Hermione stood in the corner of the ballroom glaring at the decorations attempting to make this dreary space look cheery. Every year, she came to this function, hoping against hope that she would be able to just enjoy herself at a Christmas party without the reporters and the gawkers, and every year she was disappointed.
She didn’t even want to come this year, but Harry had come to her apartment and practically begged her to come. Ron was still out of the country on his honeymoon with Katie Bell and Harry didn’t want to be alone with the mob since Ginny was stuck at home with the newest addition to the Potter household, James Sirius Potter.
So Hermione had done what she always did, she came to his rescue, offering to be his date for the evening, since she had received her own invitation. She had accepted the dress that Kingsley had made for her, and she had showed up to be peppered by reporter after reporter for hours on end, while she stood at the side of the dance floor, as uncomfortable as possible.
Harry had disappeared a while ago, leaving Hermione on her own, waiting like a lamb to slaughter for another person to come and pester her about her actions during the war. It was infuriating. As if her pain and terror was something to be admired. As if it was some exhibit in a museum to be observed. As if she didn’t still have nightmares about everything she was forced to endure.
She had just barely managed to extract herself from a particularly distressing conversation about her time at Malfoy Manor, initiated by Lord Greengrass. The ruddy man had not even bothered to take a side during the war, taking his family far away to Brazil until the dust settled. Yet, somehow he felt entitled to an explanation of one of her worst memories.
She was finally able to breathe a little easier, having gotten enough space from him and the rest of the ball attendees, though her dress didn’t allow her a full gasp of air. It was over the top, as usual. It was an elegant, backless, halter-neck gown with a cinched waist and an A-line skirt. There was a small slit on the left side of the dress, giving her room to move her legs. The entire dress, from head to toe, was a shimmering shade of gold. She hated that color, hated that it was associated with her, as if she were something precious to be coveted. Yet, most of the Wizarding World knew her as the Golden Girl, so Kingsley insisted, every year, that her dress match the moniker.
She cast a quick Tempus charm, as if she could make time faster just by wishing it so. But alas, the event would still be continuing on for three hours and she had no good excuse that would allow her to leave early. Not unless Harry decided to claim that they both needed to get back to his home to relieve Ginny. No, she was stuck watching all of London’s finest snobbery parade around the dance floor until she was accosted or Harry rescued her.
The next half hour was spent blissfully uninterrupted, and Hermione couldn’t help but stare at the dance floor before her. The song was something lively, more upbeat than the waltzes that the band had been fixated on for most of the night. Hermione found herself lost in the sea of twirling gowns and spinning couples, most with pleasant expressions of peace and happiness radiating from them.
“Now, why is it that the Golden Girl is doing her best to hide away in the corner of the room?” A husky, male voice drawled from behind her. Hermione turned, reflexes still not dulled from months on the run, to find Draco Malfoy standing in front of her.
He was tall and wore a suit that was black as night, so dark it might have been purple. It was tailored to perfection, hugging every inch of muscle that remained hidden from the naked eye. The only splash of color, if it could be considered as such, was the shining grey tie that shimmered when the light hit it. His hair was loose and wild, styled in a carefree way that made him look young.
“See something you like, Granger?” He chuckled with amusement, and Hermione tried to fight the blush rising to her cheeks as she realized that she had been unabashedly staring at him.
She fought to keep her heart under control. She couldn’t deny that he was handsome, she had always found him attractive, even when it wasn’t safe for her to do so, but she never truly thought that she would have the chance to act on her thoughts.
“I’ve seen better.” She managed to say, though inside her mind was screaming, LIAR!
He chuckled again, the sound making her want to curl her toes. “Oh, have you now? We can discuss that particular opinion later, but I am still waiting for you to answer my question.”
“And what might that be?” Crap, she had forgotten what he asked her.
His smile turned predatory. “Why is the most beautiful witch in the room hiding by herself in the corner?”
Now she knew that she was blushing fiercely. In all the time that she spent with Ron, he never complimented her like that. So casual and calm, like it was a matter of fact, not an opinion. She could have fallen over his feet at the praise, but she managed to get out, “I don’t really dance.”
“Well that simply won’t do.” Draco extended his hand, which she eyed warily. “Come on, Granger. I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
Something in his voice softened and Hermione decided then and there to throw caution to the wind. She put in hand in his and let him lead her to the dance floor, pulling her in close.
Hermione was almost shaking with nerves. She hated dancing in front of people, so when Draco took a step back, she overcompensated and stepped on his toes. To his credit, he didn’t wince. She felt his hand before she saw it, under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.
“Don’t look down. Just look into my eyes.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, but did as instructed. Soon they were flying around the room, not a care in the world. He never broke eye contact even as he maneuvered her into spins and lifts that she never would have attempted on her own.
She couldn’t help but watch as his eyes sparkled when the lights hit them just right, or the way his shoulders tensed a little when he was switching their direction. She felt as if she were floating on a cloud, high above the rest of the world. She almost forgot that they were in front of the entire Ministry, so entranced in his eyes.
When the song ended, she expected him to pull away and leave her, like everyone did eventually, but he didn’t. He only slowed his feet down to match the new song. Heroine had never before felt so comfortable, so cherished. She let herself lean against his chest, savoring his warmth.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have some conflicting thoughts about you, Miss Granger.”
Her stomach was fluttering now, but she whispered back, “Oh! And what might those be?”
His chuckle was low and dark. “Part of me wants to stay on this dance floor forever, to show everyone that you choose to dance with me over anyone else.”
“And the other part?” She was breathing heavily now, her own voice turning needy.
His hand slipped a little lower on her back and her pulse quickened at the touch. “Well that part wants to apparate you home so I can show you just how beautiful you truly are . . . without that dress.”
She pulled away, just so she could see his eyes once more and found hunger written across his features. “I . . . I think I like the second option.”
He grinned and leaned forward, capturing her lips, dominating her mouth with his own. His hand slipped a little more and she moaned, opening her mouth. He took advantage and slipped his tongue against her own.All thoughts slipped away from her, except one.
That was going to be a good Christmas.