Part 9: Nine Ladies Dancing
Hermione entered the fifth row of the balcony from the far left aisle long after the Minister of Magic had begun addressing the employees of the Ministry and the members of the Wizengamot at their annual fourth quarter meeting. Draco had saved her a seat on the aisle, near the wall. As she sat down, he looked at her concerned, because it appeared she had been crying.
He frowned, leaned toward her and whispered, "What's wrong?"
"Sh, be quiet," she whispered back. "The Minister's speaking."
"I don't bloody well care," he spouted. "What wrong?"
"Nothing," she whimpered. "I'm fine."
The other three members of her staff turned to look at her from their seats in front of them. Terry leaned back, his arm across Hannah's chair, and he said, "Why were you late? You almost missed the Minister's Christmas presentation."
She merely shook her head at Terry and then looked down at her lap. Terry looked over at Draco and said, "Find out what's wrong." He turned back toward the podium, where the Minister was droning on and on about something idiotic. Hannah turned to look at her quickly, too. She leaned over, touched Hermione's knee and smiled. Hermione turned her head to the wall, crossed her arms in front of her, and tried to hold back her tears.
The morning had started out good enough. Actually, it had started out very good indeed. Draco had brought Hermione bagels and coffee. When he handed them to her, he told her she looked like a dream… 'a dream dressed all in cream,' he had told her, because she had on a cream-coloured, turtleneck, cashmere sweater dress. He couldn't remember the last time she looked so beautiful.
She held up one foot and asked him if he liked her shoes as well. He said they were 'fetching'. She told him they were her 'dancing shoes'. He laughed and told her that was good, because she would need them to wade through all the muck and shite that they would have to listen to during the fourth quarterly meeting of the Ministry of Magic.
She stood up, crossed behind him, and whispered, "I hope I get to do more dancing than that today."
Draco thought she was a crafty little witch, the way she was eluding to the 'Nine Ladies Dancing'. He also really did think she looked beautiful today. She looked pretty every day, but today she looked incredible. She looked so soft and inviting. He wanted to reach out, touch her, hold her and most of all, kiss her.
He had a very nice evening planned for them…very romantic. He had planned dinner and dancing, at a swanky Muggle dinner club. There was going to be only eight other couples there, and they would be the ninth. He knew that it had nothing to do with 'Nine Ladies Dancing' since the dancing would be done between men and women, but the evening did involve dancing, so he thought it was going to be a successful 'Nine Ladies Dancing'.
He no longer cared to hide his identity as 'her true love' from the notes and gifts. She knew he was the gift giver and that she was 'his true love', and they both seemed fine with that fact. It made it easier, really. He wasn't sure how he would have interrupted 'Nine Ladies Dancing' if he had still had to hide his identity. Perhaps something with marionette puppets or something. Yes, tonight would be so much better than marionettes.
Therefore, overall, he was excited for this evening, and she had seemed excited this morning. All they had to do was to get through this annual quarterly meeting of all of the departments of the Ministry and the Wizengamot, which usually took two to three hours, and then they were free to start their evening.
On their way down to the auditorium a young messenger, who handed her a note, stopped her. She told her staff to go on without her, but to save her a seat. They went to their usual spot, upper left hand balcony, far side, near the wall, almost to the very back. There were only a handful of seats left. Draco told Boot, Abbot and Croxley to take three seats in one row, while he saved the two seats behind them for himself and Hermione.
Then he waited, and worried, while the meeting started and Hermione never appeared. He almost left twice to go look for her. Finally, partway into the Minister's final speech, she appeared.
Now here she sat, sniffling, her head turned toward the wall, and for all intents and purposes, terribly upset about something. God help the person who had upset Hermione Granger on the night Draco Malfoy had planned to take her out to dinner and dancing. And may the devil curse the person who made her cry on a day when she had looked so pretty.
He would not hassle her, or embarrass her, by demanding to know what was wrong right now. Instead, he would try to make her happy. It was the least he could do, besides he was slightly bored. He hated these meetings and the Minister was a boring chap and a bit of a loon as well. Draco placed his right arm across the back of her chair and let his thumb rub against her shoulder. Just a slight movement, to let her know that he was there, and that he cared. He moved it back and forth, back and forth.
She shifted slightly in her chair. Instead of shifting away from him, she turned slightly toward him. Then, in an act that shocked him, she turned completely toward him, scooted closer still, and placed her head on his shoulder. There were people all around them! Anyone might see them! Seriously, Draco was elated, but had she forgotten her hard fast rules about what she once called 'public displays of affection' while at work? It was something she used to harp at Weasley about every time he would try to kiss her cheek or pinch her bum while at work. She would yell at him and tell him that there was no room for 'public displays of affection' while at work, and that it was unprofessional! Then she usually called him an idiot.
Yet, she was not calling Draco an idiot, and she wasn't pushing him away, as she placed her head on his shoulder. He reached over with his free hand and picked up her hand, holding it firm. He pulled her closer, and whispered, "Shall we leave?"
She shook her head no.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Again, a no.
"Did someone die?" He found that a profound possibility.
Another no.
"Did you kill someone?" He actually found that one a possibility, too.
She looked up at him with a look of anger and confusion. He smiled. Then she smiled, too. Then she shook her head no again.
He whispered low, "Did someone kill you?" He was trying to make light of the situation, help her to smile. He said that one as a joke.
Imagine his shock when she slowly shook her head yes to that question. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't ask any other questions. He just continued to hold her lightly. He could hardly pull her into his arms, kiss her, and do all the things he really wanted to do to comfort her, as they were at work, with hundreds of other people around them.
Damn the person who hurt her straight to hell! Damn the person who ruined this day for them both. He turned his face slightly toward hers. She was looking down, her left hand still in his left hand, her right hand pulling at her cashmere sweater dress. He looked around to see if anyone was watching them. It was dark in the assembly. They were high in a balcony. They were in the third from the last row. No one was watching.
He kept his right hand on her back, but drew it downward slightly, to rest between her back and the hard back of the uncomfortable chair. He began to draw lazy circles and designs on her back.
She shivered. Was she cold, or was his touch having the same influence on her that it was having on him? Still holding her hand with his other, he leaned closer still and with her ear so close to his mouth that each word thereon, each syllable, felt like a whispered kiss, he said, "Guess the Christmas symbol I'm drawing on your back."
He rubbed his thumb back and forth on her back twice more before he took the index finger of the same hand and he began to draw a Christmas tree. He even topped it with a star. Merlin, he could feel the lace of her camisole under her sweater. When he was done, he leaned close again and said, "Well?"
"A tree," she said in a hushed tone.
With his lips on her ear he whispered, "One point for you." He felt as if he was melting by her mere presence. She smelled so good. She was warm. SHE WAS SOFT!
He leaned away, swallowed hard, and drew his hand off her shoulder again to bring his index finger back down her back. This time he made elaborate strokes, albeit small ministrations. His mouth at her ear when he finished, he asked, "What now, Granger? Can you guess?"
Her eyes closed, her head still down. Her breathing was somewhat erratic. She turned her face slightly toward his, and with her eyes still firmly shut, she sighed and on the cusp of that sigh came the answer, "A snowflake."
"You're good. So very, very good," he responded. The Minister of Magic was wrapping up his speech and was beginning to talk about the Christmas holidays. Draco looked around a bit, ascertained that no one was watching, and with the same naughty index finger he drew a line straight down from the collar of the turtleneck, where the material of her sweater began to roll, to the base of her spine, his finger following each notch of her spine exactly.
Then he splayed his hand out wide on the small of her back. His left hand was on her lap, holding her left hand, and she squeezed it hard. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He exhaled and said, "What was that?" He didn't even try to whisper that time.
She looked on the verge of tears again. She shook her head slightly, to show that she didn't know, or that she didn't care. She bit her bottom lip and said, "I don't know."
This time he closed his eyes. His hand stayed on her lower back, his thumb again moving back and forth. "Make a guess or I automatically win, Granger," he chided softly.
"A peppermint stick?" she asked.
He nodded. He turned his head forward when he heard Boot clear his throat. Terry looked his way and said, "It's over, Malfoy, Hermione. The Minister wished us all a Happy Christmas and said that we could start our Holiday early and leave."
Draco let go of her hand, removed it from her lap, but kept his other hand on her back. She leaned back in her seat, trapping it. Terry told them goodbye and wished them a nice holiday. So did Hannah and other one. Yet Hermione and Draco remained seated, where they were. When there were only a few stragglers here and there on the floor of the Wizengamot, Draco finally took her hand again, and brought his other hand back around her shoulder.
"What happened earlier?" he asked in a normal tone. "Why were you late?"
She tried to stand, but he grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back to the chair. Fine, he could wait her out. She would tell him. He wouldn't let her leave until she did.
That was what he did. Soon, everyone left, and the room was thrown into darkness as the lights around the large arena began to extinguish. There were still a few lit sconces in the balcony, which were charmed to extinguish when everyone left that area, but since Draco and Hermione remained seated, the candles remained lit.
In his normal, haughty voice, Draco stood up, looked down at her and said, "Tell me what happened, or I'll hex your arse into next week, Granger." He drew his wand. He really didn't know what else to do. He wasn't good at being sensitive. This was him, and how he acted, and she knew that.
"Harry told Ron about you and me, and he assumes now that I broke up with him because I was seeing you on the side. He sent the note around, to see me before the meeting," she explained. She stood up and suddenly her sadness evaporated, replaced by anger.
"He accused me of being unfaithful to him! My stars, Malfoy, I've been in love with him since I was 12 years old! For 15 long years, I've loved him! In the beginning I waited years and years for him even to notice me, and then I waited longer still for him finally to admit he felt the same! I waited the longest time ever for him finally to make a commitment last year and consent to become engaged! How could he dare to question my loyalty and devotion to him?"
"But Granger, he has a point," Draco said slowly. She gave him an angry look and he added, "Well, think about it. Yes, we've not even really examined if we have anything yet, but you did say you broke up with him because of that bloody pear I gave you that first day. If you were so loyal and devoted to him, could a piece of fruit really break you up?"
She stood in front of him, mouth open, indignant to a fault, when suddenly, her shoulders sagged, and she sat back down. "You're right. I can't believe it. Draco Malfoy is right about something!"
"Repeat that, please, because I don't think I've ever heard Hermione Granger say that about me before," he requested.
She mumbled, "And you'll never hear it again." She frowned. "I broke up with him because of that damn pear."
"You gave up a fruit for a fruit," Draco joked. "Scoot over." She moved to the next seat and he sat beside her. "Why are you sad about it?"
"I guess I hate that I hurt him. I guess that I'm uncertain as to where you and I stand. I don't want to be alone for Christmas," she rambled. She rubbed one hand over her face.
"Scoot back out," he ordered as he stood.
She gave him a funny look, but then she moved from the seat and stood in the aisle beside him, next to the wall. He used his wand and with one swipe, all the chairs on the balcony moved to one side. He concentrated for a moment, closed one eye, and then flicked his wand, and the floor leveled from the stair-step balcony that it was, to a level 'dance floor'.
"You're good at transfiguration," she remarked.
"If that impresses you, then wait and see, missy," he responded.
With another swish of his wand, music began. "May I have this dance?" he asked. He took her hand and pulled her out toward the middle of the upper balcony. They began to dance. The sound of their feet on the raised floor the only sound they could hear above the music.
Holding her so close in his arms, he couldn't remember feeling more desperate his entire life. His passion and hunger for her could not forever go unconsummated. She had allowed him in, invited him to her, really, and now that he had her within his arms, and in his life, he knew he couldn't let her go.
It was a daunting feeling, at best. His hands were gliding her across the floor, one on her back, one holding her hand to his chest, and she was relaxed and almost buoyant in his arms. They seemed to float on air.
Her arms went up around his neck, to twine tightly there, her fingers playing lightly with the wisps of hair at his collar. His hand clasped low on her back. Her cheek went to his chest. His rested on her curls. It was so perfect.
At least it was until the song ended. Time stopped, suspended in an eerie sequence of events…she looked up at him, he down at her, and his mouth covered hers, and he felt instant exuberance and joy mingled with raw pain and desire. He deepened the kiss, his tongue leaving his mouth to move across her lips, then inside her mouth. She moaned and her tongued danced with his as surely as their bodies danced together only moments before.
Then she pushed him away. He felt hurt and pain, which resembled what she must have felt earlier. She threw her arms back around him and said, "Draco." That was all she said. Just his name. Just Draco.
She began to cry again. He hated it when women cried. He didn't understand half of the reasons why they did, or how it helped anything, or what they wanted men to do about it, but he held her and let her cry. When her tears were gone, she asked, "Will you take me home?"
Would he? He didn't want to take her dancing now. He didn't want to take her home either. He didn't know what he wanted, except that he knew he wanted her. Sure, she ruined his plans for 'Nine Ladies Dancing' or maybe he ruined it, or on further inspection, all blame could possibly, probably, be placed at the feet of Ron 'the vermin' Weasley, but none of that mattered. Today was still perfect, at least to him. He wondered if she knew how perfect it had ended.
He was about to apologize for the fact that the 'Ninth day of Christmas' was ruined when she placed her hands on his shoulders, stood with her breasts pressed against his chest, feet on tiptoes, and she said in his ear, in a whisper (as if anyone was still around to hear), "This was the best of all the days yet, Draco, my true love. Thank you for my Nine Ladies Dancing. I loved it."
Huh. She loved it. That meant she thought it was perfect, too.
