Hermione walked into Ginny's room and closed the door carefully behind her. She checked the room — just Ginny.
Ginny set down her freshly polished broomstick. "Everything alright?"
"I'm thinking of asking your brother to Slughorn's Christmas party," Hermione whispered.
Ginny's eyes went wide, and a slow smile spread across her face. "Really? You're going to ask Ron?"
"No, I'm going to ask Fred." Hermione locked the door. "Yes, Ron!"
Ginny laughed. "Funnily enough, I do think you'd be more compatible with Fred in the long run." She tilted her head. "I'm glad you've come round, though."
"I wouldn't say 'come round'. I need a date, and Ron's obviously been put out about not being invited to the parties."
Ginny stared at her. "You cannot be serious."
Hermione shrugged. "I just don't want to ruin things."
"You're asking him to be your date! For Merlin's sake, Hermione — grow some nerve!"
"Harry would never forgive me if it changed the dynamic between us all."
"Let me worry about Harry. Go get your man!"
---
Harry was telling Ron and Hermione about his latest lesson with Dumbledore as they pulled on their Herbology gloves and took their places in the greenhouse.
"I still don't entirely understand why Dumbledore's showing you all this," Ron said, manoeuvring around a Mandrake.
"I think it's fascinating," Hermione said, unable to keep the interest out of her voice. "To understand who Voldemort was before he became Voldemort — before he had any real power — it answers something important, doesn't it?"
Harry and Ron both looked at her.
"Whether monsters are born or made," she said simply.
"Right." Ron blinked. "How was Slughorn's latest party?"
"Actually quite enjoyable," Hermione said, pulling on her goggles. "He goes on at length and absolutely fawns over McLaggen, but Zabini's surprisingly good company."
"Brooding Zabini?" Ron asked.
She nodded. "Slughorn introduced us to Gwenog Jones."
"The Gwenog Jones?" Ron looked up. "Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"
"The very same."
Professor Sprout came past and scolded them for talking instead of working. They bent over their Snargaluff pods in temporary compliance.
"Anyway," Hermione said as she worked, "Slughorn is planning a Christmas party, Harry, and there is no way you're wriggling out of this one — he actually asked me to check your free evenings so he could be sure the date works for you."
Harry groaned.
Ron's expression shifted into something flat. "Another party for Slughorn's favourites, then?"
Hermione pressed her lips together. "Just the Slug Club, yes."
Ron's pod shot out of his hands and Harry went to retrieve it.
"What a stupid name," Ron muttered.
"Sorry?"
"Slug Club." He wiped his hands on his robes. "It's ridiculous. Some exclusive little society for people he's decided matter."
"It's not just about that, Ron. Slughorn has connections — real ones. It's genuinely useful."
"Useful for what? Cosying up to McLaggen and Zabini?"
"I don't like them much more than—"
"Really? Because you seem to be spending plenty of time with McLaggen and have apparently decided Zabini is hilarious."
"That is not what I said!"
"Right, right. Just you and your little Slug Club friends."
"I didn't invent the name—"
"'Slug Club'," Ron repeated, with a curl of his lip that was almost pure Malfoy. "It's pathetic. Enjoy your party. Why don't you try getting off with McLaggen — then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"
Harry had come back by then.
"We are allowed to bring guests," Hermione said, her voice very controlled, "and I was going to ask you to come with me. But if you think it's that stupid, I won't bother!"
Ron stared at her. "You were going to ask me?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "But obviously if you'd rather I asked McLaggen—"
"No," Ron said, in an entirely different voice. "I wouldn't."
Harry's attention slipped at precisely that moment. He missed the pod entirely, hit the bowl, and it shattered.
"Reparo," he said hastily, tapping the pieces. The bowl sprang back together.
Ron and Hermione seemed to remember all at once that Harry was standing there. Hermione busied herself with her copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World; Ron looked sheepish but quietly, unmistakably pleased.
"Hand that over, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "It says here we're supposed to pierce them with something sharp..."
---
Hermione skipped breakfast the following morning.
Ron had gone back to acting perfectly normal — as if she hadn't said anything, as if there was nothing to say. And Harry was watching them both in that barely-concealed way of his, as though he were waiting for the exact moment he'd have to choose between them.
She didn't feel like sitting with Ginny either. It wasn't Ginny's fault, but between all of last summer's pushing and the fact that she was Ron's sister, the common room felt too small.
So she sat alone in the library instead, which was, at least, honest.
She hadn't read a single word. When she finally glanced at her watch, her eyes went wide.
"Damn it!" She grabbed her bag and ran.
She burst through the door of the Ancient Runes classroom to find every head turning toward her and Professor Babbling pausing mid-sentence.
Hermione mumbled an apology and slid into her seat beside Theo, who raised an eyebrow at her dishevelled state but said nothing while the lesson resumed.
When they were given an independent assignment, Theo leaned back slightly and spoke toward the ceiling.
"I've got a question for you."
"I was in the library and lost track of time," Hermione said quietly.
"Not my question."
She waited.
"Did you ask Weasley to Slughorn's party?"
Hermione's quill snapped in her hand. She turned to him, lowering her voice to a hiss. "How in Merlin's name do you know that?"
"From Pansy, who heard from Daphne, who heard from Warren, who heard from Longbottom, who was apparently present for the conversation," Theo answered evenly.
"You asked Weasley out on a date?" Malfoy said from behind them, not bothering to moderate his volume.
Hermione's face went hot. "I didn't ask him out. Asking someone out implies a date. It wasn't a date."
Theo considered this. "A night at Slughorn's party. Butterbeer, Firewhisky, candlelight..."
Hermione huffed.
"Sounds like a date to me."
"Weasley?" Malfoy asked again, as if the word itself required repeated examination.
"I didn't ask him out," she said sharply. "It's none of your business either way."
"But you were going to," Theo noted.
"Why not Potter?" Malfoy asked.
Hermione turned around fully to look at him. "Harry? Why would I ask Harry to Slughorn's party?"
Malfoy looked genuinely puzzled. "I don't know. Why would you ask Weasley?"
She stared at him. That expression on his face — it wasn't mockery. It was actual, honest confusion.
"You're genuinely not taking the mickey, are you?" Hermione said slowly. "You really just don't understand."
"I mean, between the two of them..." Malfoy lifted both hands as if weighing something. "They're both dreadful options, honestly."
"Excuse me?"
"Weasley can't go five minutes without saying exactly what he thinks, and Potter is... well, Potter. Neither of them is exactly ideal company. So why him specifically?"
Theo watched the exchange with quiet attention, resting his chin on his hand.
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it.
"I'd hardly call Weasley attractive," Malfoy added.
"But Harry is?" she asked.
Malfoy blinked. An odd expression crossed his face — caught off guard, quickly composed. "I didn't say that either. But at least Potter has a certain... presence."
"Presence," Hermione repeated. "That's your criterion."
"What I think Draco is trying to say," Theo offered helpfully, "is that Weasley is—"
"Ginger," Malfoy said.
Hermione blinked. "And you're blonde."
Theo bit the inside of his cheek, glancing between them.
"It's almost as if he has opinions about who you bring to the party," Theo remarked.
Malfoy gave him a withering look. "I'm just curious about her reasoning."
"My choices don't require your approval, Malfoy."
"Clearly." He shrugged, though something unreadable moved through his expression. "I just think you could do better. Someone with a bit more ambition."
"Someone like you?"
Theo looked at the ceiling, pressing his lips together.
Malfoy held her gaze for just a moment too long. "Well, I do have a certain charm."
Hermione scoffed. "The day I ask you to a party is the day the Black Lake freezes solid."
"I'd pay to see it," Theo said.
Hermione looked at him. "You're not helping."
She turned back to her parchment, exhaling slowly. "I don't know why I was going to ask him," she admitted, quieter now. "It's just easier, I suppose. He's always been there."
Neither Theo nor Malfoy said anything.
Hermione frowned at the silence and looked back at them. Theo's expression was carefully neutral. Malfoy had gone back to his assignment.
"Well," Malfoy said, after a moment. "Good luck with that, Granger."
Hermione huffed and turned around.
He looked up once she was facing away again.
---
That evening, Draco dropped into his seat at the Slytherin table beside Blaise.
Across from him, Daphne stood.
"Sit down, Daphne," Draco said.
"No."
"I said I was sorry."
"You said you were sorry that I haven't forgotten about it," Daphne replied. "There's a difference."
She was right. He hadn't said it cleanly.
"I shouldn't have said anything about Astoria," he muttered. "Sit down. Please."
A pause. Then, slowly, Daphne sat. "I'm only staying because I'm still hungry and Pansy's just walked in."
Pansy made her way over and took one look at the two of them. "You've made up."
"Somewhat," Daphne said.
Draco looked at Blaise. "Are you going to Slughorn's Christmas party?"
"I am," Blaise said.
"Have you got a date?"
Blaise gave him a long, flat look. "I'm not taking you, if that's what you're working up to."
"Obviously not."
"I haven't asked anyone. Not planning to, really."
Draco nodded and looked at Daphne. "You're in the Slug Club as well. Have you got a date?"
Daphne opened and closed her mouth twice.
"I haven't asked anyone in particular," she said, at length.
Pansy pressed her lips together, watching the colour creep up Daphne's neck.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "But you've decided."
"She decided ages ago," Pansy said serenely.
"Pansy!" Daphne hissed.
Blaise looked between them, intrigued. "Who is it?"
Daphne said nothing.
"Fine. I was going to ask Theo," she said finally. "It's not like that. As friends."
Draco looked at Pansy. Pansy smiled back, wickedly.
"Theo?" Blaise said. "Our Theo?"
"Stop making it into something." Daphne's flush deepened. "It's just as friends."
Pansy bit her tongue.
Draco groaned. "If one more person uses that phrase I'm going to hex this entire table."
"What phrase?" Blaise asked.
"'As friends,'" Draco said. "Granger asked Weasley to the same party 'as friends'. What is it with you all?"
Pansy shook her head. "Granger didn't ask him as friends, Draco. It's called a fail-safe for if he says no. Which he won't."
Draco turned to look at the Gryffindor table. "He already did."
"What are we discussing?" Theo asked, dropping onto the bench beside Daphne.
Pansy nodded toward the Gryffindor table. "Weasley."
Theo looked at Draco. "Are we still on this?" He sounded profoundly tired of the subject. "Really?"
---
The early December evening was cold enough that Draco could see his breath as he and Weasley set off on their prefect rounds.
Weasley was already muttering under his breath before they'd even reached the entrance hall. Draco kept his hands in his pockets and didn't engage.
"I think we should split up," Weasley said. "We'll cover more ground."
"Sensible for once," Draco said. "I'm almost impressed."
Weasley's jaw tightened. "I'm serious, Malfoy. It's wasteful, the two of us walking the same corridors."
"Agreed. Shall we—"
"Boys." Professor Flitwick appeared from behind a tapestry. "The rules require prefects to remain together during rounds. You'll recall this was covered at the start of term."
Weasley's face pinched. Draco sighed.
They walked in silence, moving corridor to corridor and staircase to staircase. The portraits mostly slept at this hour, and the castle was quiet apart from the distant groan of old stonework.
"So," Draco said, when the silence had gone on long enough to become absurd, "how's your romantic situation working out for you, Weasley?"
Weasley's step faltered. "What the hell are you on about?"
"Granger," Draco said simply.
Silence.
"Word of advice," Draco continued. "When a girl asks you out — any girl — you say yes. When Granger asks you out, you especially say yes, because frankly it's a miracle anyone was willing."
Weasley's ears went scarlet. "She didn't ask me out. It wasn't like that."
Draco shrugged. "Whatever you say."
---
"He was acting like he knew something I didn't," Ron said to Harry after Quidditch practice the following afternoon, throwing himself down on the changing room bench. "It was bad enough being stuck with him for an entire patrol, and then he starts talking about Hermione out of nowhere."
Harry frowned, packing away his gear. "Malfoy doesn't know anything, Ron. Least of all about Hermione."
"It's not just what he said — it's how he said it." Ron's brow furrowed. "He called her pretty, Harry."
Harry blinked. Then he laughed.
"It's not funny!"
"Draco Malfoy — that Draco Malfoy — called Hermione Granger pretty?"
"Like it was the most obvious thing in the world," Ron said, arms crossed, red-faced. "Like everyone should already know."
Harry shook his head, still smiling. "He's winding you up, Ron. That's all he does. Don't let him get in your head."
Ron muttered the rest of the way up to the castle.
Harry found himself thinking about it less than Ron might have hoped, though he did agree that Malfoy had been behaving strangely this year. Still — this wasn't what worried him about Malfoy.
He pushed open a tapestry that served as a shortcut to Gryffindor Tower and walked directly into Ginny and Dean, locked in an enthusiastic kiss.
Ron went rigid.
Dean and Ginny broke apart. Ginny barely blinked. "What?"
"I don't want to walk into my own sister snogging people in corridors!" Ron shouted.
"This was a deserted corridor until you came barging in!" Ginny shot back, glancing at Harry, who had said nothing.
Dean, thoroughly mortified, offered Harry an apologetic grimace.
"Er — c'mon, Ginny, let's go back to the common room—"
Ginny pulled her arm from his. "You go on. I want a word with my dear brother."
Dean made a very swift exit.
"Right." Ginny turned on Ron. "Let's settle this once and for all. Who I go out with and what I do with them is none of your business—"
"Yes, it is!" Ron snapped. "You think I want people talking about my sister—"
"A what?!" Ginny yanked her wand out.
"He doesn't mean anything, Ginny—" Harry said.
"Oh yes, he does! He's never snogged anyone in his life — the best kiss he's ever had is from Auntie Muriel at Christmas!"
Ron's face went from red to maroon. "Shut your mouth—"
"I will not!" Ginny yelled. "I've watched you trail after Fleur hoping she'd kiss your cheek, and it's embarrassing. If you went out and got a bit of experience yourself, you wouldn't be bothered by everyone else having it!"
Ron had drawn his wand. Harry stepped between them.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron shouted.
"Harry kissed Cho! Hermione kissed Viktor Krum! It's only you who acts like it's disgusting, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a first year!"
A jet of orange light skimmed under Harry's left arm. He turned and shoved Ron back against the wall.
"Don't do something stupid."
Ginny stormed away. Harry let Ron go.
"We need to get back," Harry said, spotting Mrs Norris watching them from the end of the corridor.
---
Hermione was in the library, helping a pair of third-years with their Transfiguration homework, when Ginny appeared in the doorway.
One look was enough. Hermione murmured a quick apology to the third years and went to her.
She steered Ginny to a quiet corner and drew her wand, casting a Muffliato around them.
"What happened?" Hermione asked softly.
"Ron is such an arse!" Ginny pressed her back against the cold stone wall.
Hermione let her talk — the whole story came out in uneven pieces, and she listened without interruption until Ginny had said it all.
"He had absolutely no right," Hermione said. She squeezed Ginny's shoulder. "None. Dean is his friend. He should be pleased."
"That's what I said! What if I'd been snogging Malfoy? Would it still be his business?"
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Well — there's probably a middle ground between Dean and Malfoy. But no. It still wouldn't be his business."
Ginny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I've been nothing but supportive of you and — well. You know. I'd never make you feel rotten over it."
Hermione sighed. "Ron loves you," she said. "Sometimes that's the problem. You'll work through it. You always do."
---
Something was wrong with Ron, and had been for days.
Hermione didn't know what she'd done — every time she tried to ask, he either deflected or turned short-tempered. Harry clearly knew and had decided, for reasons of his own, not to tell her.
The morning of the Gryffindor Quidditch match, Hermione lingered outside the Great Hall for an extra few minutes, not particularly eager to sit down to another meal of strained silences.
"What's the matter with you?" asked a voice.
Blaise Zabini had stopped a few feet away, looking at her with mild curiosity.
"Ron's being difficult," Hermione said.
"Is it Quidditch?"
"I honestly have no idea." She sighed.
Blaise considered her for a moment. "Maybe you should cheer for Slytherin today."
Hermione smiled faintly as he strolled past her into the Great Hall.
She waited another minute, then followed.
"How are you both feeling?" she asked as she took her seat beside Harry and Ron.
"Fine," Harry said, handing Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. "There you go."
Hermione's gaze sharpened.
"Don't drink that, Ron."
Both of them looked at her.
"Why not?" Ron asked.
"You just put something in it," she said to Harry. "I saw you. You've still got the bottle in your hand."
Harry shoved it into his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ron, don't drink it."
Ron downed the glass in one go, eyes fixed on her. "Stop bossing me around."
She watched him, eyebrows furrowed, but said nothing more.
---
The after-party for Gryffindor's win against Slytherin was in full swing, and Hermione sat upstairs in her dormitory, trying to read a book.
The sounds of celebration rose through the floor — laughter, music, the thump of Gryffindors dancing on furniture. She couldn't make herself go down. What was there to celebrate? Her best friend was inexplicably furious with her. Her other best friend had watched it happen and said nothing.
The door flew open. Ginny leaned in, flushed and grinning, clearly having had several drinks already. "Hermione! Why are you up here?"
Hermione looked at her. "I don't feel like celebrating."
"You have a book in your hand, not a drink." Ginny pulled a bottle of Firewhisky from behind her back. "Good thing I planned ahead."
Despite everything, Hermione laughed and accepted it.
She took a long sip, felt the warmth of it spread through her, and looked at Ginny. "What would get you to leave me alone up here?"
Ginny sat on the edge of her bed. "Come to the party."
"I don't want to be around Ron right now. He won't tell me what I've done, and Harry won't either." She stared down at her hands. "I can't figure it out."
Ginny was quiet for a moment, picking at a thread on the quilt. It was one of her tells — Hermione had learned it over the summer.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You know."
Ginny looked at her. "Take another drink."
Hermione did.
"Do you remember when Ron and I had that row? About Dean?"
Hermione nodded.
"I told you what he said about me — so I may have thrown back a few things of my own. Including that Harry had at least kissed Cho, and you'd..." She trailed off.
Hermione closed her eyes. "You told him about Viktor."
"It came out, and I didn't even remember I'd said it until today, I swear." Ginny's voice was earnest. "Hermione, I'm sorry."
She sat with it for a moment — the knowledge settling like a stone.
Ron was treating her like this over a single kiss that had happened two years ago. And Harry had let him do it.
"We didn't even — it was one kiss," Hermione said. "Two years ago. And he's acting like—"
"I know," Ginny said. "He's being a hypocrite. But—" She tilted her head, watching Hermione carefully. "If he's jealous, you know what that means."
Hermione looked at her.
Ginny smiled. "Come to the party."
A beat of silence.
"Okay," Hermione said. "Let's go."
They headed downstairs together, grabbing another bottle from the landing as they went.
"I can't see Harry or Ron," Hermione said, trying to see over the crowd.
"They'll be in somewhere," Ginny said.
They threaded through the common room, through the music and the noise and the press of celebrating bodies. Hermione was feeling warmer, looser — like maybe Ginny was right, maybe she should just say something—
She stopped.
In the middle of the room, entirely indifferent to the cheering around them, Ron and Lavender Brown were snogging.
The warmth in Hermione's chest went somewhere cold.
"He's an idiot," Ginny said, appearing at her elbow. "A complete and utter hypocrite."
Hermione said nothing.
"Hermione—"
"I need another drink," she said.
Ginny stayed beside her as she walked toward the drinks table.
---
Ginny turned at the sound of Harry bumping into her from behind.
"Sorry, Gin," he said, slightly breathless. "Good match, wasn't it?"
"We won, didn't we." Her voice was flat.
"Have you seen—"
"Ron?" She pointed. Ron and Lavender were still going at it in the middle of the room. "Over there. The filthy hypocrite."
Harry looked. Looked away.
Ginny glanced around for Hermione — no longer by the drinks. "Back in a moment," she said, and headed for the stairs.
Harry hovered in place, and with a lurching feeling, thought he'd seen Hermione slipping out through the portrait hole.
He moved to go after her, but Romilda Vane appeared and started talking, and Harry — too polite, as always — couldn't bring himself to leave.
---
Hermione sat on the bottom step of the staircase, wand in hand, watching a small flock of golden birds she'd Conjured flutter around her in tight, restless circles.
She still wasn't entirely sure what she felt. The sight of Ron and Lavender should have clarified everything — turned her jealousy into something clean and righteous. Instead, she just felt confused. And tired.
She heard footsteps.
Pansy Parkinson came around the corner and stopped.
The two of them looked at each other.
Pansy looked at the birds. Then at Hermione. "Well," she said, with the measured tone of someone deciding whether to bother, "you look like you need a drink."
"Already got one," Hermione said, lifting the bottle.
Pansy seemed to consider the step. Then she sat down beside Hermione, unhurried.
The birds kept circling. Neither of them spoke.
It was strange, Hermione thought — the quiet. She'd half expected a remark. Instead, Pansy just sat there, apparently content to share the corridor in silence.
"Well, don't hog it," Pansy said, holding out her hand.
Hermione passed her the bottle.
Pansy took a drink, then handed it back. "Where are your boys?"
"Ron's entertaining the common room," Hermione said. "Harry's somewhere."
Pansy glanced at her sideways. "One of them did something stupid, then."
"Something like that."
Pansy was quiet for a moment. "I've been trying to follow Draco for three floors. I lost him somewhere around the fifth."
Hermione almost smiled. "Not ideal."
"No."
Pansy looked at the birds. "Conjured?"
"Mm."
"They're nice."
Hermione passed the bottle again without being asked.
They sat there for a few minutes. The distant noise of the party filtered down through the ceiling.
Then Pansy spoke again. "Look, Granger — I don't want to make a habit of this. But if you want to be somewhere that isn't here tonight, the offer from the other evening still stands. Daphne, Blaise, Theo. The common room. No Draco, no Crabbe, no Goyle."
Hermione looked at her.
Harry appeared at the top of the staircase, took in the scene below — Hermione, the birds, Pansy — and descended two steps, very carefully. "Parkinson."
"Potter," Pansy said pleasantly.
"What's going on?"
"Having a conversation. You should try it sometime."
Harry's jaw tightened. "I'm sure we can take it from here."
"I'm sure Granger can speak for herself."
Footsteps in the corridor — giggling, stumbling — and then Ron and Lavender walked in, swaying slightly and wrapped around each other.
Ron stopped.
"Oh," he said, looking at Hermione.
Lavender looked between them, smiled brightly, and tugged at Ron's arm. "This room's taken, Won-Won." She steered him back out.
Ron went without another word.
Hermione watched the door close behind them.
"Oppungo," she said quietly.
The golden birds darted after Ron with violent enthusiasm. His yell echoed back from the corridor.
Pansy watched with something that might have been appreciation. "Offer stands," she said, standing up. She glanced down the corridor. "Weasley — that's detention for a week, for inappropriate conduct on school grounds!"
Harry sat down beside Hermione. She leaned against his shoulder and said nothing.