"It needs...something," Ginny mused, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Don't get me wrong, it's gorgeous, but something's missing."
Hermione turned her head to the side; her hair had been wrangled into a low braided bun, courtesy of Ginny and a copious amount of Sleekeazy's, pinned under one ear with hair grips enchanted to hold throughout the night. Ginny had left a few curls loose to frame her face, and the overall effect made Hermione feel like a princess.
The thought brought a reluctant smile to her face. A princess, indeed.
"You mean something like this?" Hermione handed the box on the vanity to Ginny and watched as her friend's jaw dropped.
"When did you get this? Where did you get this?" Despite her questions, Ginny lifted the gold leaf laurel hair comb out and carefully set it in Hermione's bun. "Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous."
"It came in the post this morning," Hermione said, standing up and slipping her feet into the Louboutin shoes that were not only charmed for comfort, but for balance as well, which she supposed was to accommodate the abnormally high heels.
"From your mystery suitor, then?" Ginny glanced over her shoulder as she shimmied into her own dress, a Greek-inspired deep plum gown that complimented her red hair. "I thought you only got parcels from him on Mondays."
"What makes you so sure it's a man?" Hermione asked, crossing the room to help Ginny zip up her dress. "But yes, the handwriting was the same."
Ginny opened the door and watched as Harry stumbled back, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he straightened up.
Harry sighed as both Ginny and Hermione burst into laughter. "Does this mean you're finally ready to go?"
"Almost. I was just about to attempt to convince Hermione to show me the note that came with today's gift," Ginny said with a pointed look at Hermione, who quickly sobered up under the redhead's glare.
"Today's gift?" Harry repeated, frowning. "I thought you only received those on Mondays."
"That's what I said!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and handed Ginny the note. "Sometimes you two are astonishingly in sync with one another." Ginny waved her hand at Hermione in an attempt to shush her while Harry leaned over the card so that he could read it as well, both of them squinting to read the cursive script. "Case in point."
"'Something fit for the Gryffindor princess?' Really? That's what he's going with?" Harry and Ginny's expressions were equally disgusted, and Hermione merely shrugged.
"Good taste in superficial things doesn't necessarily mean good taste in prose," Hermione said, grabbing her gold clutch from Ginny's dresser and walking out of the room.
"I'll say," Ginny muttered, completely unperturbed by Harry's admonishing look. "Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave and see Teddy before Andromeda tucks him in for the night."
"I didn't get the chance to see him on Thursday. How was he?" Hermione asked, eyes downcast as she recalled how she had taken the day off work on the actual anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and shut herself in her flat. She had only gone to the Burrow for dinner at Harry and Ginny's insistence; it was a day to celebrate the memory of those they had lost with loved ones, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Ginny sighed as she headed for the Floo. "He's getting older now, so he has more questions, and he has enough of everyone else's memories by now to miss them, but he's five, you know? Nothing keeps a five year old down for long."
"Asking people from the Order to give Teddy memories of Tonks and Remus was a lovely idea, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "It's good for him to get to know what his parents were like."
Harry mustered a smile, and though they were technically on their way to a celebration, the trio departed for the gala with a solemn air about them.
Hermione blinked a few times, spots dancing behind her eyes at the incessant flashing of the cameras. Five years she'd been attending these Ministry galas, but this was the first year there was a red carpet lined with reporters. She highly doubted it had been Kingsley's idea, but someone had evidently decided that more press would be beneficial - for what, Hermione had no clue. All she knew was that Rita Skeeter was talking away as her quick-quotes quill scribbled away on a levitating notepad, and Hermione was not pleased.
She made a valiant effort in keeping a serene smile on her face, but Hermione had never been comfortable posing for cameras, and she kept a quick pace as she walked toward the entrance to the gala. When she got to her self-designated safe zone, she turned around to see how Harry and Ginny had fared, and winced sympathetically when she saw that they had gotten ensnared by a journalist, Harry fumbling for an eloquent sentence and Ginny struggling to keep her expression polite. Ron was nearby, recounting stories about the Triwizard Tournament while his latest girlfriend, Katie Bell, attempted to deflect questions about their relationship.
"I don't envy her," Angelina said, walking up to Hermione on George's arm. "Thank Merlin George and I have been together long enough that they don't try to interrogate me like that."
"Poor thing," Hermione agreed, turning away from the drama of the red carpet to hug Angelina and George. "You look lovely, Angelina. And George, dashing as always." Hermione felt something in her chest loosen when George grinned in reply; she was an only child, Harry and Ron being the closest things she had to brothers, and so she found herself constantly concerned about George and his ability to smile again after Fred's death. If it was difficult for her, it had to be agony for him. But George was a much stronger person than she.
"I love your dress, Hermione! Where in Godric did you get it?"
Hermione laughed, her cheeks flushing at Angelina's compliment. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Merlin, I hate being interviewed," Harry complained, joining their small group just inside the ballroom. "Why can't they bloody well leave me alone?"
Ginny patted Harry's shoulder and passed him on her way to their table. She had heard plenty of his griping already, and she had a feeling she'd need multiple drinks to endure the entire night. Hermione went with her; there was no harm in getting a head start on the champagne at an event as dull as this.
"Was that Hermione Granger?" Terry Boot watched the witches go, stepping up to stand next to Ron with a glass of firewhiskey already in hand.
"Good to see you, Terry," Harry said, shaking the former Ravenclaw's hand briefly. "And yes, that's Hermione with Ginny. You don't recognize her?"
Terry shook his head emphatically. "No - I mean, yes, sort of, but she looks different. She never looked like that at Hogwarts, other than the Yule Ball, but she was with Viktor Krum then. A regular bloke wouldn't have stood a chance. Did she come with anyone tonight?"
"No, but you'd have to have it out with her mystery suitor," Ron piped up, rolling his eyes.
"Mystery suitor?" Terry echoed, raising his eyebrows and looking around at the rest of the group for clarification. "She has a mystery suitor?"
"It's just some bloke - at least, we're pretty sure it's a bloke - who's been sending her gifts recently. She hasn't the foggiest idea who it is, but she gets something once a week. She gives most of it away, but some stuff she likes enough to keep," Harry explained. "I think the dress she's wearing tonight is from the same man."
"The man's an idiot for keeping his identity a secret, but he has done the wizarding community a great service by sending her that dress," Terry said, Harry and George looking at him in disgust.
"Don't say that, she's like my sister."
"She's like everyone's sister!"
Terry shrugged. "She's not my sister."
"Okay, Terry, it was nice to see you, but we should probably getting back to our table now. I'll, uh, tell Hermione you say hello." Harry nearly ran to the table where Ginny and Hermione were already seated, and waved away their questions with his face still wrinkled in distaste at Terry's comments.
They were at one of the head tables, designated for figures in the war and meant to pull in donations to post-war rebuilding efforts. Ginny had offered up one of her old brooms for auction, Harry a Gryffindor shirt he rarely wore anymore, and upon receiving her special edition of Hogwarts: A History, Hermione had donated the copy she had used in school. Ron had even given up his beloved Chudley Cannons shirt, albeit begrudgingly.
Kingsley's welcoming speech was short and sweet, taking a moment to thank those who participated in helping end the war and remember those who passed away. Several Ministry members stepped up to the platform to speak after him, all of them more dull than the last, but Hermione was surrounded by friends who had no qualms whispering jokes to one another. She wanted to chastise them - they were being horribly rude, after all - but she couldn't find the willpower to do so when she was making such an effort to keep from yawning. No amount of coffee could combat the sheer boredom that had overcome Hermione.
"Harry's just informed me that Terry Boot was asking about you," Ginny whispered, leaning over and using her hair as cover to hide the fact that she wasn't paying a bit of attention to whoever was currently speaking.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "The only time I ever talk to Terry is at this gala. Why in the name of Merlin is he asking about me?"
"Probably because you look absolutely killer in that dress," Ginny suggested, her grin wide even as she absentmindedly clapped along with the rest of the crowd. "Can you blame him?"
"Stop it," Hermione admonished lightly, blushing again. "As much as I genuinely enjoy talking to Terry, I'd rather not have to evade his attempts to ask me on a date."
"Why?" Ginny asked, her tone and eyes innocent. "What's wrong with Terry asking you out? You're single, he's single...unless, of course, you don't feel like you're single."
"Why wouldn't I feel like I'm single? I am single."
"Maybe you feel like you're in some sort of bizarre, quasi-relationship with whoever's been sending you presents. Don't hit me," Ginny added quickly as Hermione's eyes widened. "I'll hit you back. Anyway, my point is, maybe you're starting to develop feelings for the man who sent you that dress."
Hermione scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Ginny. How could I develop feelings for someone if I don't know who they are?"
"No idea. I do know, however, that you keep every single note he sends you."
Hermione was starting to wonder if she could hurt herself by rolling her eyes too much; it was something worth looking into. "I do that to study the handwriting. It's one of my only clues about who the sender is."
"Yeah, that's the only reason why," Ginny said dryly.
"It is! Don't be silly. Besides, almost every note includes an apology, and I detest the thought of a man - or woman - hiding behind expensive presents and anonymous notes instead of apologizing directly." Hermione frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in frustration. "Not that I know what they're even apologizing for."
"Honestly, Hermione, you might never know. I know you can't resist trying to crack a good mystery, but perhaps you should let this one go, lest you get too drawn into it and forget that there are perfectly suitable men just dying to go on a date with you."
Hermione snorted. "Because every little girl dreams of ending up with someone who's 'perfectly suitable.'"
"You know what I mean," Ginny said, leaning over to nudge Hermione's shoulder with her own. "Terry hasn't been able to tear his eyes away from you all night, and he's certainly not trying to stay anonymous. Forget about your mystery man for one day and have fun for Merlin's sake."
Hermione sighed, worrying her bottom lip as she avoided answering the obvious challenge in Ginny's words. She let her gaze drift to Terry, seated at a table full of former DA members and seemingly bored out of his wits, but whose face broke into a wide grin when he noticed she was looking in his direction. Hermione averted her eyes quickly with a shy smile of her own, but the damage was done, and when Terry asked her for a dance just a few minutes later, she couldn't think of any reason to say no.
Blaise handed the paper to Draco silently, settling back into his chair and propping his feet up on his desk. He started counting in his head, and right when he got to five, the reaction he'd been eagerly anticipating burst forth.
"Bloody hell."
"Come again? I didn't catch that the first time. What were you saying about not fancying Granger?" Blaise smirked as Draco flipped through the Prophet with an enthusiasm that would have normally mortified him. "There are more pictures of her at the gala on page six."
Draco looked up long enough to glare at Blaise before turning his attention back to the paper. The headline was obnoxious, to be sure - who had decided that Hermione Granger Stuns Without Magic was a print worthy title? - but there was no denying that Harry Potter's irritating sidekick had looked gorgeous at the Ministry gala.
Draco cleared his throat and set the paper back down on Blaise's desk with more force than the simple task could ever require. "I - wow," he stammered, ignoring Blaise's chortling. "What I mean to say is, I have good taste, if I can make even Granger look good."
"Nice save, mate."
The door to Blaise's opened just enough for a petite witch wearing an ill-fitting maroon jumper embroidered with a H to slip through. "Okay, I know we normally go out on the last Friday of the month and this week is only the second, but I had a hell of a weekend and I just got ambushed by a bunch of wankers who demanded meetings with me this entire week and I am going to need to get sloshed if I survive them all," she said in a rush, her words stringing together as she checked to make sure no one had seen her before quietly closing the door. Blaise could see the moment Hermione realized Draco was in the room when she turned around, her eyes narrow and her lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded him with disdain.
"I apologize for the intrusion," Hermione said stiffly, studiously avoiding looking in Draco's general direction. "I wasn't aware you had a visitor. I can come back later." She moved to leave, but Draco was already out of his chair.
"I'll go," he muttered, the trademark sneer Hermione remembered from her school years remarkably absent. "I'm supposed to have tea with my mum anyways. I'll talk to you later, Blaise. Granger." Draco Disapparated without further preamble, leaving Hermione to stare at the spot he had been occupying in confusion.
"He didn't need to leave. Harry was right - he is over-dramatic."
"I know he's a prat, but he is one of my best mates, Granger," Blaise said, his tone more amused than anything, though Hermione could detect a hint of genuity behind his words and tilted her head to the side in an unspoken question. Blaise merely shrugged; he wasn't vocal about it, but ever since the war had ended, he had become fiercely protective of Draco Malfoy - there weren't many who knew exactly what the son of Lucius and Narcissa had endured, and Blaise had made it his mission to make sure Draco didn't slip into the abyss without anyone noticing.
Hermione considered Blaise's admission, fighting the anxiety threatening to resurface at seeing Draco Malfoy again. The last time she had seen him, she had been testifying against his father, Harry testifying for Draco and his mother in an attempt to get them a milder sentence. Before that, she remembered Draco during the Battle of Hogwarts, a mere shell of a man - a boy, really, because they had been just children when they had had to fight for their lives - haunted by the ghost of a tyrant who had planned the slaughter of half of the wizarding population from within Malfoy Manor. And then, even further back, Hermione remembered Draco with horror on his face, frozen in his place among his fellow Death Eaters as Bellatrix Lestrange used the Cruciatus curse on her, her screams falling onto deaf ears as the word Mudblood was carved into her arm.
It was five years ago, Hermione. She's dead, and you're stronger now, she reminded herself sternly.
"Alright," Hermione agreed hesitantly. "I promise not to badmouth him too much in front of you. He might be a bully and a racist, but he's nothing compared to his father."
"I know Lucius isn't what one might refer to as a ray of sunshine, but I'd love to know what he did to earn your ire."
"What didn't he do?" Hermione bit out sarcastically, not feeling the slightest bit guilty at being glad Lucius Malfoy was locked up in Azkaban indefinitely. "He terrorized young children and helped bring Voldemort back to life. The man is demented. Do you remember when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?"
"Of course. Everyone thought someone from Slytherin was to blame."
Hermione shrugged apologetically and plowed on. "Let's just say that I wouldn't have been petrified by a bloody basilisk if Lucius Malfoy hadn't slipped one of Voldemort's Horcruxes to an innocent eleven year old girl that resulted in her being possessed by a madman."
"What eleven year old girl was that?" Blaise asked, trying to ignore the shudder threatening to pass through him at Hermione's casual confession that Draco's father had been solely responsible for the terror that had spread throughout Hogwarts during their second year.
"Ginny Weasley," Hermione said, rather indignantly because really, how had Blaise missed the biggest news of the school year?
"Harry Potter's wife? Oh, shite."
Hermione was looking at him like he had grown another head, but all Blaise could think of was how Draco's list of people he had to apologize to was rapidly growing, and how he would have to be the one to tell him.
A/N: When I was 13, I wrote a Dramione fic that basically combined every single cliche out there - looking back, it was good for my age, and I'm proud that I was able to finish it, but at 19, I know I can do a lot better by the characters, so hopefully Common Courtesy accomplishes that.
As always, review?
