Hermione tore the bread in half, then in half again, picking it apart in her fingers until she couldn't anymore. Eyeing the other occupants of the table, she popped it into her mouth and hoped she didn't look too odd.
She didn't know why she kept accepting these invitations. Maybe because it felt rude not to, or because Harry seemed to think coming was important. She couldn't leave him alone, after all. Although, given that he was always sat next to Ginny, maybe he didn't need Hermione that much.
The chair to her right pulled out abruptly. She pretended to ignore Draco as he sat and pulled his napkin onto his lap; he almost certainly looked just as disinterested in her.
"I'm surprised you're here," she murmured.
"Well, if you'd stop accepting invitations on behalf of both of us, maybe I wouldn't feel so obligated to come."
"I don't accept them on your behalf —"
"Yes, but once he's invited us both and you've said yes, I can hardly say no, can I? Not when he knows we have the same schedule —"
"We didn't come from brewing today. You could've made something up."
Draco picked up his name card and placed it delicately by one of his crystal goblets. "And miss the chance to watch McLaggen molest you from across the table? I can assure you, Granger, there is nowhere else I'd rather be."
The rest of the seats filled in quickly and Slughorn summoned the first course. It was a lovely soup, in which Hermione dipped her bread for lack of anything else to do with her hands. She really did need to break the fidgeting habit. Draco looked scandalised.
Soup progressed into an elaborately decorated roast which was excessively praised by all. This was highly unnecessary to Hermione; it wasn't like Slughorn was the one who cooked it! Draco smirked at her displeased expression, and then began properly chortling when Cormac gave her a passionate look whilst chewing a roast potato.
By the time dessert came, everyone had been questioned at least once by the host about their latest projects and aspirations. Hermione could honestly say she didn't listen to most of it, spending her time instead focusing on her dinner, Harry's wilted expression across the table, or the occasional sniffs of derision from her right.
Dessert broke into coffee and — for those allowed — Firewhisky. The dining table was disbanded in favour of the armchairs and sofas. Hermione immediately flew to Harry and Ginny, who were sat suspiciously close to each other on one of the cosier loveseats.
"Merlin, Hermione," said Harry apologetically, scooting over to make her room, "I wish we got to choose our seats. This would be so much better if I could talk to you at the table."
"I dunno, Harry," she replied airily, "I think you're close to developing an entirely new language using only your eyebrows."
Ginny snorted into her butterbeer at that. "There you go — that'll make Slughorn proud, since you'll never be the Potions prodigy he's dreaming of."
Harry frowned. "Malfoy's not treating you badly, is he?"
"What? No —"
"It's just, I thought I saw him whispering a few times —"
"Oh — it's nothing, Harry, don't worry."
"Yeah…" Hermione followed his gaze and realised he was watching Draco and Blaise Zabini with a faraway look in his eyes. The two Slytherins (the only ones invited) were stood by the fire, clearly trying to look haughty as they conversed with each other. Hermione wondered if they were saying anything at all.
"It's weird, seeing you come in with him," Harry blurted after a second. "I mean, not tonight, obviously, but most times… it's strange."
"Yeah, I know, Harry, it's — oh, God, Cormac's coming!"
In an instant, Ginny's arm was around Hermione's shoulder, locking her into a very intense simulated conversation. "Pretend I'm telling you about a breakup," she instructed her sternly.
"What? What breakup —"
"Just look like a sensitive friend, Hermione!"
"Oh! Right! Sorry."
"Blokes never want to get near this sort of thing, don't worry. He'll be gone in a second — don't look!"
"Sorry!"
Hermione's hands fidgeted in her lap; she didn't know what her face would do if Ginny came to her with romantic issues, so she gave up on acting and waited for Ginny's startlingly strong arms — shouldn't be a surprise, given she's a Chaser — to release her.
"There you go! All gone."
Hermione finally looked up and saw McLaggen off at the other end of the room, chatting with a Ravenclaw. Beside her on the sofa, Harry looked unsure.
"That was… the weirdest girl thing I've ever seen."
"Worked, didn't it?" countered Ginny, and Harry got a very warm look in his eyes.
Before Hermione could think on what that might mean, Slughorn summoned her with an "Ah, Miss Granger! Mr Malfoy! Do come — I think you'll want to see this!" and she regretfully left for Slughorn.
He was sat in the middle of a very plush settee, a photo-frame in his hands. Draco came up beside her and Slughorn looked up at the pair of them, evidently thrilled.
"Come! Miss Bobbin has found a particularly fascinating relic which I think you will both enjoy. Come — sit! There's plenty of room — yes, that's it —"
There was not plenty of room, Hermione discovered bitterly as she squished herself into the small space on his left-hand side. Was Slughorn simply unaware of how much room he took up? Surely he would have transfigured the sofa, if he did.
She found herself uncomfortably pressed against his side, his elbow practically in her stomach as he showed them the photograph.
"You see that young man — there, near the middle? Just gave a wave. That is Damocles Belby, inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion!"
Slughorn looked between them with glee, waiting for some kind of reaction, which Draco quickly supplied.
"Is it really, sir? Remarkable!"
"It is, indeed, Mr Malfoy! He was a student of mine, and a very good one at that. One of the best, I daresay, and not just at Potions!"
"I can imagine, sir, he must have been —"
"Outstanding! Yes, truly an outstanding wizard. He walked these halls, just like you; joined me for dinner in this very office on numerous occasions! And, if I may say so, I do sincerely believe he would be quite impressed by the work you two have done." He looked between them seriously, imparting the gravity of this distant man's approval, then his expression lightened. "Miss Granger? What do you think?"
"Oh! Erm, it's very — well, he's…" Slughorn smiled, patiently awaiting her ecstatic delight, while Draco smirked at her from behind his shoulder. She swallowed. "It's — it's quite extraordinary, isn't it?"
"Extraordinary! Yes, indeed it is! And what a pleasure it is of mine to be able to bring such uniquely talented witches and wizards together — oh, but if you'll excuse me, I do believe Mr Macmillan — Mr Macmillan! Yes, just a moment —"
With great effort, Slughorn pried himself from the sofa and Hermione immediately fell into the vacant space he left behind. Draco did the same, their shoulders bumping violently, and they jumped apart just as quickly before settling into a polite distance.
Once she determined no-one had seen it, Hermione closed her eyes and took a stilling breath.
Draco snickered.
"Shut up."
"For someone who claims to be so clever, you can be utterly clueless. It's hilarious."
"I said shut up," she whined, opening her eyes and trying to will away the discomfort. "I hate that sort of thing."
"How? He literally told you exactly what to say."
"Yes, but it's so — disingenuous!"
Draco sighed dramatically. "I will never understand you, Granger."
That's perfectly fine by me.
Hermione smoothed down her robes over her lap and surveyed the room. Most people looked bored, or tipsy. Then there was Harry, sitting as close to Ginny as he could, and wearing the most idiotic smile Hermione had ever seen.
Draco shifted closer to her. "Are Potter and —?"
"I don't know," she whispered quickly. "I don't know. And…" She squinted as Harry adjusted his glasses, looked around the room, and nervously scooted an inch farther away from Ginny's thigh. "I don't think Harry knows, either."
Draco swore under his breath and Hermione pointedly looked away from whatever was — or was not — occurring.
Several minutes passed. Hermione caught herself worrying the ends of her sleeves three times and accepted a mug of butterbeer for the sake of having something to hold.
"I think he's giving out pineapple now," reported Draco from her right.
"That does seem to be his preferred currency."
"He was Head of Slytherin, you know," Draco said distantly, "many years ago, when my fa—" He stopped and Hermione held her breath, heart thrumming. His exhale tickled the hairs by her ear. "Many years ago."
"And are you proud to have him in your House?" She sipped her butterbeer.
With a snort, Draco answered, "At least he's not doing whatever Potter's just done."
Hermione's eyes darted to Harry. He was currently mopping his front from where he'd apparently dribbled on himself. Beside him, Ginny held a half-empty butterbeer, laughing. After watching him struggle for a minute, she finally put him out of his misery and cleaned him up with a Scourgify, which Harry had evidently forgotten he could do.
"Are you proud to have that in your House is the real question."
Hermione sighed. She was ready to leave now. By the look of most others in the room, she was not alone.
"Mr McLaggen! I meant to ask about your uncle, Tiberius! How is he?"
Hermione stared into her half-full mug and wondered if it would be impolite not to finish it.
"Thank you for asking, professor! He's quite well — doing lots of very important work with the minister lately…"
Having decided against it, Hermione drained the rest of her butterbeer and had the odd thought that, in a universe where Lucius Malfoy had not been arrested, it would be Draco boasting of his father's achievements instead.
"Yes, professor," McLaggen gushed, louder this time, his voice carrying over the room. Hermione resisted the urge to wince. "I'm very proud to have a family who are willing to sacrifice so much, so selflessly, for the benefit of wizarding society. There are certain people, of course, who would abuse power like that for their own selfish gain" — beside her, Draco had gone very stiff — "and I greatly admire my family who are working so tirelessly to keep us all safe in these difficult times."
"Yes, yes of course. And Tiberius is quite close to Minister Scrimgeour, am I right?"
"Oh, yes. And can I just say that Rufus is very determined to weed out everyone who might be tempted to, shall we say, get in the way of the Ministry's noble work."
"I'm sure, Mr McLaggen; very good, very good…"
Hermione hadn't breathed in what felt like a minute. To her right, Draco still sat rigid; several people were giving him uneasy or smug looks.
The tension broke. Draco shifted, stood, muttered, "Excuse me," and walked out the door.
Dumbledore did not look well. No-one acknowledged it, but he almost always looked ashen and weary; sometimes he didn't come to meals at all. Hermione still found it difficult to look at his right hand, blackened and limp on the table beside him.
She plucked a sandwich off the pile in front of her and tried not to think about it too much. Beside her, Harry flipped through the Half-Blood Prince's book. Ron, on the opposite side, was studying a piece of parchment covered in elaborate Quidditch diagrams. Every few moments, he'd tap it with his wand, moving the hypothetical players into different positions.
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry, emerging from his book. "I meant to ask — who's your date to the Christmas party?"
"Date?" Hermione shrieked.
"Well, yeah. I'm surprised McLaggen hasn't asked you, actually."
"Oh, God," she breathed, appalled, already imagining Cormac's inevitable proposal, "I had no idea this was a datesituation."
"Well it doesn't have to be. It's just a plus-one, so you can bring whomever you like. People are going a bit mad, actually, since he said we could bring people who aren't in the Club."
"Ron."
Ron looked up from his work, half-chewed crisps still in his mouth. "Yeah?"
"You're coming with me to Slughorn's party."
"At Christmas? That's months away —"
"Plenty of time to clear your diary, then."
"But — but we're not —"
"It's not a date, Ronald!" He visibly relaxed at this. "I thought you wanted to see what they're like, anyway, these parties."
"I mean… yeah, alright. I'll go with you."
Harry grinned. "Best be prepared to fight off McLaggen, then."
Ron's expression turned very dark. "With pleasure."
Exactly as anticipated, Hermione found herself cornered by the portrait hole on her way out of the common room.
"Er, excuse me, Cormac, I —"
"Where are you off to at this time of night?" He gave her a look that she supposed was meant to be enticing.
"Well, I'm working on a potion, and it's very time sensitive —"
"Is this the thing with Malfoy?" He frowned.
"Yes, and I really —"
"Yeah, just hang on a second. Slughorn's having his little Christmas party —"
"Oh, right —"
"— and I thought it would be lovely if we went together. Eggnog… mistletoe…"
"Oh." Hermione cringed and tried to pull her hand out of his grasp. "Er — thank you, Cormac, but I'm afraid — I'm going with Ron."
Cormac gaped in a way that would have been comical if he were not still crushing her wrist in his hold. "Weasley?!"
"Yes, I asked him just this afternoon, actually — oh, I really must be going now, sorry. Bye!"
Hermione flew to the dungeons, scolding herself for apologising to him, of all things. Nevertheless, maybe this final rejection would be enough to encourage him to seek other pastures. If he kept at it, she'd have to resort to hexes. Ginny would probably help, if she asked.
Draco eyed her when she entered the laboratory, looking a bit wild, and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ask," she muttered darkly, and happily took up the mortar and pestle to grind the blue marble. After several minutes of watching her grunt and violently crush the stone, Draco burst out laughing.
"Merlin, Granger, what happened? You look like someone threatened your textbooks."
She ground the stone harder, satisfied by the feeling of it crunching into dust. "Cormac asked me to the Christmas party."
Draco scoffed. "And you're surprised? I was wondering when he'd get around to it. I take it you declined?"
"Of course I did; I'm taking Ron."
"Weasley?" Draco spluttered in a manner not dissimilar from Cormac.
"He's not my date! He's a friend, and he's been wanting to know what all the fuss is about, anyway, since Slughorn's never invited him."
Draco paused for a moment, thoughtful, then resumed guiding the hare's blood through the silver filtration system. "Well, I suppose I'll have to come now, if only to see that."
They worked in comfortable silence, arduously preparing the ingredients and swapping tasks when Hermione's arm got tired. It didn't take very long before the hare's blood was shimmering in its bottle and the marble was a fine, baby blue powder.
After a quick look at the brewing potion to check it had all the right characteristics for this stage, they slipped out of the lab. The days had grown significantly shorter; it was properly dark now, and the castle had a chill about it.
"Well, good night, Draco. See you tomorrow."
"Granger — wait."
Hermione stopped. "What is it?"
"Just —" Draco pursed his lips, wrestling with himself. Then his expression became stony and determined; he grabbed her wrist and tugged her down the corridor.
"What — Draco — what are you do—" she hissed, stumbling along behind him and trying to reach for her wand.
He pulled her around a corner and she found herself in a shadowy alcove. In the darkness, she couldn't see much except his silvery eyes and the odd expression on his face — shades of desperation, fear, and something else.
She hoped he could see her glare. If he didn't explain what this was all about immediately, she was going to resort to physical means —
He swooped down then, and something covered her mouth. She yelped, though it was muted, and with a shock of paralysing surprise, she realised it was by his lips.
They were warm and soft, and moving a little against her very still ones. In a moment of bizarre clarity, she noted that he was probably kissing her quite slowly, as far as kisses went. It was the only part of his body touching hers. She thought one of his arms was braced against the wall by her shoulder.
And then reality sped up again in a rush of sensation and she gasped against him. He made a little noise and his mouth pressed harder against her.
She could feel her hands trembling, but that didn't stop her; she pressed her palms against his chest and shoved him away.
He stumbled back, a wild look in his eyes. For a long, petrified moment, all she could do was stare at him.
Then, before either of them could think about it too hard, she staggered out of the alcove and ran away.
