SQUEEEEEEEE! I'M BACK, GUYS! XD I'M SO CLOSE TO FINISHING COLLEGE (that's highschool to all your non-Canberrans out there) THAT I CAN ALMOST TASTE THE FREEDOM! I'M SOOOOOO CLOOOOOSE!

But I've still got a few more days to go. And then interviews for medicine school, and then a debating competition up in sunny Brisbane :) My next few weeks are packed, but I just wanted to leave you with this chapter. This is still a work in progress, so chapter updates may be slow, but I know that if I don't post this story up, it'll be a work in progress forever. This way, I have some form of motivation to keep writing chapters :P Don't worry, I haven't abandoned any of my stories yet (I've started, like, thirty or fourty for various fandoms. They're all saved and I'm still working on ALL of them as the whimsy hits me) so rest assured I won't be abandoning this one, no matter how long I take in between chapter updates :P

Well, that's a tragically long A/N. Shall we get to it? :)


A Certain Kind of Magic in the Air

By A Hint of Mint

Three famous love stories. Two feuding sides of society. One very star-crossed couple. Yes, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are back again, but this time, there seems to be a certain kind of magic in the air…


Chapter One: Peaceful Nights In

10 am, Friday 4th April, 2000, Hermione Granger's Place

The ministry was throwing entirely too many parties this year, Hermione decided as she looked at the cream cardstock bearing fancy black calligraphy. And for some reason, they all have to be themed, god damn it. From ridiculous things like animal costumes to ancient Egypt, if it was something that involved a costume, you could bet the Ministry had thrown a party with that theme… or were planning to, at any rate. This was the fourth invitation Hermione had received that year, and it was only the beginning of April. Hermione supposed everyone needed it as a sort of pick-me-up after an entire year of darkness and then another year of extensive rehabilitation, but she personally thought that hosting a party every month was taking it a bit too far.

She looked again at the invitation in her hand and sighed. As a worker at the Ministry, she was entitled and almost obligated to go to every single one of those damned parties that they threw. Not that they weren't fun, in a way. It was just that after four solid months of attending them, all Hermione really wanted was a nice, relaxing night in without having to worry about what she was going to wear to the next one.

"Grecian," Hermione muttered as she tossed the invitation on her bed unceremoniously, "who came up with the theme of Grecian?"

Pop. "I did, I'll have you know," came the clear voice of Ginny Weasley, and Hermione almost died of heart failure.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed, clutching her heart, "haven't you ever heard of apparating outside the house and then knocking? I know I'm your best friend, but even so, you could have walked in on something!"

"Like what?" Ginny snorted. "Like you changing your underwear? Honey, there's nothing there I haven't seen before."

"Like me snogging the life out of some random guy," Hermione retorted, miffed. Ginny just grinned slyly.

"That may be a problem… except for the fact that I know you don't have a boyfriend and you're not exactly the type to go around snogging 'random guys', as you put it." Ginny tossed her long red hair over one shoulder then proceeded to take command of the entire house, as she tended to do with any space she was in. "Merlin, Hermione, the party's on this evening and you still haven't done anything! It's ten o'clock already!"

"Yes, ten o'clock in the morning," Hermione said, a touch sulkily. "I'm tired of parties, Ginevra. I've been running around all week trying to get my incompetent—I mean—you didn't hear that from me—well anyway, incompetent boss to see that elf rights is really the way forwards for our department"—Ginny snorted and Hermione shot her a dirty look— "and I went to a party last month, and the month before that, and the month before that, and the month before that. I'm tired, Gin. I want a rest."

Ginny looked up at Hermione, doing the whole 'tremulous puppy-dog eyes' thing. "Hermione, do you really not like the whole Grecian theme that much?" she queried, downcast, and Hermione backtracked frantically.

"No! No Ginny I love it! It's really very… original and unique and… I actually love Grecian dress-up! Half my family is Greek, you know, and I really would love to go, but—"

"Yay!" Ginny exclaimed, cutting off the rest of Hermione's words. "I knew you'd just love this theme, Hermione! So we can get to work on your dress now, right? Right?"

"Ginny, I would love to go, really, but—"

"It's settled then. I've already got my dress, and you know I don't have to do as much for my hair as you do yours, so I think we should get started! Oh but Cliodna, you haven't even got a dress yourself! And I bet you all the shops would have sold out of the decent dresses by now… but you never really want a dress from the shops anyway, what if someone turned up wearing it as well?" Ginny gave a delicate shudder and Hermione gave up on making her red-headed friend understand that she had no interest in going to the ball tonight. "Sewing is best, of course, but given our time constraints, I don't know if we'll be able to make a dress quick enough…"

Hermione saw a glimmer of hope and latched onto it quickly. "Oh really, Ginny, it's no trouble, I don't want you to bother yourself for me. You go and get ready yourself. I'll just have a nice early night and—"

"Oh nonsense, Hermione!" Ginny beamed, flapping her hand. "I was getting much too lazy cooped up in my house all day. It's about time I had a challenge. Besides, if all else fails, we still have magic. You're perfect at Transfiguration and Charms. You could always transfigure something of yours." Ginny reached behind her, presumably into her bag, and pulled out an armful of two different coloured, silken fabrics and started comparing them. Hermione knew right then that her friend had never had any intentions of not letting her go to this party, and regretfully gave up her peaceful Friday night as lost. "Now I wonder which colour would look better on you? I know Grecian generally calls for white, and white always looks wonderful against your olive skin, but I really rather do like the red… besides, I want to see you in something with a little more pizzazz and white is not really a very attitude-charged colour, although I suppose white—"

"Red," Hermione said without thinking. She then promptly winced. Crap. What did I just say? Why did I say that?

Ginny gave Hermione a wicked grin. "I knew you'd come around, Hermione! So red, yeah? That's good. I was thinking that too. I wanted to dress you in something a little sultry anyway. Let's get to it."

Sultry?

"Oh, uh, actually Gin, on second thoughts—"

But it was too late; Ginny had already vanished the pure, innocent-looking white fabric and was turning to her with her arms full of the dark red silk. Hermione watched her best friend whip out a tape measure out of nowhere with growing trepidation. She loved Ginny, she really did, but sometimes her redheaded friend had the tendency to go ever-so-slightly overboard.

Hermione sighed. It looked like she was in for a long night, whether she wanted one or not.

Ginny finally left at about 4:30, with much chivvying from Hermione about how she probably needed to go get ready too. She departed with a warm, cheerful hug and a not-so-subtle threat about what she would inflict on Hermione's person if she didn't turn up to the damn gala ball tonight. Hermione winced, remembering Ginny's colourful, creative descriptions of what her Bat-Bogey Hexes were capable of.

She looked around her living room, which now resembled a war zone for rag dolls. Bits and pieces of red silk lay strewn everywhere, cut with razor-fine precision thanks to Ginny's handy severing charms. Various trims lay discarded around the floor, making a haphazard trail to her rubbish bin. And on her sofa was the finished product, the fruit of five hours' intense work— a dark red silk dress, complete with gold laurel-design trim and gold fastenings. A pair of gold strappy sandals were placed neatly at the foot of the divan, while the gold jewelry (which Ginny had insisted on going shopping for once they finished the dress) lay heaped in a gleaming pile on her coffee table. Hermione glared at the gorgeous ensemble like it was offensive.

"Thanks a lot, you," she said aloud to the mute pile of clothes. "My quiet Friday afternoon is gone now."

The pile of clothes, funnily enough, didn't answer back. Crookshanks stopped mid-stretch and stared at Hermione with his amber eyes, as if to say, you realise you're talking to a pile of clothes?

Hermione blushed. "No, I'm not insane!"

Crookshanks just continued to look at her, then yawned pointedly and slunk off somewhere.

Great, now I'm defending myself to a cat.

Hermione threw another look at the beautiful heap, then glanced at the clock. She groaned.

4:45.

The party started at 7:45. She had just three hours to take a shower, tame her hair, put on the clothes, do her make-up and get to Wendelin Hall (currently the biggest magical function hall in London; well, only currently because the new Potter Hall, set to be completed in another year or so, was designed to be the biggest magical function hall in all of England) where the party was being held. Her hair alone would eat up at least two hours.

Ah well, she thought, I'll just have to be fashionably late.

And to hell with Ginny and her threats of Bat-Bogey Hexes.


Draco Malfoy was not happy.

First, he had been dragged out of his house (and his prospects of a peaceful Friday night) by his friend, Theodore Nott.

Second, he had been forced to shop for dress robes, Grecian dress robes no less, in public shops like some commoner, again by his so-called friend, Nott, who wouldn't know what mail-order was (cut and tailored to his physique exactly, of course) if it bit him on his arse.

Third, he was attending a party that was being thrown in the Pothead's honour, skulking in a corner, trying not to be seen.

And fourth, someone had just spilled bright red mulberry wine all down the front of his pristine white shirt, leaving a large stain that reminded him uncomfortably of blood. Not that that mattered, of course, as his best Jacques Dinard shirt (only the best wizarding tailor in all of Europe) now sported a great blooming red patch down the front that no amount of wizard dry-cleaning was ever going to get rid of.

"Oh, I'm so sorr—" the bint who had spilled wine down his front had started to gabble, only to realise who he was mid-word. The level of sincerity in her voice dropped from 'ohmymerlin who is that is that an expensive shirt I just spilled wine on ohmygoshI am so socially crucified' to 'oh, it's only Draco Malfoy, ex-death eater (let's conveniently forget the word 'reformed' in there), therefore the fact that I spilled wine down his shirt is now null and void'."—ry."

Draco fought the urge to hex the brunette bint into the next galaxy. "That's fine." He grit out through clenched teeth, but the airheaded wench was gone, wending her way through the packed press of bodies.

That was it. He was going to apparate home right now, and to hell with whatever Nott said to him tomorrow. The night was going from bad to worse, and it was only 8:15.

"Malfoy! Enjoying your spell out of self-imposed exile?"

Speak of the annoying devil. Theodore Nott wove his way towards him from the throng, wearing a silvery-grey chiton that just hit his knees, complete with black edgings and silver gilt fastenings and clutching a glass of something cherry-coloured in his hand. Draco kept a wary eye on the flute of red beverage.

"My exile was self-imposed for a reason, Nott. People in general have the annoying tendency to piss me off. Case in point right here." He pointed to the gigantic, unmissable red slop down his front and gave Nott a pointed look. It was a look that sent most people bowing and scraping at his feet while fearfully avoiding his cold grey eyes, but Nott so far seemed to be the only person immune to it.

Unfortunately.

"What, that little stain? Get over yourself, Draco, that little stain is not going to stop you from enjoying the party like you should be, that is if you've finished making your acquaintance with the wall and actually decided to start mingling."

"Little stain?I'll have you know this is a Jacques Dinard shirt, pure silk, and do you have any idea how hard it is to get stains out of—"

"Oh get over yourself, Draco, you have about ten other silk shirts exactly like it, and twenty cotton-polyester blend ones. Besides, it's your fault for not wanting to adhere to dress code and wear those Greek robes we got this afternoon," Nott said flippantly, and Draco held back an irate lecture on the superiority of silk over cheap cotton-polyester blend. He wasn't able to entirely hold his tongue, however.

"And as for your suggestion to mingle? Honestly, how do you expect me to do that in this crowd? At least the wall doesn't flinch or sneer when I make eye contact with it," he said cynically, eyeing the aforementioned crowd with distaste.

"Well, firstly, it would help if you got rid of that smirking face you have going there."

"I do not smirk!" The nerve of him. How dare he suggest such a thing.

"Yes, you do. You're always smirking. It's one of the reasons why people don't like you." Nott said bluntly.

"It's a pity you weren't one of those people," Draco retorted, nastily.

"And you wonder why people flinch or sneer when you attempt conversation," Nott deadpanned. "Damn, Draco, it's not that hard. I was a Slytherin. I'm mingling fine."

"Your girlfriend is Padma Patil, of course you're going to be mingling fine." Draco pointed out. "Besides, you were a quiet Slytherin, mate. No-one knew you even existed. I only bothered to learn your name after we started working together in the ministry." It was true. Nott had been unusually shy and reserved back in their school days, something Draco now knew was a result of being a bastard child of a Death Eater. Nott Snr. had been Lucius Malfoy's colleague in the ranks of the Death Eaters. Theo's birth had caused quite a scandal a while back, for though his mother was pure-blood, she had been a disinherited outcast, living in poverty on the streets. As he had no other sons to name his heirs, Nott Snr. had been forced to adopt Theo (who would otherwise have gone unacknowledged and living on the streets with his half-crazed mother), but he had never thought of him as a son and therefore he had been able to avoid all the crazy shite surrounding Voldemort's return. In fact, he was shipped off to Durmstrang as an exchange student in his sixth and seventh years, narrowly missing Draco's fate of being branded and admitted into Voldemort's inner circle.

"True, true," Nott conceded, "But despite my supposed Slytherin evil-ness and my socially inept, quiet younger years, I'm still managing fine. You with all your natural suavity and charm, and the added, dangerous appeal of being a reformed Death Eater? Girls will be falling over at your feet."

"From those ridiculous high-heels that they wear," Draco muttered. "Look, Nott, I'm going home. I need to get changed, at the very least. I refuse to stand around in a stained shirt, trying to make nice with all the stuffed-shirt elitists in this crowd."

"You used to be a stuffed-shirt elitist," Nott grumbled under his breath. Draco frowned. That was low of Nott to bring up his one and only weak point: his guilt at being a good little brainwashed lapdog of the pure-blood societies.

"Yeah, so?" he said, a little brusquely. It did not deter Nott, however. Nothing ever did.

"So, stay for a bit longer, as a favour to a non-stuffed-shirt commoner," Nott wheedled. "Come on, Draco. You've been sitting in that mausoleum you call a house for the past month. You need to see the sunlight a little. People are beginning to think you're an urban myth, or a vampire."

"I've been setting my accounts to order. Our funds are getting dangerously low."

"Your idea of dangerously low funds is enough money to keep a whole continent afloat for a year."

"You never know when you might need to swoop in and save a whole continent."

"Thirty minutes, Draco. Thirty minutes of genuinely trying to get to know people and enjoying yourself. If you shut yourself off, the Malfoy family is going to be ostracised forever. You need to go out there and forge new connections, unless, of course, you want the Malfoy name to be wiped off the good books of people in general."

Draco thought about it. Theo made a valid point. (Damn, he hated it when Nott made sense.)

"There's still the issue of my shirt."

"Charm it a different colour. Transfigure it. Actually wear the bloody robes we bought this afternoon and stop sticking out like a bright green hippogriff in a crowd of thestrals. Do I care? Just stay another thirty minutes, man. I can't keep having a best friend who behaves like a hermit. It's seriously ruining my street cred."

Draco considered it. "Thirty minutes, and I get to go home?"

Nott shrugged. "Sure. I guess. Unless, that is, after the thirty minutes you suddenly find incentive to stay longer?"

Draco snorted. "Not happening, mate. But sure, I'll stay thirty minutes… if that's going to be enough to reinstate your lost 'street cred'."

Nott sighed. "It's a start," he said, then walked off. Draco (in a fit of maturity) made a face at his friend's retreating back. He sighed and muttered a quick spell, conjuring the dark green Grecian robes that he had indeed bought with Nott that afternoon (thought coerced might be a better word). It was a simple green chiton, made of pure cotton and edged in silver (hey, once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, and besides, the same colours were on the Malfoy crest). A dark green robe went over his shoulders, also edged with silver and fastened with serpentine clasps, and brown leather bracers, sandals and shin wraps completed the look. Draco made a face of distaste and headed to the bathrooms to change. He consoled himself with the fact that he wouldn't be the only one looking like an idiot, and he would at least look better than Potter who was wearing purple (purple!) robes with silver trimming and was currently looking like High Prince of the Poofs.

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes was all he was going to stay, and to hell with Nott after his promised thirty minutes. And he was going to be counting every second of it.


Ginny Weasley irate was not something you wanted to be around to see.

Ginny Weasley angry was definitely not something you wanted to be around to see, or even be within hearing distance of.

Unfortunately for Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley was his girlfriend and it followed that he was her expected escort to all manner of society events, and that included the gala ball tonight.

Good Merlin, Hermione, please turn up, he pleaded in his mind as he eyed his furious girlfriend, who would have been looking exceptionally lovely in robes of sky blue but for the fact that she sported bright red ears, always a danger sign for Weasleys.

"Um, Ginny? Are you okay?" he asked nervously, already wincing in anticipation.

"Okay? Why would you ask that, Harry? Why wouldn't I be okay?" Ginny said, in poisonous, saccharine tones. Harry almost cried. Things were worse than they seemed. Ginny using saccharine tones meant that an explosion was imminent. He sincerely hoped Hermione arrived to the damn party before she blew it. Hermione wouldn't just abandon him to Ginny's mercy, right? Right?

"Harry? Do you have the time?"

"What?!" Harry jumped so thoroughly that he earned strange looks from everyone within a ten-foot radius. Ginny just glared at him pointedly.

"The time, Harry, the time. You know, the thing that's displayed on a watch?"

"Right, time, time. It's…. 8:25."

Ginny turned away and started muttering dangerously under her breath. "8:25. 8:25. She's late. She's 55 minutes late. She better be turning up in the next five minutes, or I swear to Cliodna I'll—"

The rest of Ginny's words were drowned out as a sudden wave of whispers swept through the hall, and every head turned towards the entrance where a slim figure was silhouetted against the black, star-strewn sky.


You have to love Snarky!Draco. How could you not? Trust me, it just gets better from here ;)

Happy reading and reviewing, my readers. 3

~Mint