"Does Weasley know nothing? You can't just wear that," Pansy waved her hands around in the direction of the table full of Gryffindor war heroes and their dates, "and expect it to go well."
Draco thought it was working in her favor, actually. The locket at the end of a delicate silver chain hung low enough to be intimately acquainted with the Quidditch player's sternum. Clinquant and just this side of gaudy, he couldn't stand to focus on it for very long. Dark green crushed velvet lined her arms, hugged her waist, and trailed against the tile floor of the Ministry ballroom elegantly, the texture of the fabric shining as the crossed legs beneath the skirt shook from her raucous laughter.
Resting his hard-soled oxford against the leg of the table, Draco pushed to relieve a building charlie horse behind his knee; it hadn't been the same since tumbling off the broom out of the Room of Requirement more than a year ago.
"That much velvet is certainly an odd choice for the first week of October."
Pansy sniffed, using the toothpick from her olives to move the bitter fruit around her glass. "Makes her hair look like Granger's stupid kneazle's."
One eyebrow arched at his friend, slouching in her little black number, the bones of her spine more prominent in her open backed dress with her poor posture. He placed a warm palm against her lumbar, gently pushing her to sit up again. "So it's the color?"
She ground her teeth a bit. "The color isn't nearly as bad as the cut. She looks dumpy."
"She looks beautiful, Pans."
"So now you notice?"
Draco drained his drink in one go in response, to hopefully cover up his muttered you're impossible.
Pansy dug her manicured nails into his thigh to let him know that yes, she had heard him.
"What would you have me do about it?" Draco asked, adjusting the folds of his outer robe, still dressed to bolt at soon as he could. Whomever seated the guests for this donation debacle should be strung by their ankles, placing his table in direct sight of the War Heroes. A costume ball. A bloody costume ball in the theme of Halloween and reverse trick or treating as the Ministry guilted them out of more of their money.
"I've taken you to every one of her games," Draco commented, pressing on though he started to feel the rush of his last drink settlig over the rest of the alcohol in his body, "and don't forget the one in China; we couldn't cast fumigating charms quickly enough and I think there is still residue from that fog in my hair."
"Have Granger charm it out for you, she seems to be getting better at hair charms."
"I - what?"
"Look at her: that mess looks sort of managed right now, all piled on her head like Athena or something."
"Granger doesn't look like her, Athena wears a war helmet -"
"Don't change the subject."
"Fine!" Draco pouted, mimicking his friend's slouch, likely creasing his robes, but he didn't care. "Her hair looks like she decided to brush it today."
Pansy sipped at her martini, unapologetically as Draco's glass was still empty. His rosy cheeks were testament. "And?"
"And, what?"
"What else?"
"Pansy, weren't we just talking about your unslakable lust for Ginevra Weasley and not my -"
"Yes, it wasn't as much fun as this is."
Draco groaned and abandoned pretense, dropping his forehead against the table. "This is why I don't drink with you anymore," he slurred against the tablecloth.
Pansy giggled at his distress, ending with a breathy hiccup. Her head tilted like a cat considering whether it was worth rushing after the mouse or not, as she observed Harry reach out for Hermione's hand for what was going to be more of a stumble than a waltz. The couple were dressed in matching Greek uniforms, and though the two of them had enough money to afford authentic costumes, she was positive they'd transfigured the toga and column dress themselves. She smirked when she realized they were almost as excited about the charade of a fundraiser as they were.
Another sip of her drink passed her rosy lips, her fierce face faltering when she caught herself staring at Granger only because she was standing in front of...
"She looks nice in white, but she's just as dense as...as...oh, fuck it."
"What's going on?" Draco said, clearing his throat and looking up. He glanced just in time to see his flapper-girl date drain the rest of her martini, set it unsteadily on the tray of a passing waiter, and march towards the table of War Heroes. Even when she was close to totally sloshed, Pansy could outstride anyone in her heels.
Groggily he watched as she bumped into Granger on her mission, on purpose, and came to a breathless stop in front of her would-be Grunge Princess. He couldn't hear them from this distance, but he could see that damned locket start glittering more brilliantly as the Chaser's breath sped up. Before he could call out a warning to Pansy, the redhead's gloved fingers grabbed his friend's cheeks and pulled Pansy into her lap for a kiss he felt was a bit too heated for the Ministry fundraiser.
Cheering distracted him from the sight of black silk on green velvet.
Granger had a fist in the air and was whooping, with Harry fucking Potter whistling obscenely with his fingers in his mouth.
Draco wasn't sure when he'd stood up, but he realized he was leaning on someone for balance. Looking over at the nice human-shaped support, he announced, "About damn time."
"You're telling me," the nice support replied. Granger smiled up at him and a single, short burst of laughter colored her cheeks a rosier pink. A wash of peppermint came over him, likely from the free breath mints scattered over the tables. Was that her hand on his waist?
Granger's hair was soft, he thought to himself, as his hand rested on her shoulder for support. Granger looked..."Granger!"
"You've said my name three times, Malfoy," replied the pretty witch looking up at him. So it wasn't all in his head, and he groaned to himself in embarassment. "Does that have some magical significance this evening? Are you calling me into your spell circle, Witch Doctor?"
He'd forgotten he was dressed like a Voodoo King. Easy to forget, looking at her with brilliantly white teeth set in a genuine smile, and gold jewlery that made her skin look like the night sky. Easy to forget everything, looking at her. He could see the details in the cloth of her toga with stars made with golden thread.
"I've always wondered what stars feel like," he said, mouth suddenly dry.
Granger's smile softened, but instead of the insult or disparaging comment he expected (he was leaning on her quite heavily. How much gin had he had?) she put her hand on his chest to steady him and said, "Would you like to find out?"
clin·quant: adjective - glittering with gold and silver; tinseled.
A tumblr prompt from my dear chiseplushie that was requested just before I went on self-imposed hiatus to get some reading done. Posted on tumblr on 7/22/2016