The marquee had been enchanted to look larger on the inside, warm lamplight catching the tinsel and the floating ornaments as snow drifted through a charmed gap in the ceiling. Christmas music played at a level that suggested festivity without requiring people to shout. The whole thing smelled of mulled wine and melted wax.
"Mr. Kevin! Miss Granger! Welcome, welcome!"
Professor Slughorn appeared from nowhere, both arms wide, his face split with the particular delight he reserved for students he considered investments.
"Good evening, Professor."
Hermione had her arm looped through Kevin's. She smiled with the easy grace she saved for social situations that required it. Kevin had managed a black suit. Hermione had done something rather spectacular with a pink-and-white evening gown, her hair swept up properly for once.
Slughorn leaned toward Kevin with the air of a man sharing a confidence. "I heard about your cauldron mishap. Are you quite recovered?"
Kevin blinked. "Yes. Fine. Thank you."
The cauldron story was entirely Harry's invention. Kevin had needed an excuse for skipping the last Slug Club dinner; Harry had improvised. Kevin made a mental note to confirm with Harry later exactly how elaborate the lie had become.
"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. Drop by my office sometime — we never get enough chance to talk properly." Slughorn beamed and patted his stomach like it was an old friend. "And a photograph, if you don't mind —"
The photographer appeared. They posed. Slughorn moved on, already scanning the room for his next target.
Kevin watched him go. There was a warmth to Slughorn that wasn't entirely false — he genuinely liked talented people, genuinely liked being around them. It was just that "liking" and "collecting" overlapped considerably in his psychology.
"Kevin, Hermione — can I get you a drink?"
Neville materialized at Kevin's elbow, neat in a white Slug Club uniform, tray extended.
Kevin took a glass. He raised it toward Neville in a brief toast, and drank.
The liquid hit the back of his throat and sat there, doing something that no normal beverage should do.
He lowered the glass very slowly.
"Neville. What is this."
Neville grinned with the equanimity of someone who had already come to terms with it. "Dragon urine, apparently. Supposed to be good for your constitution."
He turned and vanished into the crowd with the tray before Kevin could formulate a response.
Kevin stared at the glass.
Hermione, at his shoulder, lost it completely.
She pressed her hand over her mouth and her shoulders shook and her eyes went bright and when she finally got enough air she was bright red and absolutely not apologetic about any of it.
"Hermione." Kevin turned to look at her. He put his arm around her waist and tilted his head and gave her his most devastating smile. "You look beautiful. Come here."
"No — stop —" She pushed at his chin, still laughing. "My lipstick —"
"I'll fix it after."
"Kevin —"
She was too busy not laughing to actually stop him, which was the problem with trying to resist someone who had correctly identified that you were incapacitated by your own amusement. Kevin had her by the waist and she was up on her toes with her hands in his lapels and then Harry grabbed both of them by the arm and dragged them bodily behind the nearest curtain.
"You two," Harry said, with the voice of a man who had long since burned through his reserves of patience, "are at a party. In front of people."
Hermione straightened up, cheeks blazing, and immediately retreated behind Ginny, who had the grace to look sympathetic.
Kevin straightened his suit. "We were saying hello."
"No you weren't."
"It was a longer hello."
Harry pointed at him. "Don't."
They settled. The four of them formed their own small corner, conversations easy, no particular agenda — which was, Kevin had decided early on, the only sane approach to a Slug Club party. Work the room or don't; either way, being there was enough.
A different student in a white uniform appeared with a plate. "Dragon tartare?"
The desserts were small and jewel-bright, each one perfect. Kevin looked at them. The word "dragon" did something unfortunate to his appetite.
"I'm alright, thanks."
"Smart choice," the boy said, with the air of someone who'd learned this the hard way. "The breath effect is quite something."
He moved on. Hermione's hand shot out and she took one and ate it. Then she took another, watching Kevin the whole time with a very particular expression — sweet, innocent, entirely calculated.
She finished the second one, set the plate down, and turned to face him with her arms out and her head tilted and her lips pursed in an exaggerated pout.
Come on then.
Kevin looked at her. His clever, ridiculous girl, standing there daring him to flinch.
He stepped forward and kissed her properly.
Hermione's eyes went wide. For a moment she went entirely still — then she was pushing at his chest with both hands, making muffled noises of protest that were significantly undermined by the fact that she was also up on her toes.
Harry and Ginny left. Swiftly.
When Kevin finally let her go, Hermione's hair had escaped from half its pins, there was a stripe of pink smeared past her mouth, and her knees appeared to have reached a separate agreement with gravity. She leaned against him and breathed and looked at him with an expression that had not yet decided whether it was furious or not.
"No bad breath," Kevin said pleasantly.
"You are the worst person I've ever met." She twisted his waist hard with both hands.
"Ow —"
"Ow is right."
He caught her hands and she was laughing again and the party swirled on around them.
Later, the music shifted and the first couples drifted onto the dance floor. Kevin spotted Harry and Ginny in the middle of it, both of them flushed and grinning and moving like they'd been doing this for years rather than hours.
Kevin turned to Hermione. She'd fixed her hair. She'd fixed her lipstick. She had her chin lifted slightly and her hand out, waiting.
He took it.