The Weasel, the Boor, and the Ferret

Gryffindor Common Room
POV: Ron Weasley

I watch her angrily make her way into the common room. I've learned to run when she looks like this, but tonight her eyes search me out, unusual since it's usually Harry she looks for.

I'd been lying alone on the sofa, staring at the fire, contemplating some new complications in my life, thoroughly thankful Lavender decided it was high time she was off to partake of her beauty sleep.

Truth be told, I was waiting for Harry to show up. We needed to talk.

I hadn't expected Hermione to be done with her rounds so early.

Hermione stomps over to the sofa and stares down at me, her lip trembling, eyes glistening. She looks incredibly distressed. In response to her disturbing silence, I do what comes naturally and hold my arms out to her. She releases a grateful sort of gasp and a watery look trips across her features as she wilts into me.

She doesn't sob like normal girls, which gets me all choked up, too. I don't do well with crying girls and to see Hermione in this state, well, it threw me for a loop. My heart firmly lodges itself in my throat as I feel the brunt of her wracking shoulders against me. The near convulsive movements should be accompanied by soulful, heart wrenching sobs, but not for Hermione, who shed her tears in near silence. This sort of soundless weeping isn't natural, especially for a girl like her. It shakes me up because the Hermione I know is always full of words, even in fury she's rarely without them. Perhaps I've never seen her truly heartbroken, defenseless.

I comfortingly rub her back and gently push the tumble of hair out of her face. She slides herself next to me on the sofa. I notice how she's lost so much weight that she can easily fit on the remaining expanse of the sofa seat, which isn't a lot of space since I'm flat on my back.

I say nothing, just hold her, and let her shed tears as I continue to stare into the fire and wonder if I have to commit some sort of unthinkable harm to whomever made her come to me this way.

The sound of the portrait hole opening causes Hermione, whose back is to the entrance, to stiffen next to me. I watch that git, Cormac, climb through. He arrogantly swaggers toward Hermione and me. I throw him a warning glare. He shrugs and turns to move toward the boys' dormitory.

"That was Cormac," I whisper. "He was looking for you earlier. Did he find you?"

She nods.

"Is that why you're crying?"

No response.

What ends my questioning is the sound of The Fat Lady's scoldings against the rudeness of students these days as the portrait hole opens wide and slams shut again with some veritable force. I immediately know the cause of Hermione's upset. It doesn't take a grand wizard to read and understand the look on my best mate's face as soon as Harry shoves his way through the opening.

His gaze turns enraged as his eyes fall on the sofa where Hermione and I are. His face twists hatefully at the sight of us before he decides to voice his absolute displeasure.

"Another conquest, Hermione?" he spits out viciously.

I feel her further stiffen and wince at his words.

"Harry!" I admonish with an incredulous shout. I start to stand up, but the feel of Hermione's grip on my upper arm keeps me still.

"What, Ron?!" I see that Harry's decided to vent some of his outlandish anger on me. His green eyes flash and I am reminded that there is definitely something about my best mate that will have him prevailing over the likes of He Who Must Not Be Named. The determination and the dark look Harry sends me, takes me aback. His mouth is in a near snarl as he continues. I find myself holding Hermione just a tad tighter as well.

"Ask Hermione what she's doing in the Room of Requirement with Malfoy, Ron! You wouldn't want to be touching her if you had any idea!"

I glare at Harry for his outrageously nasty insinuation and choose not to respond to his baiting since I sort of have a general idea what's going on between our friend and Malfoy.

I seriously doubt it's anything like what Harry must be imagining, but I do know there is some tenderness growing between the Slytherin and our Hermione. I, surprisingly, have come to terms with the idea of this, but then again, I've also had some time to mull it over. Unfortunately, it's quite obvious that Harry has just been given an earful, and likely an eyeful, if Malfoy had been responsible for doing any of the telling.

Of course, my understanding comes from something I hadn't made Harry privy to, and that's having secretly witnessed Malfoy's small kindnesses toward Hermione those evenings in the library when he thought they were alone.

While he usually never touches her, or her things, he does use his wand and charms, to pull out chairs for her, pick up items off the floor that she's dropped, does most of the heavy lifting, and even offers to Scourgify the ever present ink off her fingers and nose... Malfoy, in fact, does all sorts of things that Harry and I might overlook, or never even think about doing for Hermione.

Perhaps it's because he's meticulous by nature, or more likely, it's in his breeding to behave this way toward any female, whatever her blood. Either way, it's not something Hermione expects. Of this, I'm quite sure. So, in my mind, Malfoy's consistent, and I suppose one might even characterize it as, thoughtful and gentlemanly, behavior is not just out of character, but also seemingly completely without ulterior motive.

What had been downright baffling to watch was that one particularly private moment before he'd left her with the flower, quite unnerving that he looked at her so tenderly as she slept, even reaching out to touch her face with gentleness. Through witnessing this gesture, I knew instinctively that he would likely do all in his power to protect her. I'm not yet sure if he would sacrifice as much as I would, or as much as Harry would, but I knew he would fight for her if push came to shove.

The surprise of this unlikely revelation is perhaps why I am fine with accepting what might be happening between them.

What's more, Hermione, when she's not thoroughly annoyed with him, seems genuinely pleased by Malfoy, which has to count for something.

The thing is, Hermione simply hasn't been herself since coming back to Hogwarts this year. She'd been in such high spirits mid-summer when we'd been owling one another. It was tremendously worrying to see her so downtrodden upon our return. I reckon, it must be even worse than what I think because of the simple fact that I've noticed.

I'll be the first to admit that I usually overlook such things, particularly about her her, because for as long as I've known her, Hermione can be… testy and moody… sometimes… err… most of the time.

So, whatever the cause of this abrupt change in the Ferret, not to mention in this gloomy Hermione, I'd finally determined that if he can manage to put a smile on my best friend's face with such a small token, like a flower, then, she deserved this happiness… even if it is caused by someone as unsavory as Malfoy.

Besides, if there is anyone alive who could find anything redeemable about that prat, it would be Hermione.

Who would've thought?! A Malfoy, growing a heart? And if it were true, would that be so terrible? Isn't that what we're trying to do here? Fan the flames of love, and not hatred? What could possibly be more poetic than a foresworn Mudblood-hater falling in love with a muggleborne witch? Particularly, this one, who's pledged herself one of the truest friends of Gryffindor Golden Boy, Harry Potter.

I frown and shake myself out of my thoughts, returning to the tension-filled present. I look to Harry who is still being ridiculously overbearing.

"How is it any business of ours what Hermione does in her personal life, Harry?" I challenge, quite aware that we're being rude, speaking about her as though she isn't in the room with us. It is suddenly imperative, however, that I hear his answer to my question, so I ignore my lack of manners for a moment.

"We are her friends, Ron," He bites out harshly, in tone that's hardly amiable. "Friends don't let friends snog, or who knows what else, with bastards like Malfoy."

I peer down at Hermione, who now looks more infuriated than woebegone. Her death-like grip on the front of my vest threatens to leave holes in it, but at least it's keeping her from reaching for her wand. Though, at this rate, her internal rage has enough power building in her that she would probably be successful at casting a possibly disfiguring wandless hex at Harry.

"You don't have to answer, Hermione, but did you kiss Malfoy?" I whisper gently, rubbing my hand against her arm, trying for calming as I look into her face.

Her eyes go round, the her eyebrows knit together in what can only be a look of distaste at the suggestion.

It's clear she hasn't.

"Not that it's any business of yours, or mine, but, no, she hasn't Harry," I state simply, looking up, barely recognizing Harry in his all encompassing fury. He takes a step forward and I find my own growl.

"Leave her alone, Harry."

I tighten my hold on Hermione as she burrows deeper into my side.

For a long time, I'd thought that all I'd wanted was this strong girl who is falling apart in my arms. But now that I am showered with attention from others, not just Lavender, I've discovered how much I truly treasure Hermione's unique brand of friendship.

I want her to feel this way about me as well. I rather like being the one she turns to when she feels the way she does at times like these.

I'm also glad to know that, in her eyes, I've finally graduated from teaspoon to, at the very least, serving spoon in so far as my emotional range is concerned. I'd also like to think I can find my safety net in her should our roles ever be reversed.

Harry's green eyes darken with resentment at the sight of us still clutching each other on the sofa.

"I wouldn't have my heart set on being with the likes of her in this way for too long, Ron," Harry gnashes out at me. His venomous words obviously aimed at a different target. "Seems she's got quite a number of admirers she's stringing along. Wouldn't want your heart to be ripped up and stomped on, as well!"

With his parting remark, he slams his way into the boys' dormitory.

Well, he's at least answered one of my questions. I sigh, and settle further into the cushions, my arm loosening, but still encircling Hermione.

"It's OK," I croon as she starts on a new bout of eerily silent weeping. "I understand why you're so upset, Hermione." My voice catches. "I promise, it's going to be OK." I choke these words out as I see her tear-filled eyes search my face.

She works to stem the leaking beneath her lids and places her cheek against mine. I hear her belaboured breathing as her hand comes up to rest on the other side of my face.

"Thank you, Ron," she breathes into my ear when she at last finds her voice. I feel her finally relax into me.

We stay like this for quite a while, discovering in each other the comfort of a friendship that needs no words.

Roaming the halls, pretending to be a prefect
POV: Draco

How I managed enough self-control to stride away from Potter and McLaggen without cursing them is still beyond me.

After Granger's unexpected outburst, I focused solely on the words she'd spat out. No, not the ones she'd shouted in her anger, but those nearly sobbed in bitter sadness. I don't know why these are the ones I can't seem to forget.

"It's becoming ever more clear that no one really knows the true me…" she'd cried. "The only one who can take care of me... is ME!!" her tone so personally familiar it made my heart ache to remember it.

Why did she feel so alone, when so many cared for her?

Even though merely Muggle, she had an intact family at home, didn't she?

Her friends, though insufferable Gryffindors, adored her… to the point of over-protection in Potty's case. Her professors, even Snape, watched out for her!

She shouldn't feel as though she was solely responsible for her own care. Her father wasn't in the most feared prison of Wizarding England! Her friends didn't try to do nefarious things to her while she slept in her bed. She didn't have an aunt who would sell her down the river if it could get her closer to the most vile being to have ever walked the face of the earth.

Her life wasn't being threatened by that very same fearsome man turned evil creature of the dark.

Why did she feel so alone?!

I shake off the dark thoughts, thinking again of Granger blanching at the sight of the accidental appearances of the names in the book. Why would she react so violently to the names that told her the history of that smiling blonde girl in the picture? Isn't this exactly what she'd been so desperate to discover?

I stop to take in my surroundings. It's a good thing I have the right as prefect to wander the halls after curfew.

It is late.

The hallway is dark and deserted on the sixth floor. I pick a window ledge, similar to the one that had me bumping into the Ravenclaw girl on that day Granger fainted and sullied my robes. I sit down, my senses heightened to pick up any sort of sound that might indicate I am not alone. At this time of night, however, it seems precious little will likely interrupt my study of another part of the Slytherin family tree.

Looking left, then right, and seeing that all is clear, I settle back against the wall, propping the book on my bent knees. I stare at the book in my hands. Curiosity overtakes me and I open to the newly blank sheet.

Earlier, after a few failed attempts at throwing parchment rolling charms on the page containing the lengthy Slytherin tree, I'd discovered that all I needed to do to end the enchantment was to simply close the cover of the book. So, I am confident that I can cover my activities fairly quickly if the Guant tree stays within the bounds of the cover, or at the very longest, lands onto my lap.

Tapping my wandtip four times on the top line, I whisper, "I deeply desire to see… one particular family tree." A tree emerges on the page of parchment.

Tapping the top branch of the tree that appears I say softly,

"Book of Wizarding Family Trees, show me the lineage of Gaunt, please."

I didn't known which ancestor to start with at the top, but it doesn't seem to matter. The tree branches above the names I do recognize are a tangled mess as little serpents and even the coiling vines, too numerous to count, slide to other golden names that have fully revealed themselves on the parchment.

I gag at the sight of it.

Seems the jokes about pureblood in-breeding have more than a grain of truth to them. I wonder idly what would happen if I asked for the Malfoy tree, if serpents would also slither to and fro, but I decide against looking too closely at my father's side of the family. Perhaps there is such a thing as knowing too much for one's own good.

I spy the names Marvolo and Merope at the bottom. I don't bother to uncover Merope's Muggle husband's name, leaving that part of the tree blank and untouched. This time, my interests lie in her brother, Morfin. I place my wand on the snake curled around his name. I speak the woman's name I'd already seen tonight.

"Sengue, Miranda."

It appears, as it did before, and the tiny writhing serpent on the parchment goes to grab onto it. Below them, the name Catherine Senguis neè Sengue has a little golden leaf clinging tightly to the "C". I wonder at the name change, but realize it is of little importance.

I carefully place my wand atop this leaf and say, "Mustelidae, Aiden."

I expect his name to appear besides that of Catherine. Instead, it appears below the golden leaf, while the space next to hers remains conspicuously empty. I keep my wand on the leaf and say only the surname, Mustelidae.

Nothing.

Not pureblood, then.

By now, Aiden's name has turned silver.

"Her husband is either a Muggle or a half-blood squib. And Aiden is her son," I breathe softly, clarifying these things for myself by speaking them aloud. I watch as another name intertwines with Aiden's. "He's a half-blood and he married a pureblood named…"

Caroline Mustelidae nèe Geonicy.

It's as golden and as gleaming as Morfin's name.

I watch the golden leaf between the two names, produce an offshoot vine that grabs hold of Caroline's name. I notice a different mark appear below the couple's joined names, a sort of twig-like curiosity, not leafy or coiling like the rest. I wonder at it before placing my wand against the leafless crooked branch. I speak the name I've etched in my memory.

Mustelidae, Emmanuelle Senguis

And there it is… and black it remains. A squib registered with the Ministry, is my guess, as magic-less as her grand-uncle, Tom Riddle Sr., and with the Muggle-tainted blood of her grandfather.

I take a closer look at the family tree, tracing the twisting snakes across the page with my finger. It now looks like a tight maze of writhing snakes criss-crossing and coiling around one another between all of the names. I swallow at the disgusting sight of it. Incredulously, due to all the inbreeding, the tree in front of me is so short it only strays a few centimeters away from the bottom edge of the book cover. I look at Caroline's name and find one small snake that hasn't unfurled itself to reach out to find another name on the parchment. I wonder if Caroline's lover is from her own pureblood family. Since her offspring with her par amour is clearly not a Slytherin heir, I have no immediate need, nor aching desire to uncover this new mystery.

I close the book and tilt the back of my head up against the wall behind me. I turn my gaze to my left to look over the lake and out onto the moon, which is hiding behind trailing, cloudy fingers. The dark inky sky reminds me of the Dark Mark I am expected to take soon. I wonder idily if there is some way, any way, to keep from reaching that particularly gruesome milestone.

My mind wanders to the glowing orb with the prophecy hidden under my pillow.

Perhaps there is.

It appears that Emmanuelle may yet be my saving grace.

I let out a sigh.

I find myself surprisingly distressed at having to involve Granger. I am unused to this feeling of being responsible for the well-being of another, unless the other person is my mother, of course. This pang in my chest has been recurring since allowing Granger under my skin. Now under my current scrutiny, I feel this yet unnamed, uncomfortable emotion turn into resentment and unhappiness. I feel it fester to become full-blown anger, much like the fury I'd felt when first seeing the tears welling in her eyes earlier when she'd screamed her displeasure at both Potty and myself in the corridor.

In my head, I turn this anger onto Granger. Had it not been for her involvement in my life, I would never have allowed myself to feel... this.

I never feel this over anything I do! I, in fact, pride myself upon having no heart. No conscience. Nothing as weak as guilt. Ever. I've spent many years cultivating this reputation. The traits of cunning, practicality, and being without emotion in both our decisions and is very nearly a Malfoy birthright.

But her one whisper, telling me that perhaps I might possess a heart, that I was better for it, no matter how miniscule it might be, is enough to turn me into this blubbering fool.

Infuriating!

Little meddling witch.

And now…

I feel…

And it makes me angry.

Yet, I am also satisfied to have successfully completed the task set before me by my father. He may, at last, be pleased with me.

All I have to do is convince Granger that I need to meet the squib.

Funny how life twists itself to make such dastardly, humorless jokes.

I think of the legendary Gryffindor Know-It-All and let out a frustrated huff.

Stubborn girl.

Too smart for her own good.

Loyal to a fault.

I try to imagine Granger handing her little half-blood squib friend over to the likes of me. After a few minutes, I put a stop to such a ridiculous effort by shutting my eyes and shaking my head. My fingers thread through my hair, gently massaging my scalp to ease the pounding that began with my inability to visualize such a thing ever happening.

Bugger!

It appears the true task still lies before me.

Ruminations in my room
POV: Hermione

I'd managed to avoid both Harry and Malfoy for three days. Everything I would have been pouring over in the presence of the Slytherin has been on temporary hold while I try to reign in my temper and sort through the confusion in my head. Both prats seem bright enough to catch on to the fact that they'd do well to stay out of my way for a while.

The arrogant Cormac is a completely different story, however. The boy has no concept of anything, or anyone, but his egotistical self. In some ways, he is far worse than Malfoy. At least that git had some manners and some intellect to go with his disturbingly attractive self. McLaggen, on the other hand, exhibits the worst aspects of Gryffindor traits. He is aggressive and self-obsessed. His latest pranks are more foolhardy than brave. I doubt he even knows how to be self-sacrificing.

But he is handsome, I have to give him that, and he also serves the double purpose of driving Harry and Malfoy incredibly insane with anger and I've come to realize… jealousy, at least from Harry, to be sure. I still wonder about Malfoy. Whatever the feeling Cormac unveils, it's unpleasant enough for both of them, and because of this, I'm willing to sacrifice one night of my life with the Gryffindor boor to ensure those two self-important males feel more miserable than I do, even if it's only for a couple of hours.

Since I didn't want Ron to be upset as well, I'd admitted all of this to him, this being the sole reason I agreed to go with McLaggen. He surprised me by laughing and confessing his initial reasons for allowing himself to be drawn into a relationship of sorts with Lavender. He sheepishly confessed it all to me that night when he'd been my only lifeline, the arms that held me and pulled me back together again after I allowed myself to finally break apart and let myself be tumbled about in the stormy sea of confusion and self-doubt. As he admitted his puppy love crush on me, I started to look at him differently, particularly because I'd just tearfully confessed to kissing Harry.

He didn't look the least bit surprised at my news about Harry and the mistletoe, a bit bothered, but not surprised.

"Did you want to be kissing me, too, Ron?" I'd whispered like an idiot after he told me he thought he'd been in love with me for half his life.

He smiled lazily.

"Hermione, I would have jumped at the chance last month, but…" he slid his eyes to meet my gaze, a playful smile on his lips, his tone light and teasing. "You know, I've just been informed that you've been pretty busy with Krum, Harry, and who knows what with Malfoy. I've only kissed one girl and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to compete with that lineup."

I'd shot up to sitting at his mild joking, swatting at his arm. "Ron! I never kissed Viktor! Besides you've kissed Lav-Lav lots more! I'm sure you'd…"

"Hermione!" he'd sat up, too, softly returning my swat and saying in feigned outrage, "What are you saying about my ability to stay true to my clingy new sweetheart?!"

Considering we'd just been lying in one another's arms for the better part of two hours, I start chuckling at his fake protestations of complete innocence. We laughed quietly together then, and as we calmed he said, "Look, Hermione, for all intensive purposes, Lavender is my girlfriend now and as tempting as your proposition is, I rather like you and me the way we are. Lavender and me… well, that's another thing altogether..."

I'd hugged him after he said that and started crying out of joy and relief. Once the tears were shed and the hiccuping breaths ended, Ron and I had a nice heart to heart and I was pleased to know that he trusted me implicitly. I told him quietly that there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I'd turn to him first if I needed his help with Malfoy… or Cormac… or even Harry.

Ron seems incredibly happy that I'd assured him of this.

Even though Ron doesn't know the half of my problems this year, having him through this is an unexpected comfort. Usually, he and I are the ones at each other's throats. But with our shared dismay at our respective, ridiculous pairings with the likes of Cormac and Lavender, we've discovered something new to laugh about together. Things have thankfully eased between us. With all my worries, it is good to have a friend like Ron who welcomes me into his arms when I need sympathy, without him demanding I explain everything. In fact, it seems he rather likes it when he can be the quiet, stronger one, while I find myself without the need for incessant talk. Ron seems very contented that he can offer me help in his own way.

Admittedly, I'd only used him as refuge that one night. Lavender is quite territorial, and being female, I somewhat understand the invisible boundaries and work to respect them. I even volunteered to go with her and Pavarti to a Hogsmeade shoppe to help her purchase Ron's Christmas present. I'd tried to warn Lavender against the sweetheart necklace, telling her how it would be the very last thing Ron would want, but she spitefully informed me that I was jealous that she'd thought to give it to him first.

Not needing any more enemies, I left it alone, figuring it would be best to let her get Ron whatever she wanted. It will sure be amusing to see his face when he unwraps it. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be seeing it firsthand. You see, Ron wants me to go to the Burrow for the holidays, but as Harry will be there, I refused the invitation.

I've decided to stay at Hogwarts. There is still the cabinet to fix, after all, and I'm simply not ready to go back to Muggle England to face the realities of home.

In any case, this little sacrifice seems to have softened Lavender's attitude toward me. She's here now, fixing my makeup for Slughorn's party tonight. Pavarti and Lavender are extremely excited about giving me a magical makeover. I try to bite back my displeasure at their handling of my hair as they tug at the tangles. I know they'll make me look presentable. After all, it was through their glamour charms that I looked the way I did for the Yule Ball. I try not to listen to their twittering, pasting a placid smile on my face and following their directions to do things like hold my head in a certain way and look up, or look down as they applied the makeup with their special enchanted cosmetic brushes and tools. It's all quite ridiculous, but I suffer through, if only just for tonight.

I don't look forward to the evening. My avoidance of Harry and Malfoy leaves me in the dark as to whether either, or both, will even be in attendance. As I finally make my way to the common room, I see Ron below, talking to Ginny who can't seem to look me in the eye. Ron, however, is giving me the silent equivalent of a thumbs up sign. I catch sight of Harry, all dressed up, staring up at me, too, a glazed look on his face, as though he'd forgotten that I clean up well. In front of him is McLaggen, looking far too pleased with himself, holding a liquor bottle and a bag of what looks like candied fruit.

My date's a brown noser, too! How delightful!

I force a smile and try to glide down the staircase. I purposely avoid eye-contact with Harry as I link arms with Cormac, and send a wave to Ron, Lavender, and Pavarti.

"Have fun!" is all I hear from the remaining trio as the portrait of the Fat Lady swings closed behind us.

We've only taken ten steps away from our dormitory when I have the horrifying realization that I have absolutely nothing to say to Cormac. I try desperately to come up with something before he starts talking to me about himself and how dashing his suit looks against the color of my dress. I struggle with coming up with a topic that sort of involves him but steers away from anything involving his clothes or Quidditch. He's already started telling me about his tenth spectular save as a Second Year player on the Gryffindor team.

I grit my teeth.

"So, Cormac," I start after several throat clearing, ahems. I find myself staring at his hands, full of gifts. "What have you got there?"

"Oh this? It's Slughorn's favorite, candied pineapples and a really expensive bottle of mead."

I am mildly impressed that he went to the trouble of discovering the professor's favorites.

"Where did you get the liquor?" I ask, recognizing the bottle as one of Madame Rosemerta's. "I mean, how were you able to purchase it, aren't you underage?"

"This?" he queries, lifting the clear glass bottle up to the torchlight. It's previously jaunty-looking bow looking a bit crushed. "I won it by accomplishing a dare. But I can carry the likes of it, drink it even. I am of age, Hermione." His eyes dance wickedly and I dare not ask any more. Besides his obvious intentions toward me, I have a sinking feeling I wouldn't like the real answer of how he got his hands on the bottle even in if I did manage to sort the truth from his exaggerated boasts.

Cormac starts discussing his more recently imagined claims to fame and I tune him out, keeping tomy unconsciously habitual monitoring of the halls. I think I see platinum blond on the level above us as we move toward the open stairwell. I also see Harry making his way to Slughorn's door with an ethereal Luna on his arm.

"Hermione, we're here," Cormac says none to softly, his hand tugging on mine. "Ready for our grand entrance?"

I grown inwardly as I nod my head. He pushes open the slightly ajar door and we are greeted by the sight of a party already in full swing. Professor Slughorn is no where to be seen. I catch Harry's eye for a moment before surveying the rest of the room for a friendlier face. I see Luna beside him looking just as out of place as I feel. I make note to stand by her side whenever her date is gone.

"I wonder where Slughorn is?" Cormac says distractedly, head whipping around in search of his quarry.

"Why don't you go find him and I'll get us some drinks?" I suggest with a fake smile.

"That sounds splendid, Hermione! I'll find you once I hand these off to Slughorn."

I nod and watch him go off on his search. I heave a sigh of relief to be freed of him for a moment. I sneak another look toward Harry whose eyes are riveted to the door.

I turn to look in the direction of his gaze and find myself staring at an triumphant Filch with a struggling, outraged Malfoy in his grip.

Lifting my hand to my mouth in dismay, I watch a smirk of satisfaction slide across Harry's face at the sight before us. I imagine he's hoping that Draco will be severely punished for whatever Filch caught him doing. I see Harry's smirk turn into a scowl as the unexpected occurs. Although I am still miffed at the Slytherin, I smile softly at hearing Professor Slughorn magnanimously offer Malfoy an invitation to join the party. As I head to the table to gather a couple of drinks, I pass the blond, who sauntered in as soon as he shook himself free of Filch's hand.

"Granger," he says in greeting, but also a question, it seems, as his head is inclined toward me.

It is the first word between is in days. I say nothing, but stare at him. He looks a tad remorseful, I realize. I soften my gaze.

"What is it Malfoy?"

"I'd been hoping to see you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Granger."

"Why?"

"We need to talk."

"Now?"

He scoffs and shakes his head. I spy Harry's approach from the corner of my eye.

"Tell me when and where by owl, then," I say quickly. He nods and seems to spot Cormac as soon as I do. He frowns as he watches my date hand off the host gifts he'd brought to Professor Slughorn.

"Tell me you were with that git when he bought those things for Slughorn," Malfoy whispers darkly, for my ears alone.

"No," I reply quickly, curious, but all the while nervous as Harry draws nearer. "Cormac said he'd won them in some sort of wager."

"I see," I watch his eyes flash in irritation. But before I can ask Malfoy exactly what he sees, Harry is behind me, facing the sneering blond. I look around in a desperate attempt to locate Luna who I eventually discover talking to Professor Trelawney. It appears as though there's to be no luck in getting distracting wrackspurt and nargle talk to diffuse this situation.

I turn my back to Malfoy and slowly tilt my head up to meet Harry's eyes with a narrowed glare.

It is Harry who I hold the most spite for, after all. I can't believe he's going to try to duplicate the same horror of the other night here at a Christmas party!

"You've been avoiding me, Hermione."

I can almost feel the tiniest change in air pattern at my back as I imagine Malfoy arching an eyebrow.

I don't speak. At my silence, Harry looks like he's going to pitch a fit and I can sense the amusement rolling off of Malfoy in tsunami sized waves at Harry's obvious discomfort.

Harry spares Malfoy a disdainful glance, but carries on as though I'd acknowledged he was speaking to me. I turn my face to avoid eye-contact, but my ears perk, continuing to listen to what my best friend has to say. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Ferret has no intention of leaving. I hope he keeps his trap shut through this, because I actually want to hear Harry grovel for my forgiveness.