Fake love
She’d watched him these past few years—not in some obsessed manner, but off-handedly, a vague noticing of her surroundings. They dabbled in similar social circles of influence. They didn’t clash, per se, but there were often conflicts of interest that, more often than not, swayed towards Hermione. When a decision was made in her favor, their eyes would catch and he’d nod, eyes flashing with what she imagined was begrudging respect.
After the passing of his wife and a period of solitude, he began appearing with different women over the years. Beautiful by definition, exceptional inside and out, those who attended draped over his arm drew in crowds like an aphrodisiac. They were actresses, scientists, journalists, and even musicians. To appear with Draco Malfoy was to underline yourself as someone worth knowing.
To appear with Draco Malfoy was to accept a one-time deal.
These women who showed up at his side and enjoyed an evening of spotlight never appeared again, at least as his partner. They’d very often end up even more successful after the event, and were always gracious in their talks about the Malfoy heir, but there was never any discussion of any kind of long-lasting relationships.
Hermione’s own romances were varied and memorable in their own wonderful ways. She didn’t regret any of the connections made, instead cherishing the moments in real time. Sometimes, they’d last only a month, and at other times, they’d go on for up to a year. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she couldn’t imagine holding onto any single person longer than that. There was too much to do, too much to see and experience. How could she hold someone else back when she herself still wanted more ?
It wasn’t much of a surprise when Witch Weekly started musing about the likelihood of a Granger-Malfoy match. Both were prolific leaders of their generation in their chosen fields. They attended many of the same functions, were conveniently single, and deliciously forbidden in every possible way.
Hermione traced the phrases in her mind as she followed Malfoy’s movement across the ballroom. “Most eligible wizard”, “Golden Girl on the rise”, “Imagine their children”—she needed to hunt down this Marnie Scribe and her ridiculous quill. It wasn’t that Hermione was mad about the gossip. It wasn’t malicious like the Rita Skeevey articles of her past, Azkaban bless her, nor could she deny the appeal. Draco Malfoy was objectively a wizard worth consideration.
No, what she had issue with was the very notion that she’d allow herself an ounce of fake love for a step up.
Maybe it was petty of her to remember the glittering smiles and echoing laughs of his past partners, but she didn’t want to be associated with him in that way. She didn’t want to give anybody the room to accuse any future success with his influence. Hermione might find him sexy as sin, but she knew a trap when she saw one.
His eyes caught hers across the room. If she looked away now, it’d be obvious she was affected. She lifted her chin along with her eyebrows. He tilted his head and smirked. With a brief comment to the group beside him, he pressed forward, destination clear.
She desperately wanted to furrow her brow and scowl at him, but his former listeners were aptly watching the impending collision. Was this the moment that Draco Malfoy enchanted Hermione Granger?
Now that he stood in front of her, towering from above like a goddamn lamppost with his golden white hair, she couldn’t stop herself.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
There was that bloody smirk again.
“If you didn’t want my attention, Granger, you shouldn’t have let me catch you looking.” With a bow and a raised hand, he invited her to dance to the slow waltz just beginning.
There was nothing for it now that they had everyone’s attention and he just stood there in expectation.
She slid her hand into his and felt the tightening of his cool fingers around hers. He drew her into his frame, expertly maneuvering her across the floor like the perfect gentleman he was raised to be. She’d swoon if she wasn’t so mad at him.
“Careful, darling, you’re starting to show your fangs,” he said with amusement coloring the laugh in his voice.
She schooled her features into submission. “This is not what we agreed on.”
“Maybe I’m done with agreements.”
“Maybe I’m done with you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I will not be another check on your list of conquests.” The growl in Hermione’s voice was clear.
He spun her out without warning, sending her heart swooping into her throat. When he curled her back in, she found herself closer than before. Some might say, inappropriately close.
“You’re not.”
“Why should I believe I’m any different?”
The hand at her waist tightened, and she saw the faintest strain around his eyes. “Because I’m telling you that you are. You are different, Hermione.”
Why did the sound of her given name on his lips make her want to throw all caution to the wind?
“Prove it.”
The predatory grin that spread across his face was one she never saw outside of their one-on-one time together. Seeing it in public, now, with her in his arms and the eyes of the crowd fixated on them both, Hermione felt a heady concoction of excitement and fear.
Everything was going to change.