Not Yet

"No." She had a feeling this would be Ginny's reaction.

"Ginny. Come on. We both could use a break." I tried to reason, but Ginny was a Gryffindor through and through; she wouldn't be caught dead at a Slytherin party.

Unless...

"Aren't you tired of waiting for Harry to make a move?" I grasped her shoulders. "Go to the party with me, look as hot as humanly possible, and let the news get to him in the morning."

"What would that do? Make him angry at me? At both of us?" Ginny was thinking logically for once, much to Hermione's dismay.

"Yes... and make him jealous." That caught Ginny's attention. "Think about it... when word gets around that the Ginny Weasley was dancing with other guys, Slytherins at that, Harry will be livid. People will give him the push he needs to man up and ask you out." Hermione could see the wheels turning in Ginny's head.

Ginny was easily one of the smartest in her family. But as strong-willed as she was, she refused to chase any man. So, while they all knew Harry fancied her, she would not make the first move. Hermione had tried to tell her countless times that she was stronger than Harry and that she could easily ask him out, but Ginny insisted. She wanted to be treated like a lady.

"I guess it would be an indirect move to push him in my direction..." Ginny thought with a frown. "But what's in it for you? Why do you want to go to a Slytherin party so bad that you're wasting your time trying to change my mind about something?" Hermione gave a humorless laugh at Ginny's question.

If only she knew... Yes, Malfoy had invited her, but Hermione knew what happened at those parties. The Slytherins had an almost endless supply of alcohol, and people spent the night getting smashed and dancing inappropriately. She needed a release. She was tired of feeling like her only purpose was to be the third leg of the Golden Trio.

"Ginny... You know I love Harry and your brother—"

"But they're insufferable and have been using you for years?" Hermione's jaw went slack with Ginny's inference. "I've been telling you that you need to be harder on them. They can't rely on you for everything."

"I know you have, but Gin... Harry has been through so much. Watching Voldemort kill Cedric... watching Voldemort's death... He needs any support he can get, and Ron and I are his best friends..." She trailed off, wincing.

Harry had indeed been through a lot, but she would never admit out loud that she had too. Killing Voldemort haunted her. It still does; she was only fifteen when it happened... It's not something she talked about, and that's exactly the point Ginny would make.

"Hermione. You killed Voldemort. You have been through just as much as he has, if not more. I can only imagine how that has affected you, yet I don't see you receiving help from anyone." With her hip jutted out and her arms crossed, Ginny was the spitting image of her mother.

"Gin..." Hermione warned.

"Fine. Fine. Let's just go to this party, but you owe me one." Ginny finally relented.

Owing Ginny a favor was not what Hermione intended for the night... and she was momentarily regretting it.

"When you said I owed you one– I pictured something more... Helpful." Hermione cringed at her reflection in the mirror.

"This is helpful." Ginny tousled Hermione's newly tamed hair, the usual puff was charmed into long waves that ran down her back. "I've always wanted to do you up, your wardrobe has so much potential." The witch smiled appreciatively at her work. She had done Hermione's hair, chosen an outfit and thoroughly enjoyed the process.

Hermione had been hesitant, but Ginny left no room for argument. This was the favor she wanted, and while Ginny stayed true to Hermione's style, she was still thoroughly out of her comfort zone.

Hermione wore an all-black ensemble, unusual for the witch, who often donned warm colors and muggle jeans. Her shirt was a fitted long-sleeve with a high neck, and her skirt was one she wore on weekends that Ginny had charmed to be slightly shorter.

It looked nice, accentuating her waist and legs, but she would have never thought to pair the two together.

"You're not wrong, but I still don't understand how this helps you." Hermione turned to find a near-giddy Ginny rubbing her hands together.

"It entertains me, or it will later when you've got every bigot in that room staring slack-jawed." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gestured for Hermione to follow.

Ginny was much more confident than Hermione in her matching skirt and blue top as they made their way through the deserted Gryffindor common room and toward the dungeons. What Hermione lacked in confidence, she made up for in brains... as she did with everything else. So she knew that if she was concerned with what she looked like all night, she would have no fun and would defeat the purpose of the outing. She decided on a solution as they rounded the corner to the blank wall that the Slytherin common was hidden behind: She would stand up straight, flip her hair back, and completely abandon all thoughts of what she looked like other than the ones that reasoned that she looked hot.

They were a bit early, but Hermione decided it was best to just follow Ginny's whims for once, to just let go for the night.

As soon as they rounded the corner, a fourth-year Slytherin Hermione had never officially met appeared through the wall. They must have added some sort of ward that alerted them of people's arrivals; non-Slytherins didn't know the code to enter.

"What are you two doing here?" The girl sneered.

"We were invited... obviously." Ginny rolled her eyes, but Hermione was more curious as to what she would do if the girl snapped back.

"By whom?" The girl questioned, then looked at Hermione with a raised brow.

"Does it matter?" She surprised herself by responding, but she was already fed up with people questioning her for the day.

"Well yes, we don't usually allow—" What was sure to be an insulting argument was cut short by a very serious Blaise Zabini emerging from the room behind the blonde girl.

"You're early." He deadpanned. Looking back and forth between the two Gryffindors but interestingly lingering on Ginny.

Before Hermione could respond, the unnamed girl spoke up.

"I was just about to tell them to leave." She practically drooled at Blaise, giving him a look that he, seemingly intentionally to Hermione's observant eyes, ignored.

"No need. They were invited." He gestured for them to follow him. Ginny gave Hermione a questioning look, she responded with a shrug and moved to follow Zabini.

The Slytherin common room was more welcoming than she had anticipated. The reflection across walls from the black lake gave the room an enchanted hue, and the decoration was far less pretentious than she had pictured. They were all clearly antiques but still seemed cozy.

There were students shifting furniture around with levitation charms while others seemed to be setting heavy silencing charms and setting things like a crystal chandelier to be unbreakable.

"As you can see, we are still setting up. But you can feel free to get comfortable, take a look around." Blaise clasped his hands behind his back.

"Nonesense!" Ginny blurted. "How can we help?"

Blaise looked momentarily taken aback, he recovered quickly but not before muttering something that sounded like Gryffindors and their bloody bleeding hearts...

"We don't need help, Ginevra." He motioned for them to follow him and sat on a nearby sofa that had already been moved to make space for a dance floor.

"Okay. First of all, do not call me Ginevra—"

"Play nice, Ginny." Hermione chided, holding back her amusement.

To her surprise, Ginny just rolled her eyes and sat down on a loveseat across from the sofa Blaise occupied.

"We haven't formally met. I believe it would be inappropriate to call you a nickname," Blaise said the word as if it tasted of an earwax jelly bean.

"Inappropriate? Bloody hell." Ginny muttered. "Alright then." She stood up and walked over to where Blaise was sitting, peering down at him. How someone could look relaxed and wound tighter than an eight-day clock simultaneously was beyond Hermione's knowledge— and very few things qualified for that category.

"I'm Ginny. I like quidditch, and my favorite color is pink." Blaise stared at Ginny's extended hand for just a second before standing and accepting it quizzically. "Now you must call me Ginny." Satisfied with herself, Ginny went back to her spot.

Hermione just observed. Dumbfounded.

Before any of them could break the brief silence in question, a sulking Pansy Parkinson plopped onto the sofa next to Blaise.

"What's got you so worked up?" Ginny asked as if she'd known the raven-haired witch her whole life.

Pansy seemed to notice their presence at that. Going still with confusion for a second before huffing.

"I really cannot recall whether or not I like you, but since you asked—" She shifted on the sofa, "Theo won't let me put purple dye in Draco's shampoo." She pouted. Pouted. Hermione was more confused than she ever recalled being.

She was in the Slytherin common room with a pouting Pansy Parkinson, who had yet to insult her.

Odd.

"Might I ask why you need to put dye in Malfoy's shampoo?" Hermione cautiously questioned, curiosity winning over her better judgment.

"Well, Granger, it seems you finally don't know the answer to something." Hermione didn't react, and Pansy huffed another disappointed sigh before finishing her answer. "I accidentally ordered a muggle hair dye... I won't bore you with the details, but I wanted to test it, and I can't very well put it in Daphne's hair, plus we've got a bet going." She gestured to Blaise, who seemed just as shocked at Pansy's willing divulging of information.

"A bet?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. A bet. Merlin, I thought you were bright." Pansy rolled her eyes. "We're trying to get Malfoy to lose his cool. He's been relaxed for weeks."

"Why would you want him to lose his cool?" Ginny asked this time.

"Because it's fun." Pansy seemed perplexed at the mere question. "Why else?"

"I don't think I would call a Malfoy temper tantrum my idea of fun, Parkinson." Hermione pointed out, noticing how the lights began to dim and the room was slowly filling with people.

Pansy just smirked and leaned back onto the sofa.

She was being strangely civil... they all were, save for the girl at the door, not a single Slytherin had batted an eye at the two outsiders.

"Slytherins know how to treat guests, Granger." A low voice startled her from over her shoulder, close enough for only her to hear.

"Malfoy." She turned to meet his gaze. "How did you—"

"It's easy to decipher what you're thinking. Your face—" He poked her cheek. "Always give you away."

She was about to ask what he meant, or how he knew, or tell him not to touch her, or the dozen different questions she had, but coupled with the tingling feeling he left on her cheek— which she pointedly ignored— and the confusion of his proximity, the words never left her. Just as she had finally gathered her wits, Malfoy recoiled.

Physically jolted backwards, as if she had slapped him or deeply insulted him.

He stood a foot away now, leaving the air around her where he had just stood feeling oddly warm. His face scrunched as he seemed to deeply analyze her face.

"Where are your freckles?" He asked, still sounding utterly taken aback.

Her freckles?

She had put a glamour over her freckles that night, along with Ginny's insistence to add some color to her cheeks.

But the question wasn't what confused her. No, it was the fact that he had noticed. He noticed her freckles were missing, and he seemed... offended.

"My... freckles?" Hermione asked, creasing her own eyebrows.

"Yes. They're missing." He said matter-of-factly, as if the whereabouts of her freckles were of great importance.

She opened her mouth to speak when someone cleared their throat behind her and they were reminded that they weren't alone.

Malfoy seemed to realize this at the same time because he looked over Hermione's head to where everyone was sitting and straightened, finally fully backing away from her.

"Draco, would you mind getting the drinks started? Theo is going to be late, something about Luna needing help with wrackspurts somewhere." Pansy scrunched her nose at the mention of wrackspurts, but Hermione was just shocked that they all seemed to be perfectly accepting of Luna.

Merlin knows it took Hermione years to get accustomed to her.

"Pans, why can't you make the drinks? You're better at the fruity cocktails you all like." Malfoy complained as a response to Pansy's request.

This was all so incredibly odd. Domestic, even.

Ginny met Hermione's eyes across the room, and she found the witch just as confused as she was.

"Granger, you can sit you know?" Malfoy spoke, looking amused. When she didn't move, he sat on another loveseat and pat the space next to him.

Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms.

"You condescending–"

"Fucking hell, Granger." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not everything is a power move or an insult. Just take a seat and relax."

She listened.

She plopped down next to him, staying on her side of the couch and receiving perplexed looks from Ginny. She could see that Malfoy was receiving similar ones from his friends.

She spent the next few minutes quietly observing as people danced and catching bits of the conversations around her. Ginny managed to engage the ever-stoic Blaise in a heated debate about who would win the house cup, which was currently neck and neck. To her right, Malfoy was quiet but occasionally contributed to the conversation Pansy was now having with the younger Greengrass sister, they spoke of the upcoming quidditch match of Slytherin against Ravenclaw.

"Why has no one started on drinks?" Theodore Nott walked in wearing a pair of Spectrespecs and went straight for the bar that had been set up behind Blaise and Pansy's couch.

"I told Draco to, but he's too busy pretending not to stare at Granger." Pansy pointed between them and smirked.

"Granger? Oh! Hello there! It seems we have lions in the snakepit tonight." Theodore removed his spectrespecs and wiggled his eyebrows before winking at them. "If you ladies need anything... I'll be here, for your drinking pleasure." He bowed dramatically and continued mixing up something green.

"Right... Well 'Mione," Ginny turned to her, "I believe there is a dance floor just waiting for us to grace it with our presence." She gestured for Hermione to grab her hand.

"I don't know Gin..." Hermione felt as though dancing in a crowd full of Slytherins would get her hexed, but she kept that to herself.

"Go dance, Granger."  The low timbre of Malfoy's voice made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "The whole purpose of the invitation was so you could dance." Hermione worked to hide her shock, not only at his words, but at the fact that he wasn't hiding anything.

He just openly told everyone that he invited her to do something nice for her. Almost as shocking was that the only person who seemed perplexed, other than Hermione, was Ginny. His friends' lack of reaction made it seem like they either already knew, or they were used to him being less of an arse.

"Why don't you dance with her, mate? Might make her feel more at home." Theodore suggested while he handed out shots to the group. When he reached her, she hesitated but took one anyway. She would need it if she was going to answer Ginny's questions later, that is if the Weasleys' lack of outburst was any indication as to what she's holding in.

"I don't know if I'm exactly her comfort—" Draco began.

"Actually, Malfoy." Hermione stood and shot back the small glass full of firewhisky, earning a low whistle and an eyebrow raise from Theodore. The momentary burn was a welcome distraction.  "You invited me, I believe it's only fair you join me." Merlin, she hoped she wouldn't regret this later.

To her surprise, Malfoy only briefly frowned before taking his own shot and standing.

But, of course, he had a stipulation.

"I'll dance with you, Granger." He smirked. "But that would leave Weaslette all alone, it would make me feel so much better if someone danced with her. Say... Blaise, you're not busy, are you?" He rubbed his hand on his jaw as an attempt to hide his growing amusement.

Blaise, however, didn't miss a beat.

He stood and went straight for Ginny.

"Ginevra?" Blaise extended his hand for her to follow, but she just stared at it with narrowed eyes.

"Ginny." She emphasized, crossing her arms.

Blaise just sighed, a smile ghosting his lips.

"Alright, Ginny." He insisted with his hand, and Ginny took it cautiously. She had an uncharacteristic blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks.

They would definitely have to break this down later. Ginny didn't blush. Not since she was twelve and had a crush on Harry. In fact—

"So? Are you ready?" A pale hand appeared extended before her, the voice a mere whisper, only for her ears.

She almost made an excuse and took back her previous statement, but when she saw the look of hopefulness and uncertainty, albeit hidden, in the grey eyes before her, she knew she couldn't say no.

She extended a hand and tentatively placed it in his, ignoring the jolt that her magic gave her entire body at the connection.

It was an entirely foreign feeling, trying but failing to resist someone. She had always been able to say no to people; even Malfoy didn't used to be an exception. But as he led her to the dance floor where there were groups of people swaying and moving to the latest song by The Weird Sisters as it was amplified through the wireless, she felt the need to just follow him. To explore.

Her hunger for knowledge came in many forms.

At that moment, she wanted to know.

Still hand in hand, the two polar opposites stood in the center of the dance floor, not awkward, but waiting.

Hermione waited for him to let go.

While he only seemed to want to be closer.

He broke first and, with a sigh, he let go of her hand.

But she stepped closer.

"What are we doing, Malfoy?" She dropped her arms to her sides. "I came here to get away. To get so smashed that I wouldn't remember anything in the morning. To dance and have my feet hurt for days because I needed a break. Now I'm here on the dance floor with you with a single shot in my system, and we're not even dancing! I don't want to mince words, so I think you should just tell me—"

Cold. Warm. Hot.

His cold signet ring contrasted with the warmth of his fingertips on her cheeks. But the feel of his lips suddenly against hers was searing hot. It sent sparks down to her fingertips, shivers down her spine.

He used his hold on her face to angle her for more access, silently asking for entry with a pass of his tongue on her bottom lip.

She meant to pull away, but instead, she granted it. Her lips parted as if they had a mind of their own, her brain couldn't decipher what was right and wrong. Couldn't decipher whether the taste of firewhisky on her tongue was a foreign entity or a long-lost piece of her very soul.

When his tongue met hers, she swore she'd never felt anything remotely similar. Nothing compared to kissing Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy. Her mind urged her to pull away, but her body begged for her to pull him closer.

Before she could decide, he decided for her and slowly pulled away. Had she not known better, she would have thought he was nervous.

His eyes searched her entire face, maybe for regret, but when he found none, he finally let go.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then Hermione looked around— and while no one seemed to have noticed their moment— the wrongness of it all hit her like a stinging jinx to the forehead, and she ran.

She ran out of the room and into the dungeon corridor, her mind racing faster than her legs could carry her. What was she thinking? Why hadn't she pushed him off?

Brightest Witch of Her Age, and all it took was a kiss to make her question her entire existence.

But, of course, she couldn't be left alone to her thoughts because behind her, the subject of her mental experiments appeared with his hands in his pockets.

"Please, just let's pretend that never happened." Hermione tried walking away, but he only followed. 

"No." He said simply with a shrug.

"No?"

"You asked me not to mince words, so I didn't. I believe actions speak louder. Now you know what I want." He merely shrugged and stepped closer, she felt stuck to the ground. 

"I know nothing." Words she never thought she'd say.

"No?" He took a step closer. "Do I need to repeat my statement?" The lilt of his voice was as soft as it was predatory. 

Hermione let everything she had been thinking out without even realizing what she had been keeping in. 

"What do you want me to do? You want me to just forget everything? Hold hands with you and skip through a field? To forgive you for calling me slurs and bullying me and my friends? No. I can't do that. I can't just forget everything, Malfoy. Not for any small level of attraction or your efforts." She decided she wouldn't mince words either, though she tried not to focus on her admission of attraction or the way her words didn't seem to deter him at all. 

"I don't need you to forget everything. That's not what I want—"

"Then what is?"

"Will you let me speak?"

She huffed, but nodded for him to go on.

"I want to earn your forgiveness. I know what I did. I know. I had no choice but that's not an excuse. I want to prove to you that that's not me. Not anymore; I don't think it ever was. I want the chance to do that. But I won't ask for forgiveness. Not yet."

Hermione found herself uncrossing her arms. 

Could she really believe that he had changed? It seemed less improbable now that she'd spent time with him and his friends. They didn't seem like the kids they once were. In fact, they all looked freer than ever before. Almost two years after Voldemort's death, they were finding their way. 

Hermione was skeptical, but she wouldn't be herself otherwise. Still, she decided to take a leap of faith. Everyone deserves a fighting chance. 

Malfoy waited patiently for her reaction, not pushing her. 

"I— I can't make any promises." Hermione met his eyes. She could tell he was fighting to keep his features schooled. "But I want to try." If only for the sake of doing something for herself, but she didn't tell him that.

Malfoy nodded slowly, not looking disappointed but also not exactly hopeful. 

"Okay. I can work with that." He reached for her. "But I believe there's dancing to be done." His small smile began to chip at the tension as she placed her hand in his. 

A symbol of trust. 

"We'll have to revisit the holding hands part," he said, looking down at where she accepted his offer. The absurdity of the moment was enough to make her laugh, breaking away the remaining tension. 

So they went back inside.