Chapter Thirteen: Whispers In The Night
(A week later: December 24th)
Part 1: Never leave home without your wand
It was Christmas Eve and Draco was bored to bits, but he sipped his wine and listened to the idle chatter of the older heavy-set wizard whose name he could not remember if his life depended on it.
Was it Stamford or Samuel or Stanford? Oh hell, he didn't know.
"...the elves did a splendid job on the ballroom..."
And they had, Draco admitted with a casual nod of his head.
The party was going great. His mother had enamoured everyone so much with the spectacular beauty and splendour of the ballroom that not a single one of their one hundred guests had asked about his father's whereabouts, to their utmost relief.
But the night wasn't over.
The lively, conversation-filled ballroom screamed of the Malfoys' level of sophistication and their dedication to their Slytherin house, decorated in a silver and green theme with hints of holly red.
It was the soirée of the year and everyone dressed to impress. Witches and wizards, donned in the most expensive and prized robes, looked around the room in complete amazement.
Entertainment and distractions abounded for all: dancing, star-gazing on the terrace, gossiping about other witches, catching an unsuspecting sod under enchanted mistletoe, making new acquaintances, conversing amongst themselves, and making donations to one of the charities the family endorsed. Charmed candles hovered high above the ground and gave the room a more intimate feel. Garland wreaths of different types and styles hung on the walls. Christmas-themed ice-sculptures were strategically placed by the full bar. Plates of desserts and Christmas treats floated around the room. Music poured from the ten-piece orchestra they had hired to provide live entertainment for the event.
And then there was the traditional Malfoy blue spruce Christmas tree that stood twenty-five feet off the ground. It was heavily and beautifully decorated with silver bulbs, white lights, and silver garland.
The entire room looked like a Christmas decorator's wet dream.
And Draco Malfoy was ready for it to be over.
He hadn't seen his mother since the soirée began, but that wasn't unusual. Everyone sought his mother out for a variety of reasons: extending their compliments, regular conversation, and seeing to it that their name rose in high society. It was the whole 'ride on the coattails of someone else to achieve their means' mentality. Draco knew a social climber when he saw one. Stamford or Samuel or Stanford or whatever the hell his name was, fit the definition of a social climber.
"...where is your father? I haven't seen him much in society."
Draco nearly cringed, but held it together as he repeated their constructed cover story for the very first time in a refined and superior tone, "He's in Sicily on a personal sabbatical. I trust he'll return to the Manor in the morning."
There was a pregnant pause as the man processed Draco's excuse, but then he smiled understandingly, to Draco's immediate and internal relief. "I, too, go on a sabbatical every year to Denmark. It's the home of my ancestors."
Draco fought off the urge to yawn. He was highly bored with the conversation, but never let it show.
"...I must say the pastries are exquisite..."
Somehow he hid his disgust at the stout man who had grabbed an entire tray of treats and helped himself to quite a few. There were sixteen things he wanted to say to the man, but he said nothing. After all, as the acting head of the Malfoy family, he was to be on his best behaviour.
"...my personal healer says I shouldn't eat too many sweets, but I can't get enough of them..."
Clearly.
Instead of verbally voicing his opinions to the heavyset man, Draco nodded along.
He was on a pedestal for all to see and he had to act accordingly. He was being watched like a hawk and surveyed like cattle, but Draco was used to it. Even though his successful job as a prosecutor had boosted him up on the respect ladder, Draco was used to people staring at his arms when we wore shorter sleeves to see if the dark mark was still there. As if he'd show them the gradually fading mark with pride, rather than keep it concealed under a glamour charm! Did they think he was some sort of idiot? He may have an idiot in his youth, but time had been kind to him. Time had changed him. Time had turned him into a wiser man.
Not that it mattered.
Not that anything mattered.
No matter how many leaps and bounds he'd made over the years, the wizarding world seemed split on how they felt about him.
Some thought he was still like his father, both in appearance and character. Some thought he was responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore, despite his vindication. Some thought of him as an innocent boy who got caught up in correcting the sins of his father. Some people liked him. Some feared him. Some thought he'd done remarkably well, following the war. Some criticized him for his cool and distant demeanour. Some didn't care. Some cared too much.
Nevertheless, no matter what the public thought of him, Draco understood quite a few things.
Everything he and his mother did tonight would be judged by the rest of the upper class families, as well as everyone in the wizarding world. Everything they said would be repeated, dissected, and scrutinized by every person in the room; not to mention the press. It had been over five years since the final battle, but there were still a few who wanted to bring them down in a public manner, no matter how many wrongs they'd righted. Every person he associated with, especially Draco's date, would be watched closely for any sign of tactlessness and impropriety. Pansy and Blaise were subjected to the same level of scrutiny, but Draco never worried about them.
They could hold their own and they would never disgrace his family or their own.
After all, Pansy was bred to walk, talk, smile, and behave like the perfect Pureblood princess; and it helped that she was respected in high society because of her job. She wasn't the brightest witch of their age, but she was more than a just pretty face. In fact, Pansy was extremely cunning in the sense that she used power and her influences to intimidate others. Not one person in the room could intimidate Pansy Parkinson; and they damn well knew it.
Blaise, like Pansy, was well-bred and well-liked because of his job as an Auror. The funny thing was, Blaise was a lot more private and had a cooler disposition than Draco, but he never got criticized.
People genuinely liked Blaise. He was clever, intelligent, and enigmatic - when he wanted to be. It really helped that Blaise was so aware of everything, at all times. Nothing and nobody escaped his notice, and he often knew exactly what he was going to say ages before he opened his mouth. He knew who he could charm with flattery, and who he could charm with his vast knowledge. Hell, he knew who he couldn't charm at all. He read people's moods, gauged their reactions, and planned accordingly. Blaise possessed a natural ease around people that Draco didn't have.
For the most part, Draco considered himself a graceful being and with practice, he could be just as observant or at ease around everyone. The problem was that he was too impatient to bother himself with mastering the art of people-pleasing.
"...next year, you all should have life-size Gingerbread men as waiters..."
He cocked his head to the side as if he was considering the idea, "I'll have to run that by my mother."
Narcissa Black Malfoy would curse him into non-existence if he ever uttered that suggestion aloud.
"It would be wonderful. You could nibble on them if you didn't want anything on their trays..."
In general, Draco wasn't overly impressed with the human race as a whole. And while he tolerated some, there were only a select few that he genuinely liked.
Stamford or Samuel or Stanford...or whatever the hell his name was, wasn't part of the proud few. He was just as judgmental, catty, and addicted to social climbing as the rest of them. And after being subjected to a battery of questions and mindless chatter, Draco was ready for him to find a suitable dance partner and disappear. Didn't the man have a date-?
Wait, where was his date?
He polished off the rest of his wine and nodded at the gentleman, "If you'll excuse me, I have to find my date."
The man looked over Draco's shoulder and smirked, "I think she's already found you."
His head whirled around at that and sure enough, there she was; his date for the evening.
Her name was Natalie Christenson and while she was a stunning blond beauty in Slytherin green dress robes, she was also very insipid. She was a half-blood witch from an extremely wealthy family he'd met at the beginning of a charity ball three weeks before. They exchanged a few letters, he took her out to dinner once with Pansy (who immediately hated her and told him that he should take Granger to the soirée because Natalie wouldn't know how to conduct herself), and then there was that disaster of last Sunday's brunch last week on the veranda at Malfoy Manor with his mother.
Cloudy grey eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the argument with his mother about Natalie where she gave her direct opinion of the blond witch:
"What do you think?"
Narcissa Malfoy stared at him evenly, but the glint of annoyance in her blue eyes was visible, "You can't be serious about taking her to the Christmas Eve soirée."
He really wasn't serious, but defiance was his middle name and he indignantly shot back, "And why not?"
"Why not?" she repeated as if she couldn't believe he was as blind or shallow as he was; that he'd been raised better.
Draco thought she shouldn't have been surprised by his apparent shallowness.
"She's vapid and vile, Draco. She has poor table manners. For Merlin's sake, she slurps! Not only that, she has the bloody nerve to look down on everything that she determines is beneath her...and she obviously has no room to talk. That girl is nothing but a menace, a lush, and a liability in the making. She drinks enough to put down a large mammal! She's going to say or do something at the soirée that's going to sully the Malfoy name, and everything we worked for will be erased."
"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic, mother? It's just a party."
"It's not just about this party and you know that," was his mother's haughty response, "I just don't want you to get too smitten with that little savage."
It took everything in him to keep his face impassive and not snicker, but the smirk grew from the ashes of his scowl.
Of course, mother went on, "And you may not see it now, but Hermione is twice the woman she is."
The smirk fell.
After all, he already knew that. That day at the coffee shop was the jumpstart to their...whatever the hell they were.
They just watched the rain fall in silence for another hour before she mumbled that she had to leave for a physical therapy appointment. They still weren't friends when they parted ways minutes later, but things between them had definitely changed by the next morning when he received a letter from her asking if he wanted to meet at another coffee shop just outside the Ministry at noon.
He said yes.
It was the start of something new for the both of them.
For the last seven days, Draco had met Hermione Granger at noon in various coffee shops in Muggle London where they tried something different off the menu each day. She stuck to hot chocolate, while he stuck to coffee. Nothing had changed. They still were who they were.
But at the same time, things had changed.
Granger still had her defensive moments and Draco still got angry. She still looked at him strangely when he asked questions about topics that she deemed personal and he still had choice words for her. Granger infuriated him and he annoyed her. However, she didn't treat him as if he was the anti-Christ and he always thought twice whenever he wanted to hit her below the belt with a scathing comment.
Once they talked about her childhood with her parents and he watched as tears rolled down her cheeks in silence. Once they talked about his childhood, but Draco was more hesitant to discuss his parents. Granger picked that up rather quickly, but left it alone, to his relief. Once they talked about the differences between their lives. Once they talked about a completely different topic. Once they debated on politics and the aspects of house rivalry at Hogwarts.
But for the most part, they just sat, drank their beverages, looked out the window, and said nothing at all.
"Fraco! Oh, Fraco!" The odd French and German mash-up of his date's shrilled and slurred voice tore him from his thoughts, "Oh zere vou are, Fraco! I wuz looking for vou!"
Draco cringed.
Was she drunk?
Well, she sure as hell wasn't French or German, that much he knew...son of a bitch.
"Looks like someone went a little overboard with the Elf-wine," the gentleman snickered.
Draco scowled.
Natalie threw her arms around his neck and sagged against him, dropping all her body weight on him at once. "Fraco, I missed vou so mufch."
Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and steadied her, but she reeked of wine to the point where it almost made him nauseous. Her face was inches from his when she drew her head up. Hazy blues stared into annoyed greys. Natalie flashed a lazy drunk grin that sort of reminded him of that time in Fifth Year when they smuggled in Firewhiskey and Daphne got so pissed that Millicent and Tracey, who were equally as drunk, had to carry her up to their dorms, with extreme difficulty.
Fun times.
"Vou smell gwreat, Fraco, mmm..."
But having a drunken date at the most important soirée of the season wasn't fun, not at all.
The gentleman was seconds from laughing when he made his parting words, "I'll leave you two. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Fr - Draco."
The blond man seethed in rage, but there was no time for a well-executed Obliviate. Even though the old git deserved it, erasing his memory was a risk he didn't want to take and plus, he didn't have his wand. Mother, knowing how he was, had forced him to leave it in his room. No matter, there were more pressing issues at hand. He had to think and he had to think fast. Draco Malfoy needed a course of action that wouldn't implicate him, and he had about ten seconds to figure it out.
Of course, the gentleman departed for a larger group of caddy older witches.
Draco knew what his future held if the git told them about the drunken Natalie Christenson on his arm. The entire party, including his mother, would know everything. And he just couldn't allow that to happen. No, he wouldn't let that happen.
"Fraco, vou have de most boutiful eyez I have efer scene."
Draco made a face.
She'd gone from beauty queen to liability in the blink of an eye.
Once again, his mother and Pansy were correct.
"Boutiful eyez," she sang.
He groaned inwardly, holding back his own urge to vomit from the horrible smell of her breath.
Immediately, Draco flashed his trademark Malfoy smirk at the confused onlookers and made the excuse that she was light-headed from all the excitement from the evening. Stupidly, one guest said she too felt a little light-headed from the splendour and the rest of them accepted his excuse before falling back into their own conversations.
One second, he was standing there smirking with the half-conscious date on his arm and the next he was half-dragging, half-carrying the witch out the ballroom while she babbled nonsense and tried to pluck his eyelashes with her nimble fingers.
Draco just knew he was in the clear when he shut the giant ballroom door behind him.
"As remarkably clichéd as this is," the slightly humoured voice of Pansy Parkinson drawled, "Can I please be the first to say, 'I told you so'? It would give me the greatest pleasure."
It was at that moment Natalie decided she wanted out of reality and promptly blacked out. The combination of Natalie blacking out and the sound of Pansy's voice forced Draco to unceremoniously let her body drop to the ground in a heap of silky emerald robes. She broke her heel. Draco cringed, but the drunken woman didn't appear hurt. And if she was, big deal, she shouldn't have gotten pissed on Elf-wine after he specifically told her to stay away from the bar.
Stupid witch.
A female chuckle rang out and Draco cut scathing eyes in the direction of the beautifully dressed and done-up Pansy.
Had he not been accustomed to Pansy's beauty, it would've pacified his annoyance with the witch, but he was.
"No, but can I be the latest person to tell you to 'shut the fuck up'? That would give me the greatest pleasure." He mocked, highly aggravated.
Blaise, who adorned traditional black robes, dropped his chuckling girlfriend's hand and stepped forward. He only had one thing to say, "All joking aside, this isn't good Draco."
"I know this isn't good," he snapped harshly as he paced in front of the doorway, lost in thought. "I pulled her out before she made a fool of herself and me, but a few guests saw her. I got away with the excuse that she was light-headed from all the festivities, but that can't last forever. Not when she's unconscious and reeks of wine!"
He was very lucky that they'd spent the majority of the evening apart, so hardly anyone knew they were at the soirée together. And those who did had probably forgotten because Natalie, although very beautiful, was very forgettable in the eyes of their guests. She reminded racist purebloods of all the reasons they looked down of those with diluted blood. She knew nothing about high Pureblood society and had very little decorum. She always wanted him to dance with her when he specifically expressed he had no inclination to dance, ever. She never wanted to talk to the guests and hated standing at his side. And when she spoke, nothing of substance came out.
Draco realised he would've been better off taking Granger, like Pansy had suggested.
Hermione Granger probably knew nothing about high society, but she was intelligent enough to make up her ignorance with intelligent conversation.
"The fewer, the better," Pansy commented with a smirk.
Blaise stood over the unconscious body of Natalie Christenson and looked around. "Draco, we need to figure out what to do with her before someone comes out."
"Disillusionment charm?" the annoyed blond suggested tersely. Honestly, he was too mad to care what happened to her.
Blaise wordlessly rejected the idea and eyed his girlfriend expectantly. After all, she always came up with the best ideas at school. Pansy's smirk vanished and was replaced by a serious and calculating look. She removed her silk black gloves like a vicious killer who'd just completed a job and shoved them into Blaise's pocket.
After she snuck a glance at her boyfriend's watch, she spoke, "It's half past nine. There's two and a half more hours left so I suggest we put her in one of the lounge rooms to let her sleep it off for the rest of the party. No one will find her there. Earlier, your mother and I set up wards so that no one could go past the bathrooms. After all, we don't need any wanderers with your father here."
True.
Draco smirked at his best friends. It was good to know that they always had his back and kept his best interests at heart, no matter what.
"So," the only conscious witch in the hall said as she too stood over the unconscious disgrace at her feet, "I think the better question is: which one of you got your wands past security?"
Blaise and Draco exchanged looks, and shook their heads no.
Pansy's annoyed huff escaped her lips as she thrust her purse into Blaise's chest, "Don't you all know that you're supposed to keep your wand with you at all times. To hell with security." She hiked up her black dress robes up to her mid-thigh and pulled her wand out the holster. "I never, ever go anywhere without mine anymore...you never know what can happen. Even in a secure environment."
They all knew exactly what she meant.
"Now," she pointed her wand at Natalie, "Mobilicorpus."
The drunken woman didn't stir once as Pansy transferred her to the heavily furnished and decorated lounge room at the end of the massive hall. However, the moment Pansy let her body drop mercilessly on the plush couch, Natalie's hazy blue eyes opened and a silly grin spread across her flushed features.
Draco was sure he wanted to murder Pansy at that moment.
Natalie made a disorderly lunge for Draco, but missed him by a mile. She ended up sprawled on the Floor on her hands and knees. Her hair and her entire appearance looked like she'd just finished shagging the daylights out of someone. She flashed a lazy, playful smile. "Fraco, von't vou come sit wit me?"
Pansy giggled and whispered, 'Fraco?' under her breath, which earned her a scowl from the annoyed man.
"I need vou, I need vour body. It's callin out to mwe...Natalie, Natalie, take mwe I'm vours."
Blaise's left brow slowly began its hike heavenward, an amused smirk played on his lips.
She crawled on her hands and knees as best as a drunken woman could, "Fraco, I wove vou."
Pansy busted out laughing.
Draco Malfoy had just about had enough. He was tired, he was annoyed, and he was ready for this bullshit soirée to conclude so he could leave. He snatched the wand out of the laughing witch's hand and pointed it at Natalie. Without thinking, he uttered the first spell that came to mind, "Stupefy!" The bolt of red light hit her square in the forehead and she collapsed on the Floor.
In a huff, Draco shoved the wand back into Pansy's awaiting hand and walked out.
The smirking Blaise and the giggling Pansy followed behind him quickly.
"You're not just going to leave her there, are you?" Blaise asked once they returned to the entrance to the ballroom.
Draco pushed open the double doors and looked over his shoulder at his friend, "And let her drunken behaviour sully the soirée and anger my mother, no thanks. If either of you want to revive her, that's fine, but I'm not. I don't care. She's of no consequence to me." And he walked through the door, grabbed a glass of Elf-wine from a levitating tray, and rejoined the party.
It took him thirteen minutes, two very dull conversations with old pureblooded wizards, three dance offers from uninteresting witches, and a traditional holiday pastry from a floating serving tray for Draco to notice Hermione Granger's presence.
There were two things that surprised him.
The first was his initial thought upon seeing her. Wow, she looks ama-healthy. Yes...healthier. In a room full of witches dressed in black, silver, or emerald robes, Hermione Granger stood out from them all. He'd seen her earlier that day when they met at a new coffee shop just on the outskirts of London, but she didn't look anything like she looked at that moment. Draco almost didn't recognize her, and when he did, he nearly spewed Elf-wine everywhere.
Dressed like the perfect high-society witch, Granger adorned flowing Floor-length dress robes that hugged her upper body and slightly flared at her waist. It was the first time he'd seen her in something that showed off the figure she was gradually regaining; the figure she had in the pictures with her son. The amethyst colour of her robes, he noticed, seemed to both offset and breathe life back into her pale skin.
Her horribly bushy hair was pulled up into an intricate hairstyle that left a single piece of brown hair in her face; a piece of hair that she swiped behind her left ear every few minutes. Granger didn't wear much jewellery, just a set of large amethyst studs and a matching bracelet. It was simple, elegant, and Draco instantly knew she didn't dress herself.
But that realization was ignored in response to the second surprise.
She wasn't alone.
No, Stamford or Samuel or Stanford...or whatever the hell that hefty idiot's name was, was chatting with her.
Draco watched as she declined his invitation to dance and the glass of Elf-wine he offered in a very dignified manner.
"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" Blaise stood next to him, holding two glasses of wine.
"Ye - she looks healthier." He deadpanned.
He met the dark gaze of his best mate and watched in annoyance as his lips curved into an amused smirk. "Whatever you say, Fraco." Blaise chuckled.
The blond man grimaced. "Let's treat the 'Drunken Natalie Incident' like the time you threw up in my mother's favourite plant and blamed it on the house elves; let's never talk about it again."
"Your mother looks spectacular in those emerald and black robes," Pansy remarked as she approached her boyfriend's left side. "She has the entire room enamoured with her sense of style." A smug grin appeared on her face when she finally said, "Makes me feel kind of good that I'm the one who designed those rob-oh, Blaise, is that for me?"
He nodded and handed her one of the wine glasses.
She kissed his cheek, "Thanks, love."
Blaise flashed a rare smile.
Draco rolled his eyes at the couple and watched as Granger nodded in apparent boredom at something the gentlemen said. He rested his stubby hands on the small of her back and Draco watched with borderline amusement as she subtly brushed his hand away, without showing her disgust. He saw it, of course, but the gentlemen didn't. Draco realised yet again that Granger was excellent at hiding her emotions from everyone else except him.
For another moment, he found himself noticing the little things about her.
Every witch at the soirée, save for Pansy and Mother, wore a thick mask of makeup that made them look unnatural. Granger, on the other hand, wore very little. It was just enough to smooth her skin, enhance the colour of her eyes, and define the features that he had noticed the first time they'd had coffee together.
"Stare any harder at Hermione," Pansy's drawl rang in his ears, "And you'll burst a blood vessel."
Grey eyes narrowed, "I wasn't staring at her."
"Whatever you say, Draco," The black-haired witch swirled her gloved finger around one the ringlet that fell in her face. "You have to admit she wears my dress well," Pansy remarked smugly only moments before she went on a mini-tirade, "Too bad I had to practically wrestle her arse into it. And don't get me started on that horrible hair. I used an entire container of Sleekeazy's to get her hair like that. Merlin, it was horrible." She gave a great, dramatic shudder.
Blaise smirked.
"That's wonderful and all, Pansy," Draco drawled in response, "But I was just trying to figure out the name of the gentleman she's talking to."
"Stephen Winther: retired Auror, recent widower, and lover of younger women." Blaise informed almost mechanically.
Draco eyed him, "How do you know that?"
He smirked. "He trained me. He told me during my Auror training that he used to fancy my mother when my mother was at in her Sixth Year at Beaubaxton. He was nearly thirty at the time, but it seems he's found a new and younger object of affection."
"Oh, that's just disgusting! She's like forty years younger than him and he's absolutely old and ghastly." Pansy made a face, downed the rest of her drink, and set it down on the empty tray that appeared in front of her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go rescue my friend from the hairy mountain troll-"
Blaise cut her off by gently wrapping an arm around her waist, preventing her from leaving.
The witch emitted a reserved, yet annoyed grumble before she argued in a low voice, "What are you doing? I have to-"
"No," he cut her off with little effort, "You have to dance with your boyfriend. Draco will handle it."
Draco smirked. Pansy Parkinson didn't have a shot in hell at getting away from Blaise.
Pansy continued to protest, "But-"
He cut her off smoothly, tipping her chin up to meet his intense gaze. "No buts, love. I saw Vivian Pennington glaring at us when we walked in-"
Of course, he'd appeal to her slightly repressed catty nature. Brilliant move.
The witch snorted and looked over her shoulder where Pennington heiress stood, glaring at the couple. Pansy locked eyes with her and the other witch looked away, intimidated. "That little imp is just jealous because she's wanted you for years and I've got you...again. Jealousy is a disease," she sneered and insincerely added, "I hope the tramp gets well soon."
Blaise leaned in closer and audibly spoke in her ear, "Well, let's go give her more of a reason to be jealous." His lips then moved closer as he whispered more words Draco couldn't hear. And judging from the blush that crept across Pansy's face, he was glad he couldn't.
Seconds later, they were gone.
For a few extra moments, he watched as Granger shook her head at something Stephen said. Draco could tell she was uncomfortable; her eyes kept shifting around the room, but she hadn't looked in his direction.
When the older wizard brushed his rough hand on her cheek and she blanched in obvious discomfort, Draco decided it was time to intervene. With a plan in his head, he grabbed a water goblet off a levitating serving tray and approached the pair.
He was ten feet away from her when their eyes met.
"I hear they have a warming charm on the terrace," Stephen pointed out as he shovelled a cookie into his mouth with his free hand. When he finished chewing, he continued, "It's just through those double doors. It's a clear night and the stars are out, would-"
Draco made his presence known with his familiar aristocratic voice. "Ah, Granger, there you are." He handed her the glass and she looked at him curiously, "Water."
They weren't exactly friends, but she looked relieved for his interruption and mumbled a quiet, "Thanks," and sipped on the water.
He merely nodded.
"Mister Malfoy, it's wonderful to see you again." Stephen didn't sound very convincing. In fact, he looked rather irritated by Draco's intrusion on his plans. "Where is your lovely date?"
"You're looking at her," He politely gestured to the witch next to him. "I'd introduce you two, but I feel like you two are already acquainted."
Granger shot him a wild look from the corner of her eye, but other than that, she kept her walls high and her face blank. Stephen Winther, on the other hand, visibly expressed his confusion. "I thought you were with the-"
Draco squared his shoulders, and spoke with little emotion and an overdose of haughtiness, "The slurring blond? She mistook me for someone else. All the excitement from the soirée and the wine must've gone to her head. I set her right and lost my own date in the process. I'm thankful that you've kept her entertained, but if you'll excuse us, sir. I wanted to show her the terrace before everyone decided to start crowding out there for the midnight fireworks." He gestured in the direction of the double doors.
Granger quickly hurried towards them, her amethyst robes flowed behind her gracefully.
It was a remarkably clear but windy night in Wiltshire, and Draco relished in the almost solitude of the well-lit terrace.
The sky was a deep navy, and dotted with stars that varied in brightness; the moon was half full and high in the sky. It cast a wonderful, yet dim light on everything. After years of nightmares and night terrors, Draco wasn't a particular fan of the darkness or the night. All it did was remind him of the darker times in his life, but this night was rather decent. From his vantage point, he saw the expansive Malfoy gardens that were decorated with ornate white lights for the occasion and the season. The music from the orchestra filtered from the ballroom, as well as the voices of the chattering guests.
"It's nice out here."
He hadn't realised Granger was standing next to him until that moment, "It is."
A comfortable silence washed over them while he looked out at the gardens and she look up at the heavens. He was used to the silence between them; it was a pattern that he didn't want to disrupt with words.
So, he let her break the tradition.
"Thanks for saving me from Mr. Winther."
Draco nodded, accepting her gratitude in silence.
"Are you enjoying the soirée?" He asked minutes later.
"It's very nice, but I confess I don't like parties very much."
He looked at her seriously for a few moments and smirked, "Me either."
ooo
Part 2: Soul-grabbers
After the death of Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort's infiltration of the Ministry of Magic, nearly every rich and powerful aristocratic family in Britain fled to various parts of Europe to wait and see who came out victorious in the second war. Most of them had heard stories about The-Boy-Who-Lived, but they knew nothing about those who helped him stay alive.
The name Hermione Granger was about as foreign to them as the name of the Muggle President of the United States of America. For that, she was rather grateful. It made the introductions less awkward.
The next two hours of Hermione Granger's life as Draco Malfoy's impromptu date was a whirlwind of conversation with very important members of the wizarding world's high society, blatant stares from ambitious and jealous witches, and absolutely no dancing. It was a good thing because, thanks to the three-inch heels Pansy forced on her feet, she had no desire to dance.
She learned a lot about herself and the man whose arm hers was locked with.
Hermione learned that she could be as detached as Malfoy when it came to conversing with those who tried to kiss her arse just because she was on the arm of the Malfoy heir. She smiled and thanked those who insincerely complimented her attire, expressed her opinion with maturity and wisdom to those who thought of Muggle-borns as inferior, and impressed even the staunchest witch with her vast knowledge about high Pureblood society.
It took a while to get used to the attention being on Draco Malfoy's brought, but once she did, all bets were off.
And as for what she learned about her "date", well, in the world of Draco Malfoy, people were classified into three groups: family and friends, people-he-needed-to-be-pleasant-to, and everyone else. He was pleasant to friends and family, decent to those he needed to be pleasant to, and aloof with everyone else.
She wasn't sure where she fit into all that, and she didn't care.
He explained the entire fiasco with his original date, to her utmost humour and his extreme annoyance, and she volunteered to be his pretend date in pure gratitude for his previous actions. Hermione half-expected him to ignore her presence while he chatted with fellow pureblooded wizards, and half-expected him to expect her to play the role of the docile female.
But Malfoy really surprised her. Really. He was agreeable and polite, but reserved and almost distant with her.
How he managed to do all that at once, she didn't know.
Sometimes, there were moments when she thought he was impressed with her, but he quickly hid it behind a mask of indifference. And sometimes, there were moments when she thought that he smirked at some of her opinions, but she never caught him in the act. And as they watched the beautiful midnight fireworks display on the crowded terrace, she listened in extreme fascination as he explained the entire history behind the traditional Malfoy Christmas party over the amazed gasps of the guests. He told her that his mother had started the charity aspect of the party after the second war. Furthermore, he informed that in the last seven hundred years, they'd only had to cancel one.
She immediately knew which year, and why it had to be cancelled.
Traditionally, he told her, the Malfoy Christmas party concluded at exactly midnight with the conclusion of the fireworks display. Hermione found herself almost smiling when the last spark shot up into the night sky.
It truly was amazing, but she was exhausted.
It was ten-past midnight when the last guest, Malfoy's original date, left by Floo.
The only people left were the Malfoys, Blaise, and Pansy. Narcissa and Pansy were busy chatting about the party as they kicked off their heels, while the two wizards were having a quiet discussion on the far side of the room. Hermione felt a bit left out and decided it was time to leave. She was extremely tired and knew Pansy wouldn't allow her the luxury to sleep in on the hardest day of her life; the first Christmas without Matthew.
Her hand reached for the Floo container, but Narcissa's voice rang out, "What are you doing?"
Hermione turned around suddenly, "I was about to go-"
She smiled. "I guess my son forgot to tell you about the traditional midnight breakfast that follows the Christmas party."
"No, he didn't."
Malfoy looked over at them, but said nothing.
Narcissa wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the fireplace, "As my son's rightful date, you simply must stay for it. After all, you were simply phenomenal tonight. Everyone was raving to me about you."
Hermione was shocked, "They were?"
Pansy nodded in affirmation as Blaise took her by the arm and headed in the direction of the dining room. She looked over her shoulder at Malfoy, who walked behind them in silence; his face was an unreadable mask.
Typical.
Conversation during the extravagant midnight breakfast was dominated by Narcissa and Pansy, while Hermione and the men ate in near silence. It was midnight, but she found she wasn't very tired. The food was wonderful and she felt stuffed by the time she ate the last of her biscuit. Half an hour later, Blaise and Pansy excused themselves from the table to go to their respective houses to rest for a few short hours.
Unlike Narcissa, who spent her Christmases at various places and celebrated the holiday at various parties, Blaise Zabini wasn't much for traditions or holidays. He had invited Hermione to spend the holiday with the three of them in Paris. And she accepted.
He'd gotten an approved Portkey that would take them right inside his flat in the heart of Paris. Much to Malfoy's vocal consternation, he had allowed Pansy to schedule the entire day and Hermione knew she'd be too exhausted to think by the time they returned to Britain. Visits to the Louvre and Chateau de Versailles, shopping at the Marais, dinner at the finest restaurant in Paris, ice skating in front of the Hotel de Ville, and the list went on and on.
Pansy was determined to make sure she was too busy to be sad. But there wasn't a day that passed that she didn't think of Matthew; that she didn't feel longing for him or her parents. Christmas would be no exception.
However, she really appreciated Pansy's concern and determination.
Ten minutes after the couple left, Narcissa retired to her room, feigning exhaustion. However, before she left, she insisted that Malfoy saw to it that she returned home safely. After a silent conversation (which could've been interpreted as an argument), Malfoy relented.
"Shall we?" he asked coolly with just a hint of aggravation, gesturing in the direction of one of the dining room's doorways.
Hermione nodded, but felt uncomfortable with his tone.
Narcissa smiled, pleased, and left out a different door that apparently took her to her quarters.
She started towards the wrong door, but Malfoy placed his hand on her lower back and guided her out the correct door. Stunned into silence due to the placement of his hand, Hermione just let him guide her back to the grand parlour as she blinked with large, wide eyes.
The house was a beautiful labyrinth.
She hadn't really had time to absorb the magnificence of the Manor during their walk to the dining room because she was too busy listening to Narcissa rave about the party. However, as they silently sauntered down one of the many hallways, Hermione found her wide eyes absorbing everything. To say their home was merely beautiful would be ludicrous; it was a palace fit for royalty...or a Malfoy.
What started as him merely escorting her to the Floo in the main parlour, ended up turning into a mini-tour of sorts where he allowed her access to a more than a few rooms. There were elegantly decorated rooms with high walls. She peeked inside a splendid downstairs library with bookshelves made of the most expensive woods in existence. Even the hall they walked down was marvellous with its elegant and rugs and ornate walls with family members who silently sneered at her, thanks to Narcissa's silencing charm.
Great.
With Malfoy's hand still absently on her back, she wasn't in the mood to be called a filthy Mudblood, or any other creative name they thought of - she was uneasy enough.
"Is there a bathroom nearby?" She asked rather suddenly.
"Just upstairs, thirteen doors down."
She stared at him.
Malfoy's brow rose, "Do you need an escort?"
"No." She frowned, spun on her heels, and walked off in the direction of the stairs with her dress flowing behind her.
By the time she reached the double staircases leading upstairs, Hermione's annoyance with Malfoy was subdued and she found herself overwhelmed with uncertainty.
Damn. Did he even tell her which way to go? Left or right? She had no clue. The thought of turning around flashed in her head, but they'd made so many turns she could hardly remember where they came from. Turning around? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.
She was literally at a fork in the road...and chose to go left. She climbed the staircase quickly before she could change her mind, but the moment her foot set on the last step, Hermione knew she'd made a bad decision. It was shockingly cold and eerily silent; so different from the rest of the house, which was warm and almost homey (well, as homey as a mansion could be). Hermione felt for her wand through her robes, and was comforted when she felt it as she crept down the dimly lit hall, counting the doors she passed.
"Five...six..."
A phantom wind blew down the hall; all reason and sense told her to turn back, find Malfoy, and make him lead her to the parlour so she could Floo to the safety of her own home, but she didn't. She was stubborn to think she didn't need his aid; he was probably going to be a git about it and make her feel stupid. No, she'd rather do it herself, just to say she could.
The lights dimmed.
"Seven...e-"
A grandfather clock in the distance had started its ritual chiming sequence.
It was one o'clock.
She felt the breath in her ear before it spoke in an eerie whisper, "We've been waiting for you, Hermione Granger."
The colour bled from her face and all she felt next was indescribable pain.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my characterizations and plot. JKR owns everything else. I make no money from this.
A/N: Thanks to Kate04 for her ideas during the writing process. Thanks to kazfeist for her beta work.