Staring at a mirror, Draco Malfoy wanted to hiss. No, he wanted to draw his wand and show that snake in the grass what for. Greengrass, how aptly named.

Draco Malfoy was a fundamentally honest person - it was why he'd sneered at the Weasel, and it was why Potter tended to glare at him with enough force to cast an Avada with his hate alone. Oh, sure, he was good enough at lies and misdirection - in Slytherin those were instincts you were taught if you didn't have them in the first place.

But. He was honest. Granger knew he didn't like her, because he hadn't liked her. Not on first sight - Draco wasn't that much of a bigot, thank you very much. But that hand. He'd hated that hand, and he'd let her know it.

Greengrass wasn't like that. Granger faced her as fragile as a baby puppy, and as likely to have her neck broken. Well, perhaps not today. Today there were rules, and Daphne excelled at dancing the line.

Zambini's hand was on Draco's upper arm, "Stay low," he whispered, his lips less than an inch from his ear. "Let me handle this."

Millicent was there, near the dance floor. She gave a sparkling smile (Draco knew she'd never be a beauty, but she had a certain stalwart loveliness that he hoped someone'd notice, eventually. ), and Zambini offered her his arm.

Moments later, time itself seemed to freeze. Greengrass had pushed Hermione back, with delicate timing. Granger's heel had broken, and she was falling. Before Zambini could do anything (before Draco himself could spin around), Greengrass had caught Granger, pulling her upright with surprising strength.

It was only as Granger recovered, that Draco noticed how pale she'd become. Shaking. Her dancing was sloppier, and Greengrass had to put more effort into the dance if only to not wind up on the floor herself.

Strike one.

Zambini had drawn near, and was glaring at Greengrass. Draco could read Blaise's lips as he stage-spoke to her, "Play nice."

Greengrass' chill smile said This is my nice.

Draco saw a rustle of darkness in the corner - his eyes darting away from Granger for just a moment. Snape, still and hungry - that particular blend of ferocity and grace that was Slytherin. His eyes were sharp... and they were following Granger.

Draco Malfoy felt himself relax, slowly. Zambini might or might not be able to handle Daphne Greengrass, but he'd wager Snape against even his own father. Greengrass wouldn't stand a chance.

As the dance ended, Greengrass dipped Hermione - and then, with a squeak, dropped her. Granger's eyes were wide as she fell, and Draco Malfoy didn't catch who cast the cushioning charm. But she fell on the cushion, and not the hard wood floor.

McGonagall suddenly had a bone to pick with Severus Snape, and the entire dance hall could hear them over the music, which had stilled, each string stopping separately. Snape let the Golden Gryffindor Head go on for long enough that she'd gotten red in the face, before he said something. Softly. Too soft for anyone else to hear. But Draco had read his lips, those seldom said words - "You're welcome."

And Draco? He understood the guilt.

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath and stepped away from the mirror as the musicians retuned their instruments, signifying that the next waltz was starting. His closed face smooth, he strode towards Granger.

[a/n: You didn't think Snape would have agreed to this farce without monitoring it carefully, did you? Reviews welcome!]