Hermoine was having a wonderful evening. She knew everyone was talking about her "romance" with Viktor Krum but despite what a certain Rita Skeeter had penned, there was nothing "romantic" about their relationship, any more than there was anything "romantic" about her relationships with Harry and Ron. Viktor was not terribly "loquacious" as she had informed Harry in confidence, he enjoyed watching her study, fascinated by her calming presence and the way she didnt swoon or faun over him like most girls did when he walked by. His presence was a curious mix of intensity and annoyance that Hermoine found oddly comforting. He, despite his on-pitch presence, was a shy young man, clearly emotionally dominated by his headmaster, Igor Karkarov.
She had accepted his invitation to be his partner for the Yule Ball gladly, knowing that the two had formed a quiet bond of mutual understanding, each repressing part of their natural personalities in order to fit in at Hogwarts. Hermoine was proud to be muggle-born but found herself needing to surpress her muggle personality, while for Viktor it was the supression of his shyness. He didnt want to invite one of the many girls who followed him about the grounds for fear that they would suffocate him throughout the evening, whereas with Hermoine he knew she would be pleasant company, a partner for the necessary traditions associated with the Yule Ball, but would equally give him space to enjoy the evening with his comrades from Durmstrang, while he without jealousy or malice would allow her to enjoy her evening either by his side or with her closest friends, Harry, Ron and Ginny.
Harry and Ron, however, did not seem to understand this unspoken agreement between Hermoine and Viktor. Ron was acting, it seemed to Hermoine, like a petulant child as well as a jilted lover. Harry, clearly stuck in the middle, had thought it best not to get involved in their silent argument but had somehow found himself sat quietly to one side of the Great Hall in a show of support for his brooding best friend.
Hermoine tried to put the argument to one side and politely invited Harry and Ron to join her and Viktor for drinks however that had resulted in a bitter argument between her and Ron which had not gone unnoticed by several of their peers. Hermoine had tried again to explain that she was simply fostering good relations between the two schools, as this was the whole point of the Tri Wizard Tournament but Ron refused to see past his jealous rage and Hermoine, full of pride, refused to allow Ron to spoil everything.
Holding her head high, she walked away from Ron as though they had nothing more than a minor disagreement and found herself joining her closest female companion, Ginny and her partner for the evening, Neville, who were enjoying an animated conversation with Seamus, which, of course, meant the topic of discussion was Quidditch.
Ginny noticed her approach and smiled cordially at Hermoine who was now at her side
"wonderful evening isnt it?" Hermoine greated her confidant
"yes, although Neville and Seamus here do not think the Harpies will win the cup this season so clearly they had their pumpkin juice spiked this evening" Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes
Hermoine smiled softly as the two young men began their arguments again, insistent that Ginny's assertion was wrong, just wrong.
The sadness in Hermoine's eyes did not go unnoticed and as much as Ginny loved to talk Quidditch, she also knew when Hermoine needed someone to listen to her in a quiet corner while she vented her frustrations.
"There is no convincing these two" she said, linking arms with Hermoine "come, lets go get some pumpkin juice and leave them to it!" she whispered sidelong as they left their companions in mid argument.
While they waited patiently for their drinks, Ginny gently prodded Hermoine
"is my idiot brother up to his usual ass-like behaviour?" she asked, sympathetically.
"of course!" replied Hermoine, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her face, so as to discreetly wipe away the silent tears that betrayed her otherwise stoic demenour.
"some things never change do they?" Ginny replied, "he never was one for understanding women, or how to behave properly at formal gatherings and he does rather have the chronic ability to put his foot in his mouth, so much so that i often wonder how hes not been set to the infirmary for it! she giggled.
At this, Hermoine could not help but break out into a laugh that seemed to release a lot of the tension she was feeling.
"imagine that " Ginny continued, "What would Madame Pomfry say to that"
Hermoine laughed harder, the tears now starting to come this time from laughing so hard
"do you think they have a potion for Chronic-Foot-In-Mouth" Ginny was now laughing so hard that it had not gone unnoticed by Ron, who glancing over at the laughing pair, wondered if now was a good time to leave and go up to Griffiddor Tower to bed
"I guess.. if.. not," she was now finding it hard to get the words out "they might...have to get...someone...from..St Mungos!"
The pair now were in such a racous state that neither of them had noticed the approach of a certain young man in a dark suit.
"Granger" the man stated her name, formal but with less of his usual malice.
Suddenly Hermoine was still, her hand over her mouth, both supressing her laugh and her uncertainty about what Malfoy could want at this moment.
Neither girl spoke.
"Would you allow me the next dance?" he questioned her, his eyes ever intense, focused in on her brown eyes, his face not betraying any reason for his request, his had outstretched.
For a moment Hermoine was too stunned to speak.
Then remembering Ron's admonishment for Hermoine's apparent fraternisation with "the enemy", she slowly removed her hand from her now silent mouth, glanced over at the clearly shocked Harry and Ron, who's mouths were currently agape at this unheard but clear exchange, and standing tall, an air of superior dignity coming back to her, looked Ron squarely in the eye and placed her hand into Malfoy's open hand, and with a small curtsey, consented". Malfoy gave a small smirk and a nod and turned on his heal, returning to where as equally dumbstruck Blaise and Pansy, sat opposite Harry and Ron.
Ron had by now turned a furious shade of red and rose from his seat, storming from the Great Hall without a word to Harry, who was unable to understand what on earth had just taken place. Quietly he stood up, and walked quickly after Ron.
Hermoine, for her part, was equally shocked. Without a word, she grabbed Ginny's arm and quickly matched her out of the Great Hall and round into the cloisters, pulling her into the shaddows
"Did I just agree to dance with Draco Malfoy?!" she quietly asked, her eyes wide with fear
Ginny whispered back "I think so! Now I'm wondering who spiked YOUR pumpkin juice" and the two quietly laughed from the surreal nature of the occurrance.
"I know Professor McGonagal said we should graciously accept invitations to dance and that all the men should be willing to dance with any lady who was without a dance partner, but I never thought Malfoy would ask ME and I certainly never thought I would be graciously accepting an invite from HIM" Hermoine whispered, the adrenaline in her veins causing her to feel her heart pounding in her chest as she realised she had just accepted an invitation from a true enemy.
"Well," Ginny began, grabbing the elbow of a now trembling Hermoine and pulling her back towards the Great Hall "you're now about to find out what thats like! Just go with it tonight, as you said, it is all about magical co-operation" she reminded her "after all you are both prefects, and clearly you would both be in contention for Head Girl and Head Boy one day, so maybe THAT is the reason enough to start fostering civility at formal occasions!" she reasoned.
A moment later, Malfoy was in front of her.
"Granger" he stated, his hand outstretched, as the band got ready to begin the next formal dance.
Hermoine could not move, she felt herself rooted to the spot. Looking round for sympathy, she found none, as Ginny had gone, and the room fell silent, as everyone watched in a mixture of awe, shock and, where the Slytherin's in attendence were concerned, barely hidden disgust.
Professor Flickwick raised his baton, the music began and silently, Malfoy pulled Hermoine into the first steps of the dance. Now Hermoine felt as though her heart was in her mouth, as she performed the movements as practiced with Professor McGonagol determined not to let Malfoy get the better of her. He looked into her eyes, a sly grin ever so slightly forming on his lips,
"whats the matter Granger? Never danced with a REAL man before?" he goaded her, as was their usual style of conversation
"whatever game you think you are playing right now Malfoy, I can assure you that you will not win" she retorted
"is that a challenge?" he asked, pulling her in closer
Hermoine felt herself stiffen, holding her breath, the comebacks in her mind, refusing to take form on her lips, as her eyes went to his mouth, as his lips came closer to hers, at the last moment he moved them to beside her ear
"pity Weasel had to up and leave" he whispered, his hot breathe on her neck.
Her eyes wide, she pulled away from him,
"what?!" she hissed, not hiding the tone of incredulity
Pulling her back into his body, and sliding his hand from her cheek down her body, before grabbing her waist and pulling her even closer to him, he continued "dont tell me that you were not hoping to rub his little snout in this alluring display as a retaliation for his earlier remarks" her pulse quicked as she felt his lips by her ear again "this was as much YOUR game as it was mine" he span her around three times before bringing her into his embrace "you just dont like that I called it" he finished, before dipping her so quick and so low, the gasps of everyone in the room could be heard above the final note of the music.
Suddenly they were both standing, Hermoine for her part was too shocked and embarrased to reply with any witty remark, and too humiliated to do anything other than burst into tears and run from the Great Hall. Malfoy was suddenly very much aware of his surroundings and the fact that the entire senior student body had just witnessed a very provocative version of the dance they had practiced for months performed by non other than Draco Malfoy and Hermoine Granger, the most unlikeliest of pairings.
His face contorting in a mixture of anguish and humiliation, he quickly returned his outward sneer as he stormed from the Great Hall.
By now, Hermoine was now sat on the steps where the first years had all gathered what seemed a lifetime ago to hear Professor McGonagol explain the sorting ceremony. It was here that the rivalry between Malfoy and Harry had begun, over Harry's snub of Malfoy's proffer of friendship.
At that time Malfoy had been raised to believe in pureblood supremacy but the more his father, Lucius Malfoy, pontificated about the Dark Lord, the more Draco Malfoy hoped that the rumours of the Dark Lord's return would amount to nought. Superiority was one thing, killing mudbloods was quite another and Draco was no child, he knew what it meant to be a Death Eater and that it was a one way ticket to Azkerban.
And yet even this caused him an inner turmoil. He had been raised to believe that mudbloods were exactly that- children with dirty blood, caused by interbreeding between wizards and muggles. That he as a pureblood child of one of the oldest aristocratic, would be above his peers, his talents and achievements far exceeding theres. And yet here was a witch, considered to be the brightest, most talented of his age, and she was muggle-born: a mudblood. He justified his hate as the true order of things and yet quietly he wondered if the teachings of his father were true, how was Granger able to match him and often exceed his abilities so frequently? The fact that she was so pretty wound him up even more. He frequently teased her about her hair, as much as he teased her about her parentage and her friends, but the truth of it was she was an enigma to him and damn was she hot when she was angry. This troubled him as much as it excited him and as much as it was the source of his flirtatious games it was the source of his rage.
She felt his presence without looking up; she could always feel his intense presence when he was about to rain down a tirade of abuse. But as the hot tears ran down her face while she silently cried, removing her shoes from her now aching feet, he had no retorts. He had quietly watched her earlier exchange with Weasley and seethed at the way he spoke to her, not sure if he was more pissed at Weasley for his treatment of her or "Saint Potter's" at his lack of defense of her. He now realised his treatment of her had been no better. He had assumed she would want to play Weasley as much as he did, after all he couldnt exactly go over and smack the weasel square in the jaw (as much as he would have enjoyed that) without explaining his actions to his house-mates who would more than likely be incensed enough to owl his father regarding such an outburst in defense of a mudblood. Instead he had further humiliated her. And now she was sat here crying, once again, because of his words and actions, not Weasley's.
She quietly waited for insults that would further wound her, but they never came. Looking up, she instead saw him proffer his handkerchief. For a moment they remained like this, neither moving, neither speaking. Slowly, she took the handkerchief, and dabbing her eyes, she rose to her feet
"Malfoy, you spoil everything" she simply said, without rage, without malice, but sadly, with a quiet sense of defeat. She turned and walked away. Quietly he watched her go, his insides knotting and making him feel sick. It wasnt like Hermoine to admit defeat. She could give as good as she got when she needed to, that was half the fun. Or she would walk away, refusing to lower herself, her apparent air of moral superiority fascinating as well as infuriating. His hands by his side, he felt himself open and close his fists, if this is what muggles meant when they talked of being "bewitched" then in that moment, he had been, body and soul, by the brightest witch of his age: Hermoine Granger
….
"What the FUCK was THAT?!" shouted Blaise, as he and a startled Pansy rounded the corner, spotting Malfoy stood on the stairs
Turning, Malfoy sneered at the pair "leave it" and began his descent towards the Slytherin dungeons.
"Draco…" called Pansy "Draco? Please?" she made to follow him but Blaise grabbed her wrist. Looking down at his hand and then up to his eyes, she silently questioned his actions, her eyes pleading with his to let her go after him.
Sighing,Blaise gently tugged her back in the direction of the Great Hall "you know Draco and his moods, there is no sense in following him, he will only push you further away if you do. Come on" and putting an arm around her shoulder, he gently lead her back into the ball.
The party was almost over, and the remaining couples were slowly dancing to the last song. Neville and Seamus had long finished their discussion and not wanting to let Ginny leave just yet, Neville had somehow found the courage to ask her to dance with him. Their minds were both elsewhere as they tried to understand just what had gone on earlier that evening and where on earth it had come from. Both were worried about Hermoine.
Upstairs, Hermoine had just reached the portrait hole and quietly muttered the password. The lady in the portrait noticed her tears, "lover's tiff?" she enquired as Hermoine crossed the threshold. She didnt reply to the enquiry, feeling the tears begin once more, it was only then that she realised she was still clutching Malfoy's handkerchief.
