Author's notes: Thank you to ordinarilyextrodinary, Teddy.in.a.nutshell, wasu, PrincessProcrastination and EmmieLou555 who reviewed chapter 2, it's really appreciated.

I've been asked a couple of times how certain things relate to cannon…I'm just following the cannon guidelines as long as it's convenient to plot development…so don't expect things to stay true to HBP, because they probably won't.

This chapter seems long…don't know why, it isn't particularly. Enjoy!

Chapter 3 - Disaster

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

Hermione had chosen McLaggen for two reasons. Firstly, he'd annoy Ron, and secondly, he was an idiot.

He seemed incredibly nervous; something she didn't really understand as she was well aware that he'd dated numerous girls. When you shared a bedroom and bathroom with other girls, it was impossible not to hear the gossip.

McLaggen also seemed very…eager. This was making Hermione regret the decision. She was somewhat afraid of him. He was, well, big. He could snap her like a twig. He had a temper, too: she remembered his face after he failed the Quidditch trials, and had no wish to experience such rage again. Mostly, though, she felt guilty. He wouldn't really try anything in a room full of people, she was certain of that much, so she was safe. Her leading him on though, that made her uneasy.

Hermione contented herself on concentrating on the route to Slughorn's office. They should be there soon. McLaggen had given up on trying to make conversation, and was just talking to fill the silence. He was going on about Quidditch, she thought, but she wasn't really listening.

He slowed suddenly, ceasing his monologue. "It's still a couple of corridors away," she pointed out nervously. She wanted to get into the crowded room. Maybe then she could escape for a while. She could find Harry and get some moral support.

"Yeah, I know," he said, reaching into his pocket, pulling something out. She took a couple of steps forwards, urging him to hurry. She didn't like the idea of being stood in a dark corridor; especially as he had totally the wrong idea about why she had asked him out tonight.

"Here," he grunted, holding out a small package. She took it hesitantly, glancing at him curiously. "Open it," he urged.

Hermione examined the package first, turning it over in the palm of her left hand. She reached out with her right to pull the label into view. "Dearest Hermione," she read. "Thank you for agreeing to come with me tonight. At your service. Cormac." A new flood of guilt set in as she gently took the red paper off the box.

A golden coloured box lay beneath the red wrapping paper. She opened the small hinged lid and gasped. A fine gold chain was cushioned on a white cloth. Attached to the chain was a locket in the shape of a book, which opened to reveal two minute picture frames. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

Cormac grinned smugly. "Beautiful" she had called his gift. He stepped forward and took the locket from her unresisting hands, placing it around her neck and fastening the clasp. He stood back to admire her. "Perfect," he commented, smiling at her. He wasn't talking about the locket.

Hermione's guilt tripled as they began to walk towards the party again. They could hear the sounds of it growing steadily louder as they reached the corridor where the office was situated. Hermione chanced a glance at McLaggen, and he was literally bouncing up and down, obviously pleased that his gift had gone down well. She lifted her fingers the brush the gold chain on her neck. She was disgusted with herself.

They reached the room, and McLaggen held the door open for her. Slughorn had enlarged his office, yet still not everyone fit in. It was very squashed, very hot and there were many different odd looking people milling around, chatting to one another in a slightly forced manor. Hermione could have sworn that was a vampire in the corner.

The two of them walked around the room slightly awkwardly, unsure of what they were supposed to do. Several seventh year boys and a couple of girls came over to talk to McLaggen. He was more popular than Hermione had realised. One of the girls was so obviously flirting with McLaggen that Hermione wondered if the girl had any concept of subtlety. McLaggen didn't seem to bat an eyelid whilst the girl was there. Eventually, sick of being turned down repeatedly by a seemingly oblivious Cormac, the girl stormed away in a strop. He turned to Hermione, looking apologetic.

"Sorry," he intoned cheerfully. "Nicola's been a right pain ever since I dumped her in fifth year. She never seems to get the message."

Whilst McLaggen seemed to relax, Hermione grew more and more tense. He seemed to notice, and tried several times to start a conversation with her. She tried to look interested, she really did, but she just couldn't.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked eventually. He was becoming steadily more irritated with her unresponsiveness.

"Yes, okay," Hermione agreed, eager for an excuse not to talk to him. Her hands wrapped readily around the glass. She didn't care what she was drinking; she just needed to do something with her hands.

Cormac was getting more and more frustrated. Hermione refused to acknowledge him at all. He didn't get what he'd done wrong: she'd practically flung herself at him, he'd given her a present she loved and he'd been perfectly wonderful to her all evening. Normally by this point him and which-ever-girl-it-was-he-was-with would have snuck off to snog in a disused classroom somewhere. Not that he'd expected that from Hermione, but things could be a little better. She'd barely looked at him all evening.

He had practiced modesty all week because he thought it might impress Hermione. This, his best friend had pointed out, was incredibly ironic. Cormac shrugged it off. He wasn't going to explain to Hermione what he was doing. His control, however, was slipping away. If all the preparation he had gone to wasn't grabbing his attention, he'd have to resort to the tried and tested method.

Boasting.

"Hermione," he began, feeling more confident on home soil. "Have I told you about that time I successfully stopped a Quaffle with two broken arms?"

Her glass was empty now. It must have been alcoholic because she felt in slightly better spirits. Hermione noted that; she shouldn't drink any more, she didn't want to end up drunk. She decided to tune into what McLaggen was saying. It was something to do.

"…then Flint came speeding towards me and…"

He was still going on about Quidditch, no doubt boasting about how great he was at the game. Hermione groaned: Ron was the same. Harry wasn't much better when it came to Quidditch, although he was one of the most modest people she knew. Boys.

He misinterpreted her frustration. "Oh, would you like another drink?" he offered, spotting her empty glass.

"No thank you," she answered firmly. "Shall we-" she cast her eyes around the room; she needed something, anything, to do "-go and talk to some of the other guests?"

"Okay then," he responded, looking at her curiously. He didn't start up his rant again as they made there way around the edge of the crowded room.

She was about halfway across the room when she spotted Harry, or thought she did, but by the time she reached the spot he'd vanished. She stood on tiptoes and tried to see over the heads of the people around her. No such luck.

He caught up with her easily, despite her rushing off so fast. He had the advantage of being a head taller than everyone else.

"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked her.

She looked at him, and, once again, she appeared guilty. "Sorry for being a bit out of it, Cormac," she replied honestly. "I've been a little…preoccupied recently."

"Don't worry about it," Cormac attempted to reassure her. It didn't do much good: she simply returned to ignoring him.

He rolled his eyes in frustration, but something caught his attention. His eyes fixed on a spot just above Hermione's head, as she peered through the crowd. Cormac smiled secretly to himself: things were looking up.

Hermione was about to take off again, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at McLaggen.

"Hermione," he began. "Tonight's been awkward but…thanks for coming with me anyway, it means a lot."

She stared at him. Actually, it meant nothing: she wanted to make Ron jealous. She felt dreadfully sorry for the guy. She couldn't believe what she'd turned into. She sighed, smiling at him weakly. The wide grin that split his features didn't seem a justified response to her feeble grimace.

His eyes flickered upwards and she followed his gaze. She paled instantly. Now would be a great time to run.

McLaggen was closer now, too close. She tried abruptly to turn, but his lips pressed gently against hers.

Cormac tried to kiss her on the cheek. Really, it was her fault he missed. If she hadn't tried to turn it would have been a quick peck on the cheek, no harm done. No, it was entirely Hermione's fault that Cormac's lips were now pressed against hers.

Not that you'd find Cormac complaining about it.

He pulled back, grinning at her still. She sent him a death glare. If looks could kill, he'd be stone cold by now. He ran his hand through his short, wiry hair, awkwardly shuffling his feet. On closer examination it was nothing to get worked up about: just a brief kiss, nothing serious. His lips simply touched hers for a few seconds. Hermione would insist on getting worked up anyway.

"That," she hissed, "was uncalled for."

"It's traditional," he defended weakly, gesturing to the mistletoe above their heads. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

She glared at him again, and took off at a run, ducking between two other party guests and vanishing into the throng. He made no move to stop her. He felt like a fool for ever believing someone as wonderful as Hermione would ever look at him.

How could a kiss offend her? His words were too much. Why did he have to be so confusing?

She wasn't really mad at McLaggen, not really. It was her own, stupid fault that he'd gotten the idea; she shouldn't have led him on. She felt awful. She'd dashed the hopes of an innocent bystander and betrayed Ron all in one night.

"Betrayed Ron," she muttered to herself. Funny, how she thought of it like that. Ron was off willingly snogging some bimbo and she was blaming herself for being kissed briefly, unwillingly by another boy.

"Hermione!" called a familiar voice. "Hermione!"

Relief flooded her. Harry. Good old reliable Harry. Trust him to turn up when she was about to break to pieces.

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!" She could hear the falseness of her enthusiasm and the obviousness of her relief even as she spoke.

"What's happened to you?" asked Harry. Hermione glanced down at herself; her dress robes were askew, slightly, and she could feel that her hair was dishevelled. She made a quick mental note that running through crowded rooms in dress robes wasn't necessarily a good idea.

"Oh, I've just escaped – I mean, I've just left Cormac," she began, without really thinking. She quickly edited it. Really, this wasn't McLaggen's fault, and she knew that. Harry continued to look at her questioningly. "Under the mistletoe," she added reluctantly under Harry's curious gaze.

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most," Hermione said dispassionately. Then she added sarcastically, "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on a whole -"

"You considered Smith?" said Harry, revolted. Well, Harry wasn't always very good with sarcasm.

Cormac was mortified. How had it gone so dreadfully wrong? He needed to find Hermione fast and apologize right away. It was a first: he'd never had to apologize to a girl for kissing her before.

He sped forwards, looking left and right. Even with his height it was difficult to see through or over the crowd, and next to impossible to squeeze through it.

Eventually he spotted Harry Potter. He forced his way through the crowd towards him. He was with that batty Ravenclaw fifth year, Lovegood. "Seen Hermione?" asked Cormac breathlessly. Fighting you way through partygoers making casual conversation was tougher than he'd given it credit for, especially when house-elves wound their way underfoot, unseen and easily squash-able.

"No, sorry," responded Potter abruptly, and he turned away. It was clear he didn't want to talk. McLaggen stalked off again, once again seeking Hermione.

Author's note: I'll leave you to speculate about where I'll take this next…
And to review! Please review! I love reviews!