Her hand met another under the table. She looked up and found nine girls staring at her with weary eyes, holding hands with each other. Her breath rattled as the strawberry-blonde grabbed her other hand. Barely a heartbeat passed before the nine of them continued moving, gathering food and pulling glass out of their knees.

These girls had survived the past two months and would continue to survive. She could survive one night and a fraction of the horror. Putting a stopper on the overflowing bottle of her emotions, she came to her feet and stood next to Draco's chair. She focused on a bookshelf, and imagined the pages filling with the images of this evening until they snapped shut and slid into forgotten dusty shelf.

It wasn't long before Flint stood and said, "Shall we move to the Lounge, gentlemen?"

Pucey and Montague quickly rose from their chairs, taking their girls by the waist. Goyle was jostled from where he was falling asleep against Susan's shoulder.

Hermione remembered what Flint said earlier. That's for the other room. What Goyle did to Susan was acceptable in the next room.

Surely Draco wouldn't take her there. The other room was clearly intended for much more than "minor contact."

Her heart started to pound again, and she breathed in, searching for a lake with still waters.

One by one, the boys gradually led their girls from the room. Draco hung back, taking his time with draining his second glass of wine. Relief began seeping into Hermione's veins. He was stalling so they could make an easy escape. She stood silently by his side, eyes fixed on the floor as Zabini murmured to his girl on their way past.

"Draco." Hermione looked up to find Flint stopped in the doorway with Penelope, Pucey and Mortensen behind them. "You're coming, of course?"

Hermione's breath hitched. Draco passed a hand through his hair and said, "I'm afraid not. I have an important call with my father this evening." His hand drifted to the small of her back, ready to guide her out.

"I knew he wouldn't," Pucey slurred in Flint's ear.

"Come now, Draco!" Flint gestured dramatically. "I've already won ten Galleons from Montague. He bet you'd never bring her to dinner." He smiled and pointed his thumb to Pucey. "This one says we couldn't get her into the Lounge."

The way they grinned at her, the way "the Lounge" rolled off Flint's tongue — it made Hermione's stomach churn. Draco forced a smile and fiddled with the ring on his thumb.

"Perhaps another time."

Flint sauntered towards them. "What time is your Floo call?" His tone was deceptively casual.

A quick pause, and Hermione wondered if he was trying to figure out the time. "Half-past twelve. So we—"

"Plenty of time!" Flint clapped Draco on the shoulder, as if the deed was done. "Just a little tour." His eyes raked over Hermione's chest and shoulders. "I want to see what the Golden Girl thinks of our little club."