— CHAPTER FOUR —

The New Year's Gala

When Hermione stepped out of one of the Ministry's many gilded fireplaces, she couldn't help but mouth a "wow" in sheer awe. The Atrium was decorated beautifully; hundreds – no, it must have been thousands – of iridescent spheres floated underneath the peacock blue ceiling, casting their light upon the dark wood floor like a starry night sky. A memorial in the centre of the hall had replaced the once atrocious wartime statue, spheres circling and illuminating the site before zooming back up to the ceiling.

Mindlessly, Hermione helped herself to a beverage offered by one of the many hovering trays. While staring at the impressive scenery, she took a large sip from her glass, almost immediately regretting her decision not to pay closer attention to its content before doing so. The first snigger she managed to stifle, but failed miserably after that, giggling uncontrollably into her palm.

More than a few party guests turned around, most showing decorum through a sympathetic smile and by saying things like "Don't worry Hermione, it happened to all of us once" or "It'll pass soon enough". Others outright gaped at her, raising their eyebrows and apparently piqued by her accidental misconduct. And then there was a distinctly pale and pointed face glowering at her from a distance …

Before Hermione could begin to ponder over Draco Malfoy's expression, someone cleared their throat behind her. Someone very familiar. She pivoted and looked into a pair of bright green eyes.

'Ha … ha-ha … Harry,' she tittered. 'I … ha … hi –'

'You've had Gigglewater, haven't you?' he teased, grinning broadly and pulling her into a hug.

Hermione, unable to form a proper sentence, nodded sheepishly.

'Wha-haha – what iz-he-hit?' she bubbled when Harry reached for her shoulder to pick something off her dress robes; it was a long, ginger hair – Crookshanks's hair.

'I hope that doesn't belong to one of my brothers.'

Ginny emerged from behind Harry, flashing her a gleeful smirk.

'Ha-hi, Gi-hee-ny.'

Ginny's eyes twinkled with amusement. 'Let it all out, Hermione,' she said, biting her lower lip and patting Hermione on the back. Thankfully, it only took a few more minutes until she was able to talk normally again, merely an occasional snigger here and there bespeaking the Gigglewater's fading effects.

'This is so embarrassing,' Hermione muttered, her cheeks adopting a deep scarlet hue in response to the unwanted attention. 'Why would they even serve this?'

'Oh, don't mind these stuck-up twits,' said Ginny in a stage whisper. 'Come on, let's have a proper drink. Three Butterbeer Stouts please,' she ordered clearly, and three bottles appeared out of nowhere. Despite having been part of the wizarding world for half of her life now, the many wonders of magic did not cease to amaze Hermione. She snagged one of the bottles and sipped carefully, ever so anxious that another giggle might cause her to spill the drink.

'Why is your hair all messy?' Hermione asked, indicating at Ginny.

'Is it still? Blimey,' she said, using her hand to straighten out all the bumps and flyaways. 'Harry insisted that we take the motorcycle.'

'Why does it sound like you're complaining?' asked Harry. 'If I recall correctly you were enjoying yourself.'

'Maybe,' conceded Ginny, taking a sip from her Butterbeer, 'but it didn't have to be on the one night I decide to dress up, did it?'

Instead of answering, Harry drew Ginny closer and planted a gentle kiss on her temples, settling the matter. Ever since Mr Weasley had repaired Sirius's old motorcycle (and added an Invisibility Booster), Harry used every opportunity to fly it, even if it meant ruining his girlfriend's hairstyle. Luckily, Ginny wasn't the type of woman who fussed over such things.

'So when does the season recommence?' Hermione asked her. Ginny played Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies – and rather successfully, too, having placed second in the league the year prior. That (Hermione knew now) had qualified them for the European Cup, which meant that Ginny had been engrossed in her training ever since summer, thanks to competing for two cups at once.

'Next weekend,' she replied. 'So I still have a couple of days left to relax and do nothing. I make Harry do all the chores … in return I let him win when we play one-on-one'– she winked at Hermione –'You look stunning, by the way.'

'Thank you,' said Hermione, blushing – not entirely sure whether it was because of the compliment or the innuendo. The jade-green gown she had bought for the occasion, complete with a matching cloak, made her feel rather pretty. 'So do you,' she added. Ginny was sporting a teal ensemble which made her fiery red hair pop.

'Let's just say we all look fabulous,' said Ginny. 'But Harry and I got something much more important to tell you.'

'Are you finally …'

Ginny grinned broadly and nodded, snaking an arm around Harry, who mirrored her motion. Hermione let out an involuntarily girlish squeal, hugging both of them at once.

'That's fantastic news! Congratulations!' she exclaimed cheerfully. 'Well … how did it happen?'

Hermione could see Harry's face flush, mumbling something into his (non-existent) beard.

'I asked him,' Ginny revealed matter-of-factly. 'No, but really. We've talked about it many times … and I happened to address it first now that we've become serious about it. But Harry still went and got me a ring'– she held her left hand aloft, presenting a delicate gold band with a bright diamond in its setting –'What do you think?'

'It's beautiful,' said Hermione. 'So have you decided on a date yet?'

'No,' said Harry, suddenly sounding serious. 'It's still very fresh. Besides, we're both completely immersed in our jobs at the moment.' He continued in a secretive tone: 'We've recently received news of various attacks all over Europe. Norway, Austria, Greece – the list of places goes on. Unfortunately, we can't do much of anything right now unless it concerns British or Irish territory.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'Attacks? What kind of attacks?'

'We don't really have an answer to that just yet, and the other Ministries won't tell us much,' replied Harry with a frown, evidently frustrated about being kept in the dark. 'All we know is that there's no particular pattern. There have been bodies found, some dead and others just barely alive. Some survivors can't stop screaming or crying, and then others are incapable of saying anything at all. So obviously there's murder and torture … it's gruesome. And there's nothing to go after for now. If only they left behind some distinct mark – a sign – anything … we might be able to connect the attacks to a single motive. But I have a feeling the culprits aren't willing to make it that easy. My guess is, they're not after some sort of twisted glory, but seriously plotting to throw Europe into a ring of chaos.'

Hermione was dumbfounded for a second. Apparently, this piece of information was still exclusive to the Auror office, seeing as nothing about those attacks had been addressed in the papers yet. Before she could react to the unsettling news, however, a familiar voice joined them.

'Oi! Why the long faces?'

'Ron!' Hermione said, turning around to face her friend. They hugged briefly before Hermione's eyes fell upon the witch beside him. The kind expression she wore was framed by chin-length and beautifully sleek black hair, her beaming smile nearly extending out to both almond-shaped eyes. Standing next to Ron, she was conspicuously short.

'Hermione, this is Ayano,' Ron introduced her.

'Konoe Ayano, nice to meet you,' Ayano said, tilting her head forward ever so slightly before extending out a hand. She had but a faint foreign accent.

'Nice to meet you, too,' Hermione echoed, shaking Ayano's hand. 'You must be working at the Department of International Magical Cooperation,' she surmised. Since Ron was neither a Ministry employee nor a benefactor, she was bound to be affiliated with the Ministry in some way; otherwise, they wouldn't have been invited.

'Yes, for the Trading Standards Body,' she confirmed. After introducing herself to Harry and Ginny, she turned back to Hermione. 'I came here two months ago. I am a wand-maker, you see, and I work on wand-wood trading regulations between the UK and Japan … it's not as boring as it sounds,' she added meekly.

'Boring? Not at all – it's such an interesting subject!' Hermione countered excitedly. 'I've read so much about it! In The Art of Creation: A Guide to Wand-Making, Pritchell Stabbins states that a single woodfibre out of place can alter the quality of the wand decisi –'

'Hermione,' Ron chuckled, 'You're rambling.'

'Oh – right, sorry.' She felt her face flush.

Leave it to me to scare her off.

Ayano, however, smiled warmly at her. 'He is correct, that Mr Stabbins – wand-making really is … uh, how do you say … compurex?'

'Complex,' corrected Ron, apparently torn between being polite to his date, and taunting Hermione for her bookishness.

'So, Ayano,' said Harry, coming to rescue, 'what's the name of the Japanese school again? Makotoro?'

She rectified it was Mahoukoto, which launched an animated discussion about the many differences between their schools and countries. Hermione enjoyed the cultural exchange very much – she was always eager to soak up any piece of knowledge she could get her hands on. But what really made her happy was the realisation that she actually liked Ayano. She didn't have to pretend to be interested in her; the wand-maker was particularly polite, educated, and overall pleasant company.

When Ron and Hermione had first broken up, she'd always felt a jealous sting to her stomach whenever he would be seeing someone else, and vice versa; Ron had had a tendency to clench his jaw so hard it would render him speechless. Hermione hadn't been very successful in the dating department so far, but instead of begrudging Ron his date, she felt genuinely happy for them. It was definitely a much-appreciated development.

It turned out they had met through Percy, who was head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Ron kept complaining about Ayano and Percy talking about wand-woods and other trade goods for ages – reminding everyone vividly of Percy's infamous report on cauldron bottoms.

At precisely 7.30pm, Kingsley Shacklebolt welcomed all party guests and invited them to take a seat at the several large, round tables popping up all throughout the Atrium. Hermione walked around searching for her name plate, and eventually sat down next to Neville and Hannah on one side (which made her very happy), and to an unknown, good-looking wizard on the other. Before she could so much as say hello to her neighbour, however, Hermione wavered, suddenly shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She glanced up in irritation and, for the second time that night, met a pair of very familiar, grey eyes.


x x x


As soon as Granger locked eyes with his, Draco averted his gaze, allowing his signature sneer to contort his features. Of course she would have noticed his incessant glares eventually, especially now that they were sitting around the same table. He ought to be more careful.

Draco had been shooting glimpses at Granger all night; he simply couldn't help it. How was he supposed to act professionally around her come Monday? He was torn between feelings of guilt and old antipathy, and his ego didn't help the case either – being nice to Granger would certainly be no easy feat.

He almost hadn't recognised her at first, what with her tell-tale bird's nest pinned back into a bun; however, the Gigglewater-incident had very quickly cleared up any doubts he'd had concerning her identity. Draco couldn't help but acknowledge that her outfit suited her, and – in spite of himself – found that her laugh (though beverage-induced) sounded rather charming. It occurred to him that he'd never heard her laugh before – at least not out of joy, mind you; it wasn't as though he had ever given her any reason for it.

All of a sudden, tremendous amounts of food appeared before his eyes, the table creaking under the weight of countless bowls, platters, and gravy boats. Draco's stomach growled conspicuously at the sight, so he piled his plate with sheperd's pie and mixed vegetables – the mug of mulled mead he ordered appearing in front of him instantaneously. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Granger helping herself to pumpkin curry and rice, chatting animatedly with the wizard to her right. Draco forced himself to concentrate on his food.

What in Salazar's name is wrong with me? Stop staring!

Needless to say, the feast was sublime. After the remnants of the main course had vanished, mountains of sweets, tarts, puddings, and cakes appeared in their place. Draco tried to ignore everything and everyone else around him while enjoying his rhubarb crumble, yet he was unsuccessful. Some people still seemed to care about his family (or his family's wealth) enough to try and engage him in a conversation: How's business? – Good, as usual. – Whether he had heard about the retirement plans of some random Ministry chap? – No, but please, do tell. (Please don't.)

Draco's glance darted back to the former Hogwarts students once more, noticing that Longbottom was affectionately picking a crumb off Hannah Abbott's nose before giving her a peck on the lips – so Granger wasn't going out with him after all. Why he bothered with all of this, he couldn't say – hence he held accountable his journalistic curiosity.

'Mr Malfoy?'

A husky, quavery voice brought Draco back to the present. It belonged to the elderly wizard seated next to him, whose name he hadn't cared to memorise.

'Apologies, Sir,' he mumbled. 'I was lost in thought there for a moment.'

'Only natural,' the old man said understandingly. 'Now, what is your opinion on the recent developments in –'

But Draco never found out what recent developments the elder wizard had been about to address. He thought himself lucky for a split-second before he realised that the person who had rendered his neighbour quiet was none other than Narcissa Malfoy.

'Mother,' Draco said and stood, pecking her cheek.

'Draco, dear,' his mother said tenderly. 'Come, let us walk for a bit. We do not want to disturb the other guests, do we?'

Draco sighed inwardly – this night would be even more tedious than anticipated.

'Why are you here?' he enquired, seeing his mother away from the tables and toward a secluded corridor.

'Honestly, Draco,' Narcissa replied, clicking her tongue, 'one might think you didn't want to see me at all.'

While he loved his mother immensely, any conversation with her was bound to bring him to the end of his tether. He preferred to keep the encounters to a necessary minimum. When he didn't answer, Narcissa continued, 'You barely show up at home anymore, your letters are two-liners at best – if there's an opportunity to see you, I will take it.'

Draco almost felt guilty. Almost.

'So why didn't you get here sooner?' he asked.

'I did not care for the feast,' she said, 'nor did your father.'

'Where is he?'

'At the Manor. He sends his regards.'

I'm sure he does.

'Has your evening been enjoyable so far?' Narcissa asked.

'I suppose.'

'You suppose?' His mother wrinkled her nose indignantly. She had always been ridiculously proper and didn't approve of brusqueness.

'The food was delicious, as a matter of fact. The other guests bore me, and I am still not entirely sure as to why I am here,' Draco listed.

'You know why you're here, Draco. We are still one of the most generous benefactors of the Ministry, and hence need to make an appearance. And no'– she spoke up before Draco even had the chance to object –'your father has not conferred on you the responsibility on a whim. He isn't as welcome here as he used to be, and we can hardly send a house-elf, can we?'

Draco gritted his teeth and said nothing. While he could understand why his father chose to remain out of the public's eye, especially on events like this, Draco resented him for it all the same. He was the one who had to suffer the consequences, after all.

'I couldn't help but notice you came by yourself tonight,' Narcissa said.

Draco all but rolled his eyes. Could this conversation possibly become any more aggravating?

'How very observant of you,' he deadpanned, which earned him a subtly raised eyebrow.

'Why didn't you ask the lovely young lady I suggested?' Narcissa asked, ostensibly unruffled by his impudence.

'Because, Mother,' said Draco, 'I am old enough to make my own decisions. Unless, of course, you think I am not, in which case I will gladly retire from my duties.'

Narcissa's nostrils flared. She pestered him with the subject of marriage almost every time they met, and Draco was sick of her constant trying to find him a suitable match. He felt far from ready for such a thing; besides, he had never met anyone whom he considered a serious option. Earlier that week, he had briefly contemplated asking Padma to come to the gala with him, just for the sake of bringing someone – a ludicrous idea, of course. Padma didn't even know she was working with him.

Just when he was about to soothe Narcissa (she was his mother, after all), he spotted Granger shuffling past the corridor, with the strange wizard from their table in tow. His mother must have followed his gaze, because she turned around a moment later, just to look down the empty hall.

'What is it, Draco?' Narcissa furrowed her brow.

'Nothing, Mother,' he mumbled and ran a hand through his hair. 'Well … sorry for talking out of turn.'

She nodded acceptingly. 'You know how much I care about you, don't you?'

'I do. But I'd rather you stopped interfering in my private life,' said Draco sincerely. 'Honestly, Mother, it's not helping. The more you pressure me into finding someone – and marrying them – the less likely it is to happen. Besides, I have other things on my mind right now.'

'Such as?'

He was about to say "work", but seeing as his mother didn't know about his day job, he had better make something up.

'Um … you know that Theo works at Gringotts, right?'

'Theodore? Yes, I saw him just last week – he could use a haircut.'

'Well … he recently got an offer to work as a Curse-Breaker and'– Come on, Draco, think of something –'and … he's asked me if I wanted to come with him.'

'You, a Curse-Breaker?' His mother looked at him sceptically.

'Yeah, I can't imagine myself doing it, either,' said Draco. 'But it had me thinking about my own life and …' He didn't know what to say, so he decided to go for the truth – partially, at least: 'Look, I'm just trying to figure out what I want. You know I don't particularly enjoy the life that has been imposed upon me, but I'll do it anyway. Let me make you an offer: you stop pestering me with the whole, "you're the Malfoy heir and must marry" bullshit –'

'Language, Draco!'

'And,' he carried on, unimpressed, 'I might agree to visit more. Or meet up somewhere outside the Manor, which I'd prefer, to be honest.'

Narcissa didn't answer right away. Draco could almost see the cogs spinning in her head.

'Fine,' she said eventually. 'And you will tell me more about what is going on in your life, yes?'

'As I said, if you cease the marriage-talk, I will,' Draco promised. It was fine by him. He wouldn't tell her his secret, not yet at least. Maybe someday she'd be ready for it.

Narcissa relaxed visibly. 'Thank you, Draco. I will be looking forward to seeing you more often from now on.'

What have I done? Draco thought (partly out of the habit of complaining about his mother), but admitted to feeling not too anxious about it.

'I think I will join the party for a bit,' his mother declared cheerfully – as far as Narcissa Malfoy could be considered a cheerful person. 'I spotted an old friend earlier. Are you coming?'

'No, I think I'll pass,' said Draco. 'I'll write you next week, alright?'

Narcissa kissed his forehead softly, turning around and leaving him alone in the corridor.

Yes, Draco would definitely call it a night. He knew he should stay for all the speeches and other dull items on the programme, yet the conversation with his mother had tired him beyond imagination, despite their compromise. Still brooding, he walked to the end of the corridor where he would turn right – leading him back to the Floo zone without having to return to the Atrium. He had just reached the corner when he froze in mid-step, almost walking in on a scene he would have rather missed. Draco backed away, watching from behind the corner; this looked awkward enough as it was without him barging in on them.

Granger was pressed against the wall, her many curls no longer in a bun and flying wildly about her head. Her face was flustered as the man pushed his body close, locking lips with her. Draco couldn't make out a single sound – they must have cast a Silencing Charm as not to be disturbed. Not too shabby a plan.

He should have left, of course, yet something impalpable kept him glued to the spot. The sight of Granger snogging this man was not just awkward; it seemed … off. He couldn't hear them, but saw enough to know that Granger wasn't enjoying the kiss in the slightest. Draco noticed her fists were clenched, her wrists being held down to her sides. She pressed her lips together tightly as to deter the stranger's tongue from slipping into her mouth, her eyes not closed, but wide open, frantic. She was scared.

'Come on. I know you want it,' the man growled. 'Don't tell me you actually wanted to stretch your legs … or did you say "spread"?'

Hang on … Draco shouldn't be able to hear him! Then it occurred to him that the stranger must have cast a Silencing Charm indeed –on her. Draco's feet subconsciously carried him forward.

'Go on, touch yourself for me … you loved the attention before,' the man snarled, grinning maliciously and forcing her hand between her legs. Granger's face contorted into a silent scream. Her head tilted to the left, and it was then that she noticed Draco. Those eyes … he had seen them look at him like this before … haunting his very dreams. He would not stand idly by ever again.

'There you are,' Draco said loud and clearly, strutting towards them. The man let go at once, Draco glaring icily at him. He needn't even say another word, for the strange wizard retreated, turning on his heels and running towards the fireplaces. Before he reached them, however, Draco's Stunning Spell hit him in his back, and he fell to the floor.

'Finite Incantatem,' muttered Draco and flicked his wand at Granger. He could now hear her panting and sniffing, trying to regain her composure. She didn't say a word, simply staring at him with brown eyes widened in shock.

For a brief moment, Draco considered asking her if she were alright, at last deciding against it. The assaulter was immobilised, and she would have her friends to comfort her. Ignoring the witch's puzzled expression, he walked past her, heading straight for one of the fireplaces. Only when he stepped into the green flames did he hear Granger call his name.


A/N: A slightly shorter chapter this time – hope you don't mind (the next one is going to be longer again)! Since this was the last chapter of the exposition, you can look forward to more Draco/Hermione interaction from now on – albeit unbeknownst to Hermione ;)

Thank you to the readers & reviewers and to MalfoysMuggleMrsTwenty-three points to Ravenclaw!

Cheers, Phinoa

PS: A few random thoughts I'd like to share, for whatever reason:

Just realised this is the second chapter in a row ending with someone Flooing away – oops! Wish I had a Floo connection.
I'm aware that the European Cup I described differs from the canon equivalent, but I thought it'd be nice to give them something like the Champion's League.
Harry and Ginny's engagement might be a bit anticlimactic, but I think it's realistic. Can't see them having a picture-book engagement, can you?
Hope Ayano is a plausible character! I don't like using OCs really, but it worked in this case I think.