Chapter 55

Friday 21 March 2003: AM

Hermione isn't surprised to find that the happy humming echoing from the kitchen is transmitting from her own mouth. It's a wonder my cheeks aren't sore from all my elated smiles. Draco loves me. He loves me.

She leans her hip against the kitchen sink and takes a moment to watch her handsome lover as he intently fiddles with his new toys at the dining table.

"Does Master Malfoy require assistance? Macdolas is knowledgeable in the ways of the appliances," the lively sprite boasts, sitting to Draco's left without waiting for an invitation. He fastidiously tugs down the leather gauntlets adorning the arms of his forest-green 'Robin Hood' ensemble and leans over to pick up the Polaroid camera that Draco has recently unwrapped.

"Oi!" Draco snatches the device out of reach as Mac's ears wilt. "You may have a look at it when I've finished loading the film… I'm almost there," he claims, picking up the brightly coloured little box and peering at the instructions on the back.

"Macdolas would have inserted it faster," the elf grumbles, moving his attention to the bigger Wizard camera in the centre of the table. His elongated fingers twitch, but he prudently keeps them off the photographic equipment as Draco shoots him a chary glance.

"Let Draco mutter under his breath for a while longer, Mac: he'll ask us for help soon enough," Hermione joshes, sipping at her refilled mug of coffee.

"O ye of little faith – I'm watching you, Macdolas," Draco cautions, as Mac sneaks a look at the instruction manuals for the Polaroid.

"He can read the guides, can't he? You're awfully cranky for a man who professed his overwhelming… euphoria just this morning, Draco," Hermione winks as her boyfriend flushes pink.

Draco's reply goes unspoken as the noise of the Floo is soon followed by a quick male tread.

"It's just me… Harry," he advises, stepping through the doorway and walking to the sink to give Hermione a brotherly hug. "Hey, Malfoy – Mac. What've you got there, cameras? Hey, a Polaroid! The Dursleys gave one to Dudley for his birthday once," Harry wanders to the table to plonk himself down in the seat on Draco's other side.

"I only picked them up yesterday – I'll have them figured out in a jiffy," Draco defensively replies, as Harry plucks the 'Polaroid OneStep 600 Express' from his hands. The Auror slides the latch and opens the small door, expertly inserting the film cassette and snapping it closed again. Macdolas delightedly applauds; Draco sulkily crosses his arms and pouts.

"I was just about to do that," he declares, pale eyebrows beetling as Hermione snickers her disbelief. "I was!".

"Sure you were, my love," Hermione placates, setting down her mug to stand behind Draco's chair and hug him from behind. She presses a kiss to his mouth as he tilts up his head, smiling fondly at him when their smooch ends.

"Ah… the love bomb has finally detonated, eh?" Harry shrewdly observes, his hands pausing on the Polaroid camera. "Excellent: Zabini and Nott owe me ten Galleons apiece."

"Harry! You bet on when we would say the 'L' word?!" Hermione screeches, pretending to cuff her old friend. "You arse!"

"Poor form, Potter," Draco scooches back his chair to pull Hermione into his lap: they glare synchronously at the chuckling brunet.

"What? I bet you'd mutually declare your devotion before the Ball; Theo picked during; and Blaise said not for another fortnight! I was backing you guys… sheesh," Harry defends.

"You're all heart, Lightning Bolt," Draco snips. "Why are you invading us uninvited… yet again?".

Harry grins. "I have great news – Marcus Flint is showing some minor signs of coming out of his coma – well, he's still unconscious, but the Healers reckon he might regain full sentience in a day or two," he imparts.

Holding up a broad hand, he warns, "No promises though; and we'll have to wait until he's deemed well enough to undergo questioning and Veritaserum. The other information is that we've scoured The Manifesto, and although most of the latter pages and/or loose sheafs have been ripped out and removed, we're working with the Scotland Yard forensics experts to run imprint imaging on the pages beneath. It's a laborious process, but the Yard has promised results by early next week."

"Harry – that's great!" Hermione shares a pleased grin with Harry, feeling a portion of her anxiety dissipate at the news.

"Good work, Potter," Draco comments approvingly. "What about Bones? Is he still in custody?".

"Yes – but he's applied for bail, and might be released sooner than we'd like. My team has been following a lead that Bones was responsible for tampering with some of the earlier evidence, specifically the incident with the French witch at the nightclub. If we can definitively prove Barry was involved in that, he won't be going anywhere," Harry grimly avows.

"That fu– furtive blackguard!" Hermione snarls, amending her initial profane reaction in deference to Mac's flapping ears. She scowls at Draco and Harry as they snicker at her archaic insult. "What? Bones is an utter disgrace to the badge – and I still want to rip out his guts with a rusty spoon, after how he abused Theo."

"I know, I know – but we've got this covered, OK?" Harry soothes.

Draco clasps her more firmly around her middle and kisses her neck. "Your savagery is a wonderment to behold, ma petite; but I would rather not visit you in Azkaban, hmmm?".

Hermione concedes the point, relaxing back against Draco and craning down her face for a proper kiss. The flash and whirr-whirr-whirr of the Polaroid makes them both blink and recoil. Harry smirks, before turning his attention to the thick square photograph once it emerges from the camera. He peels off the outer film before pushing the snapshot across to Macdolas.

"Check it out, Mac… it'll take a while, but the picture develops right before your eyes. Don't touch it yet, though, the chemicals can be caustic."

Macdolas's astonished eyes comically bulge as dim silhouettes begin to emerge on the small square. "Master Potter's skills are bountiful and multitudinous indeed! Macdolas respectfully asks to be taught the ways of the PollyRude by His Excellency Most Revered?" he entreats.

"It's a 'Polaroid', and I bought it, Mac," Draco emphasizes, before he sighs resignedly. "Go on, then – take a few shots. Maybe you can get a proper one of us, please," he carefully arranges Hermione on his lap.

Harry quickly demonstrates how to use the viewfinder and buttons. "You know this model is a couple of years old, right? There's a much more compact version available, it prints smaller pictures, too," he tells Draco. "Like a photo booth strip… ah, never mind."

Hermione stifles a chuckle at Draco's pinched expression. "The Muggle proprietor assured me this was an up-to-date model… and the last one in the shop," he sourly states.

"Yeah… he saw you coming, Malfoy," Harry teases. "Don't fret, it's still a decent device. Do you need some more instructions, Mac?" Harry asks, as the dining chair totters beneath Mac's standing weight.

"Macdolas thanks the Revered Master Auror Harry Potter: he merely wishes to improve his angle." He critically squints through the camera as though he's been commissioned to photograph the Royal Family at Christmas.

"Right, now say 'cheese!', and press that top button," Harry instructs. "No, I don't know why Muggles say that, it's just a thing, Mac," he forestalls the inevitable curious elfin query.

"Well, apparently it originated from a newspaper article in Texas in the 1940s: there's a theory that President Franklin D. Roosevelt coined the phrase," Hermione is happy to convey the trivia. "Apparently he said it creates an automatic smile, as the 'ch' sound brings together your teeth, then the long 'ee' vowel parts your lips and turns your expression into a grin."

"Bloody hell, Hermione, is there anything you don't know?" Harry marvels.

"Nope – my beautiful witch is a genius," Draco smugly answers. "How lucky am I?" he chuckles as Hermione blushes.

"Cheese!" Mac hollers, capturing the moment. The next few minutes are spent with everyone taking experimental turns at using the new device, though Mac is initially loath to give it up. The elf contents himself with sticking his face into as many of the pictures as possible, much to Draco's disgust.

Harry checks his wristwatch, pulling a face as he notes the time. "I'd best be off – duty calls and all that. We'll be rushed off our feet this morning, what with all the extra background checks for the Gala. Now, I want you both to swear that you won't wander off ANYWHERE alone tonight, please? Not even to the toilet – go in a group. That goes for you too, Malfoy," he clarifies, disregarding Draco's huffed displeasure with an impatient wave of his hand. "Well?".

"We promise," the couple dutifully repeat.

"Cool. Oh, one more thing – is it alright if I send over Kreacher to stay here while we're all at the Ball? He won't admit it, but I think he's a bit lonely, rattling around with just me for (sporadic) company. I thought that since Theo is sending over Wirey, you wouldn't mind hosting another elf, please?" Harry inveigles.

"Hold up – what? When did I agree to that moustachioed little menace visiting?" Draco protests.

"Oh, um… sorry, I forgot to mention it last night– well, that's not entirely my fault, I mean– you did keep me otherwise occupied from the moment I got home– not that I'm complaining, far from it…" Hermione chatters.

At Draco's stoic look and Harry's rolled eyes, she elucidates, "Theo owled me yesterday afternoon, asking if we'd mind hosting Wirey, and Blaise's house elf Gelsomina, for the evening; Theo is worried for Wirey's safety after the recent break-in at Nott Manor, and Blaise reckons Gelsy is bored out of her brain of late… so I said yes, dependent on checking with you, Draco – and then I plumb forgot. I'm sorry… I can owl Theo now and tell him it's a no-go–"

"No, it's fine, sweetheart. I'm certain Macdolas will have no issue with entertaining the elven rabble… besides, weren't you recently rabbiting on about increasing membership of your absurd fan club, 'Dobbin' Hood?" he razzes his major-domo.

Pointing his sharp nose high, Mac pompously espouses, "Macdolas pities Master Malfoy's sapless 'humour'! Macdolas proudly represents the House of Granger-Malfoy tonight, as the trusted envoy of Her Grace Lady Granger. As co-President and Founder of the Grateful and Reverent Elven Appreciation Society for Extraordinary Renowned Sorcerers, Macdolas does indeed seek new memberships and shall verily seek subscriptions from his visitors, should they prove worthy of such honour–"

"Hold up – hold up," Draco wheezes, clutching at the back of a chair for support as he disrupts Mac's verbose monologue. "Your fan club's acronym is 'G.R.E.A.S.E.R.S.?' GREASERS?! Granger, was this your idea?" he cackles unrestrainedly, as Harry tries to repress his own snort of mirth under Hermione's withering glare.

"I'm with Mac – don't join a comedy circuit any time soon, Malfoy," Hermione disparages, gently patting their steward's stiffly resentful back. "I think it's very… um, catchy, Mac. I bet Wirey and Gelsy would love to join. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?" she sternly rounds on him.

Coughing, Harry fervently nods. "It's – it's an inspired title, Mac. Really… memorable," he edges toward the doorway. "Maybe don't bother asking Kreacher to sign up, though; he's not a big fan of Gryffindor wizards – though he has warmed to Hermione," he adds.

"He peppered me with anxious questions as to your welfare all last week, love – sorry, it slipped my mind to pass on his wishes for your swift recovery," Harry ruefully admits. "Caught the crotchety old rogue secretly checking Grimmauld Place's library looking for old tomes on remote curses… he reluctantly confessed to his intention to 'bedamn the filthy Flint line for all eternity'."

"Oh! That's… sweet of him?" Hermione weakly grimaces. "I'll be sure to thank Kreacher for it when he arrives this afternoon."

"Righto – see you tonight! I'm sorry I can't meet you here beforehand like everyone else, but you know… Ron…" Harry rubs a nervous hand over his neck. "Bye!" he scarpers for the Floo, as Draco predictably sneers.

"'Meet here beforehand like everyone else'?" Draco tsks as he prowls toward her; Hermione laughs breathlessly as she skedaddles around the dining table to stay out of his impressive reach.

"Ah, yes… about that… Pansy suggested that us girls all get ready upstairs, and then she said we might as well invite the boys – honestly, she was unstoppably insistent, Malfoy, I wasn't given an option–"

"So says the sharpshooter lawyer who took all of five minutes to annihilate the bumbling Auror division with a few scathing sentences," Draco shakes his head in negation of her prevarication. "You've been a naughty, forgetful little witch, my love; first the crazy elf gathering, and now we're to be invaded by more freeloaders… what else have you forgotten to divulge, I wonder?" he stalks closer.

"Nothing! Oh, well… Luna asked if it would be OK to bring Ginny, and I thought you wouldn't mind…?"

"Another ruddy Weasley," Draco grumbles. "Won't that be awkward, for Potter? And Pansy?". He is inching closer with every word. Hermione's bubbling giggles turn to squeals as he gets near enough to lightly pinch her bum through her work pants.

"No – I asked them – separately, they are wallowing in denial, as you know – and both said they were fine with it," Hermione tugs out a chair in a feeble attempt to slow down Draco as he pursues her relentlessly around the table. Mac pays them no heed, having returned to his fascination with the cameras.

"Look – stop this, we have to get to work, it's only a half day because of the Ball, and I've a ton of paperwork to plow through–" a burst of light distracts Hermione long enough for Draco to grab her and nullify her squirming limbs in a bear hug from behind. Mac expertly peels off the protective layer of his latest instant photograph and whistles approvingly at his handiwork.

"Malfoy… mmm… Draco," Hermione willingly succumbs to his ardent kiss, rotating in his hold to feather her fingers through his silken blond locks. Their lip-lock quickly heats; Draco hauls her flush against him and roves his big artist's hands over her back and buttocks.

Another artificial flare of light; Draco growls, reaching behind Hermione but failing to seize the snap-happy elf as Macdolas scrambles from his chair and skips out the doorway.

"Macdolas reminds Her Grace Lady Granger that Her Supreme Loveliness is due to begin work in two minutes!" he carols as he bolts, spindly legs vigorously pumping.

Hermione laces her fingers with Draco's, slowing his dash after the scamp. "He's right, Draco – and you know I hate being late," she regretfully trudges toward the Floo.

"You're painfully conscientious, Hermione… and I love you for it," Draco affectionately kisses her nose once they stop before the fireplace. "Macdolas – I'll thank you to desist your invasive paparazzi tendencies immediately, understood? Fortunately, you've left behind the photographs, or you'd be in a lot of trouble right now," Draco berates.

"Macdolas would never breach the sacrosanct privacy of the House of Granger-Malfoy!" his offended high tones ring inside the Floo. "He shoots the snaps for the sake of posterity… and humbly asks to please be borrowing the PollyRude to memorialize his own happy union with the divine Ruibby?".

"Always with the toadying…" Draco grouses. Hermione folds back her smile and bestows a tender kiss to her wizard's crabby mouth.

"He means well," she whispers. "I'll be back in a few hours, mon chéri. I'm so excited for tonight!"

"Me too, ma belle," Draco strokes his thumbs along the sides of her throat. "I love you, Hermione Jean Granger."

"I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy. See you soon."


Friday 21 March 2003: PM

"Yoo hoo! It's just us!" Blaise sing-songs as he steps through the hearth and into the lounge proper. "Where are you at, Jakey boy?".

Putting down his cheese knife, Draco mutters a brief invocation to the Roman goddess of patience. "Salacia, please grant me the fortitude to deal with friendly fools, and lunatic elves… and resist the temptation to hex the whole crackpot bunch." He picks up the snack platter and makes his way to the living room to greet his guests.

"Hey, Draco – thanks very much for agreeing to host us," Theo is the first to speak. "Can I give you a hand with anything?".

"No thanks, I've got it. We've plenty of cool drinks in the fridge, plus tea and coffee; just help yourselves," he places the platter on the coffee table and gestures toward the kitchen. "Hermione and Macdolas should be back any moment; I believe Pansy will be with her."

"Brilliant," Zabini rubs together his hands exultantly as he spies the array of rich cheeses and fruits. Theo nudges him and nods at the small elf standing beside Wirey, before Blaise can snaffle more than a grape.

"Oh, right. Gelsy, this is Draco; Draco, Gelsy," he whizzes casually through the introductions. "I'd love a cuppa, mate: Earl Grey, two sugars, splash of milk?" Blaise at least selects a paper napkin before loading it up with finger food.

"Gelsomina bids Lord Malfoy buona sera; she thanks him most kindly for his generous hospitality," the diminutive honey-haired middle-aged maidservant performs a pretty curtsey, holding out the deep skirt of her steel-blue uniform at a precise angle. "Master Blaise speaks often of his amici del cuore and the many undertakings of the Wizardly friends." Her pale brown eyes regard him kindly but shrewdly.

Translation: Blaise is as big a blabbermouth at home as he is at work. Draco twists his mouth into a half-smile.

"Buona sera, Signorina Gelsomina. Herr Wireceaster," he acknowledges. Wirey is eyeing Gelsy with an odd look on his barbigerous little face. "Have you two met before?" Draco prompts curiously, as Gelsomina's nose wrinkles with displeasure.

"They don't really get along," Theo explains in a low murmur. "Best not to get into that, right now."

"Mate, not to be pushy – but how's my cup of cha looking, hmmm?" Blaise pauses feeding his face long enough to cheekily remind.

The Floo actuates (possibly saving Zabini's idiot life). Macdolas bustles out first, holding aloft a vase of deep red roses that mostly obscures his petite frame and momentarily blocks his view of the assembled party.

"Master Malfoy, Her Grace Lady Granger and The Personable Mistress Pansy Parkinson are home! Macdol– " he stops dead, suddenly noticing the other elves. Hermione almost cannons into him as she and Pansy exit the Floo.

"Thank Merlin you're here," Draco dashes to Hermione's side, smothering her sweet lips and face in amatory kisses; she eagerly reciprocates, giggling between smooches. "Malfoy – I've only been gone five hours…!" she laughingly remonstrates. "We have guests, mon cœur… ahhh," she sighs, as he nibbles on her neck.

"It has been a cruel eternity without you, ma petite," Draco avers, breaking away to unhook her work satchel and toe it out of the way. "Only your kisses will ease the pain of our separation," he hams it up.

"Here we go," Pansy sets down her big garment bag and make-up kit beside the guys' bags, planting her hands on her hips and grinning at Theo and Blaise. "Aren't they just perfectly, nauseatingly sweet? And shockingly unmindful of social mores? Hello Gelsomina, Wirey."

Theo kisses Pansy's cheek; Blaise wanders over to peck the other. "Hey, Pans. Want a hand with your gear?" he nods at her bags, before cramming the rest of a cheese wedge into his mouth.

"Get away from me and my stuff – you've the table manners of a Nogtail," Pansy remonstrates. "I'll Accio it upstairs in a moment."

"Macdolas is happy to assist Mistress Parkinson," the seneschal offers, after telekinetically setting the massive rose bouquet on the end of the coffee table. He struts closer to his fellow elves. "Macdolas deferentially requests a polite introduction?" he hints.

Theo steps in. "Macdolas, this is Signorina Gelsomina, and Herr Wireceaster. Gelsy, Wirey: this is Macdolas, of the Clan Fhionnlaigh."

The three elves perform rigid bows, glancing warily at one another. Wirey is the first to break away, making a beeline for Hermione and prostrating himself at her small feet.

Draco becomes aware of a disturbance in the ether when Hermione squeaks in surprise and looks down.

"Fräulein Granger! Wireceaster begs the reciting of his götzendienerisch – idolatrous – poetry? He crafts the unrhyming lines with sweat und das Blut, blood of heart!" Wirey spins, almost tripping over the blue corduroy beanbag. Gelsomina prudently steps back from the teetering sprite; Macdolas glowers and restlessly taps his foot.

"Oh dear, please be careful, Wirey–" Hermione makes an abortive move toward the elderly elf, stymied by Draco's firm arm around her waist.

"Don't you dare, Granger – let the little tête de nœud brain himself on the furniture, if he's so inclined," Draco carps.

"Never be fearing, Liebste Dame – Herr Wireceaster ist spry," he solemnly assures, twiddling at his elaborately curled white moustache. "Master Nott translates for das Englisch, bitte?"

Displaying a nimbleness that Draco would not have thought possible, Wirey leaps onto the coffee table and strikes a histrionic pose worthy of a Shakespearian-trained Muggle actor. The vase of scarlet flowers wobbles.

"Have a care!" Draco snipes, moving to steady the bunch; but Macdolas flicks his capable wrist and secures the vase immediately. Draco is unimpressed to note Zabini chortling, as the tall Slytherin reclines lazily on the squashy cyan sofa. Pansy has her arms wrapped around her sides, a smirk stretching her full mouth. Theo is chewing back his own smile even as he shrugs apologetically.

"Sorry, Draco… Wirey is terribly obdurate. Maybe just let this play out?".

On cue, Wireceaster launches into his verse recital, Theo interpreting after each line.

"Ein bescheidener Elf"

"A humble elf –"

"Starrt erstaunt bei seiner Königin"

"Stares in amazement at his queen –"

"Er baut eine Burg in der Luftschloss"

"He builds a castle in the air –"

"Von süßer Hingabe Zur schönsten Hexe der Welt."

"Of sweet devotion to the most beautiful witch in the world.–"

"Er ist dein Diener bis ans Ende der Tage…

"He is your servant until the end of days–"

"Er wirft sich zu deinen zierlichen Füßen"

"He flings himself at your dainty feet –"

"Und wünscht sich nur die Freude, alle Ihre Bedürfnisse und Wünsche zu erfüllen."

"And wishes only for the joy of fulfilling your every need and desire.–"

"Klappe zu, Affe tot."

"Close the lid, the monkey is dead."

Wirey finishes with a wild flourish, audibly popping his joints as his geriatric knees drop to the tabletop. Everyone bar Hermione and Mac attempts a variety of methods to contain their mirth, as the overcome senior elf drags out a huge ivory silk square from his vest pocket and sobs into it noisily.

'The monkey is dead'? Draco shakes his head, utterly befuddled. He looks to Theo for clarification, soundlessly mouthing the phrase.

"It's a popular German idiom – it just means something like, 'that's the end of the story," Nott explains. "No deceased primates intended, I believe." Theo covers his mouth with his hands as Blaise almost tips off the back of the sofa in roiling hilarity. Pansy is gasping into a couch cushion, while a coughing Gelsomina hides behind her.

Hermione takes advantage of Draco's loosened hold to approach the kneeling old elf, gently helping him to step off the table. Wirey refuses to let go of her hand and presses his leathery, tear-damp face against her trouser leg.

Macdolas beats Draco to the punch again, growling as he yanks at Wirey's stubbornly clinging arm. "The Wirey grossly oversteps his place! He rankly abuses the good-naturedness of Her Grace Lady Granger and stops at once!" Mac yowls, his hands slipping a little as the decorative leather gauntlets hamper his grip on the German butler.

"The Macdolas knows not how pure und dedicated beats Wirey's heart for Fräulein Granger!" Wirey snaps in return, refusing to relinquish his handhold. His sodden white handkerchief flutters to the floor as the two manservants bump chests and snarl like tiny bears, bobbing and scrambling to and fro around Hermione's legs in tightly woven figure eights.

This is fucking ridiculous.

Hermione is still trying to cautiously extricate herself from the escalating elfish battle royale when Draco takes charge. He scoops up his too-nice girlfriend and hoists her well out of reach of the squabbling fey fighters.

"That's ENOUGH! Macdolas – leave Wireceaster alone, he is still a guest in our home – and thrice your age, to boot," Draco lambastes the sullen manikin. "Elven brawling is expressly forbidden, you peanut."

"Theo – can you please take care of your crying elf? There are tissues on the sideboard. If Kreacher arrives, make him welcome – ditto Luna and Ginny Weasley. I'm taking my beloved upstairs and well out of reach of the elven horde," Draco says, already carrying Hermione toward the staircase.

"Pansy – give us five minutes, please," Draco throws the request back over his shoulder.

Hermione loops her hands around his neck and gazes at him lovingly; she waits until he has begun to ascend the steps before she gives in to her quiet laughter, burying her face in his neck to muffle her giggles.

"It's rather disturbing, Granger – you seem to inspire a peculiar kind of possessive madness in these nutty little creatures," Draco says, punctuating his statement with a wry smile.

"I think they just need an outlet for their hyperactive emotions," Hermione diplomatically demurs. "And perhaps to socialize… it's not really about me, or Harry. They are coming off centuries of slavery, after all."

"You are the sweetest, kindest woman I've ever known, Hermione." Draco pushes open the door to their bedroom with his toe, setting her down on their bed.

"Now, we have five minutes to passionately snog, before Pansy starts bossing you about… let's make the most if it."

Hermione mischievously beckons him to sit beside her, a saucy expression lighting up her pretty face.

"Well? Time's a-wasting, my darling wizard. Kiss me, mon amour."

Draco sinks onto the mattress and gladly complies.


"Pansy? Am I allowed to look in the mirror now?" Hermione whines, as Pansy slaps warningly at her restive fingers, stopping her from resting them on her gown.

"Wait – I just have to fix your eyeliner… Luna, would you please pass me that pencil?" Pansy twirls her finger in the direction of the top level of her compact make-up kit, peering critically at Hermione's left eye.

"Luna's gone upstairs to look at Draco's studio," Ginny slaps the required eyeliner in Pansy's open palm. "She said she'll be back in a few minutes."

Hell – did Draco safely put away last night's drawing into his portfolio, like he promised he would? Hermione starts to chew on her bottom lip but thinks better of it as Pansy clucks acerbically. Too late now, she fatalistically swiftly looks between her recently-reconciled friend and her new one; fortunately, the brief awkwardness of their initial meeting tonight seems to have fully evaporated.

"No frowning – and don't look at me, look up – that's it," Pansy skilfully sketches in the dark brown lines, and makes a final blending adjustment of the contoured 'shimmering neutrals' earthy palette on Hermione's eyelids.

"Perfect." She steps back and nods decisively. "OK, you may now cast your eyes on the gloriousness of my fashionable creation," she bombastically intones.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione catches sight of Luna slipping back into the bedroom. She smiles at her friend before picking her way across the rug in her strappy red heels to stand before the mirror… blinking repeatedly as she gets her first glimpse of her reflection.

Fortunately, Pansy hasn't styled her to be sophisticatedly unrecognizable tonight; Hermione is glad she insisted on a simpler style of dress and hair, and that her face isn't slathered in too-heavy make-up.

I still look like me, just… fancier, she thinks with relief. And maybe… prettier. Her red-painted lips curve in a shy smile as she takes in all of Pansy's hard work of the past few hours, starting from the crown of her head.

Once Draco had been prised away from her person and shoved unceremoniously out the door, Hermione had taken a long, depilating/exfoliating shower, washing and conditioning her hair and using all of her personalized luxury toiletries until her skin shone and her hair was glossy and tamed.

Pansy had tackled her mahogany mop first, adding an extra anti-frizz crème to her regular detangling oil, before expertly brushing and twisting it into a relaxed braid. She'd added tiny gold leaf pins for both securing and decorative purposes.

Next came the make-up; Luna and Pansy had arrived by that stage, and each taken their own showers while Pansy had worked her magic on Hermione's face. She'd had to cool her heels as Pansy had ducked in for her own wash, leaving stern instructions that none of them don their dresses until she gave specific clearance.

Pansy had swiftly attended to Luna and Ginny's hair and faces, marcelling Luna's fine blonde tresses into pronounced side waves and a tucked-under low bob, with dramatic eye shadow and dark pink lips; the flapper look matches her stunning Art deco strapless silver-blue dress. A wide belt cinches in her tiny waist, lending definition to the sweeping wide, long sleeves and train of the sparkly blue overlay robe, while fine silver belled chandelier earrings tinkle with each movement of her delicate head.

Ginny's flowing auburn locks had been loosely curled and left to hang freely over her shoulders, with matte golden hues on her eyes, and a coral lip. Her gown is deceptively simple: a vee-necked plunging bodice with spaghetti straps and a fitted skirt; but the multiple layered fine gold fringes that pattern from the waist to mid-calf combine with the gauzy white underskirt to create a striking effect.

Pansy herself had quickly coiled her waterfall-straight sable strands into an artful side chignon with teased-out framing wisps, before applying violet eyeshadow and a deep crimson lipstick. Her dress had made them all gasp in awe when she'd slipped into it: iris purple silk, with a low curving wave neckline that barely restrains her bosom; a smattering of brilliant crystals partially occludes her right breast, the gems continuing along the single thin strap and repeated on the lateral edge of the curving neckline. The voluminous skirt is gathered on the same hip and trails the floor.

Hermione now takes a deep breath before double-checking her appearance in the looking glass.

The dress she is wearing is a glorious concoction of true red satin, with a scalloped cross-over boned bodice, wide velvet shoulder straps and a narrow waist, accentuated by the gold-buckled red velvet belt. The floor-length skirt is cut high on her left thigh, exposing most of that slender leg; the swathe of richly smooth material is full, heavy, and cunningly pleated at the back to swish sensually as she walks. Pansy has dusted just a hint of golden powder on her exposed collarbones and the tops of her breasts, highlighting her olive skin. There is a concealed narrow pocket at her left hip for her wand; Hermione pats it reassuringly. It is just wide and deep enough to also hold her tube of bright red lippy.

"You don't… you don't think it's too cliched? The red, I mean – I don't want it to scream 'Gryffindor' like a fire alarm," Hermione worries aloud.

"Not at all – and besides, red is always glorious on you, Hermione. You look…" Ginny trails off, cocking her head to the side as the four witches line up shoulder-to-shoulder before the mirror.

"Like a beautiful warrior," Luna finishes. "You ARE a warrior, Hermione. Be proud of your strength. We love you dearly for it."

"We do," Pansy nods, as Ginny squeezes Hermione's twitching hand in gentle support. "I have to say – you were right to refuse that frothy number I initially tried to foist on you. This is much more… you. Clean, powerful… gorgeous. You look bloody amazing, Pollyanna. Draco is going to go utterly gaga when he sees you come down that staircase," Pansy complacently predicts.

"Oh – I don't think I should descend the stairs while the boys are watching… I'm not terribly confident in these heels yet," Hermione objects.

"Nonsense – keep hold of the banister, and go slowly, you worrywart. Now, I just have to say – are we the hottest witches in the world right now, or what?! Damn, ladies!" Pansy brags.

Hermione joins in the carefree laughter as Pansy makes exaggerated 'model' poses in the mirror and Ginny pretends to preen; Luna even attempts a seductive (somewhat owlish) pout.

When the merriment dies down, Hermione gives each of her friends a soft hug, taking care not to mess with their immaculate presentation. "You are all spectacular: you really are stunningly beautiful, splendid women, inside and out. Thank you very much for being in my life," she sniffs and winkles away a tear before Pansy can threaten another hexing for 'messing up her masterpiece'.

"Oh – my jewellery. I'll just grab the gold locket Mum and Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday," Hermione remembers.

Pansy shakes her head. "No – your rich wizard's already got that covered," she smirks. "Trust me: you're going to love it."

Hermione blushes as her friends wail, "Oooooooooo!" in idiotic, taunting unison.

"Cut it out – I still have to get something out of my 'ballerina' box before we go downstairs – and where are my tickets? I'm sure I left them atop the dresser," Hermione fusses.

"They're already in your pocket, Hermione," Luna tranquilly enlightens. "You're a little flustered… that's to be expected. I bet Draco is even more nervous; it's such a special night for you both. You're going to have a wonderful time," the blonde Ravenclaw dreamily asserts.

Hermione bobs her head in a jerky nod, feeling silly tears swelling again. She hastily rifles through her jewellery case until she finds what she seeks; she slips the small item into her right hand and takes a cleansing breath.

Unsurprisingly, Pansy is already impatiently holding open the door. "Come on – if we time this right, we are going to make the entrance of the night at this shindig! Chop-chop, witches!".

Adrenaline already thrumming through her veins, Hermione takes up the rear of their little procession, her nervous fingers rubbing at the small item in her hand.

I hope Draco won't be disappointed in my gift… I hope he won't be disappointed in me.

Shaking off her insecurity, Hermione determinedly sweeps up her flowing skirts and passes through the doorway.


Draco checks his watch again. Not long to go now… it's OK – Pansy runs a tight ship, she knows what time the Gala starts. Remain cool and controlled; they'll be down shortly. He shuts his eyes and slows his breathing and heartrate. Better.

He trains his narrowed vision on the five elves grouped around the dining table. Ruibby had Apparated here during his all-too-brief snogging session with Hermione, while Kreacher had Floo'ed in a few minutes after Draco had been kicked out of the master bedroom and returned downstairs. Luna and Ginny had arrived soon thereafter, and had wasted little time galloping upstairs to join the other two witches.

Sending Blaise and Theo ahead of him to use one of the other two upstairs bathrooms, Draco had herded the elves into the kitchen/dining room, lingering in the lounge to lay down the law to his ornery male employee.

"Macdolas: I expect you to apologize sincerely to Herr Wireceaster, and invite him (and Gelsomina) to join your Greasy Club, is that understood? Otherwise I'll be forced to send you and your girlfriend back to the Manor for the night, and leave Kreacher in charge of the townhouse," Draco had firmly presented the ultimatum. "Choose wisely."

Opening and closing his mouth without issue half a dozen times, Macdolas had at last merely pointedly spelled, "'G.R.E.A.S.E.R.S.', Master Malfoy," and nodded his head in resigned accord with Draco's directive.

Once he'd returned to the kitchen after bathing and dressing, Draco had been relieved to see the elves sitting at the table in circumspect harmony, Mac holding court at the head of the table and handing out parchment applications to join their fan club, with Ruibby taking copious notes – no, 'minutes of the inaugural meeting', Draco had sniggered to himself. Thankfully, Wirey's waterworks had dried up; he'd been fastidiously re-curling his waxed moustache, while Gelsy peered down her nose at him… and Kreacher had looked like he'd rather be cleaning out a Hippogriff stable. Somehow, Harry's inherited house elf is managing to project disdain, reluctance, and jaundiced cynicism, without speaking a single word.

Well played, Kreacher.

A commotion sounds from the landing; Draco spins on his dragon leather heel as he hears Blaise's admiring whistle.

"Malfoy – get out here – the girls are finally ready!" Zabini calls. "Trust me, mate – you don't want to miss this!"

A few swift paces and he is in the hallway, his eager eyes barely noticing the resplendence of Pansy, Luna, and Ginny descending the stairs. Draco sucks in a huge breath when he finally sees Hermione walking behind them.

She is smiling shyly at him, one hand tightly gripping the railing as she carefully finds her footing on each tread before stepping to the one below. Draco knocks aside Zabini's considerable bulk with a well-placed elbow, desperate to get a better view of his sublimely beautiful girlfriend… lover… soulmate.

"Breathe, dummy," Zabini thumps him on the back none-too-gently, prudently moving to shelter behind Theo as Draco wheezes and growls. He doesn't waste time seeking retribution: Hermione is the sole focus of his intense regard. Stopping on the third last stair, she locks her whiskey brown eyes with his wide graphite ones.

"Draco… um, hi. You look… amazing," Hermione compliments.

"Hermione– you continue to steal my lines, ma petite," Draco finally finds his voice. He holds out his hand to assist her off the last few steps, hoping she fails to notice the fine tremor running through his fingers.

"You look like a goddess… you are a goddess. My beautiful, strong, brilliant queen." Draco lifts her hand to his lips and bows over it to kiss each folded knuckle.

"Merlin's fluffy bathrobe… are they always like this?" Ginny Weasley incredulously exclaims. "I thought you were exaggerating when you told me how mushy they are together, Luna!".

"Oh, yes: Draco has pined for Hermione for eons, Ginny; and I believe Hermione has shared his yearning for longer than we realized. It's deeply satisfying to witness how thoroughly they express their love for one another, you know: emotionally and physically. They can't stop touching and smooching, it's so–"

"Refreshing–" says Theo.

"Confronting–" chips in Pansy.

"Titillating–" Blaise waggles his eyebrows.

"… Sweet," Luna concludes, blithely ignoring the unsolicited conflicting opinions.

"Thanks, Luna," Draco spares a smile for his Ravenclaw ally, before the clattering scrape of multiple dining chairs reaches his ears. He curves his hand around Hermione's waist and guides her towards the lounge room before the Lilliputian riffraff catch sight of their idol and begin another rivalrous affray.

"Grant us a few minutes' privacy, please," he firmly closes the door behind them and collects a jewellery case from the mantlepiece.

"Hermione, I would be honoured if you wore these tonight; and – bien sûr – accepted them permanently." Draco quells his nerves by sheer force of will, slowly unhooking the clasp on the chest and raising the lid to reveal a hammered-gold double-leafed laurel headband and matching drop earrings. "Pansy suggested I choose something 'golden, and befitting Athena'; I thought of you the moment I saw them."

He clears his throat edgily, relief flooding through him as Hermione claps her hands in patent delight. "Draco – they're perfect! You spoil me so… I really don't deserve all this!" she sighs.

"Of course you do: now, please hold still so I may put them on you," Draco gingerly lifts the headdress and positions it precisely on Hermione's forehead and braided hair. He loops the earrings through her lobes with equally scrupulous attention, standing back to take in the breathtaking vision she presents.

"Draco… thank you. You always… you always make me feel so special… so loved," Hermione twists her fingers together and smiles beatifically. "How do they look?".

"Absolutely superb – just like you, Hermione," Draco warmly assures. "Must we attend this Ball? I am seized with the flaming desire to simply rush you upstairs and have my wicked way with you… repeatedly."

"Malfoy! I didn't suffer through Pansy's rigorous beauty and fashion regime for hours just to skip the main event – never mind, I know you are teasing," Hermione airily dismisses.

"Not entirely," Draco mumbles to himself. Before he can suggest they rejoin the others, Hermione lays her small hand on his chest.

Biting her lip, she uncertainly petitions, "Draco… I have a small gift for you, too. You're under no obligation to accept it, of course – it probably seems a little trite – certainly, it's nowhere in the league of the exquisite jewellery and flowers you constantly lavish upon me – Oh! and thank you so much for the red roses you sent today, I don't need a floriography textbook to know what they mean," a happy grin breaks through her nervous demeanour for a moment.

Sliding his hands along Hermione's upper arms until he reaches the red velvet and satin straps, Draco exhorts, "Hermione, I would be honoured to accept your gift… but perhaps you should actually give it to me first, sweetheart."

"Right – yes, hold on–" Hermione fumbles at her right hip. "Wait – I think it's dropped to the bottom of this pocket, my wand is in the way – aha!" she triumphantly produces a small blue velvet pouch and drops it into his waiting hand.

As Draco unties the fine drawstring, Hermione quietly explains, "This was originally commissioned as a gift, from my great-great-great grandmother Emmeline to her then-fiancé Gilbert. Upon his death, she gave it to her daughter; it has been passed down my maternal line for over a century."

The item Draco tips out onto his palm is a small oval cameo pendant, a little bigger than a coin; it has a dark brown background, with a raised woman's silhouette depicted in the marble-white foreground.

"It's a hand-carved sardonyx cameo – one of the rarest and most expensive types, of the Victorian era… and that's my ancestor Emmeline's profile. Family legend has it that Gilbert carried it with him everywhere from that day forward, and listed it in his will as his 'greatest treasure'."

As Draco continues to stare at the cameo in silence, Hermione hesitantly asks, "Is it not to your liking? My mother believes I bear a striking resemblance to Emmeline – but perhaps that's rather fanciful; and I know cameos aren't fashionable, nowadays–"

"Hermione. This is… this is the most wonderful, special, precious gift I have ever received… apart from your love," Draco chokes out. "I cannot express what this means to me… thank you. Just like your forefather Gilbert: I shall carry it with me everywhere," he vehemently vows. He slips the cameo back into its little bag, then stows it carefully in the pocket of his red and gold brocade waistcoat.

"Is it better than a pair of oven mitts, though?" Hermione jokes. "Perhaps not as useful, huh? I'm glad – I'm glad you like it," she beams.

"Like it? Ma belle lionne – I love it. As I love you. Come here, I'll show you just how much," Draco urges.

They step forward simultaneously, meeting in the middle for an impassioned, yet tender kiss. Draco has just begun charting the deep split of Hermione's red skirts with his fingertips when the door rudely opens.

"Busted – you were right, Pans, they're pashing again," Blaise gaily broadcasts to all and sundry.

"Hey – don't go smearing her lipstick, you wally!" Pansy admonishes. "No time for more ooey-gooey nonsense, we have to take photographs now."

On cue, Macdolas bustles into the room, brandishing the Polaroid, while Theo enters cradling the Wizard camera. The rest of the elves and humans stream into the living room, chattering nineteen to the dozen. Kreacher slinks in last, condescending to tip Draco a minute nod as he spies him with Hermione.

I'd like to think Kreacher prefers me to the Weasel as a suitable partner for Hermione… but he's probably merely granting his grudging approval because he's a Black family house elf down to his bones, Draco reflects with a dry grin. He returns the gesture, keeping Hermione within the circle of his arms.

Hermione's joyful expression makes his overfull heart thump impossibly faster. Draco bends down to whisper in her ear, as the two cameras start flashing around them.

"Granger… Hermione… my glorious goddess – are you certain you're ready to accept my public claiming of you? I warn you now, I am going to be hard-pressed to leave your side for a moment tonight… and it's not to late to escape upstairs, you know." Despite his own excitement at the pride and honour of escorting Hermione to the Ball, Draco wants to be absolutely certain his plucky witch is ready for everything the night may entail.

Shaking her head pityingly, Hermione rebuts, "Malfoy… Draco… my miraculous, wizardly prince – you are forgetting that I invited you to the Ball: so inconvertibly, I am publicly – and proudly – claiming you!".

Squeezing his hand, she boldly proclaims, "Get ready, big boy – we are going to have the time of our lives this evening… you just wait and see."

Returning the enthusiastic pressure between their hands, Draco steals a final quick kiss.

He winks at her as the cameras turn their way.

Any time with you is the time of my life, my darling Hermione.


Italian translations:

buona sera – good afternoon.

amici del cuore – bosom buddies.

German translations:

und das Blut – and the blood.

Liebste Dame – dearest lady.

das Englisch, bitte – the English, please.

French translations:

tête de nœud – dickhead.

bien sûr – of course.