She'd never totally get used to these high-society events. Her status as a war hero demanded that she attend - or at least, it did if she didn't want to be forever labeled eccentric and a recluse - but she always felt as if she were a fish out of water. Despite the dress, the hair, the makeup, she never felt comfortable or like she'd fit in.

Tonight, she felt worse. They'd had a - disagreement? A difference of opinion?

Call a spade a spade - it was a knock down, drag out fight. A screaming match.

Things were sometimes volatile, of course - two strong personalities will do that - but this one seemed damaging. Like they were at a crossroads. She was afraid of the consequences, but given the secrecy they'd always operated under, she couldn't even discuss it with anyone.

Which only made it worse, since it was about secrecy that they'd fought.

She was standing in the ballroom, near the buffet, with a group of friends - Harry, Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville et al. - and sipping half-heartedly at a glass of champagne. The band had been playing for a half hour or more. She'd yet to dance; no one had asked her, and she wasn't sure she was in the mood. The finger foods at the buffet had turned her stomach; they were fine, she was sure, but her nerves were such that she just couldn't bring herself to eat anything.

OoooOOOoooO

He was standing at the far edge of the dance floor. Tall. Handsome. Impeccably dressed and groomed. Fairly reeking of old money and good breeding. His friends had tried all evening to draw his attention, but it was obvious he was in a bad mood - no one could do sullen like he could. The ladies of his group had been angling for a dance, a smile, any part of his attention, with no success. He spent all his time swirling the ice around in his firewhisky and staring off into space.

Across the room.

At her.

He knew that something would have to change. How long could they keep going on this way? And he didn't want to, anyway - which made their earlier discussion even more ironic, since neither of them wanted things to stay secret any more. The disagreement seemed to hinge on how to make things generally known. Just start showing up to places together? Angle for an article in the Daily Prophet? Does one place an announcement? He hated publicity, dreaded the attention they'd inevitably draw. And he knew she was afraid of people's reactions.

He didn't like it when she was afraid. It didn't happen very often.

Blaise had been watching him for several minutes, frowning. Finally drawing the other man's attention, he said, "Draco? Draco! What's going on? You've been silent and staring all evening. It's not a good look on you."

He was tempted to employ his trademark snarl to drive Blaise off - and then the orchestra started playing That Song.

The one she loved. The one she sang along to whenever it came on. They'd danced to it in her sitting room, wrapped together so tightly, never wanting to let go. That beautiful melody that would always remind him of her regardless of how their future went.

In a flash, he had the answer.

"Blaise? Here, hold my drink." He shoved the highball into his bewildered friend's hand and strode off across the dance floor, his walk purposeful.

She was standing with her back to the dance floor, half-listening to her friends, carefully maintaining an interested look on her face. She didn't see him coming - but Ginny certainly did.

"Oh my God, what does Malfoy want?"

Hermione was startled. "What?!" She turned and saw him walking across the floor toward them - looking straight at her, so it was clear he was headed in their direction.

Ron chimed in. "That rotten bastard. He's got nerve, coming over here. Fucking Death Eater."

She struggled with what to say. "Ron, you know he was forced to - "

"Yeah, whatever."

By then, he'd stopped in front of her. "Granger," he said, holding out his hand to her.

She just stared at him.

He sighed. "Hermione, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Speechless, she could only nod her head stupidly and place her hand in his. He led her out to the dance floor.

She wanted to relax in his arms as he led her across the floor. Normally he was her safe haven, in his arms the only place she'd want to be.

But not in public. The fact that they had an audience was a bit frightening. What was he doing?

He pulled her a little closer. "I'm sorry, love."

"I'm sorry too. I just don't know what to do. So is this the idea, then? We start being civil to one another in public?"

"Well, sort of…there's a bit more to it. Hang on."

He twirled her around the floor, big sweeping movements that were like something out of a fairy tale. She couldn't help but laugh - he was every bit a drama queen, but this seemed over the top.

And then it got more so.

He slowed them down, reaching to place her right hand on his shoulder, then caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. The look on his face…

And then he kissed her.

In the ballroom. In the middle of the ballroom. Surrounded by the entire who's-who of the wizarding community.

Gasps arose around them; they'd been the center of attention since they began dancing together. He was an expert dancer, and the dramatic moves he'd made had only cemented everyone's notice.

She was helpless in his arms and always had been - his kiss was full of love and promises, desire and hope.

He pulled back slightly and smiled down at her.

And said, "I love you."

Back by the buffet, Ginny's eyes were huge and she'd grabbed Harry's arm. "What the hell! He just said he loved her!"

"How could you know that?"

"Seriously? Every woman in this place can lip read those words across a crowded room! Holy fuck, what the hell!"

Ron was perfectly prepared to march across the room and hand Malfoy's face to him - until he saw Hermione.

Beaming with love and joy up at the tall wizard.

"Ah, hell."

OoooOOOoooO

Hermione was laughing, stroking his jaw. "You are such a -"

He smirked and interrupted her. "Handsome man? Huge catch?"

"Show off. Drama addict. Prat."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Well, at least spreading the news is all taken care of now. And with that, madam, I believe this is our cue to exit stage left…"

His hand at the small of her back, he led her off the dance floor to the cloakroom, and thence to the exit, flash bulbs popping all around them as they smiled for the camera.