Disclaimer: You know what is not mine.

Ebony and Ivory.

Ellery Swanston, secretary to Head of the Department of Aurors (Sir Edoardo Carell) nudged her neighbour furiously.

"What?" hissed the young blonde woman, having been interrupted in her conversation with the handsome delivery boy. Ms Swanston did not even have to point at the man who had caught her schoolgirl attention before he strode straight past the two. Both ladies were left swooning in a mist of his subtle, spicy cologne, staring at his retreating buttocks and replaying the image of his steely grey eyes flicking towards them in a brief and ridiculously arrogant acknowledgement.

Draco Malfoy had long passed the stuffy, over populated corridors of the lower ministry divisions and was now making his way coolly through the air-conditioned maze of the Department of Aurors. With his hair a rich dark brown for the day, Draco was certain he would not be recognized, although he himself knew the story behind every face he passed.

He reached his destination quickly and softly knocked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he waited for admittance.

"Come in, Mister Malfoy."

"Good morning, Sir," Draco greeted in a respectful murmur as he entered the older man's spacious office.

I heard things had not gone smoothly in Zurich, Draco was told in a deceivingly impassive tone. He answered; there was a hiccup, but nothing that effected the assignment. Draco had completed his work. It was finished, as always.

This seemed to satisfy the man for he offered to Draco a thin file, held patiently out over his wide mahogany desk.

With his right leg crossed over his left knee and his blunt fingers clasped loosely in his lap, Draco contemplated the file for some moments. Usually, he was granted a few weeks of solitude before he was assigned more work. This must be urgent.

He reached forward and took the file, an action symbolic of acceptance. Inside was a single photograph. Draco's gaze slid up to meet Edoardo's. He smirked. "Why?"

Perhaps Edoardo had known this assignment would please Draco, perhaps not. He didn't show as he leant back in his high-backed chair and picked leisurely at his canines.

"Treachery. Conspiracy," the man drawled.

Draco's smirk grew. "All this time?"

"It is unknown for how long. And irrelevant. Hermione Jane Granger must die, Malfoy."

The live band played cordial music as the guests exchanged pleasantries and enthusiastically chatted about nothing particularly interesting. Hanging from the tall ceiling, the glass chandeliers glowed warmly and cast beautiful liveliness upon even the most un-entertained of people. Gems glistened from the chests, fingers and lobes of all the ladies and nothing was crisper than the suits of the gentlemen.

Each of them wore masks. Whether it be dazzling and adorned or simple and striking, each and every guest wore a masquerade to this extravagant Masquerade Ball.

These were the elite of the Wizarding world, and they had all gathered for a reason that Draco Malfoy couldn't really have cared less about.

His hair was the colour of a raven today, as was the stubble that grew on his face. He wore an equally dark suit that he'd purchased whilst completing an assignment in Florence. His mask was simple, with a complete covering of white satin.

As he leant languidly against a tall carved pillar, Draco received many appreciative glances from the ladies in the room. His eyes followed them almost absently as they passed, but his mind was focused elsewhere.

Where is Granger?

She was draped in graceful ebony silk – a gown that began in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. A thin shimmering chain made of white gold fell enticingly down the length of her smooth back, left bare with her hair styled at the crown of her head. The light material flowed over each breast, dipping low to reveal the soft swell of her cleavage and then joining to cascade over her hips and sweep the marble at her feet.

As she stepped through the towering oak doors, the light reflected off her glittering black mask. Her eyes, usually a clear and deceivingly warm brown, were shadowed and appeared much darker beneath her arched eyebrows.

It was these eyes that if one was too look much closer would have ruined her. Unlike the wide, animated eyes of the other women who fluttered about, hers were analytical and almost succinct. One might have thought she was calculating… Calculating and scheming.

But they would be wrong. Hermione Granger was done calculating. She had finished her scheming – for now. Tonight she had come to confirm what she already knew; make certain that everything and everyone was going according to the plan.

An hour had passed and he was yet to get a visual on his target. Doing a quick scan of the grand hall to make sure no one was paying him any attention, Draco slipped out the photograph once again. As he stared at Granger's Ministry of Magic employee photo, a smirk grew on his lips. Edoardo had assured Draco that the photo was taken earlier that year, but it still shocked him to see that she really hadn't changed a single bit. Her hair was still unruly and huge around her petit face. That upturned nose and those pursed lips were the bane of Draco's school life, as were those drawn, bushy eyebrows and squinty eyes. As he stared at them, he mentally shook his head at her absolute lack of attractiveness.

And this is the treacherous mastermind I've been assigned to eliminate? He thought cynically. Brilliant.

Sighing, he slid the photo back into his inside pocket and again checked the room for any sign of that hideous little witch.

It was easy to gain the confirmation she needed. A brush past a certain gaggle of Ministry official wives and a listen-in to the heavy discussions held by said officials and Hermione's heart was pounding with her success.

Sir Carell knows exactly who did it, they said. Oh, the treachery! they cried. What are these times bringing?

She had always known this day would come. As soon as she had been offered her position by a darkly glinting eye and that charming smile, Hermione would have been a fool not to.

And finally, her fantastic secret was out.

With a smirk on her lips, Hermione accepted a glass of shimmering champagne from a passing servant. Her work was done here, but she knew it was not yet time to leave. The Master would call her when He was ready.

"My apologies," murmured Draco, touching his hand briefly to the woman's shoulder after he bumped her on his passing. She offered him a small, pretty smile in return. As he continued towards the door, the attractive smile still in his mind, Draco wondered if perhaps he should just enjoy this night. Granger had not yet made an appearance – perhaps Edoardo's source had been unreliable.

Having abandoned his usual preference to remain completely sober whilst on assignment, Draco was on a search for the servant he'd seen carrying around a tray of champagne glasses. He found the elderly wizard making his way deftly through the groups of guests and brought a hand down on his sloping shoulder.

"Oh, mate," said Draco as he helped himself to a glass off the man's silver tray. "Who knew an old bugger like you could walk so fast, eh?"

Finding a shadowed corner and a nice slab of wall to lean his shoulder against, Draco sipped his champagne, his evening becoming far more entertaining with liquor in hand.

"Oh, look, Sophie, they're beginning the Judicial!"

"Yes, Mother. It would appear so."

Draco looked towards the designated dance floor where, indeed, they were beginning the traditional dance called the Judicial. His gaze flicked back towards the mother and daughter standing a little way from him, who were now squabbling in the amusing way only parent and offspring can achieve.

"… since Henry you've been bitter and snappy when it comes to the gentlemen!"

"There's a reason behind that Mother, I assure you."

"Well I want it to end this instant! There is no reason why you cannot find a nice boy to enjoy the Judicial with."

"There is one, I believe."

"One what, Sophie?"

"One reason, Mother."

"What is it?"

"The fact that I don't want to."

The mother – a rather short, plump woman wearing far too much lipstick – sighed with resignation. "Please, Sophie. It's just one dance."

"No, Mother. Besides, there is no one for me to dance with. Unless your mind has been playing tricks on you, you will notice that zero gentlemen have shown a hint of interest in me, and I don't bloody well fancy asking one myself!"

"What's wrong with asking?"

"It's humiliating," Sophie harrumphed.

"I will tell you what's humiliating!" hissed Sophie's mother with a sudden burst of passion. "Watching all these beautiful ladies dance with all these handsome men when my own beautiful lady is standing right here beside her mother, with no date, no potential date and at the moment no potential future! AND," she all but shrieked, "You still won't wear those dazzling earrings I bought you last Christmas –"

"Excuse me." Draco's polite voice caused the older woman to cease her ranting so suddenly she almost gagged, and her eyes popped out a little.

"Yes, my dear?" she breathed, a hand on her large chest.

"I was wondering, may I accompany your daughter onto the dance floor?"

Sophie was a young woman, with the wide, green eyes of a child. Her hair was straight and of a dark chocolate colour. She peered at him from behind a full fringe, cut perfectly straight over her brow. She was not short, but not nearly as tall as Draco, and her figure was slim. Generally, Draco liked his women a little more voluptuous, but this girl was – for lack of a better word – cute. As a button, in fact. One would argue it was only natural for Draco's masculine instinct to kick in, requiring him to save her from her distress.

Sophie's mother beamed at him as if he'd asked her daughter's hand in marriage before turning towards Sophie smugly. "You see-ee?" she pressed with a ridiculous amount of eyebrow waggling. "You –"

"Do have a potential future after all," Sophie finished icily. Her mother's face went slack, casting an uncanny resemblance to that oaf Hagrid's dog. Fang, or whatever his name was.

Before things could get too dramatic, Draco offered his arm to Sophie. "Shall we?" he asked her softly. She nodded, ducking her head and smiling awkwardly.

Forward, left, back, left, right.

Hermione hissed as her dance partner stepped on her foot.

"– Ooh! Sorry –"

"It's fine."

Two more steps, a twirl, and her partner moved on to the lady to the left of Hermione, whilst another man came from the right to replace him. Unlike her last partner, this man was acne free and was old enough to grow stubble. Hermione offered him a quick smile before becoming immersed in the steps of the Judicial once more.

Moments later, she heard a soft chuckle from above her right ear. She glanced up at her partner and he was smiling to himself – rather attractively, too.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, having to force herself not to demand. Why did she even agree to dancing? She had far better things to be doing. Far better.

"Oh no," said the man, his voice amused. "I was just always taught it was the men's role to lead the dance... But I must be mistaken." His eyes twinkled as he teased her. Hermione paused in her thought – those eyes… Hadn't she seen those eyes before?

All too quickly, Hermione's gaze was ripped from his as he twirled her around – and then he was gone. Her new partner slid quickly into his place and they were off again, weaving through the dancers with a gracefulness that – on Hermione's part – took far too much concentration for her not to forget that split second of familiarity.

That woman, who was she?

The Judicial music finally ended and Draco bowed to his partner – a pretty redheaded girl with bright blue eyes.

Draco accepted another champagne glass from his new acquaintance – the elderly servant man. As he swirled the golden liquor about, Draco thought again of the woman in the black dress. Perhaps it was the way she'd flared so quickly at his chuckle. Perhaps it was the strangely seductive way her eyes narrowed at him from behind that elegantly beaded little black mask. She'd made an impression on him, and as three and a half hours into the night Granger had yet to make her appearance, Draco was beginning to slowly dub himself off-duty. This was his first mistake.

He spotted her through the crowd and quickly made his way towards her.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Cool fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist and Hermione was instantly on alert. She turned calmly. "Yes?"

It was one of the men she'd danced with just before – the one with the familiar eyes. He shot her something that could have been on its way to becoming a lopsided smile – kind of. "My name is Damien Blake. I don't believe we've met before." His voice was rich and deep. It wasn't hard for Hermione to detect his conceitedness.

There was something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. "I don't believe we have," she told him with a slight smile. Seeing as she still had time before the Master called, Hermione indifferently decided she could dedicate this time to solving the mystery of this man's identity. Perhaps this was her first mistake.

She agreed to accompany him for another dance and couldn't help but smile to herself at the way he held her close, and as if she were made of porcelain. It made her heart flutter a little, in fact.

"So," Damien murmured against her temple, his rumbling voice blending with the soft music. "Do I get to learn your name, beautiful?"

"I don't know…" she pondered. "What with these masks, I rather like the idea of anonymity." She smirked and she could hear the matching grin in his voice as he replied.

"Have it your way, love."

"Do you work for the Ministry?" she asked. Her voice was almost a purr; soft and languid. There was something about the manner in which she spoke that nipped at Draco's memory – it was so proper, so educated.

"Eerrr…" he deliberated with a crinkled expression. "With. I work with the Ministry." This earned him a light-hearted laugh. Or was it a scoff? He couldn't be sure. She certainly sounded amused.

"How ignorant of you."

Draco smiled at her insult – at her challenge. She was not like other women.

Brilliant.

Two more dances, a few more drinks, several more flirtatious comments later, and Hermione was regretting Damien Blake. He was charming – too charming. She was becoming far too inebriated for her own good – which was not good.

They were standing on the balcony, the cold air delicious against their flushed skin. The silver moonlight cast mystery, and Hermione knew she had not felt so at ease in a long time.

She laughed at his joke – yes, was it any surprise he had humour, too? – and he took another sip of his champagne. He grinned at her as he did so, and it was dripping with that Pureblood confidence Hermione usually despised so. This sobered her some, and she noticed those glittering grey eyes once more. Stone grey – like a quarry of jagged, glimmering rock.

Hermione's heart felt as if someone had clutched it with their ice cold fingers. She finally realized to whom she was really speaking with. But the feeling of dread dissipated quickly, to be replaced with the familiar thrill of being faced with an unexpected challenge.

She was smug as she thought, So, Edoardo does remember how to do his job.

But this man; Hermione half expected better from him. He had failed to realize that the woman he'd spent a majority of the night with was the woman he was meant to be killing. Yet, she realized begrudgingly, the same could be said for herself.

He was watching her seriously now too. His sharp aristocratic features were striking even behind his white mask.

Suddenly, Hermione felt the familiar tug in the back of her mind that told her that the Master was ready and awaiting her.

She ducked her head to hide the smile that curled her lips. Perfect timing.

"Oh, Mr Blake," she sighed, unable to stop the accompanying laugh that erupted from her lips. "I must be leaving." She smiled at the irony, meeting his gaze with an unexpected delight shining in her eyes. What an interesting night this had turned out to be, she thought and she slipped past him towards the archway the separated the balcony from the cavernous ballroom.

"Whoa! Hold on a second." His fingers closed around her wrist for the second time that night as he moved to put himself between her and the exit. His masked face, showing only shadows of bewilderment, was inches from her own. "It's only around twelve o'clock. Who are you, like Cinderella?"

Hermione smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She moved to evade him and then stopped herself. Tilting her head to curiously gaze up at him, she asked, "How does a Pureblood know of a muggle tale?"

At this, his arrogance returned, if not very slightly. Hermione did not doubt it would have returned to its former massiveness if not for the fact that he was leaning ever so precariously towards her lips. Her chin tilted upwards of its own accord, and she found herself desperately craving his kiss. It had been too long since she had truly let herself fall into a man's touch.

Her heart beating harder than it did at the face of death, his lips a breath away, he whispered, "Wouldn't you like to know?" before skillfully capturing her lips in his.

He pulled away and she felt his breath flutter against her eyelashes. And then he was kissing her again – kissing her with a slow, almost meditative passion that made her sigh.

A dark, rumbling thundercloud slid across the moon and let loose an impatient roar. It was Him, Hermione knew; He was getting restless and agitated with her prolonged absence. The Master did not like to be kept waiting.

But Hermione wanted more.

She had Damien up against the wall very quickly, and his fingers pressing into her bare back turned her skin to fire. Lightning and thunder clapped around the fervent couple, but Hermione dismissed it. She had ways of persuading the Master's forgiveness.

Besides, she wasn't finished yet.

Damien gasped against her lips when a quick non verbal spell had his cuff links bursting apart. She slipped her fingers up his left arm and reveled in the feel of him stiffening against her.

Her eyes met his wary ones firmly, but her lips betrayed the hint of a smug smirk.

"You make a fine assassin, Draco."

She had to know – had to know – that her fingers were tracing the Dark Mark.

It wasn't the sudden look of icy triumph on her face that got Draco. No, it was the sound of his name – his true name – coming from her swollen, traitorous lips that had a fury of intense, jumbled emotions coursing through his veins.

She knew.

And in that second, so did he.

"Granger."

"What a reunion." Her smile was dangerously sweet.

Draco smirked. "I feel as if Potter and Weasley should be here."

This held Draco's desired effect. Her face shut down and her eyes turned hard, as if Draco had slapped her. But no, he had merely – cruelly – reminded her of what he suspected was the reason she no longer saw the Ministry worthy of her prowess. After all, it was Edoardo who had essentially directed Aurors Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley to their gruesome deaths.

"You should be in Azkaban," Granger said, her voice deadly. Lightning flashed angrily in the night behind her.

He replied lightly. "As should you, my dear."

At this, the corner of her mouth twitched and she was smirking once more. "Best get going then." It was only now that she stepped away from Draco, and only now that his hands dropped from her waist. She winked an eye at him from behind her mask as she moved backwards towards the carved balustrade. She smiled cheekily and shrugged. "I'm on the run, you see."

Draco watched her as she climbed onto the other side of the curving balcony. The stormy wind tore at hair and that ebony dress, and her body was framed by the turbulent skies and black forest below. She looked like a goddess. Or a demon.

He moved forward to grasp her wrist and lean close to her face. Their eyes held for a long moment in which Draco felt nothing yet everything. His fingers tightened threateningly on her arm before he rigidly whispered, "Rest assured, Granger, you won't be getting away so easily next time."

She leaned upwards and kissed him languorously. His eyes shut for only a second before he forced himself to pull away. She was smirking.

"It's a date, Mr Malfoy."

And with that, she turned and lithely propelled herself off the balustrade. Three stories below, she landed on the grass softly with the aid of magic. When she looked up, the calming wind was playing with her loose curls. And there He stood, with that same darkly glinting eye and charming smile that He had held for her since day one.

She took the hand He offered her with a smile. "Sorry I kept you waiting."

Finis.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

Could someone please explain how/help me get a beta? I think I already know the answer, and I have a feeling this is a beyond pathetic question. Shoosh, don't judge me.