A/N: I think this might be my favourite chapter I've written so far - although the next one is pretty good too! A couple of scenes in this take lines of dialogue from HBP chapter 15 - as always, I don't own them or any of the HP universe :)

Hermione wasn't sure if she had just done something very clever or very stupid.

She was going to Slughorn's Christmas party with Cormac McLaggen.

It was Friday, the last day of term and the day of the party itself, and she had practically accosted McLaggen in the corridor between lessons, having figured that the hallways would be so crowded and everyone else so focused on getting to the next lesson that she was unlikely to be noticed.

She blurted the question out so quickly the first time around that, coupled with the raucous noise made by a student body on the verge of breaking up for the Christmas holidays, McLaggen had bent his head low – and far too close, in her opinion – and asked her to repeat herself.

"I was just… I was just wondering if you were going to Slughorn's part tonight." She practically had to shout over the din in the corridor. Gods, this was mortifying.

"Sadly not – no invite." McLaggen was staring at her in a very intense way. If she'd had to guess, she would have presumed he was trying to smoulder, but he came across looking mildly constipated. Her mind drifted briefly to a different pair of eyes, steely and grey…

"Right." She cleared her throat and gave her head a little shake. "Well, er, would you like to come? To the party, I mean."

"With you, Granger?" Cormac gave what was clearly his most dashing grin, and raised a hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Every fibre of her being screamed in protest, but she forced herself to bear her teeth in what she hoped was an approximation of a smile.

"Yes. With me."

"I'd be delighted." He swept up her hand before she could stop him and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Meet you down in the common room at eight?"

"Mmhm." That was the most she could manage; if she opened her mouth any further, she thought she might actually vomit.

"I'll see you then." McLaggen winked, and drifted off into the crowd of students.

Hermione wiped the back of her hand vigorously on her robes. She was acutely aware that this was a problem entirely of her own making.

That morning in Transfiguration, she had laughed at Ron's first attempt at human transfiguration, in which he had given himself a ridiculous handlebar moustache instead of changing the colour of his eyebrows. Admittedly, this had been unkind, but it really was a pitiful attempt, and since Ron had made absolutely no effort to apologise or even speak to her since he and Lavender had got together – which, in her opinion, was just plain rude – she felt like it was justified. It was no matter that a certain blond Slytherin was currently driving her mad with desire and that she hadn't the slightest urge to kiss Ron herself… it was just the principle of the thing.

And yes, she supposed that attacking him with a flock of birds might warrant its own apology, but Ron spent so much of his time glued to Lavender's face that Hermione didn't see how she was supposed to get a word in bloody edgeways.

If you didn't spend so much time in dark classrooms with Draco Malfoy, then perhaps you might find the opportunity, the malicious little voice in her head sung. Hermione snuffed it out violently.

And besides, Ron had looked bloody stupid with that moustache. Anyone would have laughed.

Ron then proceeded to jump up and down in his seat, waving his hand in the air and breathing heavily every time Hermione answered a question. She quickly deduced – from Lavender and Parvati's helpless giggling and from the set of Harry's mouth, which was so pressed so firmly it had practically disappeared – that this was an impression of her.

She was absolutely mortified to find tears spring to her eyes. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and willed herself to hold it together. How did she always, somehow, end up the butt of Ron's moronic jokes?

At the end of the lesson, Hermione bolted out of the classroom before realising that she had left half of her belongings behind. Slamming the toilet door closed in a girls' bathroom one floor below, she gave herself precisely two minutes to cry. She suddenly felt eleven years old again, hiding in a bathroom on Halloween, sobbing her heart out because her hopes of making friends had once again be dashed.

Then, she wiped her eyes and made up her mind.

On exiting the cubicle, she came face to face with Luna Lovegood, which somewhat threw her newly-formed determination off kilter.

"Oh… hello, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione." Luna beamed. "Oh! You've been crying."

"Uh… yes." Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror and grimaced slightly at her red-ringed eyes. "It's nothing really." She ran her hands under the cold tap, letting the water flow over the pulse points at her wrists.

"Did someone upset you?" Luna's big, pale eyes blinked slowly.

Ron's face and that stupid handlebar moustache and his stupid fucking impression flashed before Hermione's eyes.

"As a matter of fact, Luna, yes. Someone did upset me. Ronald Weasley."

With that, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the bathroom. Luna followed, nodding sagely. Outside, they bumped into Harry, who had appeared carrying the remainder of Hermione's belongings.

"Thank you, Harry. Well, I'd better get going…" She strode off before he could say another word – and before her rage could dissipate – in search of McLaggen.

But now, Hermione's rage had very much dissipated, and she was left in an empty corridor with a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and the horrible feeling of McLaggen's mouth on the back of her hand.

Her mind drifted back to Draco. For a split second, back in the girls' bathroom, she had considered asking him to Slughorn's party. If she thought McLaggen might annoy Ron, she was positively certain that Draco would give him a pulmonary embolism. But there was a part of her that knew, deep down, that this would be a step too far, even when she was at her most angry. Her friendship with Ron would never recover. And besides, she knew Draco would never agree. She couldn't even imagine saying the words to him. He would probably laugh in her face – or at least give her that maddening half smirk.

She tried to imagine doing anything with Draco in the presence of other people. Walking together, talking – not including throwing insults, which they had been practicing for years – holding hands. The thought of it made her squirm uncomfortably. It felt like two worlds colliding – two worlds which had no business crossing over. She wondered if that thought ought to make her sad. Really, what was she doing with him? It wasn't like their… situation… was ever going to develop into a relationship. The idea was laughable. So, wasn't it all just a big waste of time?

She continued with this somewhat existential and slightly morbid contemplation all morning and throughout lunch – if only to block from her mind any thoughts of the evening's party, which made her stomach heave a little.

On her way to Defence Against the Dark Arts that afternoon, she passed Draco on a stairway up to the fourth floor. He held her gaze for just a little longer than necessary, and she felt a rush of desire spreading up her neck and pooling low down in the base of her stomach. All her existential questioning faded into insignificance.

Weak, weak, weak, the little voice in her head chanted gleefully. This time, she let it.

At dinnertime in the Great Hall, Hermione sat herself some distance away from Harry and Ron. She half-heartedly pushed at her stew, dreading the evening to come and hating the awkwardness between them all.

"Oh, hi, Hermione!"

Hermione looked up at the sound of Parvati's voice. At the same time, she caught sight of Ron attaching himself to Lavender's mouth. Hermione didn't want to forget that Parvati too had laughed at Ron's impression earlier that day, but the poor girl looked so uncomfortable at the activities going on beside her that Hermione almost felt sorry for her. Besides, this was an excellent opportunity to put her plan into action; she might as well grab it with both hands.

"Hi, Parvati! Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

Parvati shook her head and explained she didn't have an invite. "You're going though, aren't you?"

Thank you, Parvati.

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight and we're going to the party together." Hermione smiled her widest smile. She was aware of Ron disentangling himself from Lavender with a rather sickening noise, but kept her eyes determinedly on Parvati.

"Cormac McLaggen, you mean?"

"That's right. The one who almost became Gryffindor Keeper."

Too much? No, Parvati's wide-eyed gaze suggested Hermione's words were having just the right effect.

"Are you going out with him then?"

Hermione didn't let herself falter. "Oh yes, didn't you know?" She forced out a high-pitched giggle. Okay, that had probably been too much. She could feel Harry's eyes burning into her from several seats down the table.

"No! Wow, you like Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen…" Parvati was positively beaming.

Should she...? Could she? She saw again Ron's hand waving in the air in Transfiguration, mocking her… Fuck it.

"I like really good Quidditch players. Well, see you. Got to go and get ready for the party." And she swung her legs over the bench and hurried out of the Great Hall without looking at anyone. When she reached the deserted Entrance Hall, she took a moment to lean against the wall, her legs trembling.

You are a bad person, said the little voice.

I know, thought Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione. Can I come in?"

Hermione, currently sat crossed-legged on the floor of the dormitory in front of a full-length mirror, looked up to see Parvati's head appear around the door, a hesitant expression on her face.

"Sure, Parvati. Sorry, I've sort of spread out a bit here – I never know what I'm doing when it comes to dressing up!" She gestured to the array of discarded clothes on her bed and the make-up currently scattered across the floor. Some of it had been borrowed from Ginny, and the rest were cast-offs from her cousin.

"I was actually going to ask if you wanted any help." Parvati gave a small smile and twisted her hands together, obviously nervous.

Hermione could recognise an olive branch when she was offered one.

"That would be really nice, actually." She smiled back and shuffled over a bit so that Parvati could join her on the floor in front of the mirror. "I need all the help I can get!"

Parvati shook her head. "You're much better at this that you think you are. Remember the Yule Ball?"

"Yes, but I had hours to get ready then, and a lot of hair potion." Hermione ran a hand over the top of her head, grimacing slightly at the amount of fly-aways.

"Your curls are beautiful, you should embrace them a bit more." Parvati moved behind Hermione and began gathering strands of hair. "I think we should just pin these front pieces back. Hey, pass me those bobby pins."

Hermione dutifully passed the pins back to Parvati, who began fixing her hair with a determined expression. When she was done, she pulled a few tendrils out to frame Hermione's face, and beamed at her in the mirror.

"There – perfect!"

"I don't know about that, but it looks good. Thanks! Do you think I need a lipstick?" Hermione began rifling through the makeup on the floor, searching for one that she knew Eleanor had given her over the summer.

"Well, what are you wearing?" Parvati rose and turned her attention to the pile of dresses.

"Um… I have no idea." Hermione let out a small laugh. "The pink one fits me best, but I don't think it's very me."

Parvati located the dress in question and held it up appraisingly. It was short and sleeveless, with a pleated skirt and a V-neck. The bodice had delicate stitching that Hermione loved, although the neck plunged rather more deeply than she would have liked – not because she was feeling prudish, but because she dreaded giving Cormac any more ideas than he already had.

"I think it's perfect!" Parvati said firmly, clearly noticing the apprehensive look on Hermione's face. "And look, these gold heels will go perfectly. And I think I have a necklace you can borrow."

"Oh no, you don't need – " Hermione began, but Parvati pushed the dress forcefully into Hermione's arms and gestured for her to put it on, before turning her attention to the jewellery box on her bed.

"Here." Parvati waved a necklace in Hermione's direction. It was very beautiful, and did go perfectly with the dress…

"Thanks, Parvati." Hermione beamed as the other girl reached up to fasten the chain for her.

Parvati smoothed out the skirt of Hermione's dress and brushed a few pieces of hair back from her face, lips pressed firmly together. Hermione could tell she wanted to say something, but didn't want to push. Eventually, Parvati stopped fussing with Hermione's outfit and stepped back.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about earlier." She spoke quickly, not meeting Hermione' eyes. "You know, for laughing in Transfiguration. It wasn't even a funny joke… I don't know why I did it."

"It's okay." Hermione shrugged, and Parvati looked up, her eyes wide and grateful. "I know you're Lavender's best friend and things are a bit… weird between me and her and Ron right now."

"Yes, but…" Parvati looked like she was fighting an internal battle.

"I don't blame Lavender at all! It's Ron that I'm annoyed with – but not for the reasons you probably think. I would have just liked him to have spoken to me, seeing as we were going to this party together. But it really, truly doesn't matter that he and Lavender are together. Although… Never mind." Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head as Parvati looked up expectantly. As much as she appreciated the apology, she didn't fully trust that Parvati not to repeat everything that was said to Lavender.

"What?"

"No really, it doesn't matter." Hermione gathered up her wand and a small beaded bag.

"It's just… if you were going to say that you were sick of the sound of the two of them sucking at each other's faces every minute of every day, and that you'd actually just like to have one conversation with your best friend in peace, and that the name 'Won-Won' makes you physically die a little bit inside every time you hear it, then you would be completely justified."

The words seemed to rush out of Parvati's mouth before she could stop them. Her mouth formed a surprised little 'o' and she raised a hand as if to cover her face.

Hermione's lip twitched, and suddenly the two girls collapsed helplessly with laughter, clutching at each other's arms until they couldn't breathe.

"Why is there so much suction?!" Parvati howled.

"Please… please don't!" Hermione gasped, wiping at her eyes. "You're going to ruin my already rubbish attempts at makeup!"

"Oh, no, no!" Parvati waved her hands wildly, snatching up a tissue from the box beside her bed and dabbing at Hermione's face. "You look too pretty."

Eventually, their laughter died down, but Hermione felt a million times lighter. Even the thought of Cormac, who was probably waiting for her down in the common room at that very moment, couldn't dampen her mood.

"Please don't tell anyone I said that." Parvati whispered, the corners of her mouth twitching again.

"I won't – pinky promise." Hermione held her little finger out, and Parvati intertwined it with her own. "I really needed that laugh."

"You're welcome." Parvati let out a small chuckle. "Oh, wait! Lip gloss." She snatched up a tube from the floor and held it out to Hermione. "Now you're ready. Have fun tonight!"

Hermione supposed she might have enjoyed the party – the decoration and music were beautiful, the guests interesting, and the food and drink delicious – if Cormac wasn't so determined to place a hand somewhere on her body at all times.

He had actually tried to kiss her cheek down in the common room, but she swerved past him towards the portrait hole with a quick "Don't want to be late!" On the way to Slughorn's office, she kept feeling his fingers brush against hers; she crossed her arms and marched slightly ahead of him, despite the fact that she couldn't walk very steadily in her heels at the best of times. All evening, he had been passing her food and drink, which she would have appreciated if not for the lingering touches on her hand and arm every single bloody time. At one point, whilst they were talking to Melinda Bobbin, a sprig of Mistletoe had drifted overhead and Cormac had attempted to sling an arm casually across her shoulders. Hermione jumped so violently that her drink had split all over his shoes.

"Oh, gosh! Sorry, sorry. Let me run and get a napkin!" She took the opportunity to dash away before he could stop her.

Where the hell were Harry and Luna? Ginny? Quite frankly, Hermione would have taken a conversation with Pansy Parkinson at that point.

As she circled the room, desperately searching for one of her friends, she caught the eye of Blaise Zabini. He gave her an odd, lingering look, before dipping his head politely and turning away to resume his conversation.

For a second, her blood ran cold. Did he know about her and Draco? No, surely not. Blaise was often quiet and reserved, rarely joining in with the other Slytherins' outright bullying of her, but a curl of his upper lip or a slight quirk of his brow as she spoke – both of which were regular occurrences during their lessons – told her all she needed to know about his opinion of her and her blood status. She sincerely doubted that he would freely accept whatever it was that her and Draco were doing – which was why she knew, despite them never having explicitly discussed it, that Draco was keeping their meetings just a secret as she was.

Her thoughts turned to Draco. What was he doing at this very moment, she wondered? Again, she imagined that he was the one accompanying her to the party instead of Cormac – in some other parallel universe where no one would question it. She imagined his hand pressing into the small of her back as they mixed with Slughorn's guests, long fingers brushing back a piece of hair from her face, grey-blue eyes watching her in that way as she sipped her drink. He might even ask her actual questions instead of just talking at her about mind-numbing Quidditch moves. By this time, they might have left the party, slipping away to a dark corridor to continue the evening alone…

She suddenly became aware that she had frozen in front of the drinks table, a faraway look clouding her face. Blushing furiously, she snatched up a glass and hurried on through the crowd, eyes darting left to right in desperate search of a familiar jet-black head of hair.

Honestly. If she had told herself mere months ago that she was going to be standing in public mooning over anyone – let alone Draco Malfoy – she would have laughed in her own face. Hermione Jean Granger didn't pine, she didn't get crushes, and she didn't let her emotions get the better of her. Even with Viktor, who by all accounts had been out of her league, he was the one who had pursued her. She would never have spared him a second glance if he hadn't approached her in the library. But now look. Was this just a part of growing into adulthood, she wondered? Did she need to embrace this part of her, the part that she hadn't known existed, that had crept up on her and was now slowly consuming her, day by day? She didn't know if she wanted to, but she wasn't certain she could stop it.

"Hermione!"

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!" Hermione snapped out of her reverie as the glorious sight of Harry and Luna swam into focus before her.

"What happened to you?"

"Oh, I've just escaped – I mean I've left Cormac. Under the mistletoe." Hermione found that she couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes. She stared resolutely at her feet and attempted to smooth back a few curls that had escaped her hairpins.

"Serves you right for coming with him." Harry snapped.

If only you knew the half of it, the little voice in Hermione's head squealed gleefully.

Her blood boiled at the hypocrisy of it. Why did Ron constantly get a free pass for acting like a prat? If he hurt her feelings intentionally, it was only because he cared. If it was unintentional, it was simply because he didn't know any better. And all the while, she was just supposed to grin and bear it? Fuck that.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron the most. I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole…"

Hermione bit back further retorts and guided them over to the drinks table, where Professor Trelawny stood sentry. Hermione let Luna's conversation with the Divination professor wash over her and instead scanned the room for any signs of an approaching McLaggen. After a second, she realised that Harry was still hissing determinedly in her ear.

"Are you planning to tell Ron you interfered at the Keeper tryouts?"

Hermione balled her fists together so hard that her nails bit painfully into the fleshy skin of her palms. So she couldn't even do Ron a favour without having it thrown back in her face? He wouldn't even be on the bloody team if it wasn't for her.

"Do you really think I'd stoop that low?" She snapped back. It wasn't often that Harry properly irritated her, but for the second time that evening she decided a conversation with Pansy Parkinson would be preferable to the one she was currently experiencing.

"Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen – "

"There's a difference. I've no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at the Keeper tryouts."

"Good, because he'll just fall apart again and we'll lose the next match – "

That was the final straw for Hermione.

"Quidditch! Is that all you boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to A Hundred Great Saves Made By Cormac McLaggen non-stop, ever since – " She was cut short, however, by the sight of McLaggen himself sidestepping Professor Sinistra and craning his neck in their direction.

"Oh no, here he comes!"

Before Harry could say another word, Hermione had ducked out of sight and elbowed her way through the crowd. She'd had more than enough for one night, thank you very much. With the door fixed firmly in her sights, she dodged several more people who looked like they wanted a chat, waved an apologetic hand at a white-coated man proffering a drinks tray in her direction, and had almost made it to the edge of the party, when two figures came barrelling into the room.

The sounds of the party slowly died away to a shocked silence.

"Professor Slughorn, I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him an invitation?" It was Filch, wheezing slightly from the apparent effort of retaining order in the castle.

Hermione turned her gaze to the boy in question and her heart skipped a beat.

"Alright, I wasn't invited! I was trying to gatecrash, happy?" Draco pulled his arm free of Filch's grip, a scowl of pure malice clouding his graceful features.

The caretaker responded, but his words were lost on Hermione. Her eyes were fixed resolutely on Draco's face, willing those steely grey eyes to look her way, whilst simultaneously praying he didn't notice her. If he did, she didn't think she could be held responsible for her actions.

He's lying, the little voice in her head was frantic. He's lying, he's lying, he's lying.

Draco Malfoy didn't gatecrash. And Draco Malfoy certainly wouldn't lower himself to this kind of social humiliation without good reason. So what on earth was he up to?

He's looks ill, doesn't he? The voice was goading her now, but Hermione couldn't disagree. In the soft candlelight of the party, Draco's skin had taken on a greyish hue, and the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than ever.

Slughorn seemed willing to let bygones be bygones and allow Draco to stay – Hermione noticed that his wine glass kept refilling itself, which might have had something to do with his current benevolence – but Professor Snape clearly had other ideas. Taking Draco by the upper arm, Snape had moved him bodily from the room before Slughorn could draw breath. There was a moment of silence, when no one seemed quite sure what to make of Malfoy's sudden appearance, but then the band started up again and everyone turned back to the party without a second thought.

Amongst the commotion, Hermione noticed a shock of black hair heading purposefully toward the doorway.

"Harry." She hissed, but he was too far away to hear her over the din of the party, and besides, Hermione recognised the look of single-minded determination on her friend's face; a Hungarian Horntail swooping down through the ceiling and breathing fire over them all would have likely gone unnoticed by Harry in this state.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Hermione pushed through the remnants of the crowd that lingered by the doorway and stuck her head out into the corridor, just in time to see Harry's feet disappearing under the swish of the invisibility cloak.

"For Merlin's sake." She muttered through clenched teeth, weighing up her options. Did she follow? Did she wait here, to see if Harry or Draco returned? Or did she simply head back up to Gryffindor Tower, pull her duvet over her head, and pretend this whole sorry evening had never occurred?

The cool air of the dark corridor soothed her pounding heart and heightened her senses; she thought she could hear sharp voices emanating from a classroom not too far away.

A moment's uncharacteristic deliberation followed, in which she shuffled anxiously from one foot to the other. Eventually – despite her every Gryffindor instinct screaming in protestation – she let her intuition lead her away from Slughorn's office, away from the direction of the voices, and instead towards the nearest staircase. Once there, she dropped down on the steps and smoothed her dress across her lap. She would wait; these stairs provided the quickest route up to the Gryffindor common room, as well as down to the Entrance Hall and the dungeons beyond. Eventually, she reasoned, someone was going to walk her way.

Aimlessly, she trailed her wand through the air, letting little red and gold sparks illuminate the dark corridor. It was in these small moments – not in the classroom or on her many adventures with Harry and Ron, but instead when she let her magic stream out of her wand like bubbles at a children's birthday party – that she felt most in awe of her power. It had been six years now, but some days she still had to stop and remind herself that all of this was real.

After what felt like an age, in which she tried not to count the seconds by listening to the beating of her heart, she heard footsteps approaching. Rising to her feet and shoving her wand into the pocket of her skirt, she turned, not knowing whether she was to be greeted by a black or a blond-haired figure, but knowing deep down which one she would prefer.

The sight of Draco's silver head took all the air out of her lungs.

"Wait." It was only a whisper, but her words cut through the silent corridor like ice.

His head was bowed, his fists clenched at his sides. He wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't spoken, but at the sound of her voice, his eyes snapped up and he froze at the top of the staircase.

"Are you – " Are you crying? She wanted to ask, her eyes drinking in the tear tracks that marked his hollow cheeks. But she knew that wouldn't be an acceptable question, so instead she whispered, "Are you alright?"

Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

An idea took root within her, and she found herself holding out a hand.

Please take it, please take my hand, please don't walk away from me.

A heartbeat. Then another.

He reached out and laced his fingers into hers. His eyes never left her face. She thought she might have forgotten how to breath.

"Follow me."