Written for Dramione_advent on LJ and AO3. Prompt: Frozen Hearts. Many thanks to my betas - you gals ROCK! Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, nor do I own her characters, etc. Song by Reynardo!
Hermione flicked at the robes on a miniature Babbo Natale figurine that had been anonymously plopped upon her desk. The ornament bristled, shook out its long fuzzy beard, and began a lusty rendition—as lusty as a two-inch tall figure could manage—of O Sole Mio.
"An admirer of yours, Granger?" Draco Malfoy jeered from the entrance to her office.
She grimaced and swished her wand at the obnoxious gift, sending it over the edge screaming to shatter on the floor below. "Tammaro, in International Magical Trading Standards Department, if I'm not mistaken."
Draco stepped inside the room and toed at the remnants of the Italian Father Christmas. "Expensive."
"And completely unwelcome," she grumbled, returning to the account she was reviewing.
Draco sat down in a chair across from Hermione, crossed his legs and smirked.
More than five years after the end of the war, she still found it surreal that she was working amicably with Draco Malfoy. Granted, he had achieved the position through a mixture of what was left of his father's influence and the Minister wanting to keep an eye on his behaviour, but the war had left an irrevocable impression upon Draco. While he had retained his arrogance, perfect manners, and petulant characteristics, he had also matured into someone who was witty, knowledgeable and surprisingly charming. She pointedly ignored this last characteristic. Often.
Now, she narrowed her eyes at him. "What? Do I have 'desperate for a shag' or 'unable to find a date' written across my forehead in boils?"
Draco arched a brow. "Lower," he teased, looking deliberately at her chest.
"Funny," she said dryly. "I might find that amusing if your taste in witches were better."
"I might mean it if you had any taste at all," Draco returned, irritation lacing his voice. "At least I have a date to the Ministry Christmas Gala."
"Is that what you're calling your flavour of the month these days? A date?" Hermione sat back and regarded Draco coolly. "I think the nicest thing that could be said about the last one was that she was so cold she could have used her breasts to keep her face warm."
"Jealous?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I have no interest in being a red X on your calendar or a side note in your diary, thank you very much."
"Says the witch who told me about her late night rendezvous with Krum after a Ministry function. What did you tell me? Oh, yes. That afterwards, you and he were spooning, and he said he wished he was a kangaroo so he could put you in his pouch and keep you there forever."
Red spots of mortification bloomed on her cheeks. "I can't believe I told you that. Please never mention it again, Draco. Ever." She looked away suddenly. "I left as soon as he was asleep."
"How brave of you." Draco examined his manicured nails. "I haven't told anyone, by the way; you weren't exactly sober that night. I may be clever and self-serving, but I do have some scruples. Just not many. I mainly treat the information as leverage."
She straightened in her chair, her back rigid with sudden suspicion. "What sort of leverage?"
Draco smiled lazily. "All in good time, Granger." He leaned over and laid a folder on her desk. "We have an interesting case."
She eyed him warily. "We always have interesting cases. Hence the unimaginative department title of Interesting and Suspect Use of Magic Division. Why is this one so special?"
"It involves Weasley."
Hermione stilled abruptly. "Ron?" At Draco's nod, she frowned. "Is he the claimant?"
Draco nodded again. "Says something peculiar happened last night at the annual Christmas fête for the Chudley Cannons."
She hadn't seen Ron in almost four years, not since they had parted on rather bad terms after her return from Australia without her parents. Their 'differences of opinion' had probably been heard for miles that night, and it had taken the threat of an Unforgivable from Harry for them to cease their bickering. The next day, she had left for uni and Ron had been drafted by the Cannons. She had cried out her resentment and loss often those first few months, but as with most things, the pain lessened as she focused once more on her career. Life went on. Of course, Harry kept her abreast of all that the Weasleys were doing, but it had been a long time since she had a received an invitation to any social gathering that involved the redheaded clan.
She opened the folder and glanced over the information but it was vague, decidedly so, and she looked to Draco for more information. "Don't tell me…"
Draco shrugged. "All right, I won't tell you that we'll need to interview with him."
"Damn," she groaned, dropping her face in her hands. She did not want to see Ron. Feelings of bitterness she had thought long buried rose to the surface.
"Such lady-like language. No wonder the wizards are lined up to sample your wicked tongue."
She shot Draco an annoyed look. "Yes, I've had so many blind dates I should qualify for a seeing-eye canine," she huffed. "Be glad my tongue isn't pierced. I could inflict some real damage."
Draco's brows inched into his hairline and he shifted uneasily in his seat. "Much as that imagery has provided an abundant amount of fodder for, erm, consideration, I do believe we'll be late for the interview if we don't leave now." He got to his feet and headed for the door.
Great. Not only was she alienating half of the wizarding population by her mere presence, she had just made her co-worker uncomfortable with her ill-timed innuendo. And what did he mean about 'fodder for consideration'? Considering what? Draco was hard to read at the best of times, but his current reactions flummoxed her.
Girding her loins to deal with Ron, she decided it wasn't worth the effort to try and dissect Draco's motivations. More than likely, she would find selfishness and a near-total lack of principles at the bottom of it.
"It was so beautiful and melodious," Ron purred, a blissful smile on his face. "Pure rapture, it was."
In the doorway of the room at the Three Broomsticks, Draco and Hermione stopped dead and exchanged stunned expressions as they took in the scene.
It wasn't that there was a problem, per se—no one was bleeding or being tortured within an inch of their lives. It wasn't that Ron sounded drugged, as Harry had described in sixth year, when Ron ate all those Amortentia-laced chocolates. It wasn't even that Ron was being rather free with his affections, wrapped around the other party like a limpet on a rock.
It was the identity of the other party that was questionable.
"Is that…" Hermione started.
"Pansy," Draco bit out. "What the hell are you doing?"
Pansy, who was evidently just as infatuated with Weasley as he was with her, smiled contentedly. "Go away, Draco. You're interrupting us!" She giggled and rubbed her nose with Ron's.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione said feebly.
"Likewise," Draco agreed. He waved his wand over the closely-entwined pair, who ignored him entirely. "No trace of potions or spells."
Hermione's suspicions were not allayed. Ron would never act this way on his own. "Does Parkinson normally—"
"No," Draco interrupted. "Never. If her father knew she was here with Weasley, she'd be immediately disinherited."
"Nice to know some things never change," Hermione observed. "Ron? Ron. Ron! Would you please quit lapping at Pansy's… erm... chest? We have some questions for you."
"Busy now," Ron said, his words muffled by the fact that his lips were firmly wedged between Pansy's cleavage.
"But you filed a complaint, Ron. You requested assistance." Hermione crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. She studiously avoided looking at the two of them practically shagging against the wall, but couldn't contain a grimace when the witch squealed her delight at where Ron's hand was currently placed.
"Mistake," Ron growled and began suckling on Pansy's neck.
"I think they'll be picking out names for their children before they're likely to talk to us, Granger. Where was the party held, Pansy?"
Pansy's eyes were closed, but she moaned, "Rivoli Ballroom in London." Heavy panting. "Très gauche, but the food was excellent."
"You were better," Ron cooed and thrust his hips against Pansy.
Hermione swallowed convulsively. Was it getting overly warm in the shabby room? "Time to go, Draco?" she asked hastily, her voice high with strain. She did not want to see or hear any more.
Draco grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Definitely."
Hermione and Draco Apparated to just outside the main entrance to the Ministry, the blast of icy wind flinging sleet like pinpricks against their skin. She knew her cheeks were blazoned red after watching her ex having it off—and with someone he wouldn't even have considered in their past. Had Ron set up this whole scenario just to niggle at her, to show her what she was missing by not being with him? If so, it didn't make sense; neither of them had been in touch with the other since the night they broke it off. Why would he bother with this now? On the other hand, if it was a true complaint about misused magic, there should have been traces showing if there was actual abuse, or if it was Dark in nature. Without that, how did one explain Ron being hands-deep in Pansy's knickers when, prior to the party, he wouldn't have spared her the time of day?
A touch to her face startled Hermione out of her reverie. "You okay, Granger? You look… well, a bit shaky."
She blinked a couple times. Draco is touching my face. My face. Draco's long fingers are touching my cold cheek, and they feel so warm. "Fine," she managed, giving him a false smile. "I just hadn't been expecting a peep show."
His hand dropped, but he kept his gaze locked with hers, frowning. "Did you and the Weasel ever—"
"None of your business, Malfoy," she grit out, and pushed past him towards the phone booth. She flung open the door and waited for Draco to join her in the cramped compartment then picked up the phone and dialled the Ministry access code.
Their slow descent in the tiny car made Hermione feel trapped. She had never been claustrophobic, but the close presence of Draco's body combined with the scene they had just witnessed, left her feeling things she ought not to be feeling about a co-worker. Particularly a co-worker that was a Malfoy. A Malfoy that was Draco. A Draco that was looking at her strangely. "What?" she blurted out as the lift came to a halt.
Draco's lips quirked into a lopsided smile and he shook his head. "You're flustered. Watching those two really affected you."
Hermione wrenched open the door and stormed out, unsure of why she was so upset. "I suppose seeing your former best friend en flagrante delicto is an everyday occurrence for you, Malfoy?" she tossed over her shoulder, not bothering to slow her steps. "Let's put aside the fact that Ron doesn't exactly move in the same circles as most of pure-blood society, but he wouldn't even have the common decency to piss on her if she were on fire!"
A strong pull on her arm brought her to a halt. Draco kept a firm grip on her elbow as he manoeuvred her into a shadowed alcove, away from prying eyes and ears. "I understand you're rattled by what you saw," he said soothingly, "I am too. As you said, I think in the past, Pansy would've hexed his arse rather than fondle it. But apparently that's not what's happening now. There was no sign of magic, so I say we close this case and let those two deal with the fallout from their dalliances on their own, because believe me, there will be consequences when her father finds out. And I don't even want my name mentioned when the Parkinsons tear into Pansy, because then my mother will find out, and she'll be on my case about settling down and continuing the Malfoy line, and all kinds of other complications I don't want to deal with right now. Are we clear?"
Hermione stared at a spot on his shoulder to avoid his gaze. "Crystal." She flexed her arm, causing Draco to loosen his hold, and she cradled it to her chest. "I have paperwork," she muttered, leaving him to his own devices.
As she made her way back to their office, she resolved to list Ron's case as a filing error… and to firmly put Draco out of her mind.
Three days later, Hermione's resolutions were shoved violently out the window.
"The melody was divine, I tell you. Heavenly. As if she reached inside my heart and pulled out every desire I ever imagined."
The vacuous look on Lavender Brown's face was par for the course, as far as Hermione could tell; she'd had the same muzzy look about her during their school years. The object of her fascination, however, was anything but.
"She ate a bowl of Christmas pudding trifle with only her tongue," her partner went on to say. "I'm going to marry that woman."
Hermione turned to Draco, who had a decidedly green look about him; he was likely trying to sort out whether to laugh, cry or submit evidence for a new virus affecting the wizarding world. "Thoughts?" she ventured innocently.
A moue of disgust dragged the corners of Draco's lips down. "'Unnatural' comes to mind. Bordering on 'unholy'." He wiped his face and glared at the man currently nuzzling Lavender Brown's neck. "Goyle. What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"I think it's pretty obvious what they're doing, Draco," Hermione said pointedly.
"No," Draco muttered, turning his head away from the sight of his old house-mate's hand disappearing beneath Lavender's obscenely short skirt. "No. This is just wrong. It's doing my head in."
Goyle hummed in obscene satisfaction. "She also wrapped her tongue around my thumb and—"
"Stop!" Draco shouted, clapping his palms over his ears and closing his eyes. "La la la…"
Hermione tried to stifle her laughter but failed, not that she was trying very hard. Nevertheless she managed to conduct the same diagnostic spells Draco had used on Ron and Pansy, with the same results—nothing. She glanced at the amorous pair, but when an image of their hairy, knuckle-dragging offspring flitted through her head, she quickly averted her gaze to Draco, whose expression suggested that she would shortly become intimately acquainted with what he had had for lunch that day.
Hermione grabbed Draco's arm and spun him away, hoping he would get himself under control if the ardent couple were out of his direct line of vision, "Where did you two meet?" she said to the two figures writhing against each other.
"Hogwarts," they moaned in unison.
"Merlin, how thick can you be?" she muttered. "I meant, did you two meet recently? Such as at a party?"
"Rivoli Ballroom," Lavender answered, then shrieked as Goyle's wide hands reached their target.
Draco opened his eyes and stared at Hermione. "Rivoli Ballroom," they both said, their breaths visible in the cold night air.
The crescendo of erotic sounds had Draco and Hermione hastening their steps away from the couple now in the throes of a full-on shag. Hermione took hold of Draco's arm before Apparating to Brockley Road in London, hoping the answers to these disturbing questions could be found.
Approaching half-past two in the morning, Draco and Hermione surveyed the building near a side door meant for deliveries. The wards protecting the entrance were not particularly strong, but it was also combined with a Muggle locking mechanism. Both were disarmed quickly and they quietly entered the now-empty building. Since the venue was used by both the Muggle and wizarding community—obviously at different times—they'd had to wait until the Fortnum & Mason Charity Christmas party had ended and all the Muggles had left, before they could investigate further.
Unprepossessing from the outside, once through the doors, the ballroom revealed itself as a glorious confection of perfect retro glamour. The ballroom itself occupied the entire space of the building. Even in the dim light of her Lumos spell, Hermione sensed that the period atmosphere and beautifully quirky décor would be sure to attract all sorts, Muggle and wizarding alike. Plush red-velvet gold-framed walls ran the length of the elongated, spacious room. In the centre of the room hung an Austrian crystal chandelier dripping with faceted baubles and surrounded by oversized Chinese lanterns dotting the ceiling all the way out to its edges. The polished-to-a-gleam wood floor was perfect for dancing. At the far end of the room, there was a stage, sporting musical equipment that a band had probably used earlier that evening.
"I don't pick up anything Dark in origin," Draco murmured as he swept his wand along the walls. "There're some residual magical signatures, but they're muted."
"Probably from the Wizarding guests at the parties," Hermione offered.
They each took a side of the room, working their way towards the stage. They reached it at nearly the same time, and when Hermione raised her head and met Draco's eyes she could see that he was sensing the same thing she was: the strongest signature of magic yet, humming just below the surface, like static electricity lingering in the air, right in the centre of the stage.
Hermione scanned the innocuous-looking platform. "Didn't Lavender mention something about a melody?"
Draco nodded as he studied the musical equipment that sat in a state of readiness—a full set of drums, several guitars, a piano, a concert grand pedal harp, three saxophones, two trumpets, one cello, two violins and one Shekere. "Weasley went on about music, too, if I recall."
Cautiously, Hermione stepped onto the dais and made her way to where the vocalist would perform: centre stage. Once there, she immediately felt as if she were stepping into a warm shower of pure emotion. Every hair on her body stood on end, the energy encompassing her, flitting over her skin like a caress.
"Draco," she gasped. "I think we found it."
She was only vaguely aware of his presence as he stepped onto the stage next to her, but when he took her hand in his and she turned towards him, his face came into sharp focus, all silver-blond hair and sharp features. A giddy feeling filled her chest as they gazed at one another, Draco's grey eyes brimming with an emotion she had never seen him direct towards anyone, let alone herself: happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.
Draco moved closer and she gave into the insane urge overpowering her, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. She immediately buried her face against his throat and gave a nervous laugh.
"I've never seen you look like this," she whispered against his skin. "What are you feeling?"
She could feel Draco swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing against her forehead. "Like I'm alive," he breathed. His hand curled around her hip, his fingers flexing to shape themselves to her body. "Like I've been cold my entire life and I'm just now thawing in the heat of a brilliant light."
Everything he said was echoed within her. Whatever this magic was, it was powerful and elemental; dimly, she recalled Lavender's words, that her innermost desires had been pulled from deep within and made reality. Whoever had stood on this stage had left behind a power so strong, it affected all those that crossed its path. Yet, she did not feel compelled to do anything other than enjoy the sensations.
Still clinging to one another, she felt Draco slide his fingers into her wild, bushy mane of hair. Her breath hitched in her chest as he cradled the back of her head and ghosted his lips across her neck. For a moment she froze; there was a line that was being crossed at this moment. If they stopped now, she could still go back and work with him, side by side. It would be torturous to do so, but she could cope. If they stopped... right... now…
Draco tipped her head back, exposing her throat, and bent to press his nose to the juncture of her shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply. She could feel his smile as he hummed in approval at whatever he found in that little exploration. His grip tightened in her hair and then he was pulling her face to his… and kissing her within an inch of her life.
It was possessive and wild, as if a lifetime of yearning had built up and was now suddenly free to be expressed. She took what he gave and she returned it threefold. He slanted his mouth over hers, devouring her very breath. His hand slipped past her Ministry robes and then beneath her jumper to splay against her back. Some part of her mind suggested that she ought to object, but it was a small part, barely noticeable, so she paid it no attention.
Draco gentled his kiss and slowly withdrew his lips from hers, but he didn't relinquish his hold on her. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Do you want to stop?"
She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hand softly stroking up and down her back. "We should."
"We could go somewhere," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.
Her eyes widened a fraction, her vision clearing along with her mind. "No, I don't think so." She gradually extricated herself from his embrace, despite a pang of loss, as she stepped back. At his confused expression, she cleared her throat. "I refuse to end up like Ron and Pansy, or Merlin forbid, like Lavender and Goyle." She shuddered slightly and wrapped her arms against her body.
"We're not like them," Draco grated out, frustration plain in his voice and running a hand through his hair.
"I have no idea what you're like," she corrected. "No, I take that back." She straightened a bit and gave him a sidelong glance. "As I told you before, I have no desire to be an entry in your diary."
Draco's lips thinned. "I don't even have a bloody diary, Hermione!"
Shaken by the drastic change of emotion, she took one step back. "But you have someone. You always have someone, whether you actually want them or not. They're an ornament to you; just like that tacky, garish thing Tammaro gave to me—good for nothing except looking decorative."
She carefully stepped off the dais and, ignoring his shouts to wait, ran out the door and Disapparated into the snowy night.
Hermione Granger might have been sorted into the brave house of Gryffindor, but her current behaviour wasn't remotely living up to that proud group. In fact, she was pretty sure even the Hufflepuffs would've been disgusted with her right about now.
A week had gone by since that all-consuming kiss with Draco at the deserted Rivoli, and not one minute had passed during which she didn't still feel its effects deep in her marrow. The ache that persisted in the region of her chest could only be pneumonia, she reasoned.
Possibly. Not likely, though, if she were brutally honest.
Maybe it was Loser's Lurgy, Luna Lovegood's mystical malaise. No, that was ridiculous, even if she was acting like a loser.
Upon returning to her flat that night—which now seemed like a lifetime ago—Hermione had Floo-called Kingsley Shacklebolt and pleaded that she needed a holiday, starting immediately. He had obviously sensed her anxiety and had tried to discern the cause, but she had refused to enlighten him. Multiple times. It was only after extracting her promise to attend the Ministry Christmas Gala—and stay the entire evening—that he agreed to the time off, allowing her the chance to hide in her flat.
Away from work. Away from Draco. Away from that bloody kiss!
In the intervening week, there had been two more love affairs attributed to whatever magic permeated the stage at the Rivoli: Rita Skeeter and an unnamed Auror, who specialised in the more violent criminals—Hermione was pretty sure bondage had been involved, though the report had stuck to vague phrases like 'unusual' and 'licentious'—and Seamus Finnegan with Dean Thomas. That pairing hadn't been as off-putting as the others, being comparatively mundane. It wasn't even a surprise, really; she had suspected their involvement with each other as early as their second year at Hogwarts. Ginny—now happily married to Harry—had evidently just been a phase for Dean. She should have gone with Draco to investigate the reports, but she couldn't bring herself to face him, not after he had stolen a little bit of her soul with that kiss. Yes, that's literally what it felt like, though she hated sounding like a romance novel about it.
Did it hurt that Draco hadn't tried to contact her, even to inquire after her ruse of ill health? Disturbingly so. Did she wonder how many witches he had shagged between that night and this one? All too vividly. Did she wish that she didn't have to attend this horrid party to appease her employer? With a burning passion.
But the payment was due, tonight. No more sulking in a dressing gown all day long. No more lazing about, letting her mind atrophy from the lack of worth-while stimuli—namely Draco's constant banter. No more Muggle trash telly, wondering who fathered the child of a wretched woman who only wanted money so that she could buy an expensive car. Hermione had thrown her fuzzy bunny slipper at the telly for that one.
Standing before the mirror in her loo, Hermione waved her wand around her head and watched as her freshly-washed rat's nest spun itself into a perfectly-coifed style: sides swept up and out of her face, long soft curls tumbling down her back. The spell even added a luxurious gloss to the golden highlights in her hair, making her eyes practically glow without the addition of makeup.
She gripped the sides of her form-fitting corset and shifted the panels until her breasts were where they would be most comfortable. The bodice of her dress—strapless, navy blue, floor-length with white snowflake accents—consisted of true bone ribbing, allowing her to expand her chest with greater ease while keeping her 'assets' nicely in place. Happy with their placement, she inhaled deeply… and spluttered out a nervous laugh as she realised she gave new meaning to the term 'heaving bosoms'.
She added a modest silver necklace with a single snowflake that dangled just above the swell of her breasts, its centre a small blue sapphire. Matching earrings completed the ensemble. She took one last look at her reflection and stuck out her tongue at the person looking back. She just hoped she looked marginally better than whomever Draco had chosen to decorate his arm this evening.
As she donned the sheer shrug over her bare shoulders, the tightening in her stomach at the thought of Draco with another conquest called her a liar. She hoped for much more than that.
Hermione cursed herself for a fool a thousand times when she arrived at the venue for the evening's festivities. Of course the invitation had stated the location, but how often did anyone truly study an invitation for where an event was being held when it came with a timed Portkey? She had barely grabbed her clutch before she was whirled away to where she now stood.
After blowing a stray curl from her vision with a huff, she hesitantly entered the Rivoli Ballroom.
Loud music assaulted her senses, a chaos of people laughing, talking and dancing. The room was crowded, but not overly so. She recognised several people from her division and several of the Weasleys, including Ron… with Pansy standing happily next to him. Since they were still together—and Ron was still alive—she assumed that Pansy hadn't informed her parents of her choice in suitors. It would be a moot point come morning—Ministry gatherings were the breeding ground for many a Daily Prophet exclusive. Pansy's involvement with Ron would be front-page news and then she would be gone before Ron could wipe their combined saliva from his mouth.
Hermione craned her neck, scanning the crowd, resolutely telling her pounding heart that she was looking for Kingsley amongst the throng, not Draco. She spotted the Minister for Magic, speaking with someone who was hidden from her view by his height. Quelling the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her satin dress, she made her way over to Kingsley to let him know that she had arrived, as requested. Just as she was about to tap him on the shoulder, a low voice drifted to her ears.
"You look like an ice princess."
Slowly, she turned to face Draco, and the ache that had clung to her all week bloomed into a sharp pain. He was dressed impeccably in wizarding dress robes which, ironically, complemented her dress. They were dark blue with fashionable miniscule white scroll-work piping. Silver accents at the cuffs and anywhere a button could be attached, starched white dress shirt with a navy blue cummerbund. His shoulder-length hair was confined in a queue by a midnight-blue ribbon, making his already angular features even sharper.
Merlin, he was breathtaking. And scowling at her. True, she had run out after that devastating kiss and hadn't talked to him since. If the tables were turned, she would be frosty, too. Well, maybe not as chilled as he appeared, but still… she would be quite put out.
"Draco," she said hesitantly. "You're looking well."
His cool demeanour did not alter one bit. "I should. Cost me a bloody fortune."
She arched a brow. "I'm sure you could afford it."
"Many times over," he said, his gaze narrowing. "Where's your date? Oh, I forgot; you don't have one. My mistake."
The words, intending to wound, hit their target. Hermione grimaced. "Considering the last date I actually went on we were asked to leave the restaurant because he lit his nipples on fire with a faulty spell, I find the dating pool quite shallow."
There was a minuscule tic in Draco's jaw, then his lip quirked and he began laughing. "Granger, you have the worst taste in men."
She gave him a small smile. "No need to rub it in."
His laughter faded and he gave her a pained look. "You left before I could say anything."
"There was nothing to say," she said, her voice raspy. She rubbed her bare forearms to erase the shiver that had set in.
"Cold?" he asked. She couldn't tell if his concern was real or feigned.
She waved him off. "Not really. Besides," she said, and pulled her wand from her clutch, "witch, remember? Warming Charms are divine."
Draco closed the distance and grabbed her wrist before she cast. "Why did you leave?" he whispered.
She swallowed against the whimper stuck in her throat. That's where grief lived, she decided, in one's throat. Grief at losing the one thing that had felt right to her in a sea of uncertainty. It clogged vocal chords until no sound could emerge to scream against the defeat. Unable to answer his question, she shifted her gaze to the crowd around them. "Where's your date?"
He pursed his lips. "Don't have one."
"But I thought—"
"No." The grip on her wrist tightened for a fraction of a second and then eased to trail fingers up her arm until they rested against the nape of her neck, in a grasp that felt remarkably possessive. "I had hoped to ask you to accompany me, but you seemed…"
"Distracted," she breathed. She licked her lips and Draco's gaze focused on her mouth. "Why did you kiss me?"
He leaned close and ghosted his lips over hers. "Because you light the dark corners." A kiss pressed to the side of her mouth. "Because you insinuated your bloody life into mine without either of us realising it." A kiss to the tip of her nose. "Because what I felt that night, I want to continue feeling until my bones have turned to ash." Soft kisses to her eyes and brow.
"Technically, your body could be cremated and your bones—" She was abruptly silenced as Draco claimed her mouth and she lost any desire to speak.
A booming Sonorus-enhanced voice broke through their blissful haze. "Esteemed guests! We have a treat for you this evening! Here to perform her newest hit and on break from her tour of the British Isles, the lovely and talented Singing Sorceress herself, Celestina Warbeck!"
Wild applause filled the room, along with a few wolf-whistles and shouts of praise, as a short, dark-skinned, well-endowed woman made her way to the stage. Her intricate braids swayed with her movements as she stopped at the exact spot on which Draco and Hermione had stood only a week ago.
"The stage," they both hissed at the same time, sharing a look.
"Ah, my wonderful witches and wizards," Celestina said, a Voice Enhancing Charm making her rich, sweet tones clearly audible throughout the room. "I'm so privileged to be here tonight. This song goes out to all those lonely lovers at Christmas time, the ones missing their sweet fire." A raised shout brought a smile to Celestina's face. "That's right, children—the love that stirs the embers of your cold heart and wakes the passion slumbering within. So take your partner and sway to the rhythm."
Without asking, Draco steered Hermione towards the dance floor, pulling her close as he claimed their spot amongst the gathered couples. She arched a brow at his behaviour, but he just shrugged. "I'm only doing as she asked."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You never do as anyone asks, Draco. Just admit you want to dance and ask me nicely."
"I'm standing here, you're standing there. It only makes sense to combine our efforts and dance together."
"Charming," she said tartly.
"As ever."
Hermione covered his mouth with her hand. "Shhh, the music is starting."
His tongue flicked out to touch the centre of her palm, causing her to squeal and wipe her hand on his robe.
"You'll pay to have that cleaned, you know."
She deliberately stepped on his toe. "Stop acting like a prat and dance."
"As the ice princess wishes," he acquiesced with a small nod.
Celestina, true to her name, started warbling out one of her masterpieces—at least, according to Molly Weasley's generation, if not the younger general public.
You swept into my life and took my frozen heart,
Your smile sent out a beam of warmth divine.
The way you took my hand, made my heartbeat start,
And suddenly I knew it was a sign.
For you...
Brought back my smile,
Gave me a dream,
Held me a while,
And now
You've gone away,
My frozen heart
Is here to stay.
Hermione felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu, and she assumed from the look on his face, that Draco did as well. The same overwhelming flow of emotion swirled around them, playing over their skin like butterfly wings. She leaned her forehead against his.
"Draco? Do you feel that?" she whispered.
He nuzzled his nose with hers. "Mmm, yes. I think Miss Warbeck has a bit of Siren in her blood."
You found me on the floor when no-one else looked down
You drew me to my feet and made me stand,
When others gave me nothing but a frozen stare,
You gave me hope when you held out your hand.
For you...
Brought back my smile,
Gave me a dream,
Held me a while,
And now
You've gone away,
My frozen heart
Is here to stay.
Daring a glance at the other dancers, Hermione noticed that more than one couple—those whom polite society would deem inappropriate matches—were being lulled by the same melody she and Draco swayed to. Contentment washing over her, she pressed closer to wrap her arms around his neck.
"It's a Siren's song, yes," she murmured. "It's meant to invoke attraction—"
"—to the one perfectly suited for that person," Draco finished. His gazed at her face as though to memorize every line. "But I was attracted to you before I heard the music."
And then the sky went grey
And sunlight dimmed,
And cold snows fell,
And then, like some strange charm
Or evil wizard's
freezing spell...
As the melody transposed up one tone, an unseen orchestra joined in, adding another level of intimacy on top of Celestina's lush, intimate voice. Draco buried his nose in Hermione's curls.
You left without a word and I'm still standing here,
My body chilled, my heart and now my soul,
For seven years and one long day I've waited, dear,
Bring back your warmth, your love, and make me whole!
For you...
Brought back my smile,
Gave me a dream,
Held me a while…
The music faded to quiet strings and piano, the lights dimming as the spotlight shrank until Celestina's face was the only thing visible on stage. Her tone was now desperate, full of sad longing, full of mournful sighs.
And now
You've gone away,
My frozen heart
Is here to stay.
My frozen heart...
My
Frozen
Heart...
The final lingering note, when it came, was laden with power so intoxicating that when the lights came up, they were hastily lowered once again… to obscure the shockingly intimate deeds many couples were engaging in.
There was no trace of improper behaviour in one couple, however. For Draco and Hermione, there was nothing coerced or artificial in the way they moved.
No, they had heard the Siren song long before Celestina ever took the stage. It had only taken a magical moment for their hearts to melt towards one another and admit the secret they had already known.