Hermione Granger's portkey left her a bit wobbly on her feet, and her vision was swimming. Luckily, someone was there to hold her upper arm and steady her with a gentle hand around her lithe waist. Her vision cleared, and she saw Draco Malfoy standing beside her, looking as proper and arrogant as any prince. With surprising patience (she was half expecting a quip on her ungainly nature), he waited for her to regain her sense of balance.

"Ready?" Draco Malfoy said, and Hermione Granger nodded, remembering words from a Victorian novel about a woman's dress being her armor. She certainly felt clumsy enough in the stuff!

They walked from the wrought iron gates (she had portkeyed in directly inside the gates) down the paved walk, and as they did, she pictured horses and carriages pulling down the broad path. "Did horses and carriages ever use this path?" Hermione asked, her mind wanting to giggle at her girlish turn of thought. She was supposed to be worried, or scared, or anxious. Drawing her thoughts away from the party seemed to help settle her, so she swore she'd do more of it.

"Long ago," Draco Malfoy said, "Not within living memory." A thin smile traced his thinner lips, as he asked, "Having a romantic flight of fancy?"

Hermione Granger shuddered, and said, "So long as it's not with a broom!"

Draco Malfoy let out a nearly silent snort of amusement, cradling his hand in his chin and looking thoughtful, "I swore I found a flying carpet somewhere on the third floor..."

Hermione Granger squealed, shrieking, "Malfoy!"... and only afterwards looking about to see if anyone was looking at them. The entire lane was empty.

"Fashionably late." Draco said softly. "Still, someone might have found a way out of the Manor and to the back gardens."** Draco shook his head and said, leaning in closer to Hermione, "Best not to be that loud, mmm?"

Hermione nodded, as she crested the long lane, and saw Malfoy Manor spilling out in front of her. She swallowed, and resisted the urge to run away. She was here at the side of the young Lord of the Manor. No harm would befall her here. Well, she amended, no physical harm. She was quite sure if he wanted to, Draco was quite capable of employing his tongue like a scalpel. And that was best case. He was also capable of employing his tongue as a rusty spoon, for more psychic damage.

"Are those - white peacocks?" Hermione Granger asked, biting down on giggles.

"Of course." Draco Malfoy said, as if everyone had a gaggle of white peacocks on their front lawn. "My father had them imported from Java. Don't ask me why, I surely don't know."

Without really paying attention, Hermione's feet slid to a stop. They were at the front door. Draco Malfoy raised his hand to the doorknocker. Hermione Granger swallowed a lump down her throat, and put on her game face - trying for a facsimile of pleasantness that she hoped she'd be able to maintain at all costs.

**Reference to Snow Cherries from France.

[a/n: Yes, Hermione Granger is taking this a bit seriously, despite distracting herself. Did you really expect otherwise?

Reviews convince me to write more, you realize?]