The year was 1895. Hermione Granger had just graduated from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with top honours in her class and her family very graciously supporting her in her beginnings of life in the real world. She was beyond excited. As it was, she was lounging in her small home just outside of London, enjoying the early summer and her freedom from school at last. They lived in a middle class home, on the tiny side but very sturdy. The floorboards creaked with most steps and the doors' hinges were never properly oiled, the walls were paper thin and the family was too scared to put any decorations lest they be knocked over by too heavy a step. And yet, it was home, and Hermione found herself very happy there. Now that she was 17, however, her parents very eagerly wished to see her wed and in the home of a man who would take care of her. She herself was not too excited about this; there were few men she found worthy of herself.
She viewed marriage as an extraneous ritual in the story of her life, and intended to do things much bigger than attach herself to a man. Her only requirement in her marriage was to find a male who would be able to keep up with her intelligence, and match it. Her best friend, Ginny Weasley, was engaged to one of Hermione's family friends, Harry Potter, and while he was kind and handsome, he was not the brightest. Ginny was happy, however, and only really wanted to raise a big family as per the goals of most women of their day, and thus Hermione had no objections.
Hermione had once asked her friend, "Do you regret falling in love?"
Ginny smiled as she answered. "No, never. Love is the best thing in the world. I always feel safe, because I know there's always going to be someone there for me."
Hermione crinkled her nose at such a generic answer. She was sure she'd read it in a romance novel somewhere. "You don't feel like you're…stuck, I suppose, to someone for the rest of your life?"
"It's not being stuck to them if I want to be there," Ginny responded.
Hermione's parents were set on at least finding her betrothed before her 18th birthday, and thus were sending her to the neighborhood rich man's masquerade ball. It was at the Malfoys' home. Hermione had gone to school with the youngest Malfoy and had had many an occasion to observe him. She found him rather handsome, but would never admit that to anyone. She wouldn't mind marrying him...
As a muggleborn it was unlikely that anything would come out of her going to a pureblood's function, but her parents still hoped to initiate some sort of Cinderella dream sequence where she would fall in love with a masked man who'd turn out to be a rich Prince Charming. Hermione had no such fantasies, but humoured their plans for her own amusement. After all, a masked ball was guaranteed to be a very grand time. She was going to town to her seamstress later today to get fitted for the perfect dress, and then later rifling through shops to find the perfect matching mask. After all, if she had to go to one of these things, she had better look good.
In the meantime, however, while she waited for her father's carriage to return from business, she left the house and wandered her garden. It was a small one, being so close to the city after all, and only contained a few rosebushes and some lilies. It wasn't very pretty at all. But her mother took care of it religiously, never skipping a single watering day and keeping away any pests. It was her pride and joy. Hermione didn't tell her mother she sometimes gave the roses a little bit more bloom with a wave of her wand, or made the colour of the lilies more vibrant with a quick charm. Some things were best left unsaid.
The carriage rolled up and Hermione made her way towards the city in the old rickety thing. She shook and rattled over the many bumps and hills on the road, and tried to enjoy the scenery outside her window. The day was sunny and beautiful, and Hermione was very happy. When they finally reached her seamstress' house she was loath to go inside, she was enjoying the summer air so much. The tailor knew what she was doing, however, and was quickly able to get started on Hermione's formal dress for the big event.
"I'd like this blue periwinkle cloth," Hermione told the woman, holding the fabric up to her chest. "And silver. Lots of silver."
"Alright my dear. I'll do my best to make a gown that will catch the eyes of many a man," the seamstress replied, winking.
Hermione chuckled. "Thank you."
She then left the small shop in search of a matching mask. It did not prove to be difficult, for in the first clothing shop she entered she found a silver mask with little tear drops along the side and a large blue feather extending from the right half. There were swirls stitched into the entire piece; it was beautiful. After paying, Hermione went home feeling very accomplished and pleased with her productive day.
The day of the ball had finally come upon Hermione, and she was quietly getting ready in her bedroom, attempting not to attract the attention of her mother or any servant. Getting ready for this was something Hermione wanted to do herself, and thus very carefully organized her hair in a half up-half down style that would look very pretty with her dress. In the end, her dress was an empire waisted creation, with a silvery belt clamped high around her waist and subtle silver detailing all around the skirt and top. It was a dream for Hermione, who always preferred the handiwork of a muggle seamstress to the fanfare of a magical one. She claimed she could feel the love in the stitches this way.
With a pinch of her cheeks to add some colour, Hermione, stepped into her carriage and made her way to the center of the town to the Malfoys' home. It was the biggest building in the area and hard to miss; being granted an invitation to an event there was an honor of the highest degree and one that was highly sought after. Hermione assumed she had received one because she had gone to school with the youngest Malfoy and was thus an appropriate age for such a thing. Said youngest Malfoy, however, had very different plans for her.
Draco Malfoy had had his eye on Hermione Granger for his entire time at Hogwarts. They were in the same year and much to his chagrin, he had been beaten out for the top spot by her, and was well on her way to becoming a much more successful witch than he'd ever be as a wizard. He was both ridiculously impressed and slightly mortified, with a side of jealousy as well. He was well aware that she was looking for a husband, and he too was looking for his future mate. He felt that as the two most accomplished graduates of Hogwarts, they would make for a very prudent match.
The only mishap in his grand master plan, was of course that she was a muggleborn and he a pureblood. This disparity greatly displeased his father when Draco mentioned his idea to him, and his disapproval was imminent. However, the one thing that held Lucius Malfoy back was the recent plunge the family's image had taken after his loyalty to the dark wizard Voldemort was revealed. Voldemort had recently been killed after years of plundering, and all his followers were seen as nothing short of criminals. Lucius had only been able to get away cleanly by bribing all the Ministry officials into dropping the charges against him. Regardless, the public was not so forgiving. A marriage with the muggle girl, one so respected by the community, could very much improve his social standing to the height it once was.
"Do you know her at all?" Lucius asked his son the day of the ball.
"I do, but barely. We only interacted in class, and she hated me then," he said, almost sighing. "At least, I think she hated me. I was never really quite sure."
"Then what makes you think she'll marry you?" he asked, eyebrows raising.
"I'll make her fall in love with me tonight. The masked gentleman she can't refuse," Draco said, confidence oozing into his words.
"I wish you all the very best of luck, then," Lucius said.
The ball had just begun and excited chatter filled the hall. Malfoy Manor was beautiful, after all, modeled after the golden palace of Versailles. The ballroom itself was filled with golden columns and shining decals everywhere. Leaves reminiscent of the laurel wreaths of Grecian times graced the walls, and a mural that rivaled the talents of Michelangelo was painted onto the ceiling, depicting some ancient battle between wizards and goblins. It was, all in all, the most incredible place Hermione had ever seen, even considering Hogwarts. She wondered what their library looked like.
She walked down the steps into the main hall, a true smile gracing her face as she looked around her. When her foot hit the bottom step, a man in a sharp tuxedo and black mask greeted her. He seemed familiar.
"Hello. You look beautiful tonight," he said, in a voice that sounded like molten silver and piano music.
"T-thank you. You look very handsome yourself," Hermione stuttered out. Who was this man? He was beyond handsome; even without seeing his whole face she could tell that he was probably the most attractive man she'd ever meet.
He smiled. "Would you care to dance?" He held his hand out to her.
To be asked to dance before even fully integrating herself on the dance floor was a huge honour, and one that Hermione would not and could not take lightly. She smiled back at him and put her hand in his. He led her onto the dance floor and began the waltz.
"Do I know you?" She ventured.
"The point of a masquerade ball is to remain a mystery, no?" He replied, smirking.
That smirk was oh so very familiar, if only Hermione could place it. "I suppose you're right. Do you like to dance?"
"I love to dance. I've been learning since I was very young," he responded.
"It shows," she said, and she wasn't lying. He led her across the floor with an elegance that only years of practice could only bring to a man. It was like floating.
He simply smiled.
For the rest of the dance, Hermione stayed quiet, simply enjoying the feeling of his arms around her. She felt oddly…safe. When the dance ended, she did her best not the let the disappointment show. She was quickly claimed by another masked man, one not even close to as adept at dancing as her previous partner was. She did her best to enjoy it. The rest of the ball went this way, with a few sit outs and food breaks, until the last dance.
"May I claim your hand for the final waltz?" The mysterious gentleman had reappeared, the luminescent smile ever-present.
"Yes, yes of course," Hermione agreed, giving him both of her waltzes, considered to be the most intimate of the dances. This ball was strange in that it both opened and closed with it, uncommon in most events.
"I've been jealous of every man who has had the pleasure of your company tonight, my lady," the man said, arms protectively around her as they spun around the room.
Hermione laughed. "But you have me now so you might as well make the most of it."
"The lady is witty," he chuckled. "But I always knew that."
"You know me?"
"Your hair is unmistakable, Miss Granger. You made the mistake of not charming it a different colour, as I did."
"That's why I can't recognize you! You must tell me who you are now, it isn't fair if you don't!"
"I'll let you guess. Three tries. Or else….or else you'll have to marry me," he said, a smirk back on his face.
"Marriage? That's not the best way to propose to a girl, is it."
"You haven't denied me."
"Let me guess, then."
"I hope you fail."
Hermione's eyes widened at the implications. "Blaise Zabini?"
"No."
"Theodore Nott?"
"No."
"Ronald?"
"You were getting so close, with all the Slytherin guesses." He was smirking again.
"Maybe I just do want to marry you, Draco Malfoy."
"You knew."
"I spent many a potions class observing you, it was hard not to be able to realise."
"You've loved me from afar! All those times I thought you were glaring at me!"
She smiled at him.
"I love you, Hermione Granger.
"And I love you, Draco Malfoy."
He took his mask off and helped her untie hers. They smiled at each other, looking like a perfect picture in the middle of the most beautiful dance floor in the world.