A/N: This was original written for the dmhghalloween fic exchange but I didn't get the time to finish. The prompt for this fic was cobwebs. Also this was originally a one-shot but I've split it into two parts.

A Fly in His Web

"Between your hair and these cobwebs, it's a wonder I haven't asphyxiated and died." The tone was conversational, and Hermione found his ability to speak so lightly of their predicament quite irritating. Actually, she found him in general to be quite irritating.

"Shame too," she muttered.

Her companion narrowed his gaze in her direction, dispensing with his unnaturally frothy demeanour. Now this she recognised. Although, she had to admit that his usually arctic glare of disdain was somewhat less effective on this occasion, given that he was – like her – currently bound tightly in an extravagant display of edible cobwebs.

The sheer absurdness of the image rather took the bite out of any scathing attack he might have launched. This was a relief, because Hermione was rather weary from the constant back and forth between herself and the ever obnoxious Draco Malfoy.

Hermione liked Halloween as much as the next person, but she found that this particular year was probably going to severely mar her overall appreciation of the night. Spending time in such exceptionally close quarters with a person one really didn't get along well with could have that effect. Post-traumatic stress, they called it. And given their history… indeed, given what had happened with him exactly one year prior, she rather thought she was now a prime candidate for the syndrome.

They were presently tucked away in a hidden corner of the vast and rather rustic attic of a very old and very creepy Manor house. Furthermore, they were bundled obnoxiously close together, having been caught up in the sticky white substance that had recently become a huge hit over Halloween at the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes store.

When George had first shown her the novelty cobwebs, she'd found them quite interesting. Of course that was before she realised they had the sticking power of extra-strength, be-spelled duck-tape. She now held an extreme resentment towards the webs and their creator in general. After all, if it weren't for the Weasleys, specifically Ron and George, and their need to throw outrageous parties such as this every year, she would not have been bound with her nose bare inches from brushing that of Malfoy.

A brief burst of cool air tickled her cheek and she turned her head to face the culprit. His patrician nose almost met hers, and the piercing quality of his ash-like gaze upon her made Hermione's stomach swoop involuntarily. She'd never seen his eyes so close to. They were an arctic grey with the barest wash of pale blue in their hue. She'd never seen any eyes quite like his before. They were pretty, objectively speaking, if a man's eyes could really be that. They were also far too incisive and calculating for her comfort.

His lips were close, the barest breath away. They were soft, questing. She knew them, had felt the texture of them move against her own once upon a time. That was best left forgotten though. And in any case, it was something of which only she was aware. Thank Merlin for that. She felt confident that when, or if, he cast his mind back to that night a year before, he would never have guessed it was Hermione Granger who assailed him in the dark. And she was hardly going to tell him.

Hermione was so caught up in these thoughts that she almost didn't notice when the aforementioned lips moved fractionally closer. She could almost taste the sweet elf-made wine that lingered on his breath.

Almost.

Earlier that night…

The house was, as ever, preposterously enormous. It was set on the Yorkshire moors, no less, which she rather thought made it eerie enough, but the fact that the gothic structure was equipped with the most ferocious looking gargoyles Hermione had ever seen certainly did the trick. She almost expected Heathcliff to come charging at her out of nowhere, yelling at her to get off his ill-acquired property.

The air that rushed from her chilled lips condensed like a cloud when it left the warm cavern of her mouth. She gazed up at the grey building once more and shook her head.

"You must admit they've outdone themselves this year." Ginny was standing next to Hermione, equally slack-jawed. The younger woman's gaze was variously focused, not on the gargoyles, but instead on the intimidating gated entrance, sinisterly lit pumpkins which lined the path to the house, and the ominous shadows that seemed to constantly whoosh past the high windows.

Hermione quite agreed.

"Be careful not to say that too loud. It'll only encourage them."

Both women grinned. The truth was they thought it wonderful that George threw himself into the business he had shared with his twin with quite as much vigour as he did. After the war, and the death of his brother, the whole Weasley clan hadn't been quite the same. They'd mostly worried about George though; the loss was more acute than any could fathom. That was why Ron had stepped in to try and fill the void, and help out with the store. Over time it had been exactly what George needed, and Hermione rather thought his enthusiasm came from upholding the memory of his twin.

None of them would ever say a word to discourage him, even if it meant getting caught up in some of his crazier endeavours. This night in particular was one of them, although Hermione had to admit she did rather look forward to it. Halloween was just as big a celebration in the magical world as it was for Muggles, perhaps more so because there were absolutely no cynics. Witches and wizards knew perfectly well that goblins and ghouls and all manner of alarmingly sharp-toothed monsters did exist.

And in honour of what had always been a favourite celebration of the twins in their youth, Ron and George had started a tradition only a few years prior, of holding a fantastically themed party in honour of the night. The party was always held in a different location, usually some variation on the haunted house theme, and they took the decorations to the max. Why, Hermione was stilled scared of pumpkins after she'd been barricaded in a room two years earlier and chased in circles by a disembodied head carved from one.

Suffice to say, eating a roast at her parent's house for Christmas had never quite been the same after that.

The tomfoolery wasn't the only reason why everyone looked forward to it so much though. Though she was loath to admit to anyone quite how much she looked forward to the quest segment of the evening, she rather thought her feeble attempt at nonchalance fooled no one. It was the competition that had her eagerly anticipating the night. After all, she'd never been one to turn away from a challenge.

George had announced at only the second Halloween party they'd thrown, that they were introducing a miniature quest into the celebrations, something to get everybody revved up. This all preceded the eventual descent into drunken disorder, excessive consumption of candy and the general disrepair of the property which was quite inevitable at any sort of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' event. And, after all, they did invite a lot of people.

The truth of the matter was that the Wizarding community in London wasn't all that extensive, so one tended to see the same people at social events. And those people had either attended Hogwarts with them, or with their parents. It was rather incestuous, actually, and made meeting new people appallingly difficult.

"Come on then," said Ginny. "Harry said we turn left at the misshapen statue of a ghoul. Just inside, apparently."

"Charming," Hermione quipped. "You realise they probably finished setting up hours ago and spent the rest of the time drinking themselves silly."

"No doubt. I wonder, do they really think we don't know all of their trade secrets?"

Hermione grinned at her friend and shrugged her shoulders. "We'd best get in before lock up. They'd never forgive us if we were late, and frankly I don't much like the idea of getting stuck out here all night."

Together they followed the other late-comers up the winding drive to the large entrance. As expected they received a stern look from Harry who had apparently been instructed to watch for them both. It was tradition that all doors were shut and locked at the stroke of 8 o'clock to discourage lateness, but also to add to the generally eerie theme of the night. They weren't re-opened until after midnight, in case any would-be boring people attempted to leave the festivities early.

Hermione didn't actually know anyone who had ever wanted to leave the party early and miss out on all the fun, but George took the whole thing very seriously. As seriously as one determined to make all of life fun actually could.

As they were ushered in by a Harry who had, apparently, spent the afternoon in the cups, Hermione gazed about in awe. The vast hallway was dark and lined with flamed torches along the walls, and a dense mist hung low across the floor. The paintings that lined the walls were sinister, and strange breathing noises appeared to be issuing from the suit of armour to her right.

Yes, George Weasley took his job very seriously.

"So, Harry... are you going to tell us what the prize is this year because-"

"While I live and breathe... Hermione Granger attempting to cheat!" Hermione turned at the interruption from the evening's maestro who had just entered the room with Ron, a crooked grin on his face.

The prize to which she referred was the rare magical item on offer to the winner of the Halloween Scavenger Hunt, which was probably the most popular part of the evening's festivities. Each year a rare item was awarded to the person who managed to locate it first within the maze of obstacles that were always lurking out of sight in the various rooms of the haunted house. Hermione had been so close to winning the year before, but that obnoxious git, Zacharias Smith, had stolen the prize right out from under her nose.

It was supposed to be a game, of course, but she felt very competitive this year after what had happened. Of course, it wasn't like any normal scavenger hunt - that would be far too easy. The participants were always impaired in some way, usually without sight, and left to their own devices. This of course meant most of the time was spent stumbling about rather than employing any great skill to win, but she supposed that it was all a part of the silliness of the night. And these days Hermione quite liked a bit of silliness now and then.

"You know perfectly well I've no need to cheat. I'm just trying to work out how much I'll want the prize." She sniffed rather disdainfully.

Ron and George turned to each other with matching grins. "A lot," said the former.

As they were still standing in the vast entry hall, Hermione couldn't actually see the majority of the party-goers, and she figured she'd best size up her competition quickly.

"He's here, isn't he?"

"Who?" asked Ginny. "The list of people you could be referring to is quite long actually."

This was rather true. It was hardly Hermione's fault that there were quite so many obnoxious people in Wizarding London, and though she tried her very best to let go of grudges from her youth, and more recent ones at that, being mature wasn't always as easy as it seemed.

"I'm referring to he of the blond hair and perpetual sneer-" Her diatribe was interrupted by an enlightened sigh which spread around the group.

"Malfoy, then. Yeah, he's here." This was George.

Her eyes flew open in unmitigated horror. "What? No! I was talking about Smith… he poached the prize from me last year and… why is Malfoy here?" In truth she couldn't blame her friends for thinking she was referring to the latter, given that there was in fact no person alive more blond or prone to sneering than him. Yet, she'd been so certain he wouldn't be at the party this year.

"Actually Smith does sneer quite a bit, doesn't he? I just thought it was some sort of facial defect, you know?" Ginny looked quite thoughtful.

Ron snorted in agreement. "Hate to say it, but Smith's here too."

Delightful, thought Hermione. It was like an evening in honour of blond and obnoxious men. She couldn't decide, in that moment, whose presence irritated her more.

She finally tuned out of the chatter, and followed her companions through the main corridor. They all assumed she was aggravated about Draco Malfoy's presence because he was, well, Draco Malfoy. Such a reaction was only natural after all. But it wasn't because her co-worker annoyed her that she was suddenly very uncomfortable. It was because of the sweeping sense of déjà vu that skittered down her spine.

Okay, truthfully there was an element of annoyance in there too. Malfoy had told her in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be at the party that night. Apparently he'd had other things to do. She should have known better of course, because the heir apparent never missed an opportunity to try buttering up the crowd. A quality clearly inherited from his father.

She spotted him almost immediately when they entered the vast dining hall, which was to be the central point for the festivities. He was on the far side of the room, looking rather disdainfully about. Hermione didn't recognise the witch he was speaking to, but she'd already formulated a rather low opinion of her.

The room was decorated much like the entry hall, with mist clinging low about her feet. Tables laden with food and refreshments lined the walls and plenty of empty space had been provided should guests wish to dance later on. When Harry passed her a Butterbeer, Hermione sighed with contentment. The warm and fuzzy sensation in her stomach after a few sips always calmed her nerves.

The vast group of people were generally chatting away and sipping their drinks, awaiting the announcement from George which would signal the start of the evening. Hermione wanted to use the spare moment to interrogate Malfoy. So, with shoulders pushed back and eyes narrowed, she marched toward him.

It irked her to no end when he kept his back turned to her, even though she knew quite well his companion had pointed her out. The insipid girl wandered off though, and Hermione was left staring at the black drape of fabric across Malfoy's shoulder blades, and stewing in her irritation.

"Granger," he drawled in that tone which positively reeked of entitlement. "Is there a reason you're hovering behind me like that?" He turned to cast an appraising look at her. "Complete lack of manners… someone really should have taken you to hand at a young age."

She narrowed her eyes at him and tried not to rise to the bait. This wasn't especially easy, as the man had a wonderful knack for pushing the right buttons. She was hardly a wall flower, though. Hermione rather thought she gave as good as she got, which in turn was probably why he kept at it. The satisfaction of a reaction, and all that.

"Speaking of manners, and your apparent lack of them… why are you here?"

He raised a brow in bemusement. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to accept invitations… and given that the general point of the evening is fun, I'm rather shocked to find you here. Shouldn't you be dragging all the misbehaving boys out by their ears by now?"

In fact, she'd love nothing more than to drag him out by his ear and to lock him outside where he could be of no harm.

"You told me you weren't coming tonight. I specifically asked you!" She knew she sounded a bit irrational, but she hadn't been at all mentally prepared to deal with him outside of office hours. Especially not tonight of all nights.

"Are you going to spank me for being naughty too? Ever so sorry." He sneered down at her in a look that combined both haughtiness and unconcealed amusement.

Draco Malfoy worked along side Hermione in the Ministry, at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had only transferred there eight months ago, having previously been working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on a whole other floor. The offer of a position within MLE had always been available to her, given her efforts in the war, but unlike Ron and Harry, she hadn't chosen to take it up at first. She'd finally decided to take them up on the offer when told she would have a hand in re-writing old pro-pureblood laws. The appeal of that had been irresistible.

Of course, the dramatic down fall in taking up the job meant that she had a desk right along side Malfoy, who was working in the same position she was to take up. The concept of Malfoy having any job, let along one that involved erasing the history and values of his forebears was rather hard to grasp. He certainly didn't need the money. She had only assumed it was for political reasons. The Malfoys were notorious for trying to worm their way into good opinion.

In any case, she'd found while working with him, that even though his acerbic tongue drove her to distraction, his contributions were surprisingly helpful. He was clever, something she'd never really noticed in school. That was probably because he spent too much time wishing he was Harry, and flaunting his money to apply himself.

The reason it had taken Hermione so long to accept the offer was two-fold. Firstly, she'd really strived to improve the situation for mistreated magical creatures. A seemingly impossible task in a world full of people who placed little to no value on them. The second reason was that she'd felt terribly awkward at the prospect of being around Malfoy after what she'd done the year before.

Previous to that night, she'd always just ignored him whenever they attended the same social or work related events. He'd been a cruel child, and she'd borne the brunt of a lot of that cruelty, so she'd felt no desire to know him any better. It didn't matter what Harry and others had said about the minor improvements in his character. And, truthfully, it wasn't as though the man had made any effort to change her opinion in the slightest.

That was all by the by really, because it had changed drastically since her actions at the last Weasley Wizarding Wheezes' Halloween Party. It had been only six months after the general decline in her relationship with Ron. The eventual split had been neither acrimonious nor very official. In truth it had seemed as though they'd eventually stopped being lovers and started being friends again.

The confusion had, of course, been rather horrible. After all, Hermione had been so certain that, whatever his faults, Ron was the one. Whatever that meant. After a couple of glasses of wine at the party that night, a result of the relationship's death and her general indignation toward Zacharias Smith, she'd been more than a little tipsy.

In that fuzzy and adventurous frame of mind, she'd decided the time had come to stop being staid and true Hermione. She wanted to do something a little reckless, show Ron what they still had. This would have been a wonderful plan had the night's theme not been fancy dress. And had Ron not been wearing a very similar garment to Malfoy.

All she remembered was seeing the man that she thought was her former boyfriend stepping into the cloak room and about to leave. The urge to stop him had been acute. So, naturally, she followed him. She'd taken him completely by surprise when her palms pressed against his back. If she'd been paying proper care she might have noticed that when she pushed the folds of the mask up over his mouth, his lips felt different. And he seemed more in shock than was strictly necessary.

Men being men, that hadn't lasted for long. She'd been thoroughly caught up in the texture of his kiss, of the excitement of it all, and the way his hands moulded her body. As such, it took her a few moments to notice that the back of his mask had slid up revealing hair that was pale in its hue, and definitely not the bright orange of a Weasley.

Startled and horrified, she'd fled, eternally thankful for the relative darkness in the room and the generic nature of her own costume. That incident had pretty much killed off any desire to be spontaneous ever again in her life. And she was so mortified that she didn't dare mention it to any of her friends.

She and Ron, of course, did not got back together. That was alright now though; she had come to the conclusion they were better off as friends anyway. As for Malfoy, she'd managed to avoid him well enough afterwards. That was until she'd transferred to his department and had to suffer him every morning. Between her eternal mortification, mild and disturbing fascination, and his general obnoxiousness… it was rather a hard situation to contend with.

And it wasn't as though she thought that with both of them being there tonight there'd be some sort of repeat. She just really wanted to enjoy herself without receiving the constant flashbacks that came with his near presence. Thankfully there were no costumes this year. That would have been way too much to bear.

"Granger… your stare is starting to scare me. Are you drooling?" She snapped her attention back to him, a bit disturbed to note she had been staring. Though, whatever he thought about his dubious charms, she most certainly had not been drooling.

"I was not. Look, never mind. I have more important things to do than argue with you." She sniffed disdainfully and spun on her heel.

The next half hour passed quite quickly, with good music and a lot of laughter. Hermione was delighted though, when George's voice carried over the din to call for everyone's attention.

"Step right up, everyone and set down drinks. Scavenger Hunt's about to begin so you'd all best check in your wands and get your instructions."

The swarm of people gathered closer in order to hand their precious wands to the caretaker for the evening. It was the one part of the event that Hermione did not enjoy. In any case, she knew the house was be-spelled to avoid any issues and that their wands were well protected.

The small pouch she held before her opened to reveal a loudly wrapped sweet, very reminiscent of the skiving snack-boxes for which the Weasleys were so famous.

"Now if you look in your pouches you'll find a little sweetie. We're not going with blind-folds this year since you lot are untrustworthy." A titter of laughter danced through the motley crew. "The sweet will make you lose your sight until you find the accompanying sweet around the house. They're hidden in loads of places so you shouldn't have a problem."

He grinned a Weasley grin.

"Of course… you might still fall down a flight of stairs whilst trying to find the cure, but that's all part of the fun. And have no fear about injuries… after that unfortunate incident with Barnabus last year… we've taken a few precautions!"

That was only because Hermione had expressly told them to apply liberal cushioning charms. Thank Merlin for that.

"Now with the sweet you will also receive a clue to the final location, which you can properly look for. But don't think that just because you have your sight back that it'll be easy." He paused to grin again. "It won't."

"Reckon he enjoys it a bit too much." Hermione turned at the new voice and smiled up at Neville Longbottom.

"Hi Neville. I have to agree with you there. Goodness knows what he's got in store."

All of the participants were to take a bite of their chew before being escorted to various different locations around the house. Ron and George had recruited a lot of people to help with this aspect of the organisation. Finally, when everyone was ready they would sound the alarm and then off they'd go.

It was only a brief time later when Hermione found herself sightless and standing in what she could only assume was a very sinister corner of the house. She hated this part, being blind to all around her; it made relying on her other senses all the more important.

Her spine tingled with anticipation as she waited for the sound. And, when the tinkling rang through the air, she was off.

She felt like she'd been walking through a sea of marshmallows for the past half hour, such was her lack of success in navigation. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how much of a struggle everyone else was having. Yet, in spite of her desire to rush forth, she played a calculated game, and that would see to her success. Slow and steady as the saying went.

Her fingers brushed against the gilt frame of a painting, and she jumped back when its occupant hissed at her quite venomously.

She knew she was close though. She could smell the sickly sweet and cloying scent lingering in the air. It was different to the damp odour of decay which had hovered in the last room she was in. Hermione really did not want to know what was housed in there, and could only be grateful that she no longer was.

A rustling sound behind her, followed by the sound of a foot crushing into carpet, made her realise she was not alone. She'd be damned if that person got there before her. The air was thick as she moved further into the room, but the smell of sweetness cloaked her. She took small steps closer, careful not to collide with any walls.

After scarcely a minute of prowling blindly around the room, Hermione's wrist bumped a small table in the far corner of the room, and her fingers brushed the little velvet pouch resting atop its flat surface. She'd found it. Hermione was just about to celebrate this small victory when a body collided into her from behind. She made to jump out of the way but the person, realising what she was about, made valiant efforts to grasp the bag from her fingers.

She shoved him and, with the unknown assailant still gripping her, they both tumbled to the floor.

"Ouch!" she cried, trying to disentangle herself from the fiend.

"Oh, it's you, Granger." The voice was distinctly recognisable as the nasal whine of Zacharias Smith. Her nemesis. Her eyes narrowed into slits he couldn't see.

"Smith, you prat, get off me! You won't cheat and get away with it this year." He muttered something that seemed to suggest otherwise, so she did the only thing she could think of at that moment. She smacked him. Granted, she was fairly certain she missed his cheek, but the howl he let out was quite satisfactory.

She wasn't normally one to descend to violence quite like that, but there had been glittering moments in her past when she'd encountered someone who really had it coming. Retaliation in such instances was, in her opinion, a matter of principle.

The horrid man was wheezing nearby and muttering a string of obscene curses. Hermione viewed his distraction as the perfect opportunity to slip away. Gripping the small pouch in her fingers, she crawled out of Smith's general area and began to rummage quickly through the bag's contents. When her fingers found the neatly wrapped sweet, she yanked it from the bag and almost inhaled it. It was a few seconds before the inky blackness faded and proper shapes started to form. It was a few minutes before she actually felt she could stand without toppling over. There was, she had to admit, a lot of pleasure to be derived from eyeing Smith rolling about on the floor.

She dusted herself off, grabbed the bag and left him to it. Rotten man wouldn't win this year. She'd make sure of it.

The house was just as creepy as she had suspected. It was difficult to determine just where she was, because the windows had been barricaded, but based on the previously dank smell, she would guess near the cellars of the house. Delightful.

Hermione tucked herself into the safety of a corner and brushed the errant strands of curled hair from her eyes. Her fingers sought the small scrap of parchment and the enlightenment she was after.