"Do you think she'll accept her invitation?"
"Who?" Draco asked, pulled out of his deep thoughts by Blaise's abrupt entrance.
Blaise pulled off his cloak and flung it on the bed, before following suit and staring at the ceiling. "Lavender."
"You told me she's Granger's non-Ministry right hand witch, didn't you?" He watched, perplexed, as the dark skinned wizard slid off the bed and began to pace. "Why are you so nervous?"
Blaise shot him a warning look as he continued walking back and forth across the largest rug in Draco's bedroom.
"Why don't you just ask her? She's your contact, isn't she?"
"She won't even have lunch with me," Blaise mumbled.
"And?" But Draco knew suddenly. He couldn't help but gape at his friend. "Brown, seriously?"
Blaise whirled around, immediately glaring. "She's bloody beautiful, Draco, you shut your gob!"
He held up his hands in the universal 'I'm harmless' gesture. "I'm not saying anything of the sort. I only meant, didn't she used to date Weasley?"
"Granger's dating Weasley!" Blaise pointed out rather crossly.
Draco grunted. He didn't really need the reminder. "So our witches have bad taste. Everyone is terrible compared to us though."
The other wizard seemed mollified by this, and resumed his path from one end of the room to the other.
"Why are you worked up, anyway? She doesn't exactly have blokes beating down her door." At the look Blaise gave him, Draco added, "Look mate, wizards are shallow. Maybe she wasn't hungry when you asked her to lunch."
Blaise thought about this, then shook his head. "No, she's too polite to refuse unless she thought she had to. What can I do? I was thinking about buying her a dress for the event, perhaps a lavender one to remind her who she used to be."
Draco wondered if this is what he had looked like to Blaise. Frantic, spouting nonsense, baffled by the most obvious answer.
"I can't believe this is the same wizard that set me straight." He shook his head in disappointment.
Blaise stopped, looking at first surprised, then irritated again. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not getting in a great big row with her over stupid house elves."
Draco took a seat, casually looking at his nails. "Listen to yourself. Buying her pretty things, wishing she were back to the same silly witch. Why don't you buy her cheap, excessive amounts of cosmetics as well, she used to favor those."
"It's a testament to our friendship that I'm waiting to hex you." Blaise crossed his arms, tapping one polished cap toe oxford.
Draco would admit he had a flair for the dramatic, so he drew out the silence until Blaise looked as if he were about to hex him anyway. "She's a changed witch, literally carrying scars from the war. She doesn't need grand gestures, she needs patience. She doesn't need you to wax on how she's beautiful, she needs to believe it herself before she'll ever hear you."
Blaise stared at him, previous threats hopefully forgotten. He didn't even speak at first. When he did, it was in a much subdued voice. "What should I do?"
Draco almost sighed in satisfaction. There was nothing better than being asked just those words. "Tone it down, Blaise. You've never been turned down before." Bloody lucky werewolf. Draco was stuck being physically repulsed by the most basic of foreplay, while the other wizard spent his formative years rutting with every pretty Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
Draco continued. "Let her know you're interested, but for Salazar's sake, don't resent her if she's not ready."
"I didn't mean I wanted teenage Lavender. I like this Lavender a lot more. I don't see the scars, I wish she didn't either."
"Some marks from the war are all you can see when you look in the mirror." Draco couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he subconsciously rubbed the inside of his forearm.
Poor wizard looked almost forlorn. "I think she's my Mate, Draco."
This is why Draco had always been closer with Crabbe and Goyle, they never had to have any heart to heart conversations. On the other hand, they would have stupidly nodded and grunted while Draco made a complete arse of himself with Granger, so.
He rang for tea, standing up again and looking out at the wondrous view of the Manor grounds. "I've given this a lot of thought. The problem with finding your Mate is that maybe you're not ready at first. Maybe she won't be ready when you are. We live a long time. Nobody said it would happen right off."
Blaise was quiet for a while. It was a sobering fact, that they might just keep on living without the person they wanted so bad.
Draco half-spoke to himself. "That is the price we pay for knowing who's perfect for us."
Blaise joined him, looking out the window. "That's massively depressing, Draco."
"I know. The truth often is, isn't it?"
The truth was that Draco had a very real and looming deadline to win his Chosen Mate over. That was troubling him.
"Everyone gets cold feet, dear," Molly Weasley said practically as she set out a row of freshly baked buns to cool in the window.
The other children - young adults now, actually - were off playing their Quidditch game. Ron had convinced Ginny to play for his side, and George graciously sided with Harry. Luna was watching them, and Seamus and Neville rounded out the game.
It was actually wonderful to see them acting so carefree together, heading out into the beautiful weekend day with brooms in their hand and playful jibes on their tongue.
Hermione stayed behind, and nobody expected her to do anything less. It was the perfect opportunity to ask Molly for some advice. The woman had been married for decades, mothered seven children, and buried one.
"Did you?" Hermione asked, nibbling on the plate of almond biscuits that had been set in front of her.
"Of course!" Molly smiled at her. "I was young once too. I know it may be hard to believe, but I was as athletic as Ginny was. I always did well in school, and was quite popular. We were in the middle of a war, and I worried that I was rushing into marriage with Arthur. He was my school sweetheart, like Ron and you."
They weren't quite dating in school, but Hermione nodded, fascinated by this new picture of plump and motherly Molly Weasley.
"It was a difficult time. My brothers were always risking their lives. Why, I even slapped Lucius Malfoy for pulling me aside and suggesting I wise up and dissociate myself from my blood traitor family and boyfriend."
"What?" Hermione gasped and laughed, imagining Lucius's aristocratic shock replete with a red hand mark on one cheek.
"My point is, I had plenty of doubts about our future, but anything can be overcome with love. Now," she passed a full tray of tall pumpkin juice along the table, "take these out to the others and give the wizard you love a good snog."
Hermione nodded slowly as she took out her wand and made the tray float by her side. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
"Call me Mum, please." Molly offered again, fondly.
Hermione left with a smile and decided that she would accept the invitation with Ron as her plus one.
Anything can be overcome with love, she liked that.
The designer wizard had truly outdone himself, the Manor never looked better.
Tiny pinpoints of light dotted the walkways leading up to the front doors and around the paths in the garden.
A pretty witch answered the door for each guest, taking their invitation and announcing them with a spell far more subtle than Sonorus. It could be heard in every room, but the volume was pleasant.
Every inch of the foyer has been polished, and a new silver statue of a slim witch stood by waiting to receive cloaks. Once in her hands it would disappear, and only reappear for the owner of said item.
The formal drawing room was within sight for those interested in playing cards and enjoying frostgin and firewhiskey. The oak paneling complimented the burgundy and forest-green touches, tall inlaid bookshelves giving the room a surprisingly accessible appeal.
Thick bronze doors led into the Grand Ballroom, which had been redone with Italian marble flooring, and a private elevator in the corner went up to a rooftop terrace. Draco had specifically suggested fritillaries, tulips and camassia, to cover all his bases depending on what color Hermione wore tonight.
The portico had been expanded to wrap around the northeast corner of the house, and did indeed boast a stage. It was unbelievably picturesque at night, between the German-silver floor hammered by hand over wood, the slim pillars, and brocade silk ceiling that was enchanted to look like the starriest night ever seen while standing under it.
It felt like a new house. Narcissa had the library renovated in a similar style to the formal drawing room. Neither of them said it, but all the familiar furnishings, save for the books, were now gone, leaving the library unrecognizable for a reason.
Many guests had arrived by the time it was just growing dark, the curious and those who pretended the last two years simply hadn't happened.
Blaise had briefed him enough on the inner workings of Granger's werewolf organization that he could pay lip service when they enquired about it.
Not that half of them cared, but he stressed the building shelter for those afflicted, instead of leaving them to, ahem, roam the countryside.
A good Slytherin twisted facts enough to create appeal for their listener, rather than make the listener change their views.
Other names were announced, names that weren't hers. He made his rounds, being charming and droll in turns when the questions became pedantic.
Witches and wizards would arrive all night, depending on how much of an appearance they wanted to make. Draco had assumed Granger would arrive promptly, but it turned out he was wrong.
"Draco Malfoy, what a sight you've become."
Draco turned around, raising his eyebrows at Mrs. Zabini.
Much like her son she had sharply good-looking features, and her silver robe shimmered in the light against her dark skin.
"Thank you, Mrs. Zabini. Are you here to support a community in need?" he asked neutrally, knowing that the Zabini's were not registered as werewolves.
He couldn't even indicate it in tone, too many close observers milling about looking for gossip.
She smiled, plucking a flute of elf-made wine from a passing tray. "I always support the less fortunate. Blaise has meeting with the Brown heiress often for the same reason."
"Ahh." He wasn't sure how to take the melodious drawl to her voice. The Brown's were not considered blood traitors, despite their daughter's obvious choices in war.
Lavender would actually be a decent catch for a Pureblood wizard.
"It's so refreshing to see a young man have philanthropic interests."
Draco nodded, attempting to listen to the next announcement, but he missed the last several names. However, this had to be a difficult party for Mrs. Zabini, hearing the insensitive murmurs about an affliction she shared.
He was well aware that even the families that offered monetary support to W.A.G. did not do so because it seemed important. At an event like this, one donated to remind others they they were important.
"Mrs. Zabini, have you seen your son?" He figured Blaise was around the entrance, drinking and hovering in hopes of accidentally bumping into Lavender.
"Mm, yes. That's why I came to find you, he's holed himself up in the library. I couldn't convince him to come out. I hope you have better luck." She smiled cloyingly sweet at him and drifted back into the crowd.
Draco cursed under his breath.
He cursed again as he wound his way through the growing crowd. Did Blaise give up on her appearing, or did he overhear an especially cruel comment about werewolves?
Draco was just discovering that Blaise had feelings, so he thought on how to approach this.
He didn't see anybody in the library right off, but it was quite massive. He walked further in to check the brown leather sofas or the window alcoves.
There was a soft thud as the doors closed. Draco leaned out of the alcove, noticing the double doors were closed. He had left them ajar.
Before Draco could step away, he had a sweetly smiling, black-haired witch right in front of him.
"Mrs. Zabini." It was just her, thank Salazar. "I haven't seen Blaise. Perhaps he rejoined the party."
"Maybe. Maybe he was just looking for you and I forgot." She sighed, raising her sultry dark eyes to him. "You're wonderfully unaffected by me. I like that in a young man."
Draco's first thought was that she was being a bit egotistical. Not a surprise, but still.
Then he remembered.
Blaise went on and on about Scent. Ergo, Mrs. Zabini thought he wasn't affected by her because...
He wasn't affected by her, but it didn't mean what she might be hoping.
"Mrs. Zabini, I've merely been holding it in. Tightly." He smiled at her, a hint of her saccharine sweet in his twist of lips.
"Why don't we find out?" She displayed her white teeth in a predatory smile, hands smoothing over his robe's lapels. "Either way, we both win."
He couldn't actually go back any further, lest he topple into the alcove. And he had a bad feeling about letting that happen.
While he was formulating a firm way to put his friend's mum off, he completely missed the click and swish of the doors opening. He really only had one thought on his mind.
What was keeping his witch?
Author's Notes:
I think Hermione is a wonderfully strong and smart witch. But anyone can be uncertain and settle.
We so often see Draco being the one saved, but sometimes, sometimes I think it's Hermione who needs the saving.
That was poignant! XD Looks like Draco needs some saving at the moment! Enjoy the cliffhanger lovelies, and thank you so much for all your reviews! I am feeling much better for those that wished me well, and for the ones eager for an update, ta-da!
