Chapter Seven

She was standing alone in a shadowy corner of the Great Hall. The room was filled to bursting with happy, chattering students and their families, but Hermione was sullenly hoping not to be noticed by anyone. She watched as her recently graduated classmates danced and enjoyed the last evening of their school careers, though she had no intention of partaking in the merriment herself. She registered dimly that her now former headmaster was addressing the crowd, but her unfocused mind couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Whatever it was, the throng of dancing students was moving off the dance floor and looking around expectantly. At first she thought that perhaps the ball was over and she'd be able to slink away unnoticed by anyone until a certain blonde someone sidled up to her and grasped her hand.

"Come on Hermione," he spoke softly to her, "they're playing our song."

"What? No, get off me," she muttered as she tried to dislodge herself from Draco's grip.

"Granger, Dumbledore just announced that we're supposed to lead the next dance, as recognition for our service to the school. Do you mean to say that you're going to neglect your last official duty as Hogwarts Head Girl…?"

She swallowed heavily and noticed that everyone in the room was staring at them.

"Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth and grudgingly, she allowed Draco to lead her to the center of the dance floor. Only when they began revolving on the spot did she notice that they were, in fact, playing their song. Beau Soir… She usually melted when she heard the familiar tune, but this time her spine went ramrod straight and she locked her arms, keeping them a safe distance apart.

"You could at least try to pretend like you're having a good time," Draco said with a frustrated sigh.

"Well I'm not, so what good would that do?" she snapped back at him.

"Look Hermione, I-"

"Don't Draco. I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

"Yes, you've made that fact quite clear over the last two months, but this may be my last chance to say this for a while…" he gulped nervously. "I love you Hermione. You're the only one I'll ever love and I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" she spat coldly. "I don't care if you're sorry. In fact, I hope you're sorry for the rest of your miserable life," she whispered vehemently. "Congratulations on your engagement by the way," she sneered.

"Do you honestly think I'm happy about this? For the hundredth time, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it!" Draco whispered back, his temper rising.

"How would you know?" she countered. "You didn't even try!"

Before he could respond, before the last quavering notes of the song had even finished resonating through the packed hall, Draco's parents were upon them, ushering him from the room.

Hermione was beyond hurt. She was furious. The blood was pumping so loudly in her ears that she barely registered the snide comment Lucius made when he came to collect his son, nor Draco's feeble protests as his mother led him away in her vice-like grip.

Uncaring about the hundreds of bewildered onlookers, Hermione stood frozen to the spot, silent tears coursing down her flushed cheeks. She felt a hand on her shoulder and vaguely recognized Ginny's voice seeping in through the haze, but Hermione shook her off and she began to run. She ran faster and harder than she ever had before. Tears clouding her vision, she ran without a destination in mind. Kicking off her shoes, she pumped her legs as fast as they could carry her as she sprinted from one corridor to the next until she reached the castle grounds. She stopped suddenly, panting heavily, searching in all directions for any sign of white blonde hair, but he was already gone…

Hermione woke with a start, gasping for breath as though she really had just run the length of the Hogwarts grounds. Groaning, she rolled over in bed to retrieve her watch from the bedside table. She gazed blearily at the little gold hands as they ticked their way toward half noon. With another start, she bolted from the bed and began frantically gathering her clothing and bespelling her face and hair since she was already more than three hours late for work and would definitely not have time for a shower. She was halfway down the stairs, hopping on one foot as she struggled to put on her remaining shoe, before she remembered that though it was Friday, she had taken the day off. She collapsed in a heap on the stairs, cradling her face in her hands, feeling foolish.

It was the first time in living memory that Hermione had called in sick. She had flooed Amos on Thursday morning after a fitful night's sleep spent reliving her horrible encounter with Malfoy the previous evening and concocted a feeble story about a stomach virus. Of course she wasn't really sick; the truth of the matter was that she dreaded being fired. She assumed that her little auction stunt would make the Prophet and she just couldn't bear to face an irate Diggory on top of everything else. The arrival of the post owl on Thursday morning confirmed her suspicions and she'd had to gather up all of her Gryffindor courage before placing the floo call.

She had been shocked to discover that not only had Diggory been quick to excuse her, but he'd insisted that she take Friday off as well, offering to send over his personal healer to make sure she was well enough to attend the masquerade ball on Friday evening – 'An event not to be missed,' he'd insisted despite her protests. He even went so far as to congratulate her on her ingenuity in getting Malfoy to donate an extra ten thousand galleons via her impromptu auction and began throwing around words like, 'promotion,' 'bonus' and 'single-handedly balanced the department's operating budget for the next three years!'

None of the praise even registered with Hermione. Hearing Malfoy's name had sent her mood spiraling and after thanking Amos for his understanding, she made it clear to him in no uncertain terms that Friday evening's ball would be the absolute last time she would set foot inside Malfoy Manor. She even went so far as to threaten to quit her job if Amos tried to strong arm her into any more 'fundraising events.' Then, after sealing her floo and warding her flat from unwanted visitors, she had spent the remainder of the day in bed until sleep had finally taken her late Thursday night.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Hermione rose from the staircase, righted her mismatched robes and kicked off her shoes. She schlepped down to the kitchen and began making tea when she heard the distinct sounds of a beak tapping on her window. She had forgotten to ward her flat against owl intruders.

Against her better judgment Hermione lifted the latch of the kitchen window and threw it open, allowing the bird to perch on the sill. She recognized the eagle owl instantly, though she had never seen it looking quite so haggard. He looked as if he'd been flying all night and could barely keep his round yellow eyes open. The bird hooted feebly as it dropped the parchment that had been clamped in its beak onto the counter. Hermione hurriedly fetched a dish of water and a handful of treats for the poor, exhausted owl and set them on the sill.

Indulging in the brief respite, the owl drank two full dishes of water and consumed all of the treats before giving Hermione a grateful hoot and disappearing out of the still open window. Hermione watched it go for several long moments before finally turning her attention to the thick parchment on the kitchen counter. There could be no question as to who had sent the letter; though she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he had to say.

Suddenly, memories of her last visit to Malfoy Manor flooded her mind as she sank down into a kitchen chair and allowed a few stray tears to slide down her cheeks into her cooling tea. He loved her. Draco Malfoy loved her – there could be no other explanation for his actions and behaviors toward her over the past week. She should be deliriously happy right now. He should be there sitting across from her at the table, reading the morning paper, but that would never happen. That was the most heartbreaking part about it – he loved her - he just didn't love her enough, not enough to give up his precious money and the life of luxury to which he'd been born.

Drying her face with her sleeve, she reached for the parchment with trembling fingers and broke the red wax seal on the envelope. Inside there was a brief note in an all too familiar hand…

Hermione,

I know you haven't read any of my other letters. I hope you open this one. There is so much that still needs to be said. Please come to the manor this evening. I need to see you - please.

Yours Always,

DM

Hermione was at a loss. What 'other letters' was he talking about? Had he been trying to reach her for the past two days? No wonder his owl seemed so exhausted. She didn't know what to think or how to feel, but there was one thing that she felt certain about - it was time to call Ginny. She hadn't spoken to anyone except Amos Diggory since Wednesday night and she was sure that her friends would be worried about her.

Moving to the fireplace, Hermione knelt down on the hearth rug, performed a quick spell to unseal her floo and placed the call.

"Hermione! Oh, thank Merlin!" Ginny gasped when Hermione's face appeared in the fire. Ginny threw her arms around Hermione's hovering head and asked, "What's happened to you? We tried calling and we must've sent you at least a dozen owls. Where have you been?"

"I've been at home Ginny and I'm alright. Nothing's happened."

"But Harry said that he went to see you in your office yesterday and you weren't there. Diggory said that you hadn't come in to work, that you were ill…"

"I'm not ill. I just told Diggory that I was unwell to avoid going in to work and to try to get out of Malfoy's party tonight. No such luck on the last bit I'm afraid."

"Well I'm glad to hear you're alright, but why on earth wouldn't you want to go to the party? The Daily Prophet has already dubbed Malfoy's Masquerade Ball 'the event of the year!'" Ginny exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes, well perhaps for Pansy Parkinson it will be…" Hermione muttered darkly.

"What are you talking about? Why would Malfoy want anything to do with Pansy sodding Parkinson? He was already married to one horrible cow of a woman. I can't imagine he'd be after another anytime soon."

"Well I know he plans to get remarried right away - he told me as much the other night after dinner – and when he does he'll lose his entire fortune, so I imagine it'll be his Gringotts account that's most interested in Pansy. After all, she is from one of the wealthiest pureblood families in the country…"

"Wait. He loses his fortune if he gets remarried?"

"That's what he said," Hermione confirmed.

"Explain to me why the world's wealthiest bachelor would risk losing his fortune only so he could marry someone like Pansy Parkinson to get it all back. That doesn't make any sense," Ginny persisted.

"I don't know! He said that he 'didn't want to waste another minute,'" Hermione echoed his words glumly. "Perhaps he and Pansy have been secretly dating for the past five years. I'm sure she would have no scruples about trying to steal someone else's husband. Merlin, maybe Pansy is the one behind Malfoy's wife's mysterious 'accident…'

"Hermione! Stop that right now. You're being ridiculous," Ginny remonstrated. "If he really is interested in Pansy, for whatever reason, then why would he try so hard to spend so much time with you? Do you really believe that Malfoy would go this far out of his way just to hurt you?"

"He's just being his usual selfish-"

"You don't really believe that! I know how devastated you were when he was forced to marry someone else-"

"I wasn't-"

"Don't bother denying it Hermione, you weren't fooling anyone then and you're certainly not fooling me now. He loves you Hermione and you may not be able to admit it yet, but I know that you still love him too."

"I don't-"

"Hermione Jean Granger," Ginny said, adopting a perfect imitation of her mother's voice, "will you stop being so bloody stubborn for once? Come with us to the party. Hear him out. If Malfoy turns out to be as horrible as you say he is then I've got a bat-bogey hex with his name on it, okay?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed grudgingly, quelled by Ginny's fierce gaze. "I'll meet you there at eight."

"Why don't you come over here and spend the afternoon getting ready with Luna and me?" Ginny offered.

"No thanks Ginny, if I'm going to be attending a masquerade ball this evening I had better go out and buy myself a costume. I'll see you all later," she said, sounding thoroughly depressed as she ended the call.

A few hours later, after a long hot shower and several procrastinatory cups of tea (during which time she read and reread Malfoy's brief missive so many times the parchment had become damp from the steam,) Hermione found herself standing outside a familiar little shop bearing the sign: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Resigning herself to an evening full of heartbreak, hurt and humiliation, Hermione sighed and entered the shop.

"Good afternoon Ms. Granger," a smiling Madame Malkin greeted Hermione. "What can I help you with today?"

"I was hoping you could help me find some last minute dress robes for Malfoy's masquerade ball this evening," Hermione replied without enthusiasm.

"My, you are cutting it rather close," Madam Malkin said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "and I was planning to close up shop a bit early this evening as I've still got several alterations to finish before the delivery elves make their final rounds," she said, gesturing to the large pile of robes in front of her that she was feverishly bespelling with any number of unknown charms while she spoke, "but I suppose I can spare a few minutes for you, Ms. Granger," she smiled as she disentangled herself from her work. Perking up a bit, she walked around the counter, grasped Hermione's hand and added, "I'm sure we'll be able to find you something lovely for the ball."

Hermione was far less optimistic, but thanked Madame Malkin profusely all the same as she allowed the older woman to lead her around the small shop.

Rack after rack of robes in every possible style and color was magicked onto Hermione's person over the next half hour, but all seemed to be lacking in one way or another. It wasn't that she was being overly picky, at least not on purpose (though if she was honest with herself, there was a small part of her that wanted to look spectacular if for no other reason than to give Draco one last look at what he'll be missing if really intended to marry someone like Pansy Parkinson). It's just that every dress she tried was either the wrong cut or the wrong color; the styles were all inappropriate in the extreme – the most ostentatious of which was covered head to toe in genuine peacock feathers – while the more conservative styles made Hermione look as though she'd be attending a funeral rather than a masked ball. The strangest part was that not one of the gowns, no matter how hideous, was the correct size. Madam Malkin insisted that though she would love to be able to help Hermione, she simply didn't have the time to finish any additional alterations before the ball which was now only a few hours away.

Nodding in understanding and cursing herself for her own stupidity, Hermione made to leave the shop. She had no idea where to go from here. Most of the shops in Diagon Ally would already be closed for the evening since a majority of their patrons and even a few members of their staff would be readying themselves for the evening's festivities at Malfoy Manor. She supposed that she could try a muggle shop, but remembered that she wasn't carrying any muggle money with her and Gringotts closed early on Fridays.

Feeling as though her spirits couldn't possibly sink any lower, Hermione slowly ambled across the cobblestone street when she heard Madam Malkin shout, "Wait!" over her shoulder, effectively stopping her in her tracks. When she turned to look at the shopkeeper she noticed that although Madam Malkin had drawn the curtains and placed the 'closed' sign in the window, she was frantically waving Hermione back into the shop and her face had split into a wide grin. Hermione tentatively walked back across the street.

"I just remembered that I recently received a sample gown from a largely unknown American designer looking to develop a new line of formal dress robes here in Europe," she explained as she ushered Hermione inside. "I've been so busy that I haven't even had time to open the box, but I'll bet galleons to gargoyles that you'll fit into a sample size!" She was practically singing in sudden delight as she bounded into the back room to retrieve the gown.

Hermione hardly dared to breathe while she waited for Madam Malkin to return. She was too afraid to hope that something might actually go right for her today. She didn't know what she would do it this dress didn't fit. The one thing she did know was that if she never had to bother with ridiculous dress robes again after tonight, she would die a happy witch.

She impatiently drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited. There was a lot of muttering and several crashes coming from the back room and she craned her neck over the counter to try to see what Madam Malkin could possibly be doing. At long last, with a large box in her arms and a triumphant smile on her face, Madam Malkin returned.

"Here it is," she trilled happily as she set the box on the counter and carefully lifted the lid.

Hermione had to stifle a gasp when she first glimpsed the glittering gown before her. It was ivory-colored, but had a thin layer of gauzy, silvery material over the top that was covered with lace accents and intricate beading that caused the dress to sparkle when it caught the light. Hermione felt that it wasn't right to refer to such a beautiful garment as merely a dress; this was an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved, floor length, empire waist, Renaissance-style work of art.

With a wave of her wand, Madam Malkin levitated the dress out of its box and with another flick, lowered in onto Hermione's body. The effect was stunning. This gown seemed to have been made for her. The fit was absolutely perfect - it looked as though Hermione had been poured into the dress - and it was exactly her taste. She couldn't have asked for a more beautiful gown if she'd designed it herself.

Hermione felt a little bit like Cinderella, the heroine of one her favorite muggle children's stories, as Madam Malkin flitted around the room like her very own fairy godmother, fussing over a perfect pair of silver heels and supplying her with an ornate matching silver mask. The final touch, which Hermione thought was a stroke of pure genius on Madam Malkin's part, was a pair of opalescent fairy wings which she'd transfigured from an extra piece of fabric lying around the shop.

"Madam Malkin, you're amazing!" Hermione exclaimed in delight as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. "How can I ever thank you?"

"Don't thank me, my dear," Madam Malkin said kindly, "just get to that ball and leave me to finish my work before my other customers start sending me howlers."

Hermione looked rather sheepish as Madam Malkin whipped the dress off of her just as quickly as she'd gotten it on, levitated it, along with the shoes and mask, back into the box and handed the huge parcel to Hermione.

"What do I owe you for all of this?" Hermione asked, cringing at the thought.

"Nothing, my dear," the shop keeper said with a mischievous smile, "everything has already been paid for."

"But, who…? How…?" Hermione spluttered incoherently, but Madam Malkin didn't answer. She simply smiled and silently bowed her from the shop.

A/N: Clearly this isn't the end of the story and it will not be completed in seven chapters as I had originally hoped. I've added so many details to what was supposed to be a really simple plot line that it was impossible to cram everything into one final chapter. I just can't seem to stop writing this story!

Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors – this was completely un beta-ed and it is now almost three o'clock in the morning where I am so there's a good chance I missed some stuff.

This is what I pictured for Hermione's final ball gown - http: / data. whicdn. com/ images/6841159 / 5412950491_85bdd67160_z_thumb. jpg? 1296747497 (remove the spaces). It's the dress Drew Barrymore wore in the ball scene in the film 'Ever After.'

I'll make no promises for when the next (and definitely last!) chapter will be posted because by now we all know that I'd be lying anyway.

Please, please, please review. It really does make me write faster, I swear!