A/N: pictures of the mentioned dresses are on my Tumblr (Nevernike)
Ball time
Draco knocked on Hermione's bedroom door (which he privately considered as her dressing room) and was almost bowled over by the beauty of the young lady who shyly opened it after downing a pre-emptive dose of potion.
Hermione wore a daring – for the wizarding world; and who knows, maybe even the Muggle world? – two-piece gown: a full, floor-length skirt in bronze taffeta with a narrow, black crystal waist and a cap-sleeved, high-necked fitted top in nude material that reached to just above her waist. Adorning the top were many, many jet beads attached to the nude backing, branching out and swirling in intricate patterns. It was a mesmerising mix of stern Victorian prudishness and sultry sensuality.
Her hair was loosely pulled back into a low bun and her few loose curls looked ready to dance the night away.
"Is it okay?" Hermione asked, fidgeting with one of the beads. "You're unusually quiet."
"Dear Merlin..." Draco breathed, having regained his faculties. "You look stunning."
"Oh," Hermione replied, now fiddling with a curl, unsettled by Draco's intensity. "Well... that's good, then."
"I really want to kiss you," Draco almost-stammered. Malfoys don't stammer, you see.
"Of course you can!" she laughed. "Only, take it easy on my lipstick."
Draco approached, then ran his hands slowly up her bare arms, giving her goosebumps. He tipped Hermione's chin up with one graceful finger, then slowly, gently kissed her – even more gently than their first kiss.
But for some reason, it shook Hermione to her bones.
They parted; then without meeting Draco's eyes, she put on her robes (draughty castle) and they headed, arm in arm, to the ballroom.
The ballroom
They found Iulia almost straight away, seated at the most prominent of the tables that lined the sides of the immense, stone-walled ballroom. Olek was dancing with a young lady on the busy floor, and Iulia was looking supremely bored, as the only other people at the table were her parents and various toadying adults from the wizarding locality. She brightened up when she saw Draco and Hermione approach.
"Thank Salazar you've arrived!" she squealed, hopping up to give Draco and Hermione a hug. "Oh, dear Merlin, Hermione, your dress is divine! I so wish I could have worn something like that instead of this thing." She gestured at her dress with a pout.
Hermione examined Iulia's dress. Iulia wore a full-length deep red skirt, attached to a red taffeta bodice with lace over it. The dress had an overskirt made from the same lace, along with her elbow-length sleeves.
Iulia pulled at one of the sleeves with distaste. "I wanted my house-elf to change the colour to black," she confided, "but she said Mother insisted on this colour." She sighed. "Then she tried to curl her fingers with the hot curling tongs for disappointing me."
"Iulia, dear, don't fidget with your lovely dress." The gentle admonition came from the beautiful, dark-haired woman seated at the table next to an older, portlier version of Olek.
Iulia pulled a face (once her head was safely turned away). "It scratches," she mumbled, sotto voce.
Draco tried to tamp down his pride as he presented Hermione to the hosts. "Lord and Lady Tkachenko, may I introduce Miss Hermione Granger."
She bowed to them formally, as is required for pure-bred types.
"The business partner, I believe?" Lady Tkachenko murmured in a tone Hermione didn't know how to translate.
"Yes, my lady," Draco replied. "She is an immense asset to my work."
"Indeed," Lady Tkachenko breathed. Then: "Thank you both for coming to our little soirée. I do hope you'll both have a lovely time. In fact, Draco, you might even meet your future bride here! Won't your mother be pleased if that came to pass?"
Her laughter sounded like tinkling bells, Hermione concluded. Not like her own hearty laugh that sometimes ended with unladylike snorts.
Draco, meanwhile, turned a teensy shade of green – at the mention of marriage, or his mum, Hermione wasn't sure. But she was sure of one thing – she didn't like Lady Tkachenko very much.
So, she squared her shoulders and sat next to Lord Tkachenko, engaging in lively conversation with the chap, whom, she suspected, didn't get much say in the way of things, while Draco formally asked Miss Iulia if she would honour him with a dance.
Nothing but dust was left in Iulia's wake as she dragged Draco to the dance floor.
Hermione overheard Lady Tkachenko's gentle sigh of remonstration, but she paid it no mind.
Overall, the ball was a joyous event. Draco and Hermione spent most of it on the dance floor, dancing with each other, with Olek and Iulia, and other ladies and gentlemen that Hermione didn't know.
Hermione was having a lovely time. Draco kept careful eyes on her, presumably to make sure she didn't overdo it, but she did her best to ignore that. Olek was the perfect gentleman, filling her ears with funny observations about the guests, and making sure she was fed and watered enough. Probably trying to avoid the long line of hopeful misses desperate to become the next Lady Tkachenko. Judging by the twinkle in the incumbent Lord Tkachenko's eyes, perhaps the wrong lord was showing interest in the pretty and accomplished line-up.
Hermione danced again with Iulia, who'd decided that her best chance of not going to bed at the time her mother decreed was to stay out on the furthest side of the dance floor from her parents. So far, she'd managed to wrangle an extra half an hour.
Hermione was engrossed in learning a new dance from Iulia which was all the rage at school, when - even over the boisterous music - she heard a familiar, infuriating voice.
"Drakie, DAHLING! I KNEW you'd be here!"
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, causing Iulia to cannon into her. "Oi!" she exclaimed, but clammed up when she saw Hermione's furious face.
"That fucking bitch!" she seethed, then shouldered her way past the dancers in a bid to get to the tables. Iulia, thrilled at the venom Hermione put into her swearwords, scurried close behind her. Shit was going down, and she didn't want to miss a single thing!
Draco was already upstanding and furious while Hermione and Iulia bushwacked their way out of the dancing throng. "Pansy," he spat, "haven't you been banned from polite society?"
Pansy Parkinson laughed, smoothing down the sides of her green, off-the-shoulder bodycon mermaid dress. She loved the way it seemed to make her boobs look like they'd been shoved up to shoulder height. Everyone was looking at them, she knew. Hmm. Had she been banned from polite society? She didn't know. She never paid attention to such things.
"I'm here to look for a husband," she trilled. "This is a matchmaking ball, no? Well, here I am, eminently eligible, ready to meet some eligible wizards." She pressed a taloned finger to the lapel of Draco's robes. "Are you still eligible?" she purred.
Not for the first time today, Draco wished he could just shout from the rooftops that he and Hermione were a couple, so everyone could leave them the bloody hell alone.
But they weren't.
"After your behaviour at the French Embassy," Draco hissed, "I'm surprised you had the bottle to show your face here! You embarrassed yourself in front of most of European society! Many of whom are right here!"
"Pft!" Pansy was just like a duck – everything slid right off her back. "I'll have you know I received an invitation, so there, pouty face."
Draco stared at her, revolted – then he was distracted by a whirling dervish parting the sea of surprised dancers. A dervish consisting of a furious, bronze and black-beaded Hermione with an agog Iulia hot on her heels, craning around Hermione's skirt so as not to miss the action.
"I will handle her," Draco said tersely to Hermione. "Don't get overwrought."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I took precautions," she mouthed back. "And don't tell me not to get overwrought!"
Pansy glanced at this shimmering bronze beauty, who was standing rather too close to her Drakie-Wakey. "Who the hell are you?" she snapped.
Iulia was thrilled. Actual, real drama was unfolding right before her eyes! She couldn't wait to tell the others at school!
But just as she was certain that shit was about to throw down, her mother materialised.
"It's time for bed, Iulia," she murmured.
"But motherrrrrrr!" Iulia wailed the lamentation song of her people (tweens).
"Elsie," Lady Tkachenko called over the sound of her daughter's complaints. In a trice, a house-elf in a summer gingham dress with bandaged fingers on one hand materialised, bowing so low her hawky nose nearly touched the floor.
"Y-yes, my lady?" she squeaked.
"Please escort Miss Iulia to her bedroom," Lady Tkachenko murmured. "It is past her bedtime."
"At once, my lady," Elsie replied. Iulia moaned and would have stamped her foot in vexation but she remembered just in time that she was a lady.
Olek rushed up with an anonymous blonde witch in tow. His collar was slightly askew. Her up-do was slightly listing to one side. "What's going on?" he asked of Iulia, whose arm was firmly clamped between Elsie's.
"Lady...green...Draco...fingernails...invitation...Hermione...handling it!" Iulia gasped out as Elsie whisked her out of the ballroom.
Confused, Olek searched out Draco and Hermione, and when the black-haired woman in a skin-tight green dress hove into view, he had a good idea of what the cause of the hubbub might be.
"Pansy," Olek announced in the same tone that he would have announced an acromantula into the ballroom. "What a surprise."
Pansy whirled around and smiled her anaconda smile when she clocked the second-most eligible bachelor in the room (after Drakie, of course). Pity Olek lived so far away from England, otherwise she might have given him serious consideration. Not many wizards had a castle, you know.
"Olek," she faux-simpered, holding out a hand for his reluctant kiss. "So lovely to see you again. And you needn't act so surprised, silly! I have an invitation!" She fished it out of her décolletage and flapped it under his nose.
Now Olek was very confused. He helped prepare the guest list, and he made it quite clear to his mother that Pansy Parkinson was not to be invited. He raised suspicious eyes to his mother, whose face was serene, as always.
"Miss Parkinson comes from a family with impeccable breeding," Lady Tkachenko stated in a voice just above a whisper.
Putting that to one side for dealing with later, Olek turned to Pansy. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake," he said woodenly. "I have to ask you to leave the premises."
"But – my invitation!" Pansy snapped.
Hermione drew out her wand and behold! The invitation disappeared. "It's been rescinded," she snapped. "Now take yourself and your cheap, tacky gown and get lost!"
Draco's mouth fell open. So did Olek's. Lady Tkachenko's lips drew together into a thin line. Lord Tkachenko watched the couples who were still dancing.
Pansy, with nothing to stuff back into her boobs, now recognised the beautiful girl. It was that sodding bitch from the Embassy ball! And possibly from school before that. She girded up her loins (hoicked up her tits, in a move that caught Lord Tkachenko's eye) and advanced upon the once-dowdy upstart.
"You, my dear, are going to regret what you just did," she snarled silkily.
Hermione smiled back, her blood fizzing. "I recall that you barely passed Defence of the Dark Arts at school," she retorted. "Let's see what sort of disaster you can conjure up, then!"
Pansy narrowed her eyes. Defence of the Dark Arts was a boys' subject, as far as she was concerned. All she wanted to learn was how to attract a rich husband, and there were precious few of those lessons at Hogwarts. She knew she should have gone to Beauxbatons.
"This must be at least the second time you've Cinderella'd around a ball room in clothes clearly paid for by Drakie," she spat. "The 'services' you're providing him must be absolute top dollar." She ended that insult with an up-and-down inspection of Hermione's gown, a sneer clamped on her thin lips.
"You are out of line, Parkinson!" Draco snapped, and Olek clenched his fists in order to stop himself from drawing out his wand.
Hermione didn't care. "I know what I'm worth," she replied. "'Who can find a wife of noble character? She is far more precious than rubies.'"
The biblical remark sailed way over Pansy's coiffured head, but it made Draco pull up and stare at Hermione.
Pansy could feel herself coming a distinct second in the verbal wits exchange, so she stepped up close to Hermione and poked her in the chest so hard her fingernail cracked. "Stay out of my way, bitch!" she snarled in Hermione's pale face. "Drakie is mine, and I'll marry him when he gets back from his trip. He'll cast you off without a care, whether he's shagged you every which way or not. And don't try to trap him with a baby, either. He wasn't born yesterday."
Hermione's jaw clenched and her throat worked. Then she summoned up the last of her pride, lifted up her chin, and sailed silently out of the ballroom.
Draco gabbed Pansy's arm none-too-nicely and forced her around. "Too far, Pansy," he spat, his eyes burning cold fire. "Much, much too far."
Then he shoved her out of the way and disappeared after Hermione.
Lord Tkachenko and his son stepped up. "Miss Parkinson, your presence is not required here," Lord Tkachenko announced. "Please depart this castle immediately."
"But" – Pansy cast around for a supporter, to back her claims that she was most unfairly goaded by little more than a servant, but not a kind eye could she find. Even Lady Tkachenko found a spot on her skirt that was far more interesting than the gauche girl in the tarty dress.
"Hmph!" Pansy parked her chin in the air and departed the venue, trying to be as graceful as Hermione, but failing dismally.
Olek let out a pent-up sigh, then turned to his mother. "We will speak in the morning," he growled, in a voice with far more steel than Lady Tkachenko had ever heard in her son before.
Possibly for the first time in her life, Lady Tkachenko wondered if she had erred in inviting Miss Parkinson to the ball over her son's objections.
Then she cleared her mind. No, she couldn't be wrong. She was only doing what was best for her son.
Hermione's room
Draco first went to his bedroom in the hopes that Hermione was there, but she wasn't. So he backtracked his steps and knocked on Hermione's bedroom door. "Hermione?" he called. "Are you okay?"
No answer, but his instinct knew that she was there. He put his lips to the door again. "If you don't want to talk," he said, "that's fine, but at least let me know if you're okay."
This time, the door slowly creaked open on its own, and he stepped into her room.
The wall sconces were burning very low, and most of the room was in shadow. But Draco found Hermione standing by the large stained-glass window that overlooked the mountains below. Not a sound or a movement did she make.
Draco stood behind her and did what felt right: he wrapped his arms around her tense body and rested them on her waist. Slowly, and to his relief, he felt her spine unkink and relax.
"I took some potion before the ball," she replied woodenly. "I feel okay now."
"I'm glad," he whispered at her ear. "Gryffindor lioness."
He wasn't sure, but he thought she smiled. But then her shoulders trembled, her breath hitched, and she began to cry.
He turned her around and let her cry on his shoulder, slowly rubbing her back over the jet beads. Thinking thoughts he couldn't say out loud.
Eventually, he whispered "Want to get away from here?"
She nodded.
Draco kissed her wet cheeks and summoned a house-elf to speed up the packing process. He left an apologetic note for the Tkachenkos, grabbed their shrunk luggage and gathered Hermione to his side.
"Okay with side-along apparation?" he asked.
"Um" –
Draco bit the bullet, thought of his destination, and turned.