Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
A/N: Written for the "I Solemnly Swear..." Fest, hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Forum.
Special Announcement at the end of the fic!
"Mind over matter, Granger." Her hands skimmed her curls, swept to one shoulder with a tasteful clasp. "You are smart." Leaning towards the mirror, she traced a finger along the outline of her cherry red lipstick. "You are strong." She adjusted her bra, which was hidden just beneath her low-cut dress. "And you will not ,"—she gave her reflection a stern glare—"sleep with Draco Malfoy."
Her reflection arched a hesitant brow. Hermione rolled her eyes at herself.
She turned and gave her arse a final glance in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Thanks to the pair of Manolo Blahniks Ginny gifted her for Christmas—and the countless squats she had forced herself to do in the last couple of weeks—her arse looked pert. The cobalt blue dress did the rest of the work, hugging her in places she forgot she had, thanks to her shapeless work cloaks.
The dress might have been too snug—for as she walked down the hallway to get back to the main ballroom, a wolf whistle sounded in her wake.
"Oy! Hermione!" Seamus waved an arm and gave her a pink-faced grin. He loitered near a set of double doors with Dean and a few other men she vaguely recognized. "Wow! You look fit," he said, waggling his eyebrows. He raised a half-empty glass of liquor in her direction.
She threw her hand up in an obscene gesture. "You've got some balls on you," she teased, "hitting on a woman right in front of your husband."
Dean slid an arm around Seamus' waist. "I can certainly attest to that ," he said, causing the color on Seamus' cheeks to deepen to magenta.
Her laughter resounded through the wide hallway. "You two deserve each other."
"That, we do." Dean pecked a kiss on his husband's temple and chuckled.
With a casual wave, she left the happily-marrieds canoodling in the hallway and entered the ballroom.
It was more crowded than when she left a quarter hour ago for her pep-talk. Men in tailored formal cloaks. Women in sequined gowns, any of which could have paid off her cozy flat in Hogsmeade. Near the French doors leading out to the balcony, a cluster of orange-hued heads stood out against the stiff black-and-white motif like a beacon.
She elbowed her way through the masses—as politely as one could elbow in such a posh setting. The crystal chandeliers winked down at her judgmentally.
"These parties get more crowded every year," she muttered as she reached her friends. Percy gave her a sympathetic smile while Ron patted her shoulder.
Harry handed her a champagne flute. "My fault, I'm afraid. I sent out invitations to all of Malfoy Potter Weasley clientele, thinking half of them are going to be turned down." His lips quirked wryly. "I guess no one can say 'no' to a good party."
The scowl etched on her face melted. "Don't worry. I was just…" Hermione shook her head and took a sip of her drink to clear her head. "It's great that your practice is doing well."
"Much better than I could have imagined," said Ginny. "When we started, I honestly thought we were going to go under within the year. Every day, I practiced what I was going to say to the Harpies to beg them to take me back." She waved her glass over the room and said bombastically, "And now, look at us. The most sought-after law practice in the whole country."
"In Western Europe." A space opened up across from Hermione, and Draco Malfoy stepped into their little group. He slid his hands inside his pockets as he regarded Hermione. "Our international cases have quadrupled over the last year."
Ginny slung an arm over Draco's shoulder like they were hanging at the local pub instead of an elite social gathering. "And that's all thanks to you and your froo-froo connections." She jabbed a finger into his shoulder.
"There are still places in this world where the name 'Malfoy' holds some weight." A corner of Draco's lips pulled up into a smirk. He peeked at Hermione from under his thick lashes.
Something stirred below Hermione's navel. She crossed a leg in front of the other and gulped down her drink to stave off the heat ramping up in her body.
"We picked up so many clients this year, your manor is practically full," Harry mused. "If this keeps up, we'll have to rent out a bigger venue for next year's party."
Draco's expression shuttered, and he blinked lazily at his fellow barrister. "New Year's Eve will always be held at Malfoy Manor, no matter how much we expand."
"Why?"
His grey eyes slid to Hermione once again, locking her in place. "It's good for business," he said—though his tone implied anything but that.
Briefly, she wondered if the others heard it, too. The note in his voice that traced a shiver down her spine. So caught up was she in the sensation that it took Harry's knobby elbow to jolt her back to reality.
" Ow ." She rubbed her side and glared at her best friend. Harry nudged his chin. She followed the direction and found Draco's outstretched hand.
"May I have this dance?" he asked coolly, his lips twitching as though holding something back. A laugh at her expense, perhaps. Or words laced with seduction meant just for her. Either seemed possible from those sultry lips.
She turned her glare on that hand—would have wholly refused it, too, if Harry's shoulders weren't shaking from suppressed laughter.
"Sure." Hermione gritted her teeth. She let herself be pulled away from the group and into the center of the dance floor.
While the music strained, she stared at the doors. At the ceiling. At the waiting staff milling around with trays of alcohol and canapés. Anything at all to distract from the warmth of his hands on her back and the familiar cedar wood fragrance teasing her nose.
"Here we are again," he murmured, his breath caressing the shell of her ear.
She fought the shiver that threatened to crawl over her body and inwardly cursed her raging libido.
"No." She infused as much conviction in her tone as possible. "We are not here again."
His chest rumbled as he chuckled.
"I solemnly swear, Draco, that this,"—she gestured between them—"is not going to happen. Not again."
"Oh?" His fingers ghosted her lower back, and her traitorous body arched in response.
She took a clearing breath; grasped at the reasons she repeated over and over to herself for the last twelve months. "I know we've fallen into a pattern over the years at these parties. With,"—she dropped to a whisper—"falling into bed before the stroke of midnight."
"Hmm." His thumb stroked her back, up and down. Gentle and even. Hermione doubted he realized what he was doing.
"And I need you to understand that we're not doing it this year. Because every New Year's Eve, it happens, and then I spend the following year..." She shifted in his hold.
Draco halted their swaying and angled his head towards her. "Regretting it?" he asked carefully, grey eyes guarded.
Craving it, she thought. But she couldn't admit that; so, she shook her head instead. Draco breathed a sigh, and his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.
"I made a resolution last year," she said, though even to her ears, her tone was faltering, "that I wouldn't sleep with you this time. And I've got..." She glanced at the numbers flashing in golden sparks in the middle of the room. "Forty-five minutes left to keep that promise."
Draco pulled back and gazed at her. Assessed her with those keen, perceptive eyes. "Forty-five whole minutes." His tongue darted over his bottom lip. "Are you sure you can last that long?"
He didn't press her against him; didn't try to steal a kiss. His hands didn't stray to more intimate places on her body.
But his eyes—
They told her that although she might be able to hold out for the next forty-five minutes, he—without question—could not.
"Malfoy—" she whispered in warning.
His arms fell away from her waist, and he took a determined step back. "You can keep to your resolution," he said, stuffing his fists in his pockets. "Or, you could congratulate yourself on 525,555 minutes of good behavior. And then come spend the remaining forty-five minutes with me." A slow smirk grew on his lips. "Your choice. You know where to find me."
He turned on his heels and left Hermione standing in the middle of the dance floor, feeling absolutely foolish.
And bothered—flushed from his heated, parting gaze.
As the clock struck midnight, she fell back on the wide mattress. The party was still ongoing three levels below, but his private suite was warded against curious trespassers.
Soundproofed, too—thank Merlin.
She fought to catch her breath. Draco lay beside her with his eyes half-lidded and a serene smile playing on his lips.
"Damn it," she murmured, laying a palm over his sweat-sheened chest. "There goes my resolution."
He captured her hand and brought it to his lips. A tender kiss pressed against her knuckles.
Hermione sighed theatrically. "I guess there's always next year."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!
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