"Come out of there, Hermione."

"NO," she replied flatly, refusing to open the door.

"Oh, come on," said Ron exasperatedly. "It can't be that bad."

Oh, it was that bad. She stalled for a few more minutes before throwing open the bedroom door and stomping out into the hallway, where she glared at her "friends" and they all stared back with stunned, glazed looks.

They were staring at her as if she were a piece of meat.

All three of them to be exact. She self-consciously folded her arms over her chest, but it did little good, as the black aberration she had dubbed the 'Skanky Dress' did not cover very much as it was. She was not a piece of meat. She was a person.

She was perfectly aware that she was pretty enough for most extents and purposes, not stunning or gorgeous, but not really ugly, especially now that her teeth weren't approximately the size of a small foreign country. She had learned that from the Yule Ball. She was not stupid. Anyone could look pretty like that, all dressed up in expensive robes and painstakingly applied make-up and glamour charms, and Hermione didn't care to waste her valuable time on such frivolous things. At least not more than it was required at special, rare occasions. She wasn't opposed to dressing up—it just made her feel so…shallow. Insincere. And if people were going to like her, they had damn well better like her for her, not for her charming smile or her immaculate make-up job.

She stood in the doorway of the bedroom she had just emerged from and frowned. She tried to shift her weight, but her leg peeked out of the slit in the Skanky Dress and she nervously shifted back, all the while pondering just how she had arrived at this unpleasant juncture.

As they had discussed their plans, they realized that they had a very small frame of time and the bulk of the resources available to them were probably present in the house. They raided the cabinets, boxes, and closets that the Order had sorted through while they were cleaning. It turned out that "cleaning" consisted mainly of shoving things in boxes and jamming them into a closet as quickly as possible. There weren't that many dresses in the house that were both appropriate for the occasion and would fit her. The only dress was this one, which Hermione had actually laughed at when she pulled it out of the box. It was long and made of a shimmering black material, with a high collar that split scandalously along the chest area and dipped low in the back in a pattern shaped like a large teardrop that exposed the entire open back. It was the kind of dress that her mother would have forbade her to leave the house in. Not that she would have wanted to leave the house in it anyway. Her mirth had quickly disappeared when Malfoy had suggested she either put it on or go naked, because there were no other suitable candidates.

"You put it on," she told him, in a remarkably clever retort, while she eyed the dress warily.

"I already have a set," he replied. And then he smirked.

"Make Ron wear it," she said chidingly. Ron, however, had not seen the inherent humor in this remark and had immediately choked on whatever he was drinking. Hermione had hastily apologized, and told him that she was just kidding, and that they didn't have any Polyjuice Potion available anyway. (Which was one of the main reasons Hermione was searching for a dress in the first place.) Still, Ron had continued to choke for a good five minutes, until Harry had intervened by heartily clapping him on the back. Malfoy smirked some more, and Hermione had stormed up the stairs clutching the dress in a place where she imagined the neck would be, had she been throttling the dress for simply existing and being so slutty. She had a stare down contest with the Skanky Dress for a good ten minutes, which the dress won—possibly because it had no eyes in the first place—and only then did she sigh heavily and put the dress on. But not before swearing revenge on Malfoy.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" she said irritatedly, tapping her foot in impatience. "Shall we go over the plan again, or shall we stand around all day and stare at each other?"

"Er—right," said Harry, finally closing his formerly slack jawed mouth. Her friends had the occasional tendency to treat her as if she were "one of the guys," Now they were doing that thing where just stared at her as though they had never seen her before. She hated that thing. Not that she wanted to be seen as a completely androgynous person, but she would appreciate it if, once and awhile, they realized that she was a girl for Merlin's sakes.

Stupid slutty dress robe!

And you know, that's the very reason she had agreed to go out with Victor Krum. Beacuse a) he had asked her and b) he had done it while she was in the library of all places. He thought she was interesting. And that was enough for her. She was perfectly willing to overlook the fact that he was a Quidditch player, even though that was not something she looked for in a man. Krum was nice enough, and he liked very much to hold open doors for her, which she found rather unnecessary. She did not need a man to hold open doors for her, or pull out chairs for her, or anything of the like.

What she wanted was someone witty and intelligent and interesting with whom she could have interesting conversations, someone who respected her utterly and completely, and that was why he loved her so much. Hermione did try to carry on interesting conversations with Krum, but they mostly trailed off into him saying, "Ya" over and over again. Then, he would usually gently touch her face and say something very creative such as, "Your verry pretty, Herm-o-niny," and she would smile and thank him, and they're very short lived uninteresting conversation was over.

And after, when she had told him very nicely, but firmly, (and in person, because it seemed like the honorable thing to do) that they should probably see other people, he had looked disappointed, but agreed. Hermione knew that he probably had at least 20 much prettier girls waiting in his immediate line of sight, and she had no one. Not really anyway. And apparently her idea to "give Ron a little while longer to come round" was a bust.

She had always imagined that she would grow up and become a very successful something or other, with her own desk and very large office, and then someday in her very challenging yet rewarding line of work she would cross paths with someone, someone amazing, and that would be that. They would get married, and in twenty years or so, when she was a famous and well established professional something or other, she would have one or two brilliant children. But her very illustrious career was a long way off, and there was a chance she would never live past graduation anyway.

She looked at Ron, who also was forced to close his mouth when she opened hers. Why did he have to be so thickheaded and immature?

Anyway…Malfoy had explained in detail the security measures at Malfoy Manor. Hermione's assessment of the excessive magical layers of security built into the house led her to believe that the entire Malfoy family had obviously suffered from paranoid schizophrenia for several generations. However, she opted not to mention it.

Their biggest asset was the fact that the house had automatically reverted to Draco's possession when his father went to jail and his mother had died. Malfoy had mentioned this with an absolutely stony, impassive expression, which caused Hermione concern over what he was actually feeling, but it was really none of her business, was it? As long as he was holding it together…well—they had a mission to accomplish.

They were sitting at the table in the downstairs kitchen. Ron raided the cabinets for Butterbeers, eventually dumping an armload of dusty bottles onto the table. Hermione cracked one open and gulped it down. This was not going to be a pleasant evening.

000

"OK," sighed Draco. "Granger and I will go in the front, pretending to be a couple—I'm going to ignore that Weasley, you prat, unless you would rather wear the dress—anyway, as I was saying, we'll go in and you two will go behind us under that cloak. I'm pretty sure I know where the thing would be kept, there's a high security chamber on the third floor…"

He stood at the head of the table, trying to give them a vague idea of how to navigate within the house. The plan was simple—sneak into the party, sneak upstairs, retrieve the Horcrux, and last but not least, run like hell. It was a damn good plan, in Draco's opinion. He had thought of it himself.

Of course, the plan hinged on no one recognizing them when they went in. The ball was a masquerade. Death Eaters were obsessed with secrecy. Not that it did much good. All their names were plastered over the bloody Daily Prophet anyway. Plus—if everything went to plan—they wouldn't have to spend more than a few minutes at the stupid bloody party at all. A few glamour charms should do the trick—enough to change hair or eye color. Anything stronger than that would probably resonate with the security spells, and that was definitely not a good thing.

"Alright, do we all understand?" asked Draco finally. "Weasley, do you need me to repeat it for you? I don't want your tiny brain to get overwhelmed—"

"Would you shut up, Malfoy?" said Weasley, who was already looking upset since the supply of butterbeer had dried up.

Potter stood up, deciding not to interfere in the tiff. Perhaps he thought Weasley could take care of himself. (Draco thought he was wrong there.)

"Well…" he said. "I guess we're off." Draco could give Potter at least a grudging respect. He had, he would admit, always been a bit jealous of Potter. He had fame, and glory, and attention, and for what? He never seemed to deserve it. But now he had something Draco had never noticed in preceding years. He had power. Draco had no idea where it had come from, but it eerily apparent in those penetrating, pond-scum green eyes of his. Power was worthy of respect. Weasely, meanwhile, was plucky and loyal and probably valuable to Potter, but he was just…an idiot. At least in Draco's opinion.

Granger, who was staring moodily at her empty butterbeer bottle and obsessively adjusting her dress, nodded and stood up as well. Draco didn't see what the problem with the dress was. He thought it was extremely flattering. He rather enjoyed looking at Granger in it. He had known she would look good in it. In fact, he had taken great pains to hide all the other suitable, and much less exciting, dresses in the house while they were looking for that exact purpose. And he definitely didn't regret it now!

It had taken quite a bit of willpower for him not to stare at her like an idiot (Weasley) the entire time she was sitting there wearing it. What he found amusing was the fact that Granger seemed to have absolutely no idea how gorgeous she was. And her two slack jawed mates seemed too dense to tell her. Well—it was really none of his business anyway. Since when was it his responsibility to boost her ruddy self-esteem?

They Apparated close to the house. The house looked the way he always remembered it—majestic and proud, standing tall and elegant in the surrounding darkness, hundreds of floating candles glimmering in the window. Draco felt something twist harshly inside of him as they approached. Pain? Rage? Guilt? He didn't know. What he wanted to do was storm inside, and scream at all those bastards to get OUT of HIS house. That, unfortunately, would probably result in his imminent death, but it seemed worth it. Almost.

000

Hermione's feet hurt. That was really saying something, considering she had only walked about 100 feet since Apparating. But her shoes were extremely, extremely uncomfortable. Another archaic remnant of the Black family wardrobe, they were strappy and pointy and tall, and seemed more like they should be used as weapons than shoes. But it was either those or a pair of monstrosities she suspected were Sirius's old motorcycle boots. Actually, neither option was particularly appealing.

She couldn't see Harry and Ron, but she could hear the shuffling of their feet and the whisper of the invisibility cloak dragging along the ground behind them. Malfoy was walking next to her. His gaze was fixed on the house before them—his house—and he seemed to be deep in thought. His hand was tightening on hers. She wasn't exactly sure how they had come to be holding hands, but it seemed apt considering they were going to pose as a "couple," so neither had complained. Now, however, his hand was unconsciously tightening rather painfully on hers.

"Malfoy, you're crushing my hand…" she said.

"Oh," he said absently, releasing her. "Sorry."

Hermione gaped at him. What? No snide remarks? No sneer? He just kept staring straight ahead at the house, frowning. Maybe it was the mask. There was a portion of his face she couldn't see. That was another thing. What was with the masks, anyway? Hermione had actually burst out laughing when Malfoy said the word, "Masquerade." He had to be kidding. It was so…silly! It was idiotic. And the mask was itching her nose.

There was also a part of her that though Masquerades were interesting—mysterious, enthralling, and maybe even sexy. She was a little disappointed when Malfoy put on the mask. It didn't make him look that dashing. He looked sort of silly. Like the Phantom of the Opera or the Lone Ranger, or the books she used to read when she was little. Hermione had a sudden vision of Malfoy on the top of a rearing stallion, waving his black cowboy hat in the air and screaming "Hi-Ho Silver!" At that, she had to try very, very hard to stifle a giggle.

The house loomed in front of them, shimmering in the dark night. The house was actually rather pretty, she had to admit. Large, with a kind of gothic, baroque style architecture that was attractive in its own way. It also looked high, and pale, and cold—like Draco himself, she thought abstractly. They reached the stairs and slowed down considerably. Hermione could hear the length between each click of her uncomfortable shoes on the marble stairs. The doorway stood impassively at the top of the stairs, two thick, polished wooden slabs thrown wide open to reveal large, antiquated foyer. It looked empty. Noise and music seemed to waft up faintly from below them.

"Shouldn't there be a guard or a security checkpoint or something?" she asked quietly, examining the high, ornate arch of the open doors.

"This is it," replied Malfoy. "If we can pass through the doors, we're on the list and we won't be transported elsewhere."

"Don't you mean 'we won't be tossed back out?'" she asked, a little nervously.

"No," he said, almost cheerfully. "Anyone who isn't on the guest list and is trying to get into the house gets transported immediately into the dungeons."

"Your house has dungeons?" she said incredulously. He gave her a look as if to say, 'Doesn't yours?'

OK, it could be said that everyone's family had a little weirdness in them. Some had more than others. Hermione, for example, had an aunt who had been picked up by the police whilst singing and dancing on a street corner, completely naked and extremely drunk. Hermione's father had related this story to her, extremely red faced, and told Hermione that she should never, ever go into a bar on New Years. Still, her family did not have a dungeon in their basement, and she suspected, neither did Ron's.

"Don't worry Granger," he said casually. "I don't need an invite because it's my ruddy house."

"What about us?" she demanded. "I'm not going to be tossed into a dungeon, thank you very much."

He smirked. "You won't be," he assured her. "Trust me." He offered her his hand.

Trust him. It was more of a question than a statement as it resonated in her head. Trust him. That was what this was all about, wasn't it? She accepted his hand.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Estate," he told the door clearly. "And escort. And two guests under an invisibility cloak. Do not announce us at the party as we enter."

Hermione shut her eyes for a moment as she passed through the door. When she opened them, she found herself, much to her delight, standing in the foyer and not the dungeon.

"You did it!" she gasped. He gave her an odd look as they started walking forward, down the corridor.

"Of course I did it," he said, giving her a very superior smirk. "There's a very keen intellect under these stunningly good looks and charming personality."

"Yeah right," snickered a voice from behind them. "Ow!" Malfoy stopped walking abruptly and one or more invisible people crashed into his back.

"Oh, sorry," he said innocently.

"I'll bet," muttered a voice.

"If you step on my foot one more time I'm going to take this cloak off and smother you with it!" grumbled the other voice. Hermione shushed them impatiently. At this rate, they were going to get them all killed. She jumped slightly as a shuffling noise sounded in front of them. A tiny, pale brown creature with large round eyes and huge ears hopped out in front of them.

"Hello, Sir and Miss," it said, without looking up. "May Spuffy take your cloaks for y—Master Draco!" squeaked the elf in shock. He looked up and his huge golden eyes widened in surprise. "What is you doing back, young Master?"

A house elf. The poor thing, thought Hermione. It looked so small and frightened. Malfoy was such an ass for having these poor creatures enslaved…

"My business here is my own, Spuffy," said Malfoy sternly. "And I would like to keep it that way."

"Yes sir, young master," said the elf. Well, enslaved or not—an opportunity for information should not be passed up.

"What can you tell us about the people here, Spuffy?" asked Hermione gently. These creatures needed patience, not hostility. When would these people figure that out?

"Cruel sorts," said the elf, his eyes brimming with tears. "They say the Mistress is dead, poor Mistress…Spuffy listens to them, though he doesn't have to, because he has nothing else to do, everyone has left Spuffy all alone…" He started wailing noisily.

"Be silent, elf," said Malfoy sharply. The elf immediately shut up, his tears fading away to quiet, hiccupping sobs.

"Don't be mean to him," said Hermione scoldingly. She crouched down and stroked the elf gently on the head. "You're OK," she said kindly. "Just don't tell anyone were here, alright?"

"That order comes from me as well," added Malfoy in a commanding voice.

"Yes, Master," said the elf, nodding. Hermione stood up, satisfied.

"And if you don't obey my order, elf," he added in a threatening tone. "I—" Hermione glared at him.

"…I shall be very…um…cross with you…" he finished, in a somewhat diminished tone. The elf nodded again and scampered away. They continued on until they reached the end of the hall.

"This is it," hissed Malfoy. The cloak flew away, settling half on the ground and half in Harry's clenched fist. The four of them stood in the hall, gazing around nervously while simultaneously trying to hide how nervous they were. Hermione could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Or maybe it was the strain of walking in those stupid shoes and being barely dressed. They were in front of a large, rather expensive looking staircase, extending in two directions. "We need to walk downstairs and across the room to the other staircase."

"Across the room full of Death Eaters," said Harry frowning. "Why can't we just go up these stairs again?"

"Because they're not connected, Scarhead," snapped Malfoy.

"If it were that easy, I wouldn't have to be in this stupid dress," added Hermione in an exasperated voice.

"I think the dress is quite fetching," remarked Ron, grinning stupidly.

"Shut up, Weasley," retorted Malfoy immediately, looking surprisingly hostile. Hermione raised an eyebrow. What was that about?

"Just go," said Harry impatiently. His hand was tightening convulsively on his wand. "Stay to the outside, so we can follow you under the cloak." Malfoy nodded, and they set off down the stairs.

His arm was linked around hers—around the elbow, sort of a stiflingly formal indication of togetherness—with her hand grasping his arm above the crook. She unconsciously squeezed his arm as they moved down the staircase. Somehow, it actually made her feel a little better that he was there. Not much! But…he wasn't exactly useless in a fight. Not that she needed anyone to protect her! It was just…comforting. Weirdly enough. It was quite dark as they went down the stairs, save the black candles bobbing eerily in the air next to them.

She took a deep breath as the stairs emptied out into a large room with a high ceiling, dully lit and full of people. Hermione straightened up. Good posture—don't show fear. Don't make prolonged eye contact, but don't avoid it. Look confident. Look like everyone else here—completely self assured in their own craziness and superiority.

They walked slowly across the room. There were probably about 200 or more people in there, Hermione realized with a chill. How could he have so many people working for him, already? Like her and Draco, they were dressed head to toe in black, with masks covering their faces. Secrecy. Secrecy was very important to them. She wondered if she knew any of them, if they were parents of classmates…or classmates, she realized, looking at Malfoy. But did he recruit younger people? Not that Voldemort was the kind who would have scruples about putting children in the line of fire, but…it was impractical. He had picked Draco, though he was probably trying to humiliate Lucius, for a mission. He had entrusted him with troops. Hell, Malfoy had almost succeeded. If he had gone through with it, which he didn't. He was rather astonishingly capable. You know. Maybe.

They were close. So close. She could see the doorway tucked away in the corner of the room, beckoning them. Just a little bit farther, they were...

000

Almost there. Draco could taste it. A few more steps and—bloody buggering hell! Stupid people, invading his goddamn house!

Another couple strode forward and settled on the wall in front of them, sipping their white wine and looking sour. Cursing inwardly, Draco steered past them without looking at them. He was rather surprised when she allowed him to pull her along. She didn't seem like that kind of girl, which he actually liked. But she wasn't stupid. This was him in his element, and she obviously knew it. They were almost past when…

Thump. Crash. Draco winced as he heard a glass shatter all over the floor.

"Hey!" said the voice of an angry man from a few inches behind him. Oh, shit. He turned around slowly, glaring at the empty space where two, clumsy, invisible morons were standing.

The man was looking around suspiciously. His gazed flew to Draco and Hermione and his eyes narrowed. Attention. Not good. Not good at all.

"Excuse me," he snarled. "Watch where your going. How dare you—"

"You're excused," said Draco coolly. "You're lack of coordination is really none of my concern."

The man advanced towards him. "Why you insolent—"

He was insolent? This man was insulting him in his own house! If circumstances were different, this worthless man would find his arse in the dungeons come daybreak…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Draco lazily, his hand drifting casually to his pocket.

"I would," replied the man, quite unabashed.

"Oh, really now," said Granger impatiently from beside him, though her voice was quite calm. "This is why we don't like to associate with the lower caste…such insolence towards their superiors…" The man stopped, his eyes narrowing again in suspicion.

"What's your surname?" he demanded mistrustfully.

Granger simply laughed at him, clear and cool. Draco grinned inwardly. Clever girl…

"Our surname?" he cut in smoothly. "Do you think we'd really reveal that to the likes of you?"

"The entire point of this is to ensure that our good name isn't tarnished by arrogant little bastards who think they deserve respect for coming to a ball," said Hermione, gazing at him disdainfully. The man stepped back slightly, looking confused and slightly worried.

"How much have you sacrificed in the Dark Lord's service?" asked Draco in an accusatory tone. "Or did you just hear about this event yesterday? A friend from work perhaps, offering you a chance at glory?"

"Completely ignoring the respect you are supposed to show for superior officers," she said haughtily, turning her nose in the air. "Not the best way to get in good standing in our operation, I might warn you."

That did it. The man backed away, taking his wife's arm. "Forgive my rudeness…" he said uneasily, staring at the two of them as if they might curse him into tiny bits at any moment.

"See to it that it doesn't happen again," said Draco harshly. "Next time you may find yourself in the dungeons."

"Of course…" said the man graciously, tipping his head towards them. "Sir…Milady…" Draco was still smiling inwardly as they both watched, with severe glares, as he scurried away, wife in tow. They walked the rest of the distance across the room unhindered, until they passed through the doors and huddled in the staircase. Granger started giggling as soon as they were out of sight.

Potter and Weasley tore off the cloak, their stunned, shadowed faces suddenly appearing in midair. "Bloody hell that was brilliant, Hermione!" said Potter, trying to laugh as softly as possible.

Hey! That was brilliant Hermione? Well—she had taken the lead a bit…sort of. But he picked it up right away. It was amazing! They worked so well together. They just sort of…flawlessly fell in line…what, with her ability to boss people around and his ability to bully people mercilessly…(Adults were infinitely more fun to manipulate than children, he was rapidly discovering.)

"Yeah, smooth footwork, by the way," said Draco scathingly. "Scarhead, Weasel, was it too much to ask for you to walk across a room without crashing into anybody?"

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy, we're here now aren't we?" said Potter, rolling his eyes impatiently. "Where to?"

"Up the stairs, to the left." They made their way down yet another painfully familiar hallway. Draco hadn't really realized how much he missed home until this moment. Being on the run sucked.

They reached the end of the hall—a set of huge, thick doors—impenetrable, to anyone but… He ran his hand across the door, settling his open palm on a circular design in the middle.

"Iussi progenitor sanguinus expositus camera occultus armarium," he whispered. He smiled in satisfaction as the doors creaked open, revealing the insides of the vault. Well—it wasn't a vault so much as a room—but it was extremely secure, had no windows, and was perfect for hiding valuables. In the center of the room, floating in the air behind a thin case of glass (though looks can be deceiving in this room) was…a tiny golden cup.

Potter took a step towards it. Draco held out a hand to stop him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said casually. "Unless you would like to be blown into tiny bits." Not that that wouldn't be amusing… Draco muttered a spell, disarming the rather nasty hexes in the floor, and they slowly approached the cup. The Golden Trio looked at the cup as he examined the base of the case.

"Dammit…" he muttered. There was a large red jewel missing from the base, revealing the tiny keyhole. "It's locked…" He tapped the key hole with his finger.

"Well, unlock it!" said Weasley. "You did it before."

He shook his head. "Whoever put it here took the keystone out, I can't get to it without it." Potter let a stream of expletives under his breath.

"Whoever put it there?" asked Granger slowly. "But that would mean…"

"Snape," hissed Potter, through gritted teeth.

"Are you kidding me?" said Weasley in disbelief. "What? Are we just going to nip back downstairs, find the greasy git within a sea of black clad, slimy gits, nick the key thingy, and sneak back up here to get the damn cup before we all get murdered?"

"You forgot the running like hell part," said Draco. Weasley threw his arms up in frustration.

"That's impossible," said Granger, shaking her head.

"Not entirely," said Potter heavily. He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead slowly with his hand. "Just very, very dangerous."

"Well, Granger," said Draco, smiling darkly. "I hope you like dancing."

Judging from the horrified look on her face, it was very likely that she did not.

000

AN: Whew! That ran a little longer than I expected. The dancing (which some are excited about and some are mortified about) will be here next chapter, obviously. Sorry. I'll try not to make it too annoying or cliched. That's sort of my goal with this story, lol. I'll try to update about every two weeks, or sooner. I'm sort of drowning in papers right now.

Lorett: Thank you for the invitation. I'm REALLY busy with college work right now (first semester freshmen, lol) but I appreciate the offer. If I have more time over the holidays, I'll try to join up.

Guys, being the dork that I am, I went over to Contra Veritas and posted a pic under my author name, Silverstar24. Check it out if you'd like. It's full of partially shirtless goodness.

PS: If you haven't yet, GO SEE SERENITY. It's brilliant.

PSS: Did you like the house elf's name? Hahaha…I crack myself up…