A/N – Thanks so much to those who took the time to comment on the last two chapters! You're fantastic.

The beginning of this chapter has a song that goes along with it. It's "Where I Stood" by Missy Higgins. You can see some of the lyrics below.

Big thanks to dragonfreak1991 who alerted me to some mistakes in this chapter. Especially one that was awwwwkward. I wanted to get this chapter out ASAP and so I didn't take the time to look it over more than once... and I should have. So thank you dragonfreak1991! You are awesome.

"I don't know what I've done, or if I like what I've begun. But something told me to run, and honey, you know me, it's all or none. There were sounds in my head, little voices whispering that I should go and this should end. Oh and I found myself listening. 'Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you; all I know is that I should. And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you; all I know is that I should. Cause she will love you more than I could – she who dares to stand where I stood." - Missy Higgins, "Where I Stood."

November 2000

Hermione made a conscious effort the night she left Grimmauld Place not to think of Ronald Weasley. She decided not to think of long mornings in bed, wrapped in sheets and fingertips and warm breath. She decided not to think of all the ways he said her name; how it sounded so different when it was just the two of them. She decided not to think of any of these things, so she didn't.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop herself from dreaming of him.

It felt wrong. He was no longer hers to dream about. It had been a year and a half since she left. She hadn't spoken to him since then, had only written him once. He had not written back, and she accepted his silence.

She still wrote Harry occasionally, but not as much as she had promised. It was difficult to know what to say. She did not ask about Ron or the rest of her magical family. She had told Harry that specifics just made it all the more difficult to stay away. She tried to explain why she hadn't come back, tried to make him see that her giving up magic was a good thing. This way people wouldn't be hurt, she reasoned, and she wouldn't have to be away from her parents as much, and anyway... she couldn't trust herself, or her magic; she'd made that bit obvious.

So the letters that she did send (because she wrote many more that she never even addressed) were sort of... flat. Boring. But she wrote because she had promised.

Harry wrote back, of course, but it was the same. He tried not to talk about magic, tried not to talk about the people that made up his life and his world. So he wrote very little, always signing it, "I love you Bookworm. I hope to see you soon. Harry." And every time she read those words she felt the twisting in her stomach, which never really went away, no matter how excellent she became at ignoring it.

But yeah, she dreamed of them. Of him, especially. Ron. And those mornings when she woke with red hair and blue eyes in her mind, she wondered if he was happy. She hoped he was. As much as it hurt, she hoped he'd found someone who could love him the way that she could not. The way she could no longer, at least. She wanted all the good things for him, while knowing she was not one of them. That knowledge made her lonelier than she could honestly admit to herself, and so she pushed the thoughts and dreams and red hair and blue eyes out of her mind, got out of bed, and got ready for the day.

It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday night and Hermione Granger felt completely out of place in the club, the music pulsing around her, the strangers moving to the beat, pushing against her. It's not what she expected, the experience. She thought that perhaps she could lose herself here, let go and feel the music, maybe dance with a guy or two. She knew she ought to; dance with a man, that was. She knew that it was time, that she needed to open herself up to those types of experiences once more. It was healthy. Dating was normal, and people said it was fun. But she no matter how hard she tried, she just felt awkward, and out of place, and the dress she had bought weeks ago with Elizabeth seemed much too short now, or too tight, or something. More than anything she wanted to be in her pajamas, in bed, with a book and a cup of tea. She realized, chagrined, that these were not the things she should have been wanting at 21 years old, but she had never really acted her age.

The girls from her economics class had left her to join the throng of dancers over half an hour ago. She didn't know why she had agreed to come in the first place; it was not as if clubs ever held any interest for her in the past. Still, she thought maybe if she shrugged off the chains of responsibility and tried to just enjoy herself for once, maybe she'd bond with her classmates. Maybe some of their unabashed confidence would rub off on her, and she'd suddenly turn into the fun, flirty girl that boys seemed to like so much. Maybe she'd learn to move her hips in that way that was alluring but not slaggy, and she'd meet a guy and maybe he'd be attractive, and attentive, and maybe he'd be someone she could spend time with, and get to know... maybe even grow to really care about. Maybe.

But despite all of her planning, she found herself alone in the corner sipping on a bright pink drink with an umbrella in it. She felt so out of place and despondent that she actually thought about just giving up on the whole night and having a good cry. She wondered how long these girls planned on staying out; definitely past midnight, but after that? Could she manage to wait another half hour, or should she attempt to hail a cab? And if she did manage to wrangle one down, how much would a ride home cost? She hadn't paid attention to the route they took to get here, but she knew it was upwards of thirty minutes away from her parents' house. Mentally she counted the money in her clutch. It would be tight, especially once she paid Michelle back for the nauseating drink, but she could probably make it.

"Hey." A voice over her right shoulder disrupted the mental calculations, and she felt someone take the seat next to her. She had been trying to ascertain exactly how much damage ditching out on this "girl's night" would do to her struggling social life, when again she heard it, "Hey," and the person next to her was suddenly very, very close. Hermione leaned back to look at the stranger, and goodness, but he was pretty. She shouldn't think that of a bloke, of course; handsome, yeah, hot, of course, but pretty? Still, the way his light brown hair hung in his eyes, the way the shadows played across his impossibly high cheek bones... well there was no denying the man was fit, if not at all her type. Did she have a type? She shifted in her seat, unsure of how to respond. She went with something easy.

"Um, hey." Nervously she played with her hair, and then stopped when she realized what it was that she had been doing.

He leaned forward once more, but not in an unpleasant way. She didn't feel as if he was invading her space; he was just showing a bit of interest. And that was fine, right?

"I saw you sitting over here by yourself and I thought I'd come keep you company, maybe? That is, if you're looking for company. Did you come here alone? I'm Jared, by the way. Should have said that first." His lips pulled to the left in a charming lop-sided smile, and he pushed his hair back in a way that could definitely be described as adorable.

She looked him over and decided he didn't appear to be a serial killer, and anyway, he was a better offer than Rodney (the only other boy who had paid her attention recently, only because he wouldn't.. not) so she reached to accept his handshake. "Hermione, and no, I didn't come here alone, despite my current lack of companionship."

He turned the bar stool to face her, and she found that his knees came awfully close to touching hers. She felt at once uncomfortable yet flattered by this close proximity that suggested intimacy. She didn't know this man, not at all. But he sought her out and anyway, he was someone to talk to, so she didn't move away.

Better than crying into her purse, at least.

"So, Hermione. That's a pretty name."

"Thank you."

"Hermione... what brings you here tonight, love?" The endearment felt entirely too false coming from a stranger, but she didn't want to seem rude, so she responded.

"Some classmates invited me out with them. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm beginning to realize that I am not a big fan of crowds, loud music and sweaty bodies all sharing the same space. And I haven't seen my friends... the people I came with in a while. I was just trying to decide if I'd rather wait for them to finish hitting on poor unsuspecting boys or if I should just get a cab ride home."

He looked at his watch and then back at her. "But it's not even midnight! The night is young and so are we. Fancy a dance?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not really the dancing sort, at least not this sort of dancing." She glanced at the crowd gyrating to the music and her teeth worried her lip. No, she did not dance like this, at least not in public. In front of her mirror with a hairbrush, maybe... once or twice. But not in public, and not with a stranger.

"Then perhaps a drink?"

She indicated to the cocktail on the table, complete with umbrella. "Got one, thanks."

Jared snickered and tilted his head in a knowing way. "Ah, yes, obviously you're enjoying it so much that you're savoring it. It looks like you've taken one, maybe two sips, tops. Plan on making it last all night?" The last words had a teasing quality to them, and she wondered if he was just being playful or if he had purposefully added the subtle innuendo to the comment.

She shrugged. "Guess I'm not a big fan of the sugary, fruity drinks."

He signaled to the bartender who appeared in front of them immediately. Jared's eyes met hers and he sat back for a moment before saying, "So I'm going to guess that you're more of a wine girl than a cocktail girl, is that right?"

She smiled despite herself, because he was spot on. "You'd be correct in guessing that, yes."

His grin grew and he leaned closer to her. "I'm going to guess red over white... and maybe a nice Merlot?"

She shook her head and a giggle escaped, surprising her. "Close, but I'm partial to Chianti."

Without another word he had ordered her a glass. When it arrived she accepted it without protest, as if a handsome stranger buying her a drink was a normal thing for her, just par for the course. She savored the sweetness of the berry and the spicy undertones. "Mmmm," she noted, approvingly. "Much, much better, thank you. You didn't have to do that, you know."

He raised an eyebrow and did that head-tilt thing once more. "How else am I going to get you out on that dance floor?"

She shook her head and laughed, surprised to find herself almost enjoying the back and forth.

Two glasses later she was convinced to at least try dancing, although Jared promised that they could stop whenever she felt like it. The song changed as they reached the dance floor, and Hermione recognized a remake of an older song she remembered hearing as a child. This version has a decidedly sexier feel to it, and the remixed beat helped with the dancibility. She felt silly at first, all left feet and awkwardness, but Jared put his hands on her hips and slowly moved her to the music. Not very long after she found the beat and the rhythm came naturally, helped only a bit by Jared's sensual movements. The wine made her insides all warm and happy, and her limbs felt loose and free. She closed her eyes and began to lose herself in the movements, not even minding it when her dance partner sidled up behind her and began a slow grind against her. His hands lightly skirted over her stomach and then ran up and down her sides. It didn't feel bad, she had to admit, and she let her head fall back onto his shoulder. Soft lips gently touched her neck. It had been a very, very long time since someone had touched her like that. It was nice.

Two songs and plenty of friction later, she was kissing him back just as hard as he is kissing her. When the movements became more and more frenzied, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I live two blocks away if you want to get out of here."

She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head that cautioned her against leaving a club with someone who may as well be a stranger, especially without telling one of her friends. Classmates? Friends. Whatever. The melting feeling in her belly argued with the voice, and her brain seemed to have shut off long ago. Her swollen lips gave an unspoken answer, and she accepted Jared's hand as he walked out of the club and into the cool air.

The walk to his flat was quiet and full of tension, and he left bruising kisses on her neck and shoulder the whole lift ride up to his place. He fiddled with the keys and let them both in, remarking that his roommate should be out until at least four, if he came home at all. They started on the couch, snogging like mad, all lips and teeth and breath. He pulled her up from the sofa and led her into the attached bedroom. He slowly backed her into the room, his lips never leaving hers, and she felt the back of her knees hit the mattress. Slowly he lowered them both, his lips finding their way down her neck to her collarbone. She was on fire, wanted this so, so badly. They were grinding against one another, and his fingers worked her zipper lower and lower, which was difficult given their present angle. When Hermione found herself in only her bra and knickers, Jared broke contact with her body to reach over her into the top drawer of his bedside table. She watched as he reached into a glass bowl and procured a shiny square. Her brain registered the word "condom," but she had never really seen one up close. Obviously she and Ron had never needed to worry about condoms; magic was easier, and had a much better efficacy rate.

And that was when it finally hit her: she was in a stranger's house, in his bed, and he had a condom in his hand and a serious erection. And they were going to have make love... no, scratch that, have sex. They were going to fuck and she didn't even know his last name. She didn't love him, didn't know him. Yeah, maybe it would feel good, but did she want this, really? Ron was her first, her only. Did she want to add this random guy to her list, minimal as it may be?

No. There was no way. She just couldn't do it.

It was awkward, explaining that this had been a mistake, that she was sorry, that it was just too much too soon. He seemed to understand well enough, but she could see the frustration raging in his eyes. She almost felt bad for leading him on, although it had not been her intention. She considered, just for a moment, taking the time to give him a little release, at least. But the thought of giving some random guy a handjob in this apartment she didn't know, in a part of town she was unfamiliar with, just to give him a little satisfaction and to relieve her of some awkward guilt, or whatever... well, it just seemed sad. And anyway, he could still wank, right? So she apologized again, shimmied back into her dress (she neglected to ask him to zip her up; she'd figure out how to do it herself as soon as she was out out out of there) and left.

The air was misty and she felt the miniscule water droplets slowly but steadily gather on her exposed shoulders. They didn't really bother her, though. She had enough on her mind.

What had she been thinking? Sure, she might not have the best handle on who exactly she was right now, but she knew this wasn't it. She found herself wishing for her wand for the first time in a long time. Apparition would have been wonderful right now. To spin in time and place and find herself suddenly in her own bedroom, with her books, and her pajamas, a boiling hot shower just steps away. But she no longer carried her wand, and it had been far too long since she had attempted wandless magic. The possibility of splinching oneself was great, and anyway, she didn't do magic anyway. Not anymore, at least. So she shook off the familiar magical/electric charge building up slowly beneath her skin and walked back to the club.

So much for Saturday night.

In another world, less than an hour's drive away (if he drove, which he didn't) Draco Malfoy was curled up in bed at number 12 Grimmauld Place, a cup of tea in hand. He was reading Alice in Wonderland (Hermione Granger's copy, of course) for the very first time. He couldn't keep the smile off his face for the life of him.