"Well then," Hermione sighed as their little bubble bursted. She looked at Draco who rose slowly, his cool, unconcerned demeanor sliding back in place. "I don't really know how to get back in the same way much more, another one," she admitted, watching as he tugged his robes into uncreased perfection. He makes those robes look downright fabulous.

Draco considered her for a moment. "I understand that you can perform magic wandlessly?" Hermione nodded. "Do you know the pointer charm?" Hermione shook her head. "It's a nifty little thing, and quite easy too. Hold a picture of what you want to locate in your head and say bulmam. I learned it traveling through Turkey, trying to find my hotel after being lost for two hours. Works on nearly everything."

What Hermione really wanted to do was sit him down again so she could ask for every detail about traveling through Turkey and list out every single spell and charm he learned while there, but instead she nodded, whispering the word to herself. She took a moment to picture her magic pointing in a direction, still mouthing the words.

Draco took a moment to examine her. She really was quite pretty, but he already knew that; he was already taken with the ridiculous mass of curls that someone tamed into an updo, the freckles across her nose and her cheeks, the scrutinizing chocolate brown eyes currently hidden behind closed lids as she concentrated. However, even better than a pretty wife, was a powerful pretty wife. Sure his father waxed poetic about her abilities, but he learned not to trust everything his father said a long time ago. He wanted to see for himself.

She kept her eyes closed as she whispered the incantation again, but with the intention of casting rather than memorizing. She held out her hand and he focused on the skinny, rough wooden arrow that formed from light in her hands, fletched with a scraggly brown feather. When it was fully formed, it zipped around to point at the door of the room they occupied. Draco felt his eyes grow large and his mouth fall agape, but quickly fixed his face before she opened her eyes again.

Hermione's eyes grew wide when she looked down at her handiwork. She knew the spell was a success before she opened her eyes; she could feel it. However, she did not expect the irregular arrow to form, as she hadn't imagined a real arrow at all. Now that she knew, she'd be sure to make sure her guiding tool was much nicer looking next time; for now though it would suffice.

She looked up at Draco-who was suddenly quite close-with barely concealed glee. Performing magic successfully always made Hermione feel elated, but doing so before the prince made her feel something more. She wanted him to be as proud of her as she was of herself. The half smile he aimed at her was plenty. She was sure he'd placed a charm on the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. Whenever that damned smile showed up on his face, they went into a frenzy. Merlin forbid she spot a dimple.

Draco took her hand and lead her out the door, grabbing her shoes on the way. Outside, he cast a cushioning charm on them and offered her his elbow to help her balance while she put the pretty torture devices back on. When she was re-shoed, grinned at him in thanks. The cushioning felt fantastic. He gave her another half smile and for a second, he looked as if he was going to say something, but instead, he raised his hand to her chin, grasping it gently and tilting her head up. There's that Merlin forsaken dimple! Oh, and he smells fantastic. She closed her eyes for a moment, failing to see that his face was far closer than before, so focused she was on his scent. She opened them when she felt his body heat envelope her. She startled a bit and caused him to miss his mark; Draco's lips were pressed firmly to the side of her mouth and Hermione wished that they were pressed firmly a half inch to the right. He huffed out a chuckle and moved to her forehead instead.

"Expect to see me soon," he murmured against her hairline, and then he was gone, moving swiftly in a direction that opposed her Point Me charm. She bit her lip and touched her forehead where it still felt unreasonably warm as she watched him disappear around a corner. Hermione looked down at her arrow and followed its direction, devoid of any thoughts other than, lips, bergamot and soon. Slowly, she regained her mind. This, she thought, is what happened when all the other girls were discovering boys.

"They became silly, stupid airheads who barely remembered to breathe without prompting," she said aloud. Her personal scolding didn't keep the daft smile off her face though. She'd like to feel his lips again. Preferably on hers, rather than beside them. Next time, she would be prepared. Next time, she would get her kiss. A giggle tumbled from her lips as she remembered his all but command to expect him. Really girl! Get a hold of yourself! There wasn't much that would take the shit-eating grin off her face though, not much at all.

"Would you care for some help Miss Granger? You seem to be lost." Hermione shrieked and wobbled in her heels, shit-eating grin gone. Prince Theodore Nott leaned casually against the wall, as if he'd been waiting. "I can show you back to the ballroom, no need for a charm."

Hermione scrutinized his face, feeling uneasy for some reason. He scrutinized her back and she was hard pressed not to shudder, though he didn't seem at all perturbed by her own perusal. "I can find my own way back to the ball," Hermione told him, passing him.

"Nonsense," he sniffed. "Cancel that spell. I'm taking you back." He wrapped his hand around her upper arm firmly. His grip put her teeth on edge and alarmed her, effectively ending the Point Me spell. She jerked her arm back and forth furiously, trying to wrench it out of his grasp

"Let me go!" she ordered. His grip loosened, but Hermione was only relieved for a moment; he wrapped his hand around hers instead, pulling her along.

"How is your family?" he asked her sneering. "Your sisters look ravishing tonight, so I can only assume they are doing well."

"Let me go!"

"Stop struggling, Hermione, you'll twist an ankle." He slowed to a halt and loosened his hold a bit. "I just want to talk to you for a moment." His eyes roved over her again and she couldn't hide the shiver this time. His gaze grew cold. "I know of your deal with the Malfoys. I want to offer my own."

"What do you mean? Why won't you let me go?!" He gave a frustrated huff and moved his hand from hers to her waist, invading her space. She stopped fighting him. His closeness did not incite the same feelings Draco's did. Her butterflies turned in turmoil, but this was tinged with fear and panic rather than- well, rather than whatever it was Draco made her feel.

"Marry me," he said one hand sliding up her back past the base of her neck and into her hair, pulling apart the updo with an ease that suggested magic. Her hair tumbled down in a riotous mass. "Marrying me will get you away from the widow and her little parasites just as well as marrying Malfoy. I can offer you just as much-no, more." He bent his head to inhale the scent of her hair with an unnerving relish. "I've wanted you since before that brat's father set his sights on you as his broodmare." His grip in her hair tightened forcing her to meet his gaze. "I want to be the only man to ever know your pleasure."

The panic she felt inside found physical expression in an abrupt wrench away from him. She moved with such force that she toppled backwards. One shoe twisted around her foot, the other came off completely. She pulled the remaining shoe off, panted out the incantation Draco taught her, holding the Marquis in her mind rather than the ballroom. The arrow led her to a closed door, that was most definitely not the ballroom. Praying Sirius and his paramour were dressed, she shoved the door open and yelled out his name. Between curses and shuffling, Sirius answered.

She waited in the corridor, antsily looking up and down, wondering if Prince Nott was going to appear out of thin air again. Sirius whipped out of the room still buttoning up his shirt, looking mildly angry.

"What in the dickens do you want? Shouldn't you be with-what happened to your hair? And why do you look like your about to jump out of your skin?"

"It's time for us to go home now, Uncle," Hermione told him. He examined her face for a moment before nodding brusquely. He stuck his head back in the door and murmured something to whoever was inside and then led her to an exit hidden from the public. Others were leaving the party this way, so carriages were lining up and taking off with their dance-weary occupants. Hermione searched the surroundings until the Black carriage pulled up with its thestrals. She clambered in, barefoot and ungraceful, with one shoe in hand, hurrying the Marquis along. She only relaxed when they were in the air, leaving the Manor behind them.

As darkness overtook the carriage, Sirius sighed and patted Hermione's thigh. She nearly jumped out of her skin. "Alright then, tell me how I've come to find you in a shambles again."

Hermione scrubbed her face tiredly. The panic she felt before had ebbed, leaving her feeling drained. The evening left her feeling drained. Such a whirlwind of emotions, the fear, the anger, desperation, nervousness, panic, frustration, that strange flutter in her abdomen when Draco's dimple graced the world with its presence. Too many things had happened, were happening. The world needed to slow down before the whirlwind sucked the air out of her lungs.

"Hermione, please." He laid his hand on her back, comforting and encouraging. She let out a long sigh and turned to him, eyes tired.

"The Prince Nott would like to request-rather he demands my hand in marriage." The Marquis' eyebrows shot up to his hairline; honestly, one couldn't expect him to be prepared for that. "He says he can offer me more than just an escape and-I quote-"wants to be the only one to know my pleasure.""

Sirius nodded slowly, eyebrows un-meshing with his hairline as he took in the information. "That 'know your pleasure' bit is a bit forward. Would you rather Nott over the Malfoys?"

Even if she didn't already feel something for Draco, her answer would have been the same. "No." The intensity Nott emitted felt unhinged, obsessed. Hermione took a deep breath, but couldn't let it go. Nott scared her. His hands were too tight, his body too close. He spoke like a stalker, not a lover, as if he was entitled to her-to her; his proposition was a rhetorical question rather than an offering. His voice and the memory of her nearness made her teeth grind. Even if she didn't already feel something for Draco, her answer would have been the same. "No." She studied the crystal shoe in her lap and wondered what had become of its mate.

Beside her, the Marquis sighed, relaxing back into the cushions of the carriage with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. "He's just another player, Hermione. You can't let every new move disrupt you, no matter how unexpected or disturbing. You won't make it through the game otherwise, and I have every intention of seeing you through."

Hermione glanced at him with narrowed eyes. While his sentiment of seeing her through was sweet, his lack of concern irritated her. She'd just been molested by a brute, (and not just a stupid brute -a brute with wealth, power and intelligence) and his advice, was 'don't get frazzled?' Frazzled wasn't a strong enough word, for how she-quite validly-felt.

But Hermione wasn't in the mood to argue with a man who could not comprehend the subtleties of being female. She was in the mood for her cot, in the servants quarters, with no one to disturb her.

"Do you think the Widow will be home already?" she asked the utterly too relaxed Marquis as her mind turned to the woman and her brood who had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Hermione was not in the mood to encounter them either. She would ward her door tonight; she had no desire to die just when she began to play. There was no guarantee she would survive another one of those curses.

"The party's nowhere near finishing," he murmured. "Just beginning really. The bells were chiming midnight not long before you interrupted-" Hermione cast a sideways glare, "-me. Those girls won't give up on snagging a prince for at least another hour or so."

Hermione didn't respond, but she felt some relief. When the carriage touched down in front of her father's house, she hugged Sirius tightly and muttered her heartfelt thanks. He may be a sex obsessed bastard, but he did care deeply for her and she him.

In the servants' quarters, the splendid entrapments of the evening gone and the door warded to hell and back, Hermione laid in her cot and thought. She thought of the Widow's ire at her presence, of Nott's feverish eyes, Draco's half smile, and the Marquis's convoluted chess board. She could almost see the players, moving across the checkered spaces; they moved in turn, simultaneously, of one accord and in opposition. Her piece sat stationary, waiting for a command from its possessor, but she had none. As their moves became erratic and blurred with sleep, she realized she needed a plan. They needed a plan.

Hi guys. I've finally emerged from my hidey-hole to post something. I've literally been working on this chapter since the last time I posted. Every time I sat down to write, I'd type 2 sentences, delete 2 paragraphs, hit undo twice and then stare at my keyboard for 20 minutes. But here it is! I have something! To those of you who managed to find this in the midst of my dry spell, I applaud you; I couldn't find it and I wrote the damn thing. Review please! I love it when you boost my confidence (or offer constructive criticism.)