Chapter 9
Draco already regretted agreeing to go to the charity ball. Curse Theo and his stupid puppy eyes. The man knew that Draco wouldn’t be able to refuse making one of his friends happy, and he had taken full advantage of it. This is what he got for being a good friend and having a soft heart.
Scowling, he grabbed a miniature quiche off the buffet table beside him and stuffed it into his mouth. Ever since his arrival forty-five minutes ago, he hadn’t spoken to anyone. Theo and Astoria had attended the ball with him, but right after they had gotten their first drinks, Theo had whisked his wife away and the two had since been flirting from table to table, nattering away at their many friends. Draco caught Theo’s eye from where the dark-haired man was in conversation with a portly, red-faced man.
Theo winked.
Draco showed him the middle finger.
Theo pouted.
Draco rolled his eyes.
Theo pouted harder, using his puppy eyes to full effect.
Huffing, Draco grabbed a second flute of champagne (because for some reason they didn’t magically refill themselves the way the ones at Malfoy Manor had in his childhood) and stepped forward, his eyes searching fruitlessly for someone he could interact with. Everyone seemed to be immersed in their own tables. No surprise there – who would want to talk to a Death Eater? At the rate he was going, the only person he’d end up conversing with would be one of the house elves when dinner was served.
As he averted his eyes, Draco saw a flash of diamonds as a woman walked up to him, picking up a glass of swirling pink and blue liquid.
“Hello, Granger.” Hermione turned to him, her confused expression morphing into surprise, and then neutrality.
“We meet again, Malfoy.” Hermione took a sip of her still-swirling drink. Draco took a moment to take the other witch in. She was dressed to the nines, in a stunning navy satin dress scattered with diamonds. Her hair was gathered atop her head in a style very similar to the look she had worn at the Yule ball all those years ago at Hogwarts; a set of deep blue sapphires stood out against the pale skin of her neck, with similar jewels resting on her wrist and hanging from her ears. Her lips were glossy and soft, and Draco had the brief thought that they must taste like raspberries.
“You look lovely.” Draco watched a pink flush spread across her cheekbones as the witch ducked her head.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Malfoy.” She said nothing else.
Theo had told him to speak to someone at the ball, right? No one had said anything about the ‘someone’ being a total stranger. Well, here goes nothing. “I’m surprised you’re not with Potter and Weasley.”
Hermione shook her head, smiling. “Harry and Parvati are currently being swamped by practically everyone in this hall.”
Draco turned to look at the noticeable crowd milling near the entrance of the hall. For the shortest of seconds, he caught sight of Harry’s face – at least those seemed to be his glasses – before it was obscured by the crowd. “It never gets easier, does it?”
Hermione laughed. “Not at all.”
Draco swigged his champagne “Well, that’s Potter accounted for. Why aren’t you with Weasley?”
Hermione’s stare hardened and her voice turned bitter. “He’s enjoying the company.”
Draco followed Hermione’s gaze and saw the redhead wrapped around a woman wearing red with dark hair, the two gazing at one another soppily. Were she and Ron no longer in a relationship? Draco didn’t think it prudent to ask. “Ah,” he said instead. “I take it that’s something new?”
“It is.” Hermione’s voice was cutting. The two fell silent.
Draco continued to stare at Hermione. Something was odd about her. Her jewellery seemed to be enchanted to sparkle even if it wasn’t under the light, the silver and jewels shimmering intermittently. Then he stared harder. Those were dragons. Moving dragons, to be precise. And if Draco knew one thing, he knew about his namesake.
“Are you wearing Malfoy silver?” Startled, Hermione straightened up slightly.
“No,” she said defensively, her brows furrowing in indignation. “Why would I be wearing Malfoy silver?”
“Malfoy silver has characteristic enchanted dragons in all the pieces. It was a gift from some goblins that had fled persecution from another tribe. The Malfoys offered them magical protection, and in gratitude, they gave us those pieces. Your jewellery set has silver dragons that have been enchanted to move as though they were living. I’m sure you saw my father’s cane had the same detailing.” He reached out, brushing a finger over one of the dragons coiled around the biggest sapphire in Hermione’s necklace. “How on earth are you, Hermione Granger, wearing Malfoy silver?”
Hermione stepped back, laying a hand protectively over the necklace, and Draco snatched his hand back as though he had been burned. He had overstepped, he could tell just by Hermione’s frown.
“Perhaps it looks like Malfoy silver to you,” Hermione spoke icily, “but I can assure you, it isn’t. Harry gave this to me from the Black family vault. Which he inherited from his godfather, Sirius, who most certainly wasn’t a Malfoy.”
“Oh,” Draco said stupidly. Then the epiphany hit him. “Harry’s godfather was Sirius Black.”
“Yes,” Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “So?” Then she grew very quiet. “Oh.”
“This set must have been gifted by my grandfather to the Black family when my mother married my father,” Draco said, awed.
“I didn’t even know that was still a tradition,” Hermione whispered, gazing at a dragon on her bracelet as it breathed a tiny blue flame.
“Only in some Pureblood families,” Draco explained. “Even some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight don’t follow it anymore.”
Hermione picked up her drink again, swallowing a mouthful of the colourful liquid. “I don’t think your grandfather would be too pleased at the fact that someone like me is now wearing a gift he had passed down.”
“Someone like you?” Draco questioned.
“A mudblood,” Hermione said bluntly.
Draco winced. “Please don’t say that. You may be Muggleborn but you’re still the most brilliant witch I know. Besides, my grandfather is dead. Who cares what he thinks?”
Hermione looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, that was kind of harsh of me. Things haven’t been too easy for me recently.” Then she paused. “You said I’m the most brilliant witch you know.”
Draco felt his cheeks grow warm. “You’re in the Prophet every other month for some reform or new law that you’ve helped enforce. I don’t think that just anyone would be able to do that.”
Hermione fiddled with her bracelet, suddenly feeling shy. One of the dragons nuzzled her fingertip. “I don’t think you’d have noticed that. Thank you.”
“Of course I noticed,” Draco smirked. “Our family house elves are now salaried and get sick leave and they’re happier than they ever could have been.”
“That’s great to hear,” Hermione beamed. “My team is currently working on rolling out a nationwide lycanthropy potion program. It’s still in the early stages, but if we manage to get it approved, it’ll mean so much for the new generation of werewolves that came about during the war.”
Draco’s eyes gleamed. “Interesting. My research is working with lycanthropy ingredients as well - I’m trying to develop a more efficient brewing process.”
Draco watched Hermione’s light up with subtle delight. “That sounds incredible,” she said breathlessly.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she gestured to the tables lining the hall’s perimeter. “Would you like to have a seat?”
Grinning, Draco nodded. “I’d love to.”