The Dance Card

Ginny and Hermione grabbed the dance cards that had come with the invitations and raced up to their rooms to fill them out. As they were conferring with one another, Hermione had a thought.

“Ginny, what is Fleur going to do? Don’t you think someone should do a dance card for her?”

“I don’t care. I don’t really want to, but if you want to that’s ok,” Ginny said. Then her eyes grew wide. “But wait, what if we filled her card with the worst men who will be there?”

“Why would you want to do that? That’s not very welcoming,” Hermione said.

“Well, I don’t want her to take Bill away from us, so maybe if we show her a miserable time, she’ll never come back,” Ginny said. Hermione marveled at how Ginny could be ruthless at times, particularly when it came to her family.

Ginny took a piece of stationery “Ok, let’s see. There’s Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Seamus Finigan, Cormac McClaggen, Adrian Pucey, Marcus Flint, Percy.” When Ginny said Percy, Hermione looked at her in surprise.

“What? Who better to completely destroy her opinion of Bill than Percy. If I danced with Percy, I’d leave my family. Today.”

Hermione laughed at Ginny’s vehemence. She watched Ginny start to fill out the dance card for Bill’s guest. She turned towards her own:

William Weasley
Cedric Diggory 
Harry Potter
Theo Nott
Oliver Wood
George Weasley
Frederick Weasley
Remus Lupin
Blaise Zabini

“Ooh! What about Master Snape!?” Ginny looked at Hermione with excitement. “The twins are always telling me how odious he is. He would be the perfect partner for the last dance, wouldn’t he?”

Hermione shook her head at Ginny’s ruthlessness. Sometimes she wondered how her friend could be so meddlesome and vindictive. She actually felt somewhat sympathetic to this unknown girl. 

She turned back to her own dance card. Immediately she filled out the last line with Draco. A glow filled her heart and she thought about the reaction everyone would have when they saw them dancing the last dance. She sneakily hoped the girls that regularly turned their noses up to her would be put in their places. 

She drifted off in a dream of anticipating the end of the ball. 

—

The morning before the ball

“They can’t do anything about it, Blaise. We’re stuck here,” Draco said. He placed the glasses of whisky on the table and then plonked himself in the booth seat across from Blaise. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

Blaise and Draco had been in Europe since July, visiting all the famous cities in Europe and their offerings in the traditional effort to be well-read young nobles. Blaise was having a grand old time, seeking out every high-priced brothel and sampling every courtesan, escort and prostitute he was offered. Draco, on the other hand, grew more morose with each new museum or gallery or cathedral they came across. All he wanted to do was share the experiences with Hermione and discuss, debate and engage in discourse regarding everything he had seen. He was literally counting down the days until the ball when he would be back in England and in her arms.

Their last stop was Romania. It had been added at the end, because of the massive dragon sanctuary that Arthur Weasley’s son, Charlie, ran. Charlie, unfortunately, was not there, but had left instructions with all of the trainers to make sure the gentlemen were taken care of and given the proper tour. 

That morning, they had gone to the portkey office to have their key updated for their passage home when they were informed that it had expired two hours before. Draco had berated, cajoled and even bribed the portkey master to extend the time, but it was to no avail. They were not going anywhere quickly. 

They checked on train schedules and that method would have taken them days and even then they would have had to go by boat across the English Channel. After that, Blaise declared he was going to drink until it was time to leave and Draco decided to try the Portkey office one more time in the hopes that a new manager would be on duty and could be more easily swayed by influence. 

Blaise looked at his friend with sympathy. He had known about Draco and Hermione since he and the young Lord had gone to Oxford, so he knew how important the ball was to him. He just wanted to be there to see the faces of every high born girl when Draco and Hermione danced together in public for the first time. In spite of his dark, exotic looks and his over the top masculinity, he loved a good romance. He had Italian blood in him after all.

“Mate, I don’t know,” he said to Draco, who had returned from the Portkey office, having failed to secure a later time. “I know how important this was to you.”

Draco ordered another whisky, reconciled to the fact that he was not getting home in time for the ball. He shook his head. “You can’t possibly know. You may think you do, but all of your affairs are superficial and sexual. I have fought tooth and nail for Hermione, Merlin’s bollocks, I even had to fight Hermione herself. Never have I been so sure of something and once I’m of one mind, I need to move quickly. This waiting is killing me, Blaise.”

Blaise pretended to look affronted, but he knew what Draco meant. 

“It looks like we may need a Christmas miracle,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to take care of a very drunk Draco until they made it back to England.

“I better send her and Father an owl.” He slid out of his chair and stumbled back up to the bar to ask for an owl.

When he returned with a bottle of whisky this time, they were silent, nursing their discontent over their glasses, when someone came up to their table. They didn’t even look up to see who it was.

“I hear you’re having trouble getting out of here. I may not have a miracle, but I do have a dragon.” 

Immediately, they looked up to see a very rugged, copper-haired, tattooed and earringed giant of a man wearing leather everywhere. From his wide-brimmed hat to his cowhide boots, he was covered in leather. He was also brimming with so much magnetism that Blaise briefly considered changing horses in midstream. 

Draco looked at the man, squinting his eyes as he inspected him. There was a familiar look about him that Draco couldn’t quite put a finger on, but the red-hair was the giveaway.

“Charlie Weasley?”

“One and the same. And you must be Draco Malfoy, I’d recognize that hair anywhere,” Charlie laughed at the irony. “When do you need to get back?”

“As soon as possible. Our portkey apparently expired two hours ago and no one will accommodate us. This is my friend, Blaise Zabini,” Draco said, before he went back to his glass and downed the whiskey.

“And I suppose you have a desperate need to return?” Charlie pulled up a chair and sat down. 

Blaise nodded. “This bloke has a family ball to attend and a sweetheart to surprise tomorrow night. Hasn’t seen her in months.” He leaned forward and whispered, “It’s Hermione Granger.”

“Blaise! What the bloody hell?” Draco looked horrified at his confidence being betrayed.

“Relax, Malfoy, I already knew. That’s one of the reasons I approached you,” Charlie laughed. When Draco glared at him, he hastily said, “My sister Ginny had to keep a secret from everyone else in the family, and it was killing her, so she figured I was removed enough to tell. And good thing she did, it looks like.” 

Draco relaxed. “So you said you had a dragon. Are we supposed to ride the bloody thing? All the way back to England?” He was skeptical.

“Well, not by yourselves of course. I’ll go with you. I haven’t been back home for almost a year; this sounds like as good a time as any. Plus, it’ll make Mum happy that I’m home for the holiday.” Charlie slammed his drink, stood up and grabbed the bottle of whisky off the table. 

“Get your belongings together and meet me at the reserve in an hour.” Charlie strode towards the door, placing the bottle on the bar. “And no more drinking. You think portkeying while drunk is bad? Wait until you’ve flown a dragon.”

Blaise and Draco looked at each other, amazed at the turn of their luck.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch, Draco, you know that?” Blaise reached in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a bag of coins. He tossed several on the table and stood up.

“If I were truly lucky, I’d be home by now,” his friend said, still not believing he was going to make it to the most important event of his life. 

“What is that muggle saying? Don’t look a prize sheep in the arse?” Blaise laughed, knowing he was butchering it.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I believe it is ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’, Blaise.” He stood up rather shakily, and Blaise had to hold out a hand to steady him.  “Although it would make much more sense if it was don’t look the gift dragon in the mouth, don’t you think?” He laughed at his own joke. 

“My friend, we need to get you sobered up,” Blaise said as he dragged Draco out of the tavern.