II. Deal
The building, where the banquet was held, was right next to the street. A carpet was rolled out in front of the entrance, at the end of which a boy was waiting, ready to collect the keys. Draco got out, before she could unfasten her seat belt. She reached for the door handle, but the car was locked. She looked at the blond man, as he was walking around the car. He brazenly winked at her. He grabbed the handle, and unlocked the door again.
"I thought you might try it," he said, opening the door for her.
“I'm perfectly capable of getting out of the car myself, thank you.”
“Of course you are, baby. But that doesn't mean you have to do it,” he offered her his arm, which she accepted.
They entered the great hall, and Draco directed them slightly to the right, deeper into the corridor. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Just like the first time. Like every time. But of course he would. His family was a donor for generations.
At the end of the hallway, a staircase was hidden in the alcove on the right. They went up to the first floor. Draco headed to the left without hesitation. Around the corner was a room, with a ceiling two stories high, illuminated in blue light. A poor imitation of sky, she thought. Just behind the entrance, on both sides of the passage, were rectangular tables. Lecturers from various departments sat at them. Some places remained empty. They went deeper into the room. The room was in the shape of the letter L. Around the corner there were a lot of round tables. Most of them were already completely occupied. Behind the tables was another entrance.
From behind them came a tall boy, wearing a shortish, old-timey suit.
"Ron! I didn't know you were going to be here," Hermione exclaimed with a mixture of astonishment and undisguised joy.
"Well," he scratched the back of his head. "I didn't really know whether to come or not until the last minute. Apparently, I'm supposed to be the mascot of the evening. But to be honest, I also had no idea that you’d be here either.”
"Oh yes. I came here with...” She stepped back to show Draco, who took a step forward.
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” he stuck out his hand.
“Ronald Weasley," he shook it. "Well," he repeated. "I'll go look for my seat.”
Having said that, he headed for the very back of the room. It was as if he's used to being no one important.
“Have a great evening, mate,” Draco said, as the boy was walking away.
Draco walked over to the nearest table, the one slightly to the right, and casually lifted the vignette. Draco Malfoy was in italics. The place next to it was assigned to accompanying person of Mr. Draco Malfoy.
"What do his parents do for living?" Draco asked, when she came closer.
"Ron is studying on a athletic scholarship," she said, a bit irritated.
"I was on the team too," he pulled back the chair for her.
"Really?" She replied, amazed. "Which one?"
"Typical," he waved his hand. “Golf and polo.”
As she sat down, she rolled her eyes.
Of course.
The man was surprised. He couldn’t imagine, that anyone would associate these sports badly. He loved to think back to his childhood days, when he, Blaise and Theo went to the club. Their fathers, along with Pansy's father, sat on the board of London's largest law firm. They had children of a similar age. They quickly became friends. Birthday together. Holidays together. Naturally, they all sent their children to study the law. Naturally, at Oxford. Zabini was a year older. Pansy a year younger. In less than a decade, they’d all be sitting in their offices, one floor below their fathers. A little less officially, they founded the Serpent Club. Each of them tattooed a writhing reptile. Pansy on the thigh. Zabini on the neck. Theo on the collarbones. And Draco on his left forearm. Poker and drinks, every last Friday of the month.
Last Friday was unbearable.
“So, I want you all on your best behavior,” Draco ended his speech, looping them into his latest acquaintance.
“Exactly how much younger?” Pansy asked.
“Barely-out-of-prison younger?” Zabini laughed.
“You’re not funny.”
“I think, they’re a little bit,” commented Theo.
“And you think you’re better? How old is this Potter, anyway?”
“First year of Economics and Management," he replied proudly.
“That's nine years. It's exactly the same thing.”
“You’re sick, old fuckers.”
“So who did I catch you with last week?" Nott retorted.
“I have no idea, what you're talking about.”
“Harry said his name was Neville,” her cheeks turned red. “First-year student of...” He trailed off.
“Biology,” she finished. “Which,” she added sharply. “Makes him eight years younger.”
Blaise opened his mouth.
“Don't you dare to comment, Zabini. Because currently you’re fucking...?”
“Mother of Daphne Greengrass," he replied with a smug smile.
The seats at their table were empty. Not for long.
"Now, please stand up," he offered her his hand. "I want to introduce you to someone.”
He turned her in the direction they came from. Three people were heading towards them. All of them older. All of them Draco-like age. The tallest, dressed from head to toe in black, walked in front. To his left was a boy who had something of Draco in him. Wind-blown, brown hair and a characteristic stare of a warm, hazel shade. On the right was a slender brunette, of Asian heritage. She had a sharp look and features.
"Dragon," the man said from the entrance.
"So it's either Draco or Dragon?" She teased.
"Or daddy," he replied, nudging her forward. Not for a moment did he leave her side. So he could easily hear her choking on the air. He held his hand at her lower back. He could easily sense a shiver. She didn't laugh at him. She pretended she didn't hear it. Suddenly flushed. And that'd be the second strike.
"That's Blaise, Theo, and Pans," he pointed to the individuals. “Fellow donors.”
"You must be Hermione," the woman extended her hand towards younger girl.
Hermione looked at Draco as if asking what exactly he was telling them about her.
"Don't worry, darling. We know the bare minimum," Theo said.
"Which means you have to worry, because this guy here," Blaise pointed at Theo with his thumb, "will ask you about literally everything by the end of the evening," he stressed.
“Knowledge is power, baby. Knowledge is power," the boy replied.
“And judging by that... I think, Theo, that we'll get along just fine,” said Hermione.
“Easy there. You see, our boy here, he's pretty possessive. Can't blame him, an only child, and all that,” Pansy warned, as she sat down.
“You're an only child yourself,” Draco argued.
“And have I ever said I'm not possessive?”
It was like watching a siblings argue. Everyone wanted to throw in their two cents. Everyone considered their opinion to be the sacred one. With them, Draco was at ease, relaxed and witty in that sharp way.
"You know it doesn't count, right" she said after the first part of evening finished. Now everyone was making coffee, champagne trays were circulating around the room, and the first discussion circles began to form.
"Why?"
"Because they're your friends. Of course they love you.”
Hermione drank more glasses of champagne, with more people, than she’d have liked to admit. And each and every one of these people – his former professor, another donor, a man or a woman – they all were either charmed by Draco, or respected him.
“Unfortunately, I have to admit, that you’re indeed a decent man,” she said reluctantly.
“Don’t like to lose?”
“Very much so,” after a second she added. “But I’m glad, that I was wrong this time.”
“I’m glad too,” he smiled gently.
“I need to refresh myself,” apparently it wasn’t such a good idea to drink s omany glasses.
“Loo is down the corridor,” he escorted her to the very door.
She left the bathroom a couple minutes later. Draco was standing next to the entrance to main room. He was talking with a man Hermione didn’t know. She took the first step towards them, when a woman blocked her way. Without greeting, she said in overly kind voice:
“You must be the new plaything.”
She was older. She was beautiful. She was chic. Undeniably, and unquestionably.
Hermione had an impostor syndrome. She wasn’t born rich. But by the time she finished high school, she was. Therefore acting like all these fund kids was like second nature for her. It wasn’t weird, and unnatural anymore. She wasn’t pretending. She sincerely was like that now. Nevertheless she felt, like she’d never get rid of that feeling. Like scammer. Like she didn’t belong. And they all still could tell. So when she met this boy, no, man, whose family’s been donors for generations, she felt like fraud yet again. And she was sure he’ll quickly learn that she’s not as special, as he thinks.
She didn’t want to seem weak. These boys, no, men, they liked their women strong and confident. She wasn’t confident. But she could pretend to. Just like before.
So she raised her chin, put on her best resting bitch face, and asked:
“And you are…?”
“Astoria,” she said, as if explained it all. “But, I can’t say, that I know your name.”
Hermione tried to dodge her, but only ended up swapping positions. She didn’t like this woman one bit. She made her unease. Hermione felt a hand on her lower back. A feeling so familiar by now. Somehow comforting. Steadying. It was followed by icy question.
“And wouldn’t you love to know that? Come on, baby. Let’s go,” Draco was with her the second he realized what was happening,
“Oh, baby? Aren’t you cute?” Hermione tried to walk away again. “Wait, baby, let me talk with your daddy,” she smirked.
“We have nothing to talk about. Let’s go, baby,” he repeated.
They hadn’t even walked halfway down the hall, when the girl asked:
“What was that about?”
“She wanted engagement. I broke up. She wasn’t thrilled.”
“Can imagine,” she murmured.
“How about we come back to my place?”
“I’d like that,” Hermione didn’t want to stay here any longer.
That’s pity, he thought. That’s really bad, babygirl. Because that’d be your third strike.