A/N: Sorry about the week delay, but this was a monster and needed substantial work before release. It is about 2x as long as a normal chapter, so there is that...


Chapter IX

Seasonal Depression

Hermione watched with horror as Pansy treated her face like a canvas used for a finger-painting class. Cherry red lipstick. Red tinted eyeshadow. Heavy black eyeliner. Her dress was a skimpy thing. Black and lacy and showing what a 'real woman' she was. In short, Hermione wondered if she was auditioning for an adult film. If wizards actually had those. They did have moving photographs…

And she wouldn't shut up about how fantastic Nott was. Like a week of sticking his tongue down her throat made him the fucking Prince of Wales.

But Pansy wasn't on her list tonight. Surprisingly. She had been almost pleasant recently. Almost. Mostly because her self-centered babble, while trite and a little bit annoying, usually did not involve Hermione directly. Tracey and Millicent took the brunt of the assault. And they bore it with impressive restraint. Tracey didn't once imply, let alone say to her face, that Nott was only interested in her because Astoria preferred Blaise.

Which placed Blaise right on her list. Hermione wouldn't have guessed that. He was reserved, respectful, if a bit aloof. Not the attributes that would get him on the list. But there he was.

Hermione wasn't much pleased with anyone taking Astoria to the Yule Ball. She was too young. Too naïve. Hermione couldn't help but think that Blaise was taking advantage of her. Though, in the back of her mind, Hermione told herself that Astoria had the sense to pass Nott by. She wasn't a Barbie that would allow herself to be passed around. She wasn't Pansy. She wasn't her sister.

Which took Hermione to #2 on her list. Daphne. Miss Greengrass. Bitch in sheep's clothing. Playing nice all year. Being Hermione's "friend". Then turning around and stabbing her in the back. Well, now she was stuck with that ass at #1. Hermione wouldn't even think about him. But he sure would be thinking about her tonight. Especially when she steps out to take the first dance. Then they'll see who came off worse.

"I like your dress, Hermione," Tracey said, eyeing her through the mirror as she applied some subtle eye shadow - though a blob of acrylic paint would pass for subtle compared to Pansy's ghastly application. "Madam Malkin's?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Hermione said, looking down at her green silk dress.

"You've got a date, right?" said Tracey.

"Mmhmm," said Hermione, continuing to comb her hair so it would stay "flat", or what passed for it.

"Who?" she asked.

"You'll see."

"Maybe not. I'm going with Zach Smith. I'll be stuck with the 'Puffs all night."

Hermione made a face. Smith was notoriously full of himself. "Hunting that Hufflepuff inheritance?"

Tracey grinned. "Doesn't hurt."

"He's kind of a jerk."

"All boys are jerks, Hermione," Tracey cooed. "I look for the most entertaining. And Smithy is that."

Hermione agreed. "Well, I'm still sure you'll see who I'm going with."

"I better. Hey, Millie, you're still with Warrington?" Tracey called across to Millicent.

"He's still with me," the girl grumbled. "Haven't decided if I want to keep him, yet."

"He'd have been a nice catch if he got Hogwarts champion."

"That he would," said Millicent, walking out of the bathroom. "I'll be in the common room, then."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec," Tracey said, smoothing out her dress and picking at a loose hair. "I heard there's going to be an after party. You ever have firewhiskey?" She grinned at Hermione's curled lip. "It's not that bad once you've had a shot or two."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not too interested in that."

"Good," she laughed, packing up her makeup kit and heading back into the room. "Because it's still bad after five shots."

Hermione turned back to the mirror. Perhaps it was confidence, or perhaps it was her antipathy for Pansy, but Hermione had chosen to go for a minimalist strategy for her makeup and hair. Pink, glossy lipstick and the basics. A spritz of perfume. For her hair, a thorough wash and brush, a simple hairclip to keep her curls away from her face, and she let the rest fall as it will. Free, loose, lively. She needed to look like she was having a good time.

When she looked back down the row of sinks she saw that Pansy had left and Hermione was now alone with one other person. Daphne was fiddling with some brushes and makeup boxes and not really doing anything. Her eyes flicked up to Hermione, but quickly went back down when she saw Hermione looking at her. A second later, she turned to Hermione and opened her mouth. Daphne had pulled her hair back just like how Narcissa had hers when Hermione first met her. Daphne didn't have as many pieces of jewelry, but she was by no means left bare. She had a necklace and that bracelet.

Hermione didn't give her time to say anything. She brushed past the other girl and fished her shoes off the floor. Hermione perched on the side of her bed and slipped them on, making sure the straps were tight enough, but wouldn't dig into her feet. They weren't very opulent heels, but they provided a good inch or two. They were a simple beige leather – or something that looked like leather. Hermione was sure that if she took a look around the room she would find gem studded, dragon leather, five inch heels painted with the blood of harpies and forged in the fires of Mount Doom by slave labor goblins, complete with enchantments to make any boy within a five-meter radius fall under the wearer's spell.

But she liked her shoes. They were simple. She could walk in them.

Hermione knew the common room was bustling even before she left her dorm. Girls were hurrying back and forth along the hallway. Some giggled, some were hyperventilating. She hugged the wall and made it up the stairs to the common room, where it seemed the whole of Slytherin had gathered. And the whole of Slytherin could barely fit.

The older students had commandeered most of the central seating, and sat around with their dates and conversed like they were at a Malfoy dinner party. They sat back, crossed their legs, put their arms around their date's shoulders or waists, made good-natured quips and laughed at the right time, and all together acted like they were all that.

And compared to the other students, they were.

Those around Hermione's age who were going to the ball were cloistered in their respective cliques, standing in circles and excluding any unknown. They shuffled uncomfortably. Some were touching their dates. Most were not.

Then there were the little ones. Third years and below who had not been cherry-picked by an older student were hanging around on the fringes, trying to get a look at the crowd. Hermione saw some of her tutoring charges whispering to each other, eyes roving. She wondered what interested them most. Well, the boys probably were quite excited about seeing the older girls without their heavy robes about them. Plenty of the older boys were excited about that, too. Perverts.

"Hey," Tracey said, catching Hermione's elbow. "Your boy here?"

"No," she replied. "Not a Slytherin."

"Didn't think so," she said. "You wanna get out of here ahead of the crowd? I need to catch me a Hufflepuff heir."

"Sure," said Hermione. Together, they picked their way through the throng of Slytherins, careful not to step on anyone's expensive, family-heirloom dress robes.

The temperature dropped about ten degrees as they stepped out into the dungeon hallway. A minute later they ran into a pack of badgers on their way to the ball. Tracey claimed her date and the group started up to the main level.

"Say, Granger," Smith said with that smug mug of his, "I was wondering what you got on your last charms exam."

"Well, if you give me your paper, I'd be glad to correct it for you," Hermione sniffed at him.

Tracey caught her laughter in her stomach, trying not to embarrass her date. Smith didn't engage Hermione after that.

"So, not Finch-Fletchley, then?" Tracey asked Hermione.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Justin talking with a blonde Hufflepuff girl. He would have been a fine date. But she wasn't going for fine.

"No, not him."

"Ravenclaw, then?" Tracey guessed. "Boot? I've seen you around Boot."

"Not Terry," sighed Hermione. "Why are you so interested?"

Tracey shrugged. "Because you won't say. My interest is inverse of someone's willingness to spill the beans. You didn't get Roger Davies, did you?"

"Davies?" Hermione made a face. "What would I see in Davies?"

"He's big, strong, older, and a quidditch star. Come on, what don't you see in him?"

"I'm big, strong, and a quidditch star," Smith smirked.

"One for three, Smithy," Hermione said. "I could give you the answer sheet, but that wouldn't be sporting."

Smith made a noise and looked away.

"Davies is dull. And I barely know him. He could be super creepy or something."

"Yeah," Tracey conceded. "But who else would you keep from me?"

"Anyone. You're a gossip."

"Only with the girls," Tracey said, pulling a puppy face, but she quickly got over it. "It's gotta be someone high profile. Davies is quidditch captain. That's high profile. Millie's got Warrington. All the Slytherin boys are accounted for. Diggory's got Chang, as Pansy has pointed out to us multiple times –" Tracey seized Hermione's arm and gasped. "You're not going with Victor Krum are you?"

Hermione unhinged Tracey's claw. "You mean that mumbling, bumbling, barbarian of a Bulgarian? Please. He was my second choice."

Tracey made an indignant noise and pouted. "He's not bumbling. He caught the snitch at the World Cup final."

"A game he lost," Hermione reminded her. The came upon the entry hall outside the Great Hall. There was already a decently sized crowd assembled and milling about.

"So where is he?" asked Tracey, peering around, looking for any boy heading towards Hermione.

Potter was on the other side of the room with Weasley. The redhead had that bimbo Lavender hanging around him. Potter saw her too, but he made no move towards her.

"Somewhere," Hermione said. "Listen, I'm going to go say hi to Padma, okay?"

Tracey shrugged and Hermione walked towards the Ravenclaw girl. She didn't have much to say to her, but Hermione wanted to ditch Tracey. "Hi, Padma," she said.

"Hi," said Padma. "You look great."

"Thanks, you too. Who're you going with?"

She cracked a rare little smile. "Victor Krum."

Hermione took a second to confirm she heard that right. "Krum?"

Padma nodded. "He asked me in the library a few weeks ago. You know, he's not as dull as you'd think."

"Well, good luck," said Hermione. "I've got to go find mine."

"Have fun," Padma said, waving her off.

Hermione wandered around the hall for a minute, getting closer to the other side without making it seem like that was her destination. Finally, her path brought her in contact with Potter and Weasley.

The boys stared at her. Lavender Brown narrowed her eyes.

For a moment she couldn't say anything.

"What exactly is that you're wearing, Ronald?" she said, eyes fixed on the abomination of frills and lace.

His hands instinctively went to the offending material.

"It's called a dress robe, Granger," Lavender Brown struck a haughty pose.

"It's a classic," added Ronald.

"If you say so. It looks a bit tacky."

Ronald turned his nose up at her. "Come on, Harry. You said you had a partner. Where is she?"

Hermione turned her eye to Potter, who quickly averted his eyes and chewed his lip.

"You didn't just say that, did you, mate? You do have someone?"

"Yes, Ron," said Potter.

"Well, she better show up on time or you're in for it. I mean, Lavender will dance with you if you need someone…"

"I will, will I?" Lavender piped up.

"She's here, Ron," murmured Potter.

"Yeah?" Ronald scanned the room, overlooking Hermione. "Where."

Potter scratched his shaggy hair and made a little flick.

"What's that?" Ronald imitated the flick. "You haven't got tick, do you?"

Potter made another, more obvious head roll towards Hermione.

Ronald looked at her. Then back to Potter. "No."

Hermione grinned cruelly and grabbed Potter's arm. "Don't feel bad that he didn't ask you, Ronald. It's just politics."

"You're not serious, Harry! She's –"

"Champions, over here!" she heard McGonagall call over the crowd.

"That's us," said Hermione, pulling Potter away.

They were seated at the high table with the rest of the champions and their dates, as well as the judges. Dumbledore smiled when he saw her sit down with Potter, but didn't say anything. Madam Maxime and Igor Karkaroff sat on either side of Dumbledore, and Hermione spotted Ludo Bagman, usually cheery, looking a bit put off to be next to the Eastern European headmaster. Hermione and Potter were sat on Maxime's side of Dumbledore, and she expected the dour Crouch to appear. However, Hermione was surprised when Percival Weasley sat down next to her.

"Miss Granger," he said pleasantly. "I did not know you knew Harry so well."

"Oh, well…" Hermione gathered herself. "We've been through some things last few years."

Percival nodded gravely. "I don't think I ever managed to thank you. For what you did for Ginny."

"What I did?" she gulped.

"I don't think she'd be alive if you didn't fight off that Lockhart character. Very brave of you."

"Ah," Hermione nodded, staring down at her empty plate. He didn't sound like he knew the entire story.

"Harry," Percival changed his focus to Potter. "You'll be pleased to know that I've been promoted! Personal Assistant to Mister Crouch. I'm here representing him – Mister Crouch isn't well."

"Oh, that's… too bad," said Potter.

"Very unwell, I'm afraid. Overwork, probably – what with the World Cup and the preparations for the Tournament – and that awful Skeeter woman fluttering about."

Dumbledore said very loudly, "Pork chops!" and pork chops appeared on his plate. The rest of the hall followed his lead.

Hermione looked out over the crowd. Most of the students were talking with each other or eating intently, but she caught sight of a certain blonde Slytherin who was taking an interested in the high table. Hermione chewed her pork triumphantly, leaning over to Potter. "This wasn't such a bad idea, was it?"

"There's still time left," he said, not looking quite as pleased as she was.

Soon, the dinner tables were cleared from the floor and it was time to dance.

"Smile," Hermione reminded Potter as they walked out onto the dancefloor.

"I'm smiling," he said through thin lips.

"You're not selling it," she said, pulling herself closer to him as they rotated. She saw the crowd watching from over his shoulder. She grinned when she noticed Draco was red-faced and staring them down. He saw her looking and grabbed Daphne by her waist, wrenching her onto the dance floor before Hermione rotated away.

"I'm selling it fine," he replied. "You're overdoing it."

"I'm dancing with the Hogwarts champion. There's no overdoing it."

"A Hogwarts champion. And not really the real one."

"You're Harry Potter. You're the Hogwarts champion."

He grumbled and stumbled a bit. "We're done, right?"

The floor was beginning to fill. Hermione let it go one more rotation and, not seeing Draco, called it, too. "We're done for now."

Potter dropped his hands to his side and darted off between dancing couples. Hermione followed him over to a table where a group of Gryffindors were stationed. Ronald and Lavender were both watching Hermione with suspicion. Longbottom and little Virginia were also there, both deciding not to look at Hermione.

"Not going to dance, Ronald?" Hermione said as Potter ladled out a cup of punch.

"I don't know what you're up to, but it's not going to work," said Ronald.

"Okay," replied Hermione.

"It's not."

"Sure. How about you, Longbottom? I see you found yourself a little Weasley."

Virginia turned a spiteful eye to her. "Come on, Neville. I want to dance." She pulled Longbottom away.

"You've got some bang-up friends, Potter."

"Yeah. Would you like to introduce me to yours?" he said, taking a sip of his punch.

Hermione scowled. "I don't think they'd much like that."

"No, I don't think so."

"We're a real Romeo and Juliet," said Hermione.

"Don't they die at the end?"

"They kill themselves."

"Yeah, that's not happening here."

"Oh, now that's just rude," smirked Hermione.

The band changed songs to a decent amount of dancer turnover. Parvati Patil skipped over to their table, leading Dean Thomas by the hand. "Oh, Lav, you've got to get out there!"

"Yeah," said Lavender.

"Did you see Padma? I didn't know she had it in her!" Parvati breathed. "I mean, she may look like me, but she's really not a people person."

"Krum isn't really a people person, either," Hermione said.

Parvati looked at her. "I guess not," she said.

"Granger," Dean nodded to her. "Didn't expect this."

"Nobody expects," she replied, and he smiled a bit.

"Well, Dean and I are going to go say hi to Padma and dance some more." Parvati pulled him off to seek out her sister.

Lavender looked expectantly to Ronald, but he made no move to get up. "I don't get it, Harry," he said. "You could've had any girl in the school, and you pick her?"

"Potter didn't pick me," Hermione seethed. "Like you said, I'm up to something."

"I don't get it, Harry," repeated Ronald.

"Hey, Hermione!" Astoria said, beaming as she bounced up to her and wrapped her arms around her. "Look! Blaise got me this necklace. Isn't it beautiful?"

Hermione hugged her back, but kept her eyes focused on the boy who came to a stop behind her. Blaise Zabini wore a magnificent Italian silk suit and a magnificent smug look on his face. "Granger," he said, and then, with an amused smile, "Potter."

"Zabini," Hermione replied. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," he half turned, peering out across the dance floor. Theodore Nott was clearly visible, glowering in their direction. Pansy was talking to him, holding his arm, but he didn't really look like he was interested in what she was saying. "Astoria and I have some admirers already."

Beside Nott stood Draco and Daphne. Draco was obvious in his livid stare, but Daphne was also looking over regularly with a grim look. She smiled and pulled Potter to her side. "Harry and I are having a grand time, as well."

"Yes, how did you snag your Romeo?" Blaise said, sliding his hands into his pockets and tilting his head.

"He saw me across the room at a party and knew he just had to forget Virginia," grinned Hermione.

"I thought her name was Rosalie…" Potter said into his punch.

"Rosaline," Blaise said confidently, like he was offering a correct answer and knew it.

"Wherefore art thou Gryffindor," said Hermione.

Blaise grinned. "Good story."

"But he won't kill himself for me," she said.

"He's the Boy-Who-Lived. He has to, you know, live," said Blaise. "As do I. Another dance?" He turned and offered Astoria his hand. She took it with a giggle.

"Come on, Hermione. You should dance, too!"

Hermione glanced at Potter, who shook his head.

"Put your punch down," Hermione said. "We're dancing."

Hermione insisted on switching partners after the first song. Primarily to speak with Blaise, though she was pleasantly surprised by the upgrade in experience.

Dancing with Blaise was… nice. His body was a frame that held her up, his movements guided hers so that Hermione barely had to do anything but comply. He was a much better partner than Potter. He actually knew how to dance. And he made it almost enjoyable.

But she wouldn't be distracted by petty details.

"If you take advantage of Astoria, I'll hurt you."

Blaise spun Hermione around suddenly, then brought her back into his frame. "Rather protective of your rival's sister, no?"

"I don't care whose sister she is, Astoria is my friend."

"I like her too, Granger. We can share."

"I don't like your attitude or your tone. You should just stay away from her."

"You think I'm dangerous to her?"

"She's a second year. You should never have invited her."

"I shouldn't have – but not because she's a second year," he said.

"What do you mean?"

Blaise pulled a shrug with only his head. "My birthday's in August. If I was born a few days later, and she was born a bit earlier, we'd have been in the same year. Not much difference between Astoria and I dancing than you and I dancing. Unless you're taking advantage of me." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not trying to take advantage of me, are you, Granger?"

Hermione frowned. "That's different."

"Maybe. Maybe not. She'd have been here anyway. I am the lesser of the evils, I think you would agree."

"I don't know. Why did you invite a second year?"

Blaise sighed and stopped dancing completely. In the middle of the floor. "Look. If was inviting someone just to try to lift her skirt, Astoria is just about the last girl I'd go for. She's Slytherin, a stick, her sister's an overbearing witch – in every sense of the word – and Astoria would have no idea what she's doing. If I wanted to be caught in a rosebush sometime tonight, I'd be dancing with some sixth year Ravenclaw girl right now. Now, are you done threatening me?"

Blaise took her by the waist and hand again and they were off. "Good. I like dancing with someone of decent height."

"Why a Ravenclaw girl?" she asked on a whim. "The boys always talk about how you're after Hufflepuff girls."

"I am. Everyone just judges my intentions wrong."

"Do they?"

"Sure. You and your crowd think I'm some sort of Casanova, yeah? I hunt Hufflepuffs to get their knickers off?"

"I guess that's the thought."

"Just shows they know nothing about anything outside of Slytherin. Hufflepuffs aren't for a snog. I've got the houses down to a science, you know. Hufflepuffs are for loyal wives and serious girlfriends. Ravenclaws are exploration and innovation. Gryffindors are for passion, and Slytherins make excellent mistresses."

"I see. You're even creepier than I thought."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying I've tested my theories out, but the logic is sound."

"So, according to you, you're looking for a wife?"

"No. I've been sticking my neck out for a girlfriend, though. Someone to have fun with outside the bitter confines of Slytherin. And once you catch a badger, she's not likely to give up on you for some time. I like that."

"But you ended up with a Slytherin here tonight. And one you say you're not interested in making your… mistress."

"Sure. I am interested in Astoria, but not for the reasons you're afraid of."

"Like what?"

"She's a bright girl. Cheerful. Wants to have fun."

"That's it?"

"That's it. I'm a simple man. I like to enjoy myself."

I-I. ⌡. Γ┐

"Harry, my boy! How has your evening been?"

The jovial, padded figure of Ludo Bagman ambled over to the table they had commandeered. He looked a good few butterbeers deep and had another full mug in his hand.

"It's been fine," said Potter, shrugging.

"Fine? It's been more than fine, Harry! It's a party!"

Potter nodded.

"And you," he turned to Hermione, "I can see how a pretty little thing like you could catch Harry's attention. Well done, my boy, well done."

Hermione instinctively leaned away from him.

"But…" Bagman shuffled closer to Harry and took a peek around and dropped into a whisper. "How've you done with you… egg?"

Potter fidgeted. "I've done just fine."

"So you've opened it?" exclaimed Bagman before clamping his hand over his mouth.

"Yes," said Potter in a strained voice.

"And you heard the message?"

"I heard something alright."

"Exemplary!" Bagman chuckled. "Knew you had it in you. You've been working on a plan, then. I suggest you look into -"

"Mister Bagman," Harry said too loudly, "I don't think you're supposed to talk about the tasks to me."

Bagman started, then laughed. "Right you are, Harry! An honest competitor, I love it. I thank you for not taking advantage of my kindness," then he whispered again, "If you do ever need my help, though…"

Potter shook his head, but Bagman only chuckled some more and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I do have one piece of advice for you two lovebirds that doesn't involve mer-peo-uh… the tournament…" he wagged a finger at both of them. "Never trust a goblin with dice."

At that, Ludo Bagman performed a three-hundred and sixty degree turn, surveyed the entire hall, and ducked off behind a fountain of chocolate. Hermione watched him scamper around, weaving between couples, before disappearing out the door.

Off in the distance, Hermione caught sight of Draco and Daphne. His hands were wrapped around her, sliding into more and more delicate areas. Hermione bit her tongue and exhaled a long breath. It had been only one week since those hands had been touching Hermione herself. Only one week, and he was already sniffing around another girl.

"Potter, I think we should move somewhere else. It's getting too hot in here."

Out in the courtyard, a cool breeze swept of them and Hermione felt invigorated. Inside, the ball was suffocating. People watched each other, people had expectations. Out here there were no prying eyes – no weight of expectation.

"This hasn't been so bad, has it?" Hermione asked.

"I suppose it could have gone worse. I didn't get chased by a dragon."

"You decided to attempt to out-fly a dragon," she shook her head.

"It worked, didn't it?" Potter shot back.

"Sheer luck. Something you have in abundance."

"It balances out sheer bad luck," he shrugged. "Wouldn't have to face a dragon if the damn rules actually meant something. Wouldn't have to survive -"

He stopped and exhaled, staring out at the stars. He looked lost. Contemplating his life. And what a life it had been. Hermione couldn't imaging losing her parents before she even knew them. She didn't even know if she had relatives would could have took her in.

"You didn't enter yourself, did you."

"No," he said. "You don't think I'd be stupid enough to want to get killed?"

Hermione rolled her shoulders. "I wanted to enter. Tried to enter."

"I believe it." Potter picked at his sleeve and glanced at her. "You might have won."

She shot him a hard look. "No need to be patronizing."

"I wasn't. I've seen you – you've saved my life, remember. If I made it past that dragon I'd bet you could, too."

"Well, thanks," she said. Hermione couldn't see or hear an indication that he was lying. Did he actually believe that she could have won? Harry Potter, who hated her guts, had more faith in her than her friends? Oh, but were they her friends? And did he really hate her?

Hermione took a deep breath. The night air really was something. The cold sting in her lungs wasn't bad at all, though it was chilly. Hermione wouldn't have said no to a jacket.

"I'm sure choosing a little Gryffindor by lottery would have gotten you more favor than coming with me," she said, not entirely sure where she was going.

"I didn't think of that. But seeing Malfoy's face makes up for it."

Hermione considered him for a moment. He looked at her, and his eyes sparkled in the moonlight. They were so very green. "You know what would make Draco even angrier?"

Before he had a chance to respond, Hermione lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders and pressed her lips against his. His whole body jerked, then stood very still. Hermione held the kiss longer, and, after a moment, felt his hands brush very gently against her sides–

A large, forceful hand gripped Hermione's shoulder and pulled her away from Potter. Hermione stared up into the deadly black eyes of Professor Snape. "Fornication in the Rose Garden?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Twenty points from Slytherin – and back to your dormitory this minute."

"Professor–" she protested.

"Shut up," Snape growled. "I will not abide such crude behavior from one of my students. Back to the dorms or it'll be fifty points."

Hermione bit her tongue and seethed. "We're allowed out here for the Ball –"

"The Yule Ball takes place in the Great Hall, Miss Granger – and your night is over, regardless. Out!" He struck a quivering finger back towards the entry hall, his face clearly showing that no appeal would be heard. Hermione glared at him before turning on her toes and stomping out of the Rose Garden, heels clicking distinctly. "And you, Potter," Snape barked behind her, "Conning your way into a pathetic tournament gives no right to incite debauchery in this castle–"

Hermione crossed the entry hall quickly. There was no point in returning to the Great Hall without Potter. That was the whole point of the night. Now that Snape fucked everything up, she could only do as he said and go back to the dorms and hope she left a lasting memory.

Weeks ago this was going to be a wonderful night with her friends, boyfriend… best friend. But everything had been fucked up. Not just by Snape. By everyone.

The halls down to the dungeon weren't quite empty. Couples were sneaking around, finding private areas; others were returning to their common rooms having had enough of the Ball. It seemed like many Slytherins had given up on the Ball, too. Hermione walked into the common room to shouts and laughter. Groups of older students were huddled around couches and chairs and Hermione could see bottles being passed around. She bypassed all of them and headed straight to her dorm, but was stopped by a voice.

"Had a good time with Potter, did you?" Pansy sniffed. She was slouched in an armchair, almost laying down. "Took him out back for a bit of a shag, eh?" Her cheeks were glistening and she took pull from a bottle clutched in her hands. Her body convulsed and she put a hand to her mouth, and looked for a second like she was about to vomit.

"You got a problem with me?" Hermione demanded.

"I've got a million problems with you," sneered Pansy. "Mudblood," she spat, holding up a finger. "Stupid. You shagged Draco. You shagged Potter." Pansy looked at her fingers, deciding if she was on four or five. "You're a Mudblood…"

"We've been over this, Pansy," Hermione said coolly. "I'm still better than you."

Pansy's lip quivered for a moment, and then tears began flowing free. "You're a Mudblood and all the boys still want you. What the fuck am I? They should be MINE!" She threw her head back and started downing more of the bottle, but she gagged and it spilled out all over her chin and dribbled down onto her dress.

"Stop it," said Hermione, grabbing the bottle out of her hands. "You're going to get alcohol poisoning."

Pansy sobbed and buried her face in her arms. "Maybe I want to poison myself."

"Shut up. You're not going to get anyone's attention with that rubbish." Hermione took a look at the bottle. 'Ogden's Firewhiskey'. It was half-empty. "You drank all this yourself?"

"Theo only uses me because he got embarrassed," Pansy shuddered and curled up into a ball. She looked pathetic. Defeated. Broken. Like she had when Hermione used the Cruciatus on her. Except this time Hermione didn't enjoy the sight of it. Hermione didn't feel triumphant. "I'm his revenge… his..."

"Then end it," Hermione snorted. "Don't let the bastard get what he wants." Hermione stared down the bottle's neck at the amber liquid swirling inside. It seemed like such inert stuff to cause such a catastrophic reaction in people. Drink a few drops and your senses, your judgment, just go out the window. Why do people subject themselves to it?

"I have to," she cried, peeking out at Hermione. "I just have to."

"He doesn't own you."

"As good as. I know he knows that I have to... he knows I know he knows."

"You're not making any sense," said Hermione. She sniffed the bottled and recoiled. It smelled acidic to her. Toxic. Deadly. Yet… not quite bad. Well, bad, yes. But not that bad. Like she'd need another smell to really make a judgment.

A huge bout of shouting boomed from the other side of the room. Hermione looked over and saw Millicent and Tracey throwing back several shots while a few older boys tried to keep up.

"I told Grandfather – and he's making arrangements."

"Your grandfather knows what?" Hermione peered back down the bottle. A little sip wouldn't hurt, would it? And no one would know. Everyone was too busy to care.

"He knows Theo and I…"

Hermione curled her lip in scorn. "You told your grandfather who you're rubbing yourself against?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't." Hermione put the bottle to her lips and tilted it up until a stream splashed into her mouth. She exploded into coughs, barely hacking the liquid down. Her tongue felt like it had been burned, and she felt like a fire had been kindled in her stomach. "This stuff is nasty."

"I need to find someone. I need to, or my family is finished."

"There's a school of someones here. Find someone who isn't a complete asshole." Hermione could feel the blood flowing through her veins. She was aware each heart beat and each finger and toe. "This is weird."

"You don't understand. You couldn't understand. You're a Mudblood."

"A Mudblood who is better than you – and a lot less drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Pansy murmured.

"You people are fucked up, you know that? Thoroughly fucked up." Hermione narrowed her eyes at the bottle. She already had one sip. What was another one? It went down easier this time. Or maybe her tongue was still in shock from the first drink.

"You've got it easy," Pansy said, starting at her through her tears.

"Yeah. My boyfriend drops me for the first pureblood his dad points him at." Hermione took a third sip and felt like her stomach was hosting a bonfire.

"You don't have to do… you're…"

"You'll have to speak better, Pansy," Hermione called. "I don't really know what words you're trying to think. Or… say."

"You've… your family doesn't have a house."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not homeless, you cow."

"You don't have a house," Pansy grunted. "A family house."

"For your information, I live on the second floor of a very nice house."

"It's not your family's." sniffed Pansy. "They haven't lived there for… years. And years. And generations."

"So what?"

"So… it's not your family."

"Your house is your family?"

"No, it is my family."

"That's what I said."

"Parkinsons lived there for… centuries. It is us."

"Yeah? That sounds like a blast. Got a bunch of portraits nagging you all day?"

"We don't have… We can't. Grandfather will leave and… I'll be left. Alone."

Hermione watched her shudder in tears, trying to string together her fragmented sentences. "What about your parents?"

"Dead."

"Oh… sorry, I guess." She considered not caring, but that would be… too cruel. If Hermione could give Potter some empathy for dead parents, she could manage some for Pansy.

"Not dead. One is."

"Are they dead or not?" Hermione tilted the bottle back again. The stinging was a reassuring sensation.

"My mother is."

"And your father?"

"My… father remarried. Badly."

"Badly?"

"I can't… she… if she didn't… Theo isn't interested in that stuff. I should be grateful. I should-"

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," snapped Daphne. Hermione looked up from her chair. Daphne was red in the face and furious.

"I don't have your pureblood feelings of shame and guilt," Hermione stuck out her tongue.

Pansy cackled through her sobs. "Because she's a Mudblood, get it?"

"It's girls like you who encourage boys to be so – so repugnant!" Daphne cried, seizing the bottle out of Hermione's fingers and taking a drag of the amber liquid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared down at Hermione. "You just had to hump every boy you danced with?"

"Hey –" Hermione sat up straight. "That's my bottle – and I did not hump boys! You're the one stealing boyfriends!"

"For your information, I didn't steal anyone," she hissed. "I spent the whole night keeping Draco away from me because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself!"

"You – you're just a fucking bitch, you know that?" screamed Hermione. "You said you were my friend and… and you're just a backstabbing bitch – and for what? How much silver did he melt down to make that horrid little bracelet? Hope you got your thirty pieces worth!"

Daphne's lip quivered. "I'll be getting a lot more than your single diamond!" She saw tears start to roll down Daphne's cheeks as she turned and sprinted away.

Hermione gaped. "You fucking whore!"

Pansy's giggles were muffled by her stuffing her face into the couch cushion.

"What are you laughing at, dog?" Hermione growled at her.

"Whore," mewed Pansy. "Muggles cook in pots, too, right?"

Hermione stared at her, grasping for the bottle of whiskey. "Shit," she said, remembering that her bottle had been stolen. Not the first, and probably not the last thing Daphne will steal from me, she thought. Hermione looked around and stood.

She started to wobble, not ready for how uncertain her legs had become. She had seen her father drink much more that she had and be fully functioning. This was an interesting reaction.

Hermione took it slow, making her way towards the group she saw Millicent with, using each piece of furniture as an island to hop across.

"Hermione," gasped Tracey, intercepting Hermione before she got there. "You're here!" She pulled Hermione into a hug.

She blinked at Tracey's loud exclamation. "Yes. Daphne took my bottle. I was just…"

"Shots?" Tracey shouted. "Shots?"

"Shots?"

"Shots!" Tracey towed her to the table and fumbled with a bottle, eventually pouring the firewhiskey into two small glasses. Tracey shoved one of them into Hermione's hand. "Shots!"

Hermione looked at the shot glass. It didn't look that bad. She put the glass to her lips and threw her head back. It stung a bit but it was fine compared to the bottle. Hermione shook it off and dropped the glass on the table.

Tracey shoved Hermione's shoulder and laughed. "What a fucking champ!"

Hermione murmured something. There was certainly some sort of reaction going on in her stomach. She could feel the heat, but it was a hollow heat. A sensation of warmth wrapped around a coldness.

She propelled herself across the room to her couch, hoping that her momentum forward would keep her from falling over. She didn't fall, but she did overshoot her target, pitching over the back of the couch onto the cushions. Hermione sighed. It could have gone worse. She glanced over at Pansy.

She was still slouched in her seat but Nott had appeared over her and was attempting to get her up.

"She doesn't like you," Hermione smirked.

Nott didn't acknowledge her, but Pansy made a grunt and shook her head. "That's not true!" Nott pulled her onto her feet and she clung to him. "I love you."

Now Hermione noticed that there was someone else. A blond someone else.

The upside-down face of Draco was staring down at her with a frown. "Are you happy now? Had a good time with Potter, then?"

Hermione bared her teeth. "Better than you had with Daphne."

"You know I didn't want to go with her."

"Didn't stop you from feeling her up, now did it?" Hermione tried to roll over to face him correctly but only managed to roll off the couch onto the floor.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, bewildered, maybe a bit angry, but also… impressed? Or maybe the firelight was playing tricks on her.

"I'm not drinking," she said. "I've never drunk and I'm never drunk so don't insulate such a thing."

He smirked a bit. "Do you mean 'insinuate'?"

Hermione took a beat before lifting her chin in defiance from the floor. "I'd never."

"Get up," he shook his head, reaching down to pull her to her feet.

"I'm quite fine where I am," she said, but didn't resist.

"Let's get you to bed."

Hermione took a step forward but stumbled. She only avoided the floor because Draco's arms were around her. "I'm not drunk, just so you know. I'm just feeling a bit faint."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"I'm always right."

"Yes you are."

Hermione leaned into him and closed her eyes. He wouldn't drop her. Draco wouldn't drop her. She let him walk her down the stairs to the dormitories and guide her around the left turn and down the hall and -

"Wait," Hermione said suddenly, wrenching her eyes open. "Left is the boys dormitory."

"Yeah," Draco said, pulling her along.

"No," muttered Hermione grinding to a halt. "Why?"

"I can't make sure you get into your bed so mine will have to do."

Hermione screwed up her eyebrows and thought for a moment. "No. That won't do at all. I'm going to my room."

"Hermione," Draco said. "You can barely walk on your own. Just sleep in my bed tonight."

"Why… why would I do that? That's… no." She shook her head.

"It'll be fine, Hermione. You've been in my bed before."

"You're not my boyfriend!" she insisted.

"Why not? Give it a chance, Hermione."

"You think - you think you can just… after?"

Draco was giving her that face like she was talking about NEWT level transfiguration and he would never understand a single shred of what she was saying. He didn't understand. "Just sleep on it. You'll feel better in the morning -"

He tried to pull her again but Hermione's arm was swinging. The loud slap of flesh on flesh echoed around the hall. Hermione started at her stinging palm.

"What was that for?" Draco gasped, holding his cheek.

"What do you think it was for?" Hermione breathed. "Go away."

"Hermione -"

She reached for her wand and swung it at him. "Go away!" she screamed in place of a spell and he jumped back as the flames seemed to flicker. He held up his hands and backed away. Hermione watched him retreat into his room before putting her wand away and turning back down the hall.

Hermione felt along the stone wall. Things were a bit out of focus. Sometimes the floor bucked a little. But she followed the wall and found her dormitory. She opened and door and slid inside.

It was dark. She knew where everything should be, where each bed and each trunk would be, but Hermione still bumped into each one in her path. She swore and floundered onto her bed. She unbuckled her shoes after several tries and kicked them into the air.

"Ow!" Someone cried in the darkness. Hermione felt the air rush as one of her shoes sailed past her head. "Now you have to chuck shoes at me?" Daphne hissed.

"No less than you deserve," Hermione muttered.

She heard shuffling in the darkness, and then the next second she felt the soft but unexpected impact of a down pillow smacking her face.

"Ow…" Hermione said, more out of habit than pain. "Bitch." She heard the whooshing of air and anticipated the second blow and block it with her arms, but she missed when she tried to snatch the pillow. Daphne swung again and Hermione was able to intercept and latch on.

Hermione gave the pillow a swift tug but she was not ready for Daphne's counter-pull. She stumbled forward, directly into the girl. Both gave out cries of surprise as they tumbled onto Daphne's bed.

Daphne tried wrenching the pillow from Hermione's arms but Hermione held tightly. She kicked out at the girl but didn't connect. Daphne gave up on the down pillow and Hermione tried to push herself up but Daphne came back with a small, square, decorative pillow and began tomahawking it at Hermione's head."Why - are - you - so - selfish?" she cried with each hit. On the sixth swing, Hermione caught the pillow and twisted violently, dispossessing Daphne.

Daphne lunged down at her and for a second Hermione thought she was going to bite her. Instead, Hermione realized belatedly that Daphne was trying to kiss her. She was pressing her lips against Hermione's with a hurried, awkward intent. It caught her so off guard that she took a few seconds to react.

"Get off me," Hermione hissed, shoving the pillow into Daphne's chest and pushing her away. Daphne froze, looking as shocked as Hermione was. Her cheeks were still glinting from spilt tears. A few seconds went by before Daphne said, very quietly, almost guiltily, "I told you I wasn't interested in Draco…"

Hermione tried to find the words to respond but couldn't. She couldn't quite interpret what had happening.

Daphne averted her eyes. "I wanted to tell you… but…"

"Tell me what?" Hermione breathed, afraid of the answer.

"Just that…that I… might fancy you."

"I don't understand…" said Hermione, shaking her head. Daphne adjusted her position, her leg rubbing against Hermione's.

"You're pretty – and brilliant – and…" she pushed herself forward to Hermione and gave her another quick kiss. "And I do fancy you." Daphne placed a delicate hand on Hermione's shoulder and pressed their lips together again.

Hermione shook her head and pushed Daphne back again, willing herself to sink deeper into the mattress, further from Daphne. "Stop."

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't right. She could kiss Draco. She could even kiss Potter – but Daphne? That wasn't… she wasn't – and could her heart just stop pulsing so goddamn loudly she couldn't fucking think straight? Everything about this night was screwed up. Draco didn't want her – then Draco wanted her. Daphne hated her – then Daphne fancied her. All Hermione wanted was to know what was going on. She wanted to know where she belonged. But she couldn't think straight. There was a burning in her stomach that she couldn't ignore. It spread through her whole body.

Her body. Daphne was touching her body. Her fingers pulled through Hermione's hair. Hermione could feel Daphne's breath on her neck. Her eyes roved Hermione's face, soaking up every detail.

Daphne hadn't looked at her like this before. Had she? This was new. This was new. It had to be new. They had lived together for four years. This was new. Hermione would have noticed. No one looked at her like that. No one – except Draco. Draco had looked at her like this. Up close. She knew that. Daphne hadn't looked at her like this before. It was the firewhiskey. It was making Daphne do this.

"Hermione?" she whispered. "Are you okay?" Daphne's green eyes stared into Hermione's. Green eyes. Hermione liked green eyes. They were different.

"I'm drunk," said Hermione. That was the answer. The only answer. "You're drunk. We're drunk."

Daphne nodded, keeping eye contact.

"That's why. That's why…"

"I feel this even when I'm not drunk," said Daphne, brushing Hermione's hair away from her face with a finger. "I just… was afraid to tell you." Daphne pushed forward again, mushing their lips together sloppily.

Hermione said the only thing she was certain about. "You're a bad kisser."

Even in the darkness she knew Daphne was blushing. "I'm sorry… I – I've never…"

"You're trying too hard," Hermione said quickly, trying to analyze everything Daphne had done wrong. It made her feel better to make a list and approach it from an objective view. Ignoring Daphne's choice of partner, she didn't really understand the technique. "You are trying to kiss in one dimension, forward and back. Your lips were stiff and your jaw was locked. I'm not an expert but -"

Daphne kissed her again. This time slower, her lips with a bit more give. "How was that?"

Hermione hesitated. It was better, but she wasn't quite sure if it was good or not. It was definitely weird. Daphne felt different than Draco. She smelled different. She kissed different.

But maybe that was better. Maybe that was good.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

Hermione couldn't decide. It was like the firewhiskey. New. Unknown. Yet… not quite different. Well, different, yes. But not that different. Like she'd need another taste to really make a judgment.


People have been calling this development for some time, so I'm pleased my hints have been landing.

For the record, I've never nailed down this Hermione's sexual orientation in my mind as I write. It's hard for me to say she's straight, lesbian or whatever, because she's never expressed any sexual attraction to anyone in passing - and even with Draco it never seemed to be "he's so hot". I see a lot of Hermione's sexual/romantic cues are more a passive mimicry of what she believes are societal rules than her biological compass (hence her resistance to the idea of a girl but not really the feeling). That this would happen doesn't seem out of place to me.