A/N: Just a little one-shot I wrote for my sister's birthday last weekend - hope you enjoy! J.K. Rowling owns everything you recognize. :)
The music is intoxicating, almost seductive, but he's not interested in dancing at the moment. Instead, he leans forward in his chair, forearms resting on his thighs and a crystal goblet dangling loosely between his fingers. He runs his hand through his platinum locks and takes a sip, wishing the rumors about the mulled mead had been true – he could definitely use a good stiff drink right about now. The thought makes him chuckle humorlessly – he's fourteen, for Merlin's sake.
"Draaaa-coooo…"
Dammit.
"Go away, Pansy."
"Draco, really? What's the matter, love? You've been off ever since we got here."
"Pansy, I said go away." Daft girl, can't she take a hint? He looks up at her – she's giving him a look clearly meant to be suggestive, but it quickly turns into a pout when she sees his expression.
"Why won't you dance with me?"
"Pansy, don't whine. It's unbecoming."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Merlin, woman!" His fingers comb through his hair again; it's all he can do not to yank it out in frustration. "I danced with you plenty earlier!"
"You're my date, you prat! You're my date yet I've seen neither hide nor hair of you in the last twenty minutes!"
"Pans, I'm really not in the mood…"
"Okay, fine," she snaps. "Thanks for nothing." She turns on her heel and storms off into the crowd. He knows he'll have to apologize later – he can't afford to have Pansy Parkinson, revenge queen and gossip extraordinaire, mad at him – but for now, his thoughts are elsewhere. In an effort to make sense of things, he mentally rewinds to earlier that evening, just before everything went to hell on a hippogriff…
"Where the blazes are they?" he asks, snapping his pocket watch shut with a sharp click. "We can't exactly waltz in after the champions."
"Drake, chill," Blaise says with a chuckle. "They'll be down soon."
"How the hell does it take four hours to get dressed?" he mutters as he flops down on a sofa.
"You really have to ask that question? How long does it take your mother to get ready for social events again?"
"Touché."
The soft click of heels draws his attention, and he looks up to meet Pansy's expectant gaze. His first instinct is to recoil – her robes are an absolutely awful shade of pale pink, and the overwhelming assault of whatever perfume she's drowned herself in makes him want to vomit –but he swallows his insults and rises to greet his date.
"You look lovely," he says softly, bowing slightly as he brushes his lips over her manicured fingers. She mumbles a response, and he offers her his arm before leading a group of his housemates out of the common room.
The myriad colors make the crowd in the entrance hall seem even larger than it already is, and normally familiar faces seem temporarily foreign as they seek out their friends. The champions are waiting by the doors to the Great Hall – Draco can see the silvery sheet of hair belonging to the Delacour girl, and even from a distance, he'd know Potter anywhere. The Gryffindor stands with one of the Patil twins, and Draco can't fathom how Potter scored her for a date – even he has to admit the Indian witches are bloody gorgeous. Delacour's with the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain – an idiot if there ever was one – and Diggory can't take his eyes off Cho Chang. The only person he doesn't recognize in the champions' group is the petite girl next to Krum.
At precisely eight o'clock, McGonagall – hasn't anyone ever told her how ugly that tartan is? – throws open the doors to the Great Hall and beckons them all inside. Pansy clings to his arm like her life depends on it as they make their way forward, and once they're close enough, he gets a better look at Krum's date.
No…there's no way that's…
"Hi Harry! Hi Parvati!" The girl speaks, and there's no mistaking that voice.
It's Granger.
Pansy's jaw drops when she sees the Gryffindor girl, and Draco manages only a slightly more controlled expression.
"When did she get so…" Pansy can't seem to finish her sentence, and Draco uses the opportunity to steer her towards a nearby table, where Blaise, Tracey, Theo, and Daphne are already waiting.
Dinner is a lively affair with delicious food and good company, and he manages to forget about the bushy-haired bookworm for the duration of the meal. All too soon, however, the champions rise from the high table and take to the dance floor. The Delacour girl, of course, is a vision as always, but Granger…Granger is something else. Her robes, made of a soft blue material, flatter her petite form without going overboard, and her normal mane has transformed itself into an elegant twist. She seems to float rather than dance, her steps are so light and effortless, and nothing rivals her radiant smile. Under normal circumstances, she only calls attention to herself academically, but tonight, she's the belle of the ball.
Draco hauls Pansy off to the dance floor the instant the champions' ceremonial dance ends, if only in an attempt to take his mind off the goddess in Viktor Krum's arms. Because as much as he's loathe to admit it, there's no other way to describe his classmate – she's absolutely stunning.
He stomachs as many dances as he can, but eventually he can't take it anymore and mutters something about needing a drink. Grabbing a glass off the nearest table, he spends a few minutes perusing the makeshift gardens just beyond the castle's main doors, but as the topiaries are overrun with clingy couples, he retreats fairly quickly and finds himself a seat. This is where Pansy finds him, argues with him, and leaves him. As she departs in a huff, Draco once again catches sight of the cause of his troubles. Granger's brown eyes are sparkling, soft like pools of liquid chocolate, and her cheeks flush prettily in the candlelight. She laughs aloud at something Krum says, and Draco does a double take at the sight of her teeth. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that he called her a "long-molared Mudblood" in the halls? He hadn't noticed at the time, but it seems as though that's no longer the case – she must've used her trip to the hospital wing to her advantage.
Damn you, Granger…
He shouldn't be thinking of her this way – he can't think of her this way – but she's not making it easy. There's no denying that Granger's the most breathtaking woman in the room, and there's no denying that she successfully destroyed every single one of his walls concerning her the instant she walked through those doors tonight. She's no longer a bushy-haired, know-it-all Mudblood; she's Hermione Granger, a witch with a heart even larger than her formidable brain, and he's secretly jealous of just how beautiful a person she really is, both inside and out.