QLFC S7 R1
Disclaimer: All brilliance of this amazing world goes to JK Rowling.
Team: Appleby Arrows - Beater 1
Prompt: Character making a mountain out of a molehill
Additional prompts:Cream (color)Insufferable (word)"If I had a Knut for every time _ said that" (dialogue)
Word Count: 1986 (google docs)
A/N: First time participating in something like this! Thanks to Lizzie and Newt for their edits :)
Round 1
Hermione Granger was known for being many things: war hero, magical creatures' rights activist, and, to everyone's surprise, Wizarding London's number one bachelorette. She was not known for making mistakes, and suddenly there she was, having made one that successfully humiliated her into oblivion.
She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised; in all the years that she'd known him he'd always lived up to the title Insufferable Prat. Even so, they were hardly school children anymore, and she would have liked to assume he had grown past his schoolyard bullying, what with them being engaged and all.
When he suggested a choreographed display of some sort, she should have laughed in his face and firmly declared "Are you insane, of course not, I can barely walk let alone dance properly!"
She had not, in fact, said that, and instead agreed. Even her own mother was surprised (though pleasantly so) at her decision, but she had fallen prey to that Malfoy Charm she once found so nauseating. He had called her his brave, swotty, Gryffindor - how could she deny him? Though she often pretended to be affronted at his phrase of endearment, she secretly adored it. She was his only brave, swotty, Gryffindor, afterall.
Even so, dancing with Krum at the Yule Ball was one thing; those steps had been simple and pedestrian at best. But to bring in a professional dancer to choreograph such an intricate piece?
It was a giant mistake, her thoughts hissed. A big, fat mistake that marred her record of good decisions.
Which was why the young woman found herself hunched over a bathroom sink, angrily staring at her blurry reflection and woefully eyeing the crimson stain upon her cream-colored shirt.
Alright, so perhaps the stain wasn't his fault. But that fact was besides the point! Point was, he catalyzed the event. Whether or not it was intentional hardly mattered! Right? It was still his fault. After all, Draco Malfoy, despite being an utter Prat (capital P) was, to her chagrin, not clumsy. In fact, he was very much the opposite; the effortless decorum from an aristocratic upbringing, as well as his career as a professional athlete, made that glaringly obvious. Which was why, to all involved, it was apparent that the blame for that evening's humiliating happenstance rested on her and her ungainly feet. Right?
For all Hermione's intelligence and compassion, she was woefully lacking in any form of grace. She had always been terrible at sports, often bumping her poor shins into desk legs, stubbing her toes on pesky chairs, knocking over her piles of meticulously organized books. So she was mildly uncoordinated. She had a lot of other things going for her, didn't she? That being said, all the wits in the world couldn't save her from embarrassment, lumbering as she was.
A frustrated hand brushed away her tears- she thought herself better than this, stronger than this. She was a grown woman for Merlin's sake! "You stop that right now," she demanded, glaring at her puffy face. "You cannot let this ruin your evening! You've worked too hard for this. You've come so far," the witch huffed, attempting and failing to smooth her flyaway curls. She would not let this bring down her night, she would not let this undo her-
"Hermione?"
Oh, for the love of- "Go away."
"You're being ridiculous, you know that, right?"
Hermione fixed a glare at his reflection. The prat had the audacity to look amused? "You're not the one who's embarrassed himself in front of everyone," she snapped.
He leaned against the door frame, eyeing her with a single raised brow, arms crossed over his chest. Though he said nothing, his expression reprimanded her all on its own. She hated when he gave her that look. The one that said 'Are you done acting like a petulant child, yet?'
I swear to Merlin, if I had a Knut for every time he gave me that look…
Well, she'd be as wealthy as a Malfoy, that was for certain. Then perhaps she wouldn't even be in that mess.
Sensing her rage, the young man sighed, arms dropping to his sides. "Alright, what would you have me do? Plead for you to come back? Declare to the world that you are, by all means, superior to me in every way? What?"
Good Godric, was he patronizing her?
"Shall I tell everyone that Nargles were behind it? That Wrackspurts have appeared in your head?"
He approached her then, very much the cautious wizard nearing a Hippogriff. She loathed when he did that. It made her feel foolish. Often, she wondered if she treated Ron in a similar manner whenever he'd do something juvenile.
"Shall I acquire a Time-Turner and save you from this terrible fate?"
The hint of a smile tightened about his lips and Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"Are you laughing at me, Malfoy?"
"No, never," the man answered, face carefully blank.
He was quite good at that, she had to admit. But she knew him. Knew every lock on his insufferable head. "You-"
"Love," he soothed, and with that single word the witch quieted. Inwardly, she wondered how he did that.
That Malfoy charm, she scoffed, keeping her wiles about her as the young man reached out, hands finding her shoulders to turn her around. Hermione mentally stomped her feet in protest, but the amused glint in his eyes kept her restrained. He was accustomed to her fits, afterall. Just as she was accustomed to his.
"It's nothing but a stain," her fiance reasoned, as if that erased all her problems. "Now what's really the matter?"
Hermione leaned away from him, folding her arms across her front. "I-" she searched for words and hated the way the silver depths of his eyes swallowed her whole. "I messed up," she muttered, knowing full-well that she sounded pathetic. But she never messed up! She was Hermione sodding Granger! Brightest witch of her age! She could handle a few measly steps- "You had to go and try that new move we have never practiced and humiliate me-"
"Love?" It was a question, but worked to silence her all the same. "You're being insufferable."
The woman gawked in turn, feeling her simmering rage boil over once again. How dare he-!
"I tried something I thought might be surprising and romantic. I'm sorry, alright? I had thought you could keep up; you've been doing surprisingly well in our dance lessons."
Hermione knew there was a compliment somewhere in there, but she only scowled in turn.
Realizing the witch he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with would not budge, Draco sighed. "Nobody cares that you've tripped and bumped into Longbottom. In fact, everyone blames Longbottom for having spilled his wine on you. The git shouldn't have even been anywhere near the dance floor," he added as an after-thought. "The poor sod feels terrible enough as it is. Will you come back to rehearsal and show him you're not upset? He's a wreck."
Hermione bit her lip, feathers less ruffled and ego just mildly bruised, as the thought of one of her dearest friends worrying subdued her tantrum. The reality of the situation came down upon her like a thick blanket. Of course nobody cared that she made a mistake. The audience was comprised of her closest friends and family.
Even so, a shuddering breath escaped her. "I just-" she paused, then began again, "I've been so stressed, I want everything to be perfect and..."
The young man grinned, dipping down to press his forehead to hers. She could count the lashes lining his eyes, note the silver and slate flecks that comprised his irises. "I know it's been a right mess. Everyone's been a nightmare about all this. My mother, yours, Molly-" he said the last name with feigned distaste and Hermione snorted. Though Molly by all rights should not have been involved in planning the wedding, the Weasley matriarch had insisted, and the trio of stubborn mothers rarely saw eye-to-eye, leaving the engaged pair under duress. "But everything is sorted and tomorrow it will all be over. Then we can escape to a tropical villa and forget that any of this ever happened."
"I don't want to forget," Hermione pouted. "It's been a nightmare, yes, but it's such an integral part of our lives, isn't it?"
He kissed her then, and when he pulled away he took all of the witch's concern with him. "So are you done acting like a petulant child yet?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Prat." With a heavy sigh, she pushed away from the sink and wandered to the door. "My face is still all red," the young woman lamented. "I must look a fright," she groaned with realization, withdrawing her wand to clean the stain from her shirt.
Draco pushed the door open before she could bother, ever the gentleman despite her many, many protests that she was completely capable of opening her own doors, thanks ever so.
His free hand caught her wrist before she could Scourgify herself, "No one will care. Besides, I've always thought red suited you better." That amused glint was back in his eye as he passed her by.
The young woman scoffed as she watched her insufferable fiance swagger down the hall, always the pompous, know-it-all, intelligent, mature, challenging, stimulating...
She blinked out of her thoughts and shook her head before trailing after him.
When she returned to the rehearsal dinner, no one commented on the fact that the cranberry stain was still emblazoned on the front of her blouse. He was right, red suited her much better than cream. It spoke of her passion, her intensity, and besides, she'd be wearing cream the next day, so sod it!
Hermione met Draco's smirk with one of her own as he extended his hand for her. The glint of his emerald cufflinks caught the light and everything seemed to fall into place. What a pair they must have been: Gryffindor daring and Slytherin grace.
The opening chords of their song filtered into the ballroom and the assurance in his gaze was all the sobering potion she needed to calm her nerves. He knew how to irritate her beyond recognition, but he also knew how to bring her back from the precipice of madness. Which was why, there, surrounded by their dearest relatives and friends, they went through the dance they had practiced a million times over, completing it to perfection.
"That's my brave, swotty, Gryffindor," he acknowledged as the final notes lingered in the air between them.
The young woman grinned, "You know, if I had a Knut for every time you've said that, I'd be as wealthy as-"
His arm tightened about her waist then. "You're already going to be a Malfoy, love. Remember? Or did those Wrackspurts get to you?"
"You really are an Insufferable Prat," she answered, nothing but affection in her tone.
He winked in response just as Harry came up to clap a congratulatory hand onto the blond's shoulder. Hermione took a moment to study her affianced, unable to keep the smile on her face from widening as the bespectacled man complained about how Ginny was now insisting on their own choreographed dance for their approaching wedding.
Draco let out an inelegant snort and shook his head. "Should have started training for the ballet when I first suggested it, Potter," he teased.
Harry scoffed before calling for an impromptu toast. "To one of my absolute best friends," he opened, then with visible pause, added, "and the Slytherin prick who has clearly Confunded her into agreeing to marry him..."
Good-natured laughter filled the room and Draco simply shrugged, as if unsure himself just why she had chosen him. When she laughed, he shot her a lopsided grin that made her chest constrict.
She couldn't wait to be Mrs. Insufferable Prat.
Hope you enjoyed! :)