Harry woke well after ten in the morning, but was one of the first to rise.

Ginny still snored soundly beside him; when he padded downstairs, he spotted Dean, Fleur, Bill and Ron sprawled over the furniture. Plastic cups, paper plates, and crumbs covered the coffee tables. Harry stared for a minute, trying to figure out what was wrong with the scene.

And then it hit him - Hermione was gone. He frowned and glanced around. Her gifts were gone; her coat no longer hung on the hook; there was an empty space on the rack where her boots had been.

Harry walked over to Ron and shook him awake.

"Go away, Mum," Ron mumbled, "still sleeping."

"Wake up, Ron," Harry said. "Did you see Hermione go?"

"Mmm-hmm," he nodded weakly, "last night."

"Last night? It was freezing rain and you let her go?"

He grunted in disdain. "Malfoy met her at the door."

Harry frowned. "Malfoy? Came here? Last night in the snow?"

Ron's eyes finally opened, and he glowered at his best friend. "Yes, Harry, Draco Malfoy came and picked Hermione up here after the party. It's really not that confusing... they're dating, much as that fact revolts me. Now, can I go back to sleep?"

"No, you can't. We've got to see where Malfoy's gone with her."

Ron rolled his eyes, pulled the blanket up to his chin and shook his head. "You're going bonkers and I'm not having anything to do with this weird, Malfoy-stalking project. I'm going back to sleep."

Harry stared at Hermione's front doorstep.

Blaise Zabini, in full traditional robes, stood at the front door, examining the handle with a puzzled expression. He grabbed it and pushed, to no avail.

The juxtaposition was bizarre.

A car passed by. A teenage boy yelled out the window, "Get back to the Marilyn Manson concert, you freak!"

It was only when Zabinii turned to look that he noticed Harry.

"What're you doing here, Potter?"

"I should ask you the same."

Zabini frowned but didn't respond. He went back to examining the door-frame. He experimentally pressed his finger to the peep-hole.

"There's a buzzer to the right, Zabini."

Zabini looked confused. Harry rolled his eyes, reached around, and pushed the door-bell. Through the frosted-glass window, Harry could see a silhouette approach. The latch noisily slid back, and the door swung open to reveal Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of black pants and a loose, long-sleeved white undershirt, his feet bare. He looked utterly comfortable; in one hand he held a piece of jam-smeared toast; through the open doorway, Harry spotted a cup of tea sitting on the table next to Malfoy's wand and a silver hair clasp.

"Zabini, what the fuck are you doing here?" He scowled. "Hell, what are you two doing here together?"

"Aren't you going to let us in?" Zabini asked. "Some muggle was very threatening to me out there."

Harry rolled his eyes, but Malfoy dutifully stepped aside and let them both inside.

"Keep it down. She's still asleep." Malfoy sat back down at the table. "Tea? The pot's full, I just made it."

"You know how to make tea?" Zabini asked incredulously. "Without a house-elf's help?"

Draco smirked. "Cups are above the sink. Milk's still on the counter - I couldn't find any sugar."

Harry's unsettled feeling dissipated a little - he knew about the sugar, which meant he still knew more than Malfoy did. "The Grangers don't use sugar. Her parents are dentists... that's a doctor of the..."

"Teeth, yes, I know, Potter. Granger's chided me enough times about my sweets intake," Malfoy interrupted.

And once again, Harry felt off-kilter. How and when had Malfoy become so intimate with Hermione? How had he learned all this minutiae about her? Why was he here, in her house, at eight thirty in the morning, brewing tea, using her toaster, rifling through her dish-cupboards?

"Back to my original question, Potter," Malfoy said as he sat down at the dining table. "Why are you two here together?"

"We're not. It's just coincidence." Zabini shot a distasteful glance at Potter. "I came because I received an owl at two a.m. last night from your mother, and one at six a.m. from your father."

Malfoy groaned. "Mother never stops, does she?"

"She said, and I quote, 'Drakie has left his St. Mungo's medal in the owl-shed and I cannot find him anywhere. Please, Blaise, tell me he's safe and sound with you!' I lied for you, by the way, since I knew you and Granger were probably having another sleepover."

Harry's fists balled at the thought of Hermione and Malfoy having "sleepovers". Why had Hermione lied about the relationship? Was Malfoy just toying with her?

He felt vaguely as if Hermione's honour was at stake, but couldn't quite pinpoint why.

He tried to pay attention to Malfoy and Zabini's continuing conversation.

Malfoy cringed. "What did my father's note say?"

Blaise smirked. "'Tell my son to get up, take some hangover potion, and get home immediately. Madam Malfoy is quite concerned'. He'd be the one who was quite concerned if he knew where you really were."

"I'm an adult. What a joke." He sighed. "I owe you one, Blaise. Thanks."

All three men went quiet for a moment as they heard a door opening upstairs. Harry peered around the corner, but didn't see Hermione - though what he did see startled him. A pile of blankets and pillows lay rumpled on the sitting room sofa. Malfoy's outer robes lay neatly folded on the coffee table, next to a cup of water and a book on Margaret Thatcher.

Malfoy had slept on the sofa. Harry looked over at Malfoy, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was playing at. Malfoy's expression remained impassive... or perhaps simply hung over.

Blaise sat down next to Draco with his own cup of tea. "You look like shit, Malfoy."

"You see how good you look after sleeping on that Ikea monstrosity," he muttered. "Besides, I had a horrible night. I feel like shit."

"Something happen with you and..." Zabini looked Harry's way and stopped mid-sentence.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy said irritably, "Granger's awake now, so no need for you to hang about. Zabini and I would actually prefer if you fucked off for a bit."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "All right, I'll give you boys some private time. But only because I came to talk to Hermione, and would prefer not to see or hear you, Malfoy."

He stomped upstairs, leaving Blaise and Draco alone in the tiny Muggle kitchen.

"So." Zabini's eyebrow crooked. "Trouble?"

Draco sighed. "It's a bit pathetic, really."

"Ooh, really?" Zabini said, looking even more interested.

Draco's eyes flickered to the staircase, then back to his teacup. "We came back here last night after Hermione's party. She wanted to, you see. We had some food, and some wine, and we were watching a film..."

"Oh, Lord, you shagged her and now you're trying to find some way to wriggle out." Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not helping you with that one, mate..."

"No!" Malfoy interrupted. "Absolutely not!"

Zabini's eyebrows raised even higher. Malfoy's unequivocal response wasn't what Zabini expected. At all.

"That's the problem, see? Granger... she looked incredible last night - she had on this tight, sheer pink thing with these bows, hell, she might've even tempted you - and it was like I lost all common sense. I was this close to closing the deal. And without even thinking about it, I started into my usual modus operandi - the back rubs, the bland compliments..."

He stared queasily into his cup. Zabini said nothing.

"I suddenly realized what I was doing. I mean, for fuck's sake, it's Granger. I don't want to do that to her - some crap one-night stand on a sofa after she drank too much with someone she knows as a friend."

Zabini eyed Malfoy. "So?"

"So what? I managed to stop myself before I completely gutted our friendship." He rubbed his face tiredly. "How do I manage to fuck things up so often? She's probably upstairs, telling Potter what a total unrestrained arsehole I am."

Zabini idly stirred his tea. "I somehow doubt that, Draco." He examined Draco's face closely. "Do you want to date her? Sleep with her?"

"It's not an option," Malfoy said emotionlessly. "We're people on two completely different trajectories."

"That's not what I asked."

Malfoy stared into his tea for a long minute before answering quietly. "I don't want to risk losing her."

Zabini opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to think better of it. They sat in silence until Potter returned.

Harry knocked on the door.

"I'm getting dressed, Malfoy, don't you dare come in."

"Hermione, it's me. I came to see why you left the party so early."

"Harry?" She paused. "Come in, come in."

Harry cracked open the door tentatively. Not that he hadn't seen Hermione disrobed - after all, they'd been alone in that forest for ages - but given the choice, he'd rather not watch her getting changed.

She was wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe, lounging on her bed. He gave her a questioning look.

"I just didn't want to see Malfoy."

"Trouble in paradise?" Harry asked snidely. "Sorry, sorry, I'll try to tone it down. By the way, Zabini came to check up on Malfoy. He's downstairs."

She frowned. "Malfoy was bored last night, so we got together and watched a film here, ate some ramen noodles and drank some chardonnay."

"Malfoy ate instant noodles?" Harry shook his head. "Never mind. Nothing surprises me with him anymore. Anyhow, what happened? I thought you two were like peas in a pod nowadays. I mean, I came in and he'd been using the muggle tea-kettle and the toaster, but you don't want to see him."

She blushed. "I thought... I thought he was interested in me. And he made it clear that he wasn't."

Harry frowned. "Are you sure? Malfoy seems pretty... uh... easily interested."

"That's what makes it even worse. Ugh, I feel hideous."

She curled up on the blanket. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and reached out for her hand.

"Oh, Hermione, don't say that. Why don't we go out? Me, you, Ron, Ginny - we'll go for dinner and drinks at that little martini bar Ginny likes. I know it'll make you feel better."

She nodded tentatively. "Okay. Yeah."

"I'll pick you up at six." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "Don't let that git bother you. There are plenty of guys who'd do anything to have you."

She nodded again, but it didn't have much fire. Harry sighed, and shut the door softly as he left. What could Malfoy have done to bother Hermione so much? Why did Malfoy behave as if he wanted Hermione one moment, then change his tune the next?

It was all bizarre - Malfoy's behaviour, Hermione's. As he padded downstairs, he overheard the conversation between Malfoy and Zabini. He pressed himself to the wall and eavesdropped on them.

"Do you want to date her?" Zabini asked solemnly.

Malfoy's voice was flat. "It's not an option. We're people on two completely different trajectories."

"That's not what I asked."

Malfoy took what seemed like minutes to reply, and when he did, Harry was startled by the answer.

"I don't want to risk losing her."

When Hermione finally went downstairs, both Blaise and Malfoy sat in her sitting room, watching Big Brother.

"Don't you boys have somewhere to go?"

"We wondered if you wanted to go for a drink," Malfoy said.

"I'm already going out with Gin, Harry and Ron."

"Oh." Malfoy looked disappointed. "Well, I guess I'll see you on New Years then. C'mon, Blaise."

"I'll catch up to you in a minute, I just need to tie my shoes."

Draco shrugged and stepped out the front door. Once the door shut, Blaise put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and smiled reassuringly at her.

"Hermione, whenever Malfoy behaves badly, remind yourself that he's juvenile and insecure, all right?" He winked. "Trust me. I've been one of his best friends for seven years. He can be really dumb."

Without letting her respond, he slid into his shoes and slipped out the front door. Hermione just stood in the kitchen, wondering what he could possibly have meant.

AN: Up next... a visit to Malfoy Manor.