolled his eyes at her. It wasn't her fault he didn't understand why she felt the need to make Ron pay for snogging Lavender. She couldn't exactly articulate the vindictive nature of paying back your childhood crush with misery. Though in a way the irony was not lost on her, as she was being punished for her pettiness by having to deal with Cormac, but so be it. As long as Ron was jealous, she was happy.

"Look who I found wandering in the upstairs corridor after hours," the party was interrupted by an intrusive, raspy voice. Hermione turned to see Argus Filch in his usual frayed caretaker clothing, clutching the collar of a tall, scowling handsome blond.

"I was just gatecrashing," Draco Malfoy responded as Filch released him,"I just wanted to join the party, my father has spoken very highly of you Professor Slughorn."

Hermione raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

"I wonder what he's up to," Hermione whispered to Harry. Harry had the same expression as her, of intrigue and skepticism.

"Nothing good," Harry responded. Although she didn't doubt that Draco Malfoy would attempt to gatecrash, given his recent history of suspicious behavior, she was doubtful that it was the end of the story. Draco looked as tired as ever, his skin was paler and gaunt, and the bags under his eyes made him look much older. She couldn't help but acknowledge that he had grown up quite a bit, but she didn't have a chance to think about it much longer, having seen Cormac moving in her direction.

"Oh no, here he comes. Bye Harry!" she said, ducking out of crowd and out of the party.

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Hermione found solace outside of the party, in the quiet halls of the Hogwarts castle. She had been curled up in the window sill, sitting with her potions book splayed in her lap. She always liked to keep emergency reading material with her, and was thankful she took the time to enchant her elegant clutch to house several of her textbooks that evening.

Add porcupine quills, stir four times anti-clockwise, add a sprig of peppermint, add sopophorous beans…

She repeated the steps to herself, attempting to memorize them, but all she was managing to do was to doze off. She sighed and stood up, tucking the book back into her bag, regretting having drank several Butterbeers. Well, if Harry manages to produce another potion better than me, I suppose it'll be my fault, she thought. She had begun to walk down the hall, making a turn toward the staircases when sheer force stopped her from moving forward. She collided into something hard, and her belongings fell to the floor.

"What the -" she heard a voice say, slowly understanding that it was a tall man she had just walked into, and not an invisible wall. Her body was still connected tightly with the man in front of her, and he had her clutched by the arms. "Granger?"

"Malfoy?" she knew him by his voice first before she looked up to see him, his gray gaze was unreadable. He stepped back, but his hands continued to hold her by her arms.

"Are you following me?" he asked, searching, "Again?"

"Of course not, Malfoy, I don't spend my free time following you down empty corridors -" she said defensively, "why would I even do that?"

Malfoy shrugged and slowly lowered his hands, his palms running slowly over her arms before disconnecting and dropping at his sides. The moment felt like ages to Hermione, who was painfully aware of his touch on her skin.

"I don't pretend to understand women, let alone Gryffindor women who date Cormac McLaggen…" Hermione glared at him, how dare he have the audacity to comment on who I'm dating!

"Excuse me, Malfoy, but I don't know how that's any of your business. And actually, I am not dating Cormac McLaggen, I just -" she paused, unsure of how to verbalize her affiliation with the brute, "I didn't want to ask anyone else."

"Good," Draco said with a nod, his brows were knit and his gaze lowered, revealing nothing. He appeared irritated, but he held such a strong hold on his emotions that it frustrated her, especially after having seen him in a deliriously satisfied state under the Calming Draught. He appeared to be back to his cold, closed-off self. "You could do a lot better than Cormac McLaggen."

The comment stunned her. Draco leaned forward and reached to pick up her beaded clutch. He took her elbow in his hand and placed the short handle of the purse around her wrist before stepping back. It felt as though a knot was forming inside Hermione's belly. However, before she had a moment to react, or to digest her own emotions, the shrill, raspy sound of the Hogwarts caretaker rang through the hallway.

"Well, well, well," Argus Filch said, sauntering down the hallway toward them, "I warned you, Mr. Malfoy, that if I saw you again wandering the corridors at night, you'd regret it! And look at that, you're not alone. Ms. Granger, having a midnight romp with Mr. Malfoy, are you?"

Hermione gaped as Draco sighed.

"Detention!" he exclaimed with excitement, "The both of you! Tomorrow night," his mouth twisted into a wicked smile, "in the dungeons." Filch giggled to himself as he walked away, "Oh, what a delightful Christmas it will be!"

"Fuck!" Draco exclaimed, burying his face in his hands as he rubbed his eyes, "Fantastic, perfect, just what I need."

"Well, it's your fault!" Hermione stated, the deluge of emotion dissipating as the reality of having detention sunk in. "If you didn't run into me…"

"What do you think, I positioned myself in front of you so you could just walk into me? I didn't plan this," he said irritably.

"It's fine," she sighed resigned as she moved away from him and toward the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories, "we'll just get it over with, and it'll be fine."

She believed it. Although she dreaded detention on principle, a spark of nervous excitement swelled in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

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The next day felt like it dragged on. Hermione spent most of the day mulling over books in the library, preemptively preparing for future lessons in Defense the Dark Arts, knowing full well that Snape had no intention of going easy on any of them this year. She found herself tapping her quill against the desk until the feathers frayed, and she would often bounce her leg impatiently as the day crawled on. This was unsual for Hermione, who appreciated the opportunity to lose herself in her books for hours on end. She just felt anxious, or perhaps anticipatory, and without a doubt nervous at having to see Malfoy again. He's just so different this year, I can't figure out what it is, Hermione thought. He seemed more aloof, in his own world, but he had lost of some the arrogant self-absorption that was a Malfoy trademark. She couldn't decide whether she liked the change. It didn't matter anyhow, she was just glad that she would be able to ask him more about his odd behavior of late.

It took her a few minutes to realize that she had been re-reading the same sentence about Dried Billywig Stings six times before she snapped the book shut and stood up, leaving the library to head to dinner.

It was an awkward affair. Hermione had been sitting in her usual spot, having arrived early to dinner, where Harry joined her soon after.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Hermione said, serving herself a spoonful of potatoes, "why do you ask?"

"You've had a rough week, haven't you? What with Ron snoggi- er, what with your disagreement with Ron, and I heard you've got detention with Malfoy tonight which sounds like hell."

She glanced up at him, an invasive blush forming on her cheeks.

"It's fine," she said dismissively, to which Harry shot her a quizzical look. "Who cares about Ron, Harry, he's been rude to me for the last month and he's decided that he'd rather spend all of his time with Lavender Brown than either of us, so I'm doing myself a favor and moving on immediately. As for detention, I don't quite know how you heard about that, but it's fine, I could use the time scrubbing toilets - or whatever it is that Filch wants us to do - to think and plan the Runes essay that's due next week."

Harry nodded slowly, "You're stronger than I give you credit for, Hermione."

She couldn't help but smile at his words. He was a supportive friend; despite the fact that Harry always had a full plate in life - both with the challenges of being a Hogwart's student, but also the slight dilemma of being 'The Chosen One' - Hermione was appreciative that he took the time to be there for her even when he would have preferred that she and Ron ultimately reconciled.

As if their conversation summoned him, Ronald Weasley strode in to the Great Hall with Lavender Brown clinging to his arm. Hermione took it as her cue to leave, but before she could slither out of her seat he had spotted Harry and had made his way to sit across from them.

"Hermione," Ron said indifferently. "Heya Harry, how was," he lowered his tone to a whisper, "meeting with Dumbledore?"

Hermione had managed to tune him out enough to enjoy her glass of pumpkin fizz when a small squeaking sound caught her attention. She looked around for the source of it, but couldn't determine where it came from until she felt something nipping at her ankle. She gasped and yanked at it, pulling it up into view. At this point, her reaction had caught the attention of those around her and she heard a few laughs when she realized what she was holding was an small rabbit made entirely out of paper. It was animated and lively, attempting to nip gently at her hand when she placed it on her lap and turned it over, noticing that the rabbit had writing on it.

"That from your boyfriend McLaggen?" Ron asked derisively. Hermione did not dignify him with an answer or acknowledgment as she pet the spine of the rabbit and the structure of the paper creature loosened, revealing the note that it had hidden. In thin cursive handwriting, the deconstructed rabbit read:

Filch wants us to meet him

near the Dungeon Hall at 8pm.

-DM

"Well, what is it?" Harry said, looking at her expectantly.

"Nothing, just - just a prank," Hermione said, shoving the letter in her robe pocket. She didn't think she would have lied to Harry if he was the only one listening, but Ron did not deserve to know anything about her life until he learned to treat her with some respect.

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