Draco Malfoy watched Hermione Granger fidget with her robes. The flash of green on the Gryffindor Princess was bound to upset some of her chums. He doubted she cared. Her parting of the ways with one Ronald Weasley had been a public scandal and a private misery, no doubt.

The rest of the Golden Trio were seated at the table with their dates. Their boisterous behavior seemed uniquely inappropriate at a charity ball. There were no extra seats at their little table.

He had expected to enjoy this, her taking in her expulsion with wide eyes. He'd picked his seat with care just for the view, but watching her try so hard to swallow back the pain bothered him. She'd saved their worthless lives so many times, but the war was long over. Some friendships weren't lifelong. The Boy and his entourage should have saved her a seat.

Even Granger deserved better than this. He took a deep breath and finished his drink. His reflection looked up at him from the dark wood of the bar top. His appearance was crafted perfectly, but it didn't mask his pain from his own eyes. He glanced over at her. She was quaffed perfectly. Did insecurity and pain shine out of her reflection and torment her? She had faced dark wizards with no fear, but walking into this room alone was obviously too much for her.

He was up and moving before the plan formed. He plastered on his best fake smile and approached her. Her eyes were wary, but she returned his fake smile with one of her own.

"I got here early, sweetheart." Draco kissed her cheek and pulled her into a light hug. Her body stiffened, but she didn't fight him.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Her breath danced across the shell of his ear.

"I'll be your date for the night." Draco took a deep breath and enjoyed the shiver it sent through her body. "Weasley will hate it."

"Why are you doing this?" Her amber gaze locked to his.

"I've been through it myself. Pansy wanted more than I had to give, and made sure I was alone when I couldn't muster the strength to pretend anymore. I didn't enjoy watching it happen to you." Draco shrugged. His love life had been public fodder. Sharing it cost him nothing. It wasn't a state secret, but he saw her soften a bit around the edges. "Just go with it."

Granger smiled tentatively, and it felt like a victory. He took a deep breath. This was going to be interesting.

"Remember to call me Hermione." She smirked. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and nodded.

"Whatever you want, Hermione, my sweet." He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

"My sweet?" She shook her head. "No. Think of something else."

"Yes, Princess." He smirked, but she smiled.

"That's perfect. Ron will hate it." Her eyes sparkled in the light.

"That's why you wore the green." Draco nodded. "It suits you."

She turned slightly and set the silk of her skirts to brushing against him, intimate and seductive. He knew the picture they were presenting. He'd been the one to approach her. He'd meant for it to be an act, a bit of theatre, but when she chuckled so softly it warmed him on the inside.

"You're dangerous." He enjoyed the steady press of her hand against his arm.

"I'm a witch." As if that explained it. As if that simple fact could explain his odd desire to protect her. She was a witch. Draco rolled his eyes.

The sudden silence broke into their private moment with all the subtlety of cleaver. How was it that the absence of voices could be so loud? The music was still there, the gentle strains of a common waltz. There was nothing remarkable about this event aside from the raging mutism of the other guests. Hermione's fingers tightened against his arm, but there was no outward sign that she had noticed the change.

"The music is lovely." Her voice fired like a rocket through the room.

"Would you care to dance, Princess?" Draco smiled down at her. It wasn't the wide smile he wanted to share. It was exact and controlled. It conveyed admiration and respect. It was perfect pureblood propriety.

The murmurs began as he guided her around the floor in an intricate pattern of circles. Soon, the music was nothing but a memory. Despite the cacophony of raised voices, they didn't miss a step.

They were still sweeping about the floor when he remembered why wizards dance, why magic users never gave up the vague remnants of their earliest rituals.

Music.

Dance.

Magic.

He felt his expanding and wrapping around her, felt hers rise in answer. It was a thing so rare, so precious. It was the thing his father had described as a blessing. The magic of finding the one, his one. He'd assumed his father was trying to lay the ground for later manipulation, but he had been telling the truth.

Hermione Granger was his witch. He examined her. It felt like seeing her for the first time. The flush riding her cheeks, the quick dart of her tongue as she moistened the dark rose of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes, they were all parts of his witch. He admired her beauty even as he dismissed it. It wasn't her shell that attracted him. It was her agile mind, her loyal heart, and her determined spirit.

He would be torn asunder if she didn't accept him.

She looked up at him through the fan of her lashes and stepped closer into his arms, breaking frame. They danced on. He felt every sway of her hip, every breath she took. He felt their magic like a pulsing beat as it guided them. The urge to accept it, to accept her, grew with each step. There was only one thing to do.

He brought them to a stop and pulled her close before lowering his lips to hers.

Hermione returned his ardor, and he was lost.

He was lost in a world of soft lips, not petal soft or silken. Pedestrian metaphors failed him. Hermione. He breathed her in. The hot flare of her magic followed her hands as she caressed him. His followed along, changing and melding to hers, until there were no lines, no differences. Their magic bloomed around them and in them.

All the silly witches stories, he'd sneered at them. He pulled back and looked down into her beloved face. The barrage of magic pounding at the edges of theirs lit her in changing colors.

"True love's first kiss." She touched his lips with her fingertips. "Is this real?"

"It seems to be." He took a deep breath and glanced at the shield protecting them from the spell storm.

"I thought it was just a fairy tale." She leaned against him and tucked her head under his chin. "I should have realized. I mean after everything..."

"After everything, we may have a problem." He smoothed his already immaculate dress robes. "It would appear that the other guests are rather unhappy."

She blinked slowly and tilted her head. He'd seen her do the same thing before. It always came before she simply solved the problem with apparent ease. He watched her and knew the moment she'd figured it out.

"We apparate." She shrugged. "We have to go together because the shield will fall as soon as we depart."

"I'll take us." He held out his arm invitingly.

"I'm not going to the manor." She stood just out of reach.

"I was thinking Flourish and Blott's." He grinned. "My flat is walking distance from there, but it's warded."

She smiled and settled against his side. He settled his arm over her shoulders. There would be no need to eat the mandatory poultry, he'd escaped having to socialize with her annoying friends, and his deepest and most secret wish had come true. She hummed a few bars of the waltz, and he whisked them away.

Author's Note

I wrote this for my dear friend, Trink. She loves Dramione. If you've read this you probably feel the same. I hope the story brings a smile.

The lyrics are from a song with the same title as the story. It's a moody piece, but it's pretty. Plus, I love to waltz.

I've been insanely busy. I know most of you would prefer I updated one of my other stories. I am working on them. Updates will be coming soon.