Title: Graduation Pinks
Rating: K+
Pairing: DM/HG (side pairings NL/MB, HP/GW, RW/LG)
Genre: Humorous/Romantic
Period: Seventh Year graduation...with a twist. HBP compatible.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All belongs to J. K. Rowling and her publishers.
Graduation Pinks
Hermione Granger cast a quick look around her as she settled into a seat in the middle of the Great Hall, the beginnings of a frown etched on her face. She was happy to be here, of course, but why this had to be happening now was quite beyond her.
She'd chucked Seventh year—not that Hogwarts had been open anyway—to help Harry defeat Voldemort. She didn't regret that at all. Most of the sting at the delay in the completion of her schooling had been taken out anyway when Professor McGonagall, though wounded, announced the previous May that Hogwarts would be reopening. Not only that, but all surviving students who would have been graduating that year were invited to take up their studies in a special timeslot to make up for the time the War had taken from them.
As a result, they were graduating only nine months late. Hermione supposed that was better than a whole year late—she was itching to start her new job at the Ministry. Reforming the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would go a long way to her ultimate goal of freeing the house elves.
Something brushed her shoulder and she batted it away. "Hermione," Harry said, nudging her with his elbow. "You look like you swallowed bubotuber pus. Don't tell me you wish we had another year of school."
Hermione shook her head and looked around again at the sea of black robes and pointed hats surrounding them. "No, I'm glad we're graduating, Harry, but--" She trailed off and bit her lip. "This is not how I pictured my graduation ceremony." She motioned towards their surroundings.
On her other side, Ron snorted with suppressed laughter. "I should say so." A flying cupid zoomed towards his face and he ducked. The person behind him wasn't as fortunate and a muffled squeal broke the muted silence.
Hermione let out a sigh. Contrasting brightly—almost starkly—to the somber black of the graduating students' robes, and clashing horribly with the four House flags draped from the ceiling, the Great Hall had been decorated in varying shades of pink, red, and white in honor of Valentine's Day. Cupids were darting and floating every which way, and sprays of shimmering confetti drifted down from the ceiling at random intervals.
All in all, it was the very picture of the absolute last thing Hermione would have ever expected on Graduation Day. Not that she knew what to expect, really. Hogwarts: a History had never been very specific about what went on, and she'd not had the chance to pump any outsiders for information.
"Honestly," she muttered under her breath, smoothing out the front of her robes. "Who in their right mind holds a graduation ceremony on Valentine's Day?"
Harry and Ron leaned forward slightly to exchange significant looks past Hermione's head. Ginny, sitting on Harry's other side, held back a laugh and shook the confetti from her hands.
"Well," Ron said cheerfully, "McGonagall does, apparently."
Hermione pressed her lips together, for once unable to think of anything to say. She'd always considered Professor McGonagall to be an ideal model, but this new facet of her mentor's character was rather disturbing. She shifted slightly as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled in a familiar way. Someone was staring at her.
Must be Mum and Dad. Being Muggles, her parents had seen Hogwarts before, and they had been quite excited about being invited to come. In the hopes of seeing how they were faring in all this…organized chaos, Hermione twisted around in her seat to glance behind her.
She found her parents at once; they were seated near the Weasleys and were looking around in undisguised interest. She was thankful that both seemed to be rather comfortable despite their strange, unfamiliar surroundings, but it was obvious that neither of them was looking at her. As she began to turn back around, puzzled, her brown eyes met a pair of grey ones staring straight at her and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled again.
One corner of Draco Malfoy's mouth curled up in a smirk and he inclined his head in a slight bow, never once breaking eye contact. Congratulations, Granger, he mouthed.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly and she whirled around to sit with her back ramrod straight. He was sitting two rows behind and one seat to her left and somehow she was not surprised. Malfoy never left her alone these days. He was always swooping in when she least expected him, though he never exchanged anything more than the usual banter with her. She frowned. Anything more, and she'd say he was stalking her…
Of course, that would have implied that she thought he was interested…and that would never happen. She pursed her lips tightly. She'd done the right thing turning him down, even if it meant she wouldn't have a date for the ball that evening.
Harry nudged her again, and when he spoke, there was laughter in his voice. "You're still frowning, Hermione. What's the matter now? Confetti in your hair?"
She gave him an exasperated look but was prevented from answering by the appearance of Headmistress McGonagall herself. She stood before the High Table, the place Hermione could still remember Dumbledore always occupying, and held up her hands for silence.
The group of Seventh years quieted. The assortment of parents, guardians, and other significant relatives seated in an arching semicircle behind them and to their right and left also stilled.
"This is a very special day," McGonagall said in a clear voice. She looked around slowly at the group of students. "In addition to showing exemplary action in the War against Voldemort and his supporters, those of you gathered here also returned to Hogwarts to finish your schooling." Her face took on a somber expression. "Some of your number will never rejoin us. Some were murdered along with their families, while others were killed defending the wizarding world. And, yes, some died fighting for Voldemort's cause."
She straightened. "In the years since Hogwarts first opened, Slytherin House has attained a reputation for producing the most Dark wizards."
There was absolute stillness. Hermione refrained from glancing back at Draco to see what his reaction to this statement would be and wondered what the point was.
"This is an undeniable fact, not a judgment," McGonagall said calmly. A low murmur ran through the students and behind her, standing with the other teachers, Hermione saw Snape tense slightly. His dark eyes narrowed.
McGonagall held her hand up for silence again and spoke over the whispers. "But let me say this: Despite their reputation, a large number of our Slytherin students did not in fact join Voldemort. Many of you chose instead to fight for Hogwarts, even though the decision put you at odds with your families."
The Great Hall was so suddenly quiet that Hermione began to wonder if anyone was bothering to breathe.
"Each House has had its share of heroes and those who have fallen away into darkness." She looked out over them solemnly. "I would hope, then, that the old prejudices may be laid aside in the years to come." She paused, and a flicker of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "It is in this spirit of harmony that I announce the decision to instate Professor Snape as Deputy Headmaster." She looked behind her at Snape and began to clap.
The Seventh year students followed suit. Hermione was one of many, including Draco Malfoy, who sprang to their feet, applauding loudly. Snape, Hermione noted, looked stunned. He clearly hadn't been expecting McGonagall to spring this on him and it took him a moment to regain his usual sneering expression.
After a few riotous moments, everyone settled down again to allow the ceremony to proceed. Snape, as new Deputy, stepped to McGonagall's side to take the roll of parchment she handed him.
One by one, he read their names off the list, and one by one they stepped up to receive their diplomas. He shook each one by the hand reluctantly, and they passed down the line to the other professors.
Hermione accepted her diploma and impulsively hugged her former potions professor, who was looking less and less like an overgrown bat as the ceremony wore on. "Thank you, Professor Snape."
He looked quite taken aback—something like that Simply Wasn't Done—but she didn't regret it. She hugged each of her professors before returning to her seat.
The looks on Harry and Ron's faces were priceless.
"What in the bloody hell—" Ron sputtered under his breath, as she sat down beside him. "You hugged Snape!" His face was a picture of horror.
Harry's dislike of Snape had lessened slightly over the past year, but he scrunched his face up in distaste and leaned in next to her. "This graduation stuff has gone to your head, Hermione. Next you'll be telling Trelawney you're sorry you didn't finish taking her subject."
Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged both of them in the ribs to remind them to be quiet.
Evening arrived quickly, bringing about the most unusual part of this extremely unorthodox day. Hermione was not sure Graduation Ball was an actual Hogwarts proceeding, but she was quite sure it was not meant to be held on Valentine's Day. It lent an entirely unnecessary romantic air to the proceedings.
Her parents were staying in Hogsmeade with a number of her classmates' parents and would be in attendance at the ball as well. Filch, she knew, was using the dance as an excuse to prowl the corridors looking for students. The sixth, fifth, and fourth years were disappointed that they would not be allowed to attend, but as most of them had spent the day in Hogsmeade lost in sugary Valentine confections, it was hardly a deprivation.
Hermione stood beside Ernie Macmillan before the doors leading to the Great Hall. As Head Boy and Girl, they were to open the dance. She tried to quash the butterflies in her stomach. Mum and Dad aren't going to care if I haven't got a date for this, she told herself, even if they think I do. Her father had jovially mentioned something about meeting her date earlier, and she hadn't had a chance to tell them otherwise.
Nervously, she raised a hand to pat her hair and then stopped. Mustn't touch it, she thought, With my luck it'll go absolutely wild.
Parvati and Lavender had worked their magic yet again, and her bushy mass of brown curls had been tamed into an elegant French twist with a few curls left to dangle and frame her face. Her roommates had assured her the style would last the night, but she was doubtful.
"Ah, here we go," Ernie announced as the doors creaked open. He started forward and Hermione matched his pace as they swept into the center of the Great Hall on the strains of the first waltz.
Hermione knew everyone was looking at them—knew he was looking at her—and tried to focus on nothing but Ernie's dress robes-clad shoulder. Just one dance, she told herself, Just one and then I'll be free.
She and Ernie moved together automatically, almost mechanically. A quarter of the way through the song, they were joined by the rest of the seventh year students. Hermione glanced around at one point and caught sight of Neville-who had grown much taller—carefully spinning… Her eyes grew wide. Millicent Bulstrode? A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she let it stay there.
When the dance ended, she thanked Ernie, who, formal as ever, bowed to her before departing. She moved over to the punch bowl. She saw her parents on the other side of the room, dancing together dreamily, but she kept well away from them.
Another sweeping waltz filled the air and practically everyone was out on the floor. She saw Harry and Ginny swirl by and a mop of red hair on the far side of the room told her Ron had taken Luna on to the floor as well. The blonde Ravenclaw wouldn't graduate for another year, but as Ron's date, she was able to attend.
Hermione reached the long table housing the punch and other assorted hors d'oeuvres, and found two tall, slim young men standing before it. She cleared her throat loudly to be heard above the music. "May I have some before you spike it?"
Seamus Finnegan jumped guiltily and whirled around. "Hermione! Cripes!" His broad face quickly turned red and then white as the color drained from his face. Clearly he expected no mercy.
She turned her attention to his accomplice and found a goblet being offered her. "I wouldn't have expected to find you here."
Blaise Zabini shrugged. "I was bored." He deftly dumped the contents of a silver flask into the punch and Seamus quickly stirred the firewhisky in while pretending to refill his own goblet. "Besides, who'll suspect a Slytherin of spiking the punch? That's a Gryffindor trick. Oh, and mate," he said casually to Seamus, "Don't look so guilty. Dead giveaway, that."
Seamus looked back at Hermione. "You're not going to turn us in, are you?"
Hermione took a healthy sip from her goblet, regarding them with mirth dancing in her eyes. "Well, I should," she said sternly. "After all, I am Head Girl for one night more…"
Seamus's face fell, but Blaise's dark eyes remained speculative.
"But, who'd expect the Head Girl to let something like this slip by?" She grinned and raised her goblet in a small toast. "It's our last night, most of us are of age anyway, and—" she added pointedly, catching Seamus looking entirely too relieved— "I know somebody would have done it anyway. Just don't put too much in."
Seamus's face clouded for a few seconds before splitting into a wide grin. "You're wonderful, Hermione!" he said fervently. "Best Head Girl there ever was, I tell you."
"I want you to know I'll deny everything," she added for good measure, taking another sip.
"Pity you're such a horrible liar then, isn't it?" a drawling voice said from behind her. "I'm impressed, Granger. Wouldn't have thought you'd actually let them off."
Hermione glanced to the side and found Draco Malfoy sauntering towards them through the small crowd that was now congregating around the punch. She lifted her chin. "I can be unpredictable when I choose to be, Malfoy." She turned back to Blaise, who unexpectedly held out a hand.
"May I have this dance, Miss Granger?"
Hermione set her goblet down—it would be gone when she returned, but no matter. "I'd love to." She did not look at Malfoy.
Draco watched as Blaise led Hermione into the swirling mass of dancing couples on the floor and allowed himself a smirk.
Ah, well, he'd just have to wait.
Again.
Blaise wouldn't dare keep her long, even if she had refused to be his date for the evening.
As neither of them had dates and there were no pressing hordes demanding their attention, Hermione danced with Blaise for the duration of three songs. At the start of the fourth song, she said breathlessly, "I think I need to sit down for a moment."
"I'll get some punch then, shall I?" he asked calmly. When she shook her head, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You do trust me?"
"With my life, just not my drink," she quipped with a smile.
Blaise, catching sight of Draco approaching them, flashed her one of his rare grins. He bowed slightly and disappeared back into the crowd.
"Tired already, Granger?" Draco looked down at her, noting the rosy flush in her cheeks.
Hermione looked up at the sound of that familiar, drawling voice. "Malfoy," she said coolly. "I'm just sitting down." Their eyes met and Hermione, feeling the start of the familiar blush rising in her cheeks, began to mentally run through a list of possible excuses to get her out of the Great Hall.
She was in the middle of debating whether or not it would be advisable to see if Ron had a Skiving Snackbox on him when she realized Draco was holding his hand out to her. She glanced from his long, slender fingers to his pale face and back in mild confusion.
"Care to dance, Granger?"
The words were casually spoken, as if they had been said before and would probably be said again, and yet nothing at all was casual about this situation. In the seven and a half years they had known each other, Hermione had barely exchanged a civil word with Draco Malfoy, much less danced with him. She was Granger, he was Malfoy, and never the twain should meet. As far as she was concerned, his asking her to the Ball was a total fluke; it had to have been a joke.
"Oh, come on," Draco drawled lazily, "The decision can't be that difficult. Either you want to dance or you don't."
Draco's grey eyes were calm, his features expressionless, but underneath he was already tensing for her rejection. She hadn't noticed his attentions over the past year for what they were; there was no reason to hope—or expect—she would cotton on now. In mild irritation, he reflected that Hermione Granger could be remarkably thick when she put her mind to it.
Looking up into his face, Hermione saw he was mentally distancing himself. He thinks I'm going to say no. Impulsively, she reached out and caught his hand. His fingers were surprisingly warm. It had taken courage on his part to approach her in front of so many people after being so abruptly turned down…and one dance couldn't hurt, could it?
"One dance, then."
He gave her a half-smile—so similar to his usual smirk and yet so very, very different—and led her to the side of the dance floor to await the start of the next song.
Very shortly, the stirring strains of yet another gorgeous waltz drifted through the air and Draco dipped her so smoothly into the flow of the music that Hermione forgot she'd not had the chance to practice dancing much over the past two years. It didn't matter that they'd never danced together before; no one would have ever been able to tell otherwise.
Draco twirled her around in silence for a little while, his eyes never once leaving her face. Hermione felt her cheeks flush pink under his scrutiny and dropped her gaze. She glanced beside them and smiled broadly at what she saw, forgetting her discomfort at being so close to Malfoy.
Neville was still dancing with Millicent. He had a beatific smile on his face, matching the shy smile his partner was sporting.
Draco followed her gaze and his eyes widened in surprise. Rumor had it that Millicent had found herself an admirer, but no one had been able to figure out who it was. "Imagine that," he remarked off-handedly. "Millicent and Longbottom. Never saw that one coming."
Hermione turned her attention back to him, still smiling. "I think they make a wonderful couple," she replied, allowing him to spin around and continuing as he pulled her back against him. "Neville said they started talking to each other in Herbology at the start of term… I suppose things gradually went from there. They've tried to keep a low profile—not that I blame them."
Draco nodded in response. He was, he reflected, quite enjoying dancing with Hermione. A shame he'd never attempted it sooner – they moved in time together nicely, almost as if they were anticipating each other's movements.
Hermione risked looking at him and found his attention fastened on her face again. The fact that she couldn't tell what he was thinking unnerved her. "Malfoy, stop looking at me like that. It's quite uncomfortable."
He didn't answer for a few seconds.
"I don't think I will, Granger. You're fun to watch."
Hermione's eyes widened and then narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped irritably.
That half-smile was back on his face, his eyes filled with amusement, triumph…and a warmth she could not ever remember seeing there before. "Whatever you like, Granger," he drawled.
Hermione belatedly realized they had been dancing for some time now, and other people were beginning to notice. Ginny and Harry passed them at one point and the redhead gave Hermione a knowing look that brought a heavier blush to her cheeks. There isn't anything going on, she thought fervently to herself. Malfoy had merely asked her to dance for the fist time in history and she had… accepted. That was all.
"Might I have a word when this song is over, Granger?"
Hermione regarded him suspiciously even as he dipped her low, his arm the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor. "About what, Malfoy?"
"Just…things," he replied evasively.
The song was over much sooner than Hermione would have liked—Not that I want to stay in his arms, she told herself firmly—and then Draco was ushering her to a more secluded corner. He wanted to leave the Great Hall entirely, but knew her two bodyguards would pop up out of the woodwork if he tried.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy."
Halfway across the room, both of them stopped dead in their tracks and turned to find Severus Snape standing behind them, goblet in hand.
"Good evening, Professor Snape," Hermione said quickly.
Draco looked at his mentor and former Potions Professor impatiently, though he attempted to mask it with a polite veneer.
Snape took a long sip from his goblet. Hermione noticed that his usual dour expression was slightly relaxed and he was just a little unsteady on his feet. She began to wonder if letting Seamus and Blaise spike the punch had been a good thing—Snape had obviously had more than was good for him, she thought worriedly.
Snape regarded them over the golden rim of his goblet. "You'll keep each other in line nicely," he remarked with a smirk. "I must confess to be overjoyed at the prospects of your arguments being held elsewhere." He turned and moved off, a noticeable tilt in his gait.
Hermione gaped after him and watched as he coolly produced a flask from inside his voluminous robes and poured the contents into his goblet. "He's drunk," she said in amazement.
Mouth set in a straight line, Draco tugged her along after him and made for the door. He'd just have to deal with Potter and Weasley if they had a problem with him taking her outside the Great Hall. "Yes, it would appear he is," he said shortly.
"I've never seen him drink before."
"Would you, if you were supposed to be masquerading as both a reformed Death Eater and a Hogwarts spy?" Draco shot back.
Hermione glared at his back, irritated he had thought of the reason first. "No."
As they reached the door to the Great Hall, her conscience began bother her. "Malfoy, Snape was talking complete rubbish." She stopped dead. "I'd better go get the house elves to change that punch before it affects everyone." She started back the way they had come, leaving a wave of sweet perfume floating back to Draco, but he caught her arm just above the elbow.
"Leave the punch alone, Granger. I doubt Snape even touched it. You saw he has his own stash." He tugged lightly on her arm. "A word, remember?"
Hermione could have sworn she'd caught a trace of desperation beneath the irritation in his voice. Surprised, and not a little curious, she allowed him to lead her out of the Great Hall.
He pulled her towards an alcove, and Hermione eyed it nervously. "Malfoy," she began, "I don't think this—"
"Granger. Please."
Startled, she looked up at his face and found it as unreadable his as tone.
"You've been running from me long enough." Draco's hand was still on her arm.
Fire flashed through her eyes. "I have not been running," she said indignantly. Then, just as abruptly, the fire disappeared. "I don't even know what you're talking about, Malfoy."
He took a step closer, gaze boring into her. "But you do."
Hermione resisted the urge to step back and held her ground. "No, I don't." If her spine was any straighter it would have snapped.
One of Draco's pale eyebrows lifted. "Granger," he drawled, "Even Potter and the Weaselette have noticed. Are you telling me you honestly don't—"
Hermione's mind suddenly flashed back to the knowing grin Ginny had given her and she recalled the oddly resigned look on Harry's face. No. It was impossible. Draco couldn't actually… fancy her?
Draco leaned back against the wall of the alcove, hands shoved casually into his pockets, waiting for the outburst.
Hermione's face went very pale, making her wide eyes look even larger as she raised them to his.
"You can't be serious."
"Why not?" he challenged.
She struggled to find words to convey all of the reasons why he couldn't actually fancy her—why it couldn't work, why it was probably nothing more than a giant hoax.
"I didn't think you were that cruel any more," she said in a low, shaking voice.
Draco realized her hands were clenched into fists so tight that her knuckles were white with the strain. "Granger, listen. This isn't a joke. I—" he attempted to straighten up and found he couldn't move.
"Bloody hell!" He struggled to free himself while Hermione looked on, torn between a desire to walk out in a huff and an insane urge to laugh. Laughter won.
She doubled over in a helpless fit of giggles as Draco tried to extricate himself from the wall. Finally, with a loud tearing sound, he came away from the wall abruptly, leaving the back of his black jacket still attached.
Hermione howled harder as she saw the dirty looks Draco gave the wall. He shot her a dirty look as well, noting she had tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks. "Thanks for the help, Granger," he said sarcastically. "The man-eating wall just barely missed me."
It was a few minutes before Hermione could contain herself and allow him to help her up from the floor, where she had sunk during her fits of laughter. Draco discarded the remains of his jacket, leaving himself in his white dress shirt. He surveyed her with a maddeningly calm air, waiting for the peals of laughter to taper off.
"I'm sorry," Hermione gasped after a moment. "That was just—" she trailed off and smoothed the front of her dress down. "We should probably be getting back." She motioned to the Great Hall.
Frustration coursed through Draco's veins. She was doing it again. "Hermione," he said firmly, "We are not finished." He seized her by the shoulders and steered her back into the alcove, taking care not to touch the walls.
Her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise. He had actually used her first name. He had crossed that invisible line they'd had between them for the past year.
"What do you want?" she asked through suddenly dry lips.
A faintly wistful look passed over his face.
"Maybe I want you to give me a chance, Granger."
Hermione stared at him and resisted the urge to look around for flying pigs. She was hearing things, she had to be. Out of the many jumbled thoughts swimming through her suddenly vacant brain, only one managed to survive the journey to her mouth.
"Why?"
Draco's head dropped forward slightly, silvery hair falling to obscure his eyes. His warm hands were still holding her shoulders and Hermione was aware—again—of just how close they were. He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh and raised his head to meet her eyes again.
"Maybe I like you, Granger. Maybe you're interesting. Just when I think I have you figured out, you pull a stunt like letting Finnegan and Zabini spike the punch and I have to start all over again."
"Malfoy—"
He cut her off. "Hermione, haven't you figured out yet that I'd like to…get to know you better?" His voice was soft, bereft of the usual cold, sharp, condescending inflections.
Hermione felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and could only stare at him. "Me?" Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak and she mentally smacked herself. "Me?" she repeated in a stronger tone. "…Is that why you're there every time I turn around?"
"Don't tell me you don't enjoy it," Draco said firmly, yet still in that softer voice. "Because I know you do, at least a little. That's why you've been running from me."
"Malfoy—"
"Draco."
She took a deep breath. Best to humor the mentally ill, she reminded herself. "Draco, then." She forced a smile. "I think we need to get you to Madame Pomfrey because you've obviously taken a page out of Snape's book and had too much to drink tonight."
Much to Draco's amusement, she ducked underneath his arm and shoved him in the small of the back in an attempt to propel him down the corridor.
"I know you don't mean a word of what you just said—you probably won't remember it tomorrow anyway—and even if you do I have no doubts you'll be back to your snarky self and we'll fight and bicker like we always do." She paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. "If we ever see each other again, I mean." She paused again, frowning. "Which we probably won't—I can't imagine why you'd drop by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and— "
Draco allowed her slight form to push him forwards a few steps before stopping dead in his tracks. Hermione's fingers dug into his back as she futilely tried to shove him again. He knew she was going to go for her wand next, though he couldn't quite fathom why that hadn't been her first option.
"Malfoy," she said, breathing heavily, "I—"
"Draco," he interrupted again lazily, enjoying the feeling of her small hands on his back.
"—hate to have to do this to you—"
"Then don't."
"—but it's for your own good." She drew her wand. Words formed on her lips but she never had the chance to cast the spell.
Moving with the quickness that years of Quidditch had bestowed upon him, Draco whirled around and grabbed Hermione's wand hand. He pinned it to his chest as he snaked his other arm around her shoulders. Their faces were inches apart. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Hermione," he said mildly. "I'm not drunk. I am in complete control of my mental facilities and I want you to know that I intend to drop by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on a very regular basis."
Hermione's heartbeat increased without her direct permission and she was only slightly mollified to feel Draco's heart hammering against her body. "Let me go."
"Hermione, what do I have to do to prove I'm serious?" The urgency had returned to his voice, though it was tempered with a curious gravity.
"Let me go, Draco." Hermione's eyes were blazing again. She struggled and he released her at once. She took a few steps backwards, attempting to compose herself.
Draco just stood there looking at her, his white-blond hair glinting in the torchlight. "Tell me what to do, Granger," he said quietly, "And I'll do it."
She stared at him. He couldn't be serious. "I don't want you to do anything," she said finally, giving him a strange look. "I don't want you to do anything except leave me alone."
His face was expressionless; the most expressionless she had seen him in a long time. She turned, fully intending to rejoin the party. But then… she made the mistake of glancing back at him.
Draco stood in the center of the corridor, looking the very picture of elegant refinement despite his lack of a jacket. There was a hard loneliness about him though. For once, his eyes weren't shuttered. She caught her breath.
Draco's eyes were saying everything he couldn't—or wouldn't—put into words. They were full of longing and a misery so acute she had to stop and remind herself this was actually Draco Malfoy, prat extraordinaire.
He's drunk. He has to be. She tore her gaze away and began to briskly walk down the corridor. In his right mind, Draco Malfoy would never consider her anything more than a…well…anything.
"It's no wonder you haven't got a boyfriend, Granger, if you act like every man who tries to tell you he's head over heels for you is plastered."
His words touched a nerve and stopped her short.
She whirled back around to face him, fists clenched, and let out a short, incredulous laugh. "If, by some miracle, I could be persuaded to believe you, Malfoy—it would never work! We're too different!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Who's prejudiced now, Hermione?"
Hermione drew herself up to her full height. "This has absolutely nothing to do with your bloodline, Malfoy."
"Nor my family?"
She glared at him. "No." She gestured vaguely between the two of them. "I don't know how much firewhisky you've had to make you think the two of us could be anything other than grudging…friends, but—"
"How many times do I have to tell you? I am not drunk." He was motionless, save for his eyes, following her every movement.
Fuming, Hermione approached him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "I am not letting my heart get broken again, Draco! Even Ron was a disaster. I am not walking into another one!" Her voice rose in volume. "It's utter insanity! You'll get tired of me in a week or two and then where will I be? Even if—"
Her words were cut off as Draco closed the remaining distance between them.
After the first nanosecond of shock, Hermione's eyes slid shut of their own accord. Draco's mouth was warm and electric sparks were shooting through all her nerve endings. A dim corner of her mind reflected that kissing Ron had never been anything like this. Of course, Ron would probably never have dared pull off a stunt like this anyway, she thought wryly.
One hand behind her head, Draco wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her yet closer to his chest. Hermione sighed against his mouth and he felt her arms wind around his neck. After what seemed like an eternity, they slowly broke apart. Draco refused to loosen his hold on her and watched her eyes flutter open dreamily. A surge of hopeful satisfaction began to rise inside him. "Believe me now, Hermione?"
She focused on him, blinking to clear her foggy mind. He looked about as dazed as she felt. Draco leaned in for another kiss but her practical side chose that moment to surface and she stopped him.
"You do realize," she said softly, "that if this does…well…go somewhere and you break my heart, you'll have more than just me to reckon with?"
He stared at her. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that."
"We'll still argue. Incessantly."
"I prefer to think of it as 'we'll have professional disagreements,'" he said smoothly, smirking slightly again. Hermione huffed and he knew he'd won.
She tossed her head. "Yes, well, it's a good thing Snape won't be around to take off House points."
Draco gave her a lopsided grin and then said slyly, "I have something for you—if you promise not to storm off in a huff."
Hermione rolled her eyes and disentangled her arms from his neck. "That depends, Draco."
He held out a small box covered in white paper.
She eyed it suspiciously.
"It's not rigged, Hermione." He waved it under her nose. "My honor as a Malfoy."
"That's why I'm concerned." Ignoring his protestations of injured pride, Hermione gingerly took the box from his outstretched palm with the tips of two fingers.
"Your paranoia is amusing, Hermione, but we haven't got all night."
She shot him a glare, but set about unwrapping the small package. A moment later, she let out a small gasp and held up a pair of gold earrings. A tiny gold book dangled from each and glinted in the torchlight. As she watched, the books opened and their minuscule golden pages ruffled as if someone were glancing through them. In an effort to compose herself, she said, "Contrary to popular belief, I don't eat, sleep, and breathe books."
"Well, you're not exactly the butterfly type," he said dryly.
"I'll let that pass for the moment," she said with a magnanimous air, looking at them more closely. "Where in the world did you find book earrings?"
He shrugged lazily. "Special order."
She hesitated, and then looked up at him. "Thank you."
Draco smirked. "You're welcome." After a slight pause, he said casually, "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Oh." Hermione glanced from the gift in her hands to his face. "Yes. You too."
Before the silence between them could stretch into awkwardness, Draco nodded towards the Great Hall. "Dance with me again, Hermione?"
"We could later, but I have a better idea."
He raised an eyebrow.
Hermione gave him a satisfied smile and leaned in closer. "You…"
Draco swallowed, unsure of the suddenly predatory look on her face.
"…can meet my parents."
"…"
"Well?"
"…Knew I shouldn't have let you have carte blanche."
AN: Whew, this ended up being quite a bit longer than I thought it would. Thanks to a very wonderful person (you know who you are) for beta-reading.
This was written for Lucifer's Garden.
Here are the specs:
Side pairing: Millicent Bulstrode and Neville Longbottom
Rating: T at the highest
Period: Seventh year graduation (making it AU)
Includes:
1) "This is NOT how I pictured my graduation ceremony"
2) Draco having some kind of 'wardrobe malfunction'
3) Hermione getting a suprise gift
4) The obligatory ballroom dance scene
5) Snape getting drunk
Tone: Humourous/romantic. I know I personally can't avoid sappiness, but do
try to make it at least semi-believable? As far as DMHG goes, that is. :)
Ending: Happy!
Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! Be sure to check The Dramione Fic Exchange author page after February 14, 2006 to find out who wrote what stories.
Cheers!