"Is that him?" Malfoy asked in a low voice. The question bordered on rhetorical. Hermione looked at the figure in front of her. Male, alone, black hair—hmm…skin really not sallow enough. Probably not him. Snape's skin tone was rather reminiscent of an Inferi suffering from nasty bout of sea sickness.

"No," she answered. It was actually hard to tell, her head being upside down and all. She snapped back into an upright position, Malfoy's hand supporting her back. They were dancing, trying as inconspicuously as possible to identify the people in the crowd.

It wasn't a wild party, though it certainly wasn't too quiet. People were standing around, some were chattering, many of them were dancing, and most of them were sipping glasses of something that looked like white wine.

There was music, but it wasn't the type of music Hermione usually listened to—it was a strange haunting tune, with a high, eerie melody whining over top of a low, pulsating bass rhythm. Though it sounded stiff and classical, it was creepy and rather depressing. There was no band, or even the Muggle stereo speakers she was used to. In fact, the music seemed to be emanating from a glowing, basketball sized sphere that was floating in the corner of the room.

They circled each other, locking eyes. Their hands were intertwined and her hand was resting on his shoulder, while his arm wrapped around her waist, resting on the small of her back. She felt like an international spy or something. Going undercover and doing something incredibly dangerous and cool. It was terrifying, what they were doing, but she would admit—it was also sort of…exciting. Her heart was racing. Of course...that might not have been because of the danger.

Malfoy was silent.

"You're actually a rather…good dancer," she said. No point in being hostile. Much. He looked rather surprised.

"Uh, I've had lessons since I was young," he said quickly. "You're…not as graceless as I thought you'd be."

She rolled her eyes. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Maybe," he said, a small grin playing on his features. At least his mouth wasn't covered by the mask. Not that she had any use for it. His mouth. Mostly he just used it to insult her. Mostly.

They spun again in a quick series of circles, moving to check out another side of the ballroom. Hermione was concentrating on not getting her toes stepped on. The only dancing lessons she had ever received were from her father in her living room when her mother heard about the Yule Ball and insisted she learn to waltz.

"How about him?" asked Malfoy.

"I doubt it," she sighed. "Isn't there some kind of Leglimency you can use to find out?"

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh. "Against Snape? Are you kidding? Merlin, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Hmph. "It was just a suggestion," she retorted. Oh, Merlin. "I have another suggestion for you," she said sweetly.

"And that would be…?"

"If you slide your hand any farther down my backside it will fall into the realm of inappropriateness, and I will be forced to vanish your arms off," she said bluntly.

"That wasn't a suggestion," he pointed out, sliding his hand back up her spine in the most unabashed way possible, grinning as he did so. She shivered. Ooh, he was so arrogant.

"You're right," she said, irritated.

"Sorry," he said, sounding almost, but not quite sincere. "In that dress, you just look…"

Oh, what now? Was that a compliment? It could be, she supposed. But, she realized, her temper flaring, that based on past experience, it was far more likely…

"Slutty?" she hissed angrily, trying to keep her voice low. "Slutty? Do I look slutty to you? Just because I am dressed like a two-bit skank does not mean that I am one! I hate this dress, and I hate being here!"

"I'm not relishing being here either," he snapped. He twirled her, a little violently, and pulled her close, slamming their bodies together so he could hiss in her ear. "This is my house, Granger. Do you I think I like having to sneak into it? To see all these people invading it like it's their own?" She blushed and looked away, but they were so close, it was difficult. His breath was hot on her bare neck, sending shivers down her spine.

"And…" He looked away as well. "I was going to say…that you looked…pretty."

She had to concentrate on not gaping. Pretty? "Pretty?" she said in disbelief.

"Do you think that's him?" asked Malfoy evasively, looking across the room. Ahh! What was going on? This was such an inappropriate time for him to suddenly decide to act like a decent human being. They were in a room full of Death Eaters!

"No," said Hermione. "Do you actually think I'm pretty?"

He paused before speaking. "Yes…you're actually very pretty…" Hermione smiled inwardly. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a Pureblood." Then again, maybe he was.

"You are such an idiot!" she said furiously.

"I'm an idiot?" he said incredulously.

"You're never, never going to get over your prejudices, are you?" she demanded.

"Oh—you—shut up!" he said angrily, their mission now quite forgotten. Fortunately, they still managed to keep their voices at an inconspicuous level. She stamped angrily on his toes. "Ow!" he grunted, white blond eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't you tell me to shut up!" she snapped. "You have no right—"

"This is my house," he said fiercely. He look like he wanted to shout but knew he couldn't, so he pulled her closer and articulated every syllable. Merlin, he smelled good…dark and sweet and wintery…

"Oh, really?" she said. "Well if it's your house, what are all these people doing here? Did you invite them, Malfoy?" Oh, that was mean. She shouldn't have said that. Usually she could keep her mouth shut, when it was reasonable. Sometimes, though, she did do very stupid things. Why? Why Malfoy? Even with Ron she could usually keep from saying anything too mean. How did he get under her skin like that? He made her so angry…

"You all think you're better than me, don't you?" he said heatedly. "Always doing the right thing, spreading truth and bloody justice and shiny happy goodness everywhere you go—do you really think things are that simple?"

"No!" she retorted furiously. "And you think we're arrogant? You swaggered so much around Hogwarts I thought you had hip dysphasia when I first saw you in the halls!"

"Oh, is that so?" They were still dancing, only it was becoming increasingly impulsive and violent. They whirled, dipped, and slammed their way across the floor. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice. Hermione's grip on Malfoy's shoulder continued to tighten. She half wondered if he was going to drop her right onto the floor the next time he dipped her. The low pulse of the music continued to pound across the room.

"Yes," she replied. "Then I just realized it was just because you were the most conceited, arrogant, stuck up jerk ever!" They were squeezing each other's right hands so tightly she was beginning to feel a sharp, uncomfortable prickle in her currently starch white fingers. However, she ignored the pain and held fast. Damned if she was going to back down first!

"Well at least I'm not a know-it-all, bossy, loudmouthed stroppy bint who's obsessed with books—"

"What's wrong with books?" she demanded indignantly. What did people have against books? What did he have against books? Books were wonderful. And she knew he wasn't an idiot, despite himself…

"Books are boring," he said, as if it were obvious. "Reading is for people who have nothing better to do."

"Books are not boring! And reading is not for people who have nothing better to do! You're such a hypocrite. I've seen you in the library! What the hell do you do in there if not reading?"

If he was blushing at all, it was rather hard to tell under the mask. He mumbled something, but didn't respond.

"Fine!" she said. "I don't care. I'm sick of this." Harry and Ron were waiting upstairs…

"Well, in case you didn't notice, Granger," he said scathingly. "We're not really doing this for our own personal amusement." She glared at him. She wasn't sure if it was even visible from under the mask, but it somehow seemed to shine through anyway.

"If I were a greasy, hygienically ignorant, socially inept, cold-hearted murderous bastard, with no people skills, do you know where I'd creep about at a party?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Where?" asked Malfoy.

"Over there," she tipped her head towards the crystal fountain on the far wall, which seemed to be dispensing the translucent, pale golden drink that everyone was sipping. There was a man huddled against the wall, clutching a drink in a sallow, pincer-like hand and looking extremely sour.

000

"That sounds very likely," said Draco in agreement, staring across the room at the fountain. Goblin wrought. Fifteenth century. Dispensing what was probably large quantities of elf made wine from his family's private stores.

Something occurred to him. "Granger," he said. "What the hell didn't you say that before?"

"Hmm?" she said vaguely. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the table covered in crystal wine glasses. They paused in front of it and she wrapped her arms around his neck and they continued to sway to the music, their bodies pressed rather tightly together.

"Did you—" he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Did you want to dance, Granger?" he asked quietly in disbelief, not sure whether to be indignant or amused.

He could almost see feel her blushing from beneath the mask. "I don't want anything from you Malfoy, just so we're clear on that," she said haughtily.

He felt his trademark smirk returning. Who could blame her? He was extremely attractive, after all, in his own very remarkable opinion. Not that she wasn't. She wasn't a striking beauty by any means…but for some reason—he couldn't shake the feeling that she was one of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen in his life. Dammit—why did he admit that to her? God, she was infuriating. There was something about her that just got under his skin so thoroughly…

She threw a sidelong glance at the man they suspected to be Snape in the corner, carefully scanning the wall with a look of casual disinterest.

"How can we get close?" she asked softly, her brow furrowing.

"What?" Draco choked. …Close?

"To Snape, you moron!" she said impatiently.

"Er—right," said Draco. Damn. Damn. Damn. She did it again! "He's going to know who we are about a second after we get close to him—if he suspects. Or he might just read our minds for the hell of it, because everyone here is disguised and he's a quite a bit paranoid sometimes."

"Do you know enough Occulmency to keep him out?" she asked, throwing another nervous glance at him, still trying to look inconspicuous.

"Maybe," said Draco, frowning. "If he doesn't suspect, I can probably block him. But if gets suspicious, we're going to be very, very dead very quickly."

Or very slowly…Merlin, he shouldn't have brought her here…

"Well, you're optimism is extremely reassuring," she said dryly. Draco smiled humorlessly.

"Right…" he said slowly. "Well, just in case…the key to Occlumency is too—"

"Clear your mind of thought and emotion," she interrupted immediately. He raised an eyebrow. "I read a book on it when H—er—because it was interesting," she finished lamely.

"Good," he said. He straightened up, gathering his wits about him. He fixed his gaze the target ahead of him, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. "Thirsty?" he asked casually.

Her eyes flitted to the fountain. "Parched."

He released her from his grip and offered her his arm, which she accepted. (That was a relief, actually—his right hand was starting to hurt a little bit. That girl, though her hand was smaller than his, had a grip like a vice…) They strode over to the fountain, pausing against the wall on the side opposite from Snape. Snape didn't seem to notice them—or at least he didn't care.

Granger stared into the gold, crystalline depths of the fountain, speaking quietly to Draco without looking away. Draco poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. She stared at it in bewilderment for a moment, then, with a small grimace, she took a tentative sip. He wondered if she had ever had anything alcoholic in her life. Probably not. Draco, on the other hand, had been sneaking into the basement of Malfoy Manor to nick a drink ever since he had understood what alcohol was. Drinking wasn't much of a taboo, as far as he was concerned, and it's not like he was frequently drunk. He hastily pushed memories of the house out of his mind.

A man wandered over to the fountain and poured out two glasses of wine. Granger and Draco remained at the fountain, silently sipping their drinks. Actually, Granger looked more like she was just periodically sniffing hers and looking wary. Probably wise. It wouldn't help to have her stumbling around drunk…not that it wouldn't be highly entertaining, of course…

The man was leaving, thankfully. Now they just had to get over to—

"Severus?" asked the man, pausing. Snape tore his gaze away from the floor and look up.

"Wilkes," Snape acknowledged him in a low voice. So much for secrecy. Some levels of the operation were closer knit than others, he knew. Snape was quite high in Voldemort's chain of command—probably even higher as of late.

Perhaps this event would be in Draco's honor, if he had been successful in his task. He had been so angry at Snape, earlier that year, for stealing his glory. That bloody Unbreakable Vow…But it was never really his for the taking, was it? He was being manipulated and used and treated like a fool. That was not acceptable. He deserved it, he knew. He let others control him. Threaten him—threaten his family. And he had been helpless to stop them. That, he vowed silently, would never happen again. No matter what the cost. He didn't really have much more to lose, did he?

Swearing silently, he pushed hostile thoughts from his mind again.

"Why so shy, Severus?" asked Wilkes. "This celebration is in your honor, after all."

Snape looked at him, his lip curling. "Hardly," he said distastefully. "This is a simpering waste of the Dark Lord's valuable time."

"Nonsense!" said Wilkes dismissively. "We have much to celebrate. Why when Bellatrix suggested it—"

Snape's black eyes flashed and he leaned forward off the wall in an effort to stand erect. He swayed slightly. Draco took a sip of wine to hide his smirk. Was he drunk? Was he that upset about…well—what was he upset about? Maybe this wouldn't involve their untimely deaths after all…

"We should not be wasting our time!" he said fiercely. "This was all Bellatrix's idea, that jealous tart! She just wants to humiliate me with all this archaic nonsense! 'Old Pureblood tradition'—bah!"

Auntie Bella was absolutely mad, though in a quite treacherous and diabolical way. Draco had sort of admired her for that—though she definitely wasn't the most fun person to be around. His Occlumency lessons last year had been somewhat less than enjoyable…

"Hmm…" said Wilkes thoughtfully. "Well, many think Azkaban made her a bit sick about the head…" Snape snorted. "—but do try to have a good time, Severus…"

"Oh, thank you," said Snape, with lavish sarcasm. "I will."

Wilkes nodded, looking slightly bewildered, and wandered away with his drinks.

"How about you distract him—and I'll summon the key thing?" offered Hermione quietly. Draco shook his head.

"You can't just summon it," he sighed. "It's warded powerfully against things like that."

"So I have to pickpocket it?" she demanded, her voice shrill. Draco nodded grimly. "Oh, fantastic," she grumbled.

000

Malfoy walked away, towards Snape. Hermione flitted nervously behind the fountain, waiting for the right moment to sneak over. She felt more afraid right now. She actually felt better with Malfoy by her side—because of—you know…strength in numbers.

…Right.

Malfoy had engaged Snape in conversation with the ever-so-brilliant "whoops, I almost spilled my glass of elf-made wine on you" routine. Classic. He thankfully didn't actually spill anything—Hermione didn't imagine that coating Snape in alcohol would improve his mood at all.

Draco continued to talk to Snape in causal tones. Hermione waited until Snape's back was tilted away from her. Inhaling deeply, she took a tentative step forward, sliding slowly along the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a tiny gleam of red from inside his left pocket.

She took another step. Just a little farther…

000

Draco avoided Snape's eyes as they spoke—but not so much as to make him suspicious.

"Smashing party," said Draco lazily, leaning up against the wall.

"Quite," said Snape, his voice so toneless it was difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic.

"It was a fine idea to use this place for a celebration," said Draco. He raised his glass. "To the victory of the Dark Lord." Snape regarded him warily for a moment, locking eyes with him. Draco steeled himself as best he could, conjuring up innocuous visions of Diagon Alley and the inside of the Ministry—nothing that could specifically reveal him as anyone in particular.

"To the Dark Lord," repeated Snape, apparently satisfied. Or maybe he was just bored. He clinked his glass lightly against Draco's and turned away.

"I heard about this party through a friend at work just today," said Draco. "Lucky timing, huh? I work at—"

"I have no desire to hear about your personal life in such unambiguous terms," Snape interrupted him sourly. "The Dark Lord values secrecy. Because you seem to be new—" Snape looked at him like he were something he had just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "—I will tell you this now, for hope of the prevention of future stupidity."

Normally, Draco would have laughed at this, but he did his best to look offended and flustered.

"Well, I'll—" he said. He saw Hermione sneaking up behind Snape. They locked eyes for the briefest moment. She looked a little frightened, but determined. That was what mattered. "I'll keep that in mind. So, this celebration is in honor of the servant who killed that Muggle-loving old fool, Albus Dumbledore, isn't it? I always hated him—doddering old dimwit."

He looked at Snape's face, trying to read his expression. It wasn't visible under the mask—but that wouldn't really have made much of a difference, Draco realized. There was very little distinction between the plain black mask and the expression of closed, cold indifference that usually covered his face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, on so many levels.

"The Dark Lord must revere him above all others," said Draco quietly. "Imagine such loyalty…there will be no one to protect the Mudblood filth now…" Hermione was very close to them now. Draco kept talking.

"Our race will finally be purified, once and for all…"

000

Hermione reached out a tentative hand towards Snape's pocket. Snape slouched sideways across the wall, arms crossed, holding his wine glass.

Malfoy kept talking, trying to keep him distracted. The pocket was hanging open slightly, if she flattened herself up against the wall just right, she could almost reach it…

"The Muggleborns will have no one to protect them, now that old fool is gone," continued Malfoy. Hearing Malfoy make small talk about genocide with her former teacher wasn't really putting her at ease, but…her fingertips slipped past the edge of the pocket…he still hadn't noticed her…

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Snape idly. Hermoine felt her hands close on something metallic and cold. Fireworks exploded in her chest! Yes! This was it! She gently pulled the keystone out of the pocket, careful not to disturb anything around it…she had it! Now she just had to—

"Mudbloods can prove quite resourceful when they need to…" he added. Suddenly, Hermione felt a cold hand clasp around her wrist, catching her and the almost stolen keystone in midair.

She froze. Malfoy froze as well. Snape turned his head slightly, eyes downcast and flitting between the two of them. A slow smile appeared on his lips. "Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Granger?"

For a moment, none of them moved. Hermione could hear her heart thundering in her chest. Oh, no. Oh, no. No. No…Malfoy looked stunned as well. Hermoine saw his hand moving slowly towards his pocket...

"Now both of you listen to me—" he hissed in his usual icy tones. His hand tightened on hers like a vice. His fingers reminded her of talons, a giant bird of prey squeezing the life out of whatever happened to fall into its clutches...

Malfoy, apparently, decided the listening was not something he was keen on doing. Hermione was inclined to agree, if only to indulge in her instinct to run far, far away from this entire situation as fast as she could. He pulled out his wand. Snape's arms were crossed, limiting his mobility. Seizing her chance, Hermione reached into his other pocket with her free hand, snatched up his wand, and flung it across the room.

"Listen to me, you silly girl!" snarled Snape. The was a small, ever present voice in the back of Hermione's mind reminding her in cool, logical tones that, despite all evidence and everyone else's opinion, the jury was still out on Snape's motivations. However, at the current time, there was a much louder, much more urgent voice screaming, "RUN!" Hermoine decided that this voice had a better handle on the situation.

"Depulso!" yelled Malfoy. Hermione wretched her hand free of Snape's grasp as he was blasted backwards, skidding across the floor with a look of rage on his now maskless face. The entire room fell silent, hundreds of heads snapping towards their direction.

"Intruders!" screamed someone. As a couple hundred of wands were pulled out of dress robes, Malfoy turned to Hermione, grabbing her hand.

"Run!" he shouted.

Sounded like a plan.

They raced out of the room, dodging curses as they fled into the hall and up the stairs. Harry and Ron, who were sitting at the top of the stairs, pulled off the invisibility cloak as they approached.

"Did you get the—" began Ron. Malfoy pushed him.

"Go!" he said frantically. Angry shouts were rising from below.

"What happened?" demanded Harry as they ran towards the door at the end of the hall—the vault. Malfoy quickly muttered the incantation to open the door and they raced inside, slamming the door behind them. Hermione leaned heavily against the door, breathing shakily.

"The keystone thing—"

"Right here," said Hermione. She held aloft a round red stone, cast partially in silver. She handed it to Harry, who examined it for a moment, before giving it back.

"What happened?" demanded Harry again.

"Snape," said Malfoy. "Snape happened. He caught us and we ran."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione. "I'm so sorry—it's my fault, I—"

"It's not your fault," said Malfoy suddenly. "You didn't do anything that—"

"Are you sure it's not Malfoy's fault?" asked Ron, glaring at him.

"It's no one's fault!" snapped Harry, which seemed to resolve the debate. "Snape is hard to trick, alright? Malfoy, what's happening down there?"

"Well, I think they're all coming upstairs to kill us, Potter," said Malfoy in a sarcastic voice, who looked a little surprised that Harry was addressing him in such a manner.

"They're must be over a hundred people down there!" said Ron in alarm.

"Two hundred," sighed Hermione, shaking her head in despair. "Maybe more." She could hear people, coming noisily up the stairs…

"Will these doors hold, Malfoy?" asked Harry, ignoring them.

Malfoy shook his head. "They're meant to hold off against ambitious thieves, maybe a few dozen rather nasty intruders…"

"How long?"

"I—I don't know…" he said, his eyes flitting desperately around the room. "Not long…"

What were they going to do? Harry couldn't fight an army. None of them could…the room was completely sealed…

"We're buggered, aren't we?" asked Ron.

"Shut the hell up, Weasley!" snapped Malfoy.

"You shut up, ferret boy!"

"Oh stop it, you're acting like children!" scolded Hermione.

"Oh, right—thanks, Mum!" said Ron. "Now that we're all going to die in Malfoy Manor of all the god-awful places in the world, I think etiquette really mean a lot..."

"It does in this house, I don't know about that rat trap you call—"

"Don't talk about my family, you ponce—"

"Would you two just—"

"HEY!" yelled Harry suddenly. All three of them fell silent. "That's enough."

That was the thing about Harry. It wasn't about the scar or the Patronus or being the "Chosen One"—there was just something about Harry that made him the person you listen to, when things like this happen. Bad things. Sad as it was, this was his element.

"We're all getting out of this just fine," he said in a tone of quiet authority. She believed him when he said that, she really did. He had grown up so much in such a short period.

"Ok—now here's the plan…"

000

AN: I'm sorry about the cliffhangers. Every book I've ever read ends with something of a mini-cliffie at the end of each chapter. I think it's just ingrained into my subconscious, lol. Plus, I'm pure evil.

Yeah—there was no kiss in the dancing…but there was some attempted fondling…haha.

Sorry it took so long to update…I was trapped within the hell of midterms! Eep!

And finally…is Snape innocent and misunderstood? Or is he just a jerk? Hmm…

PS: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!