It all started as a joke in remedial class in Third Year.

Draco promised he'd dance with Hermione at the Yule Ball if none of them had dates by the end of the night.

"Unless I am your date," he added, quickly flipping his page.

"I won't ask you out. Not even once," she replied.

"Right, you'd probably have to ask twice. I'm not that easy."

She stopped reading her chapter on Tarot cards to tell him off.

The invitation must have been to keep him entertained while they studied to pass Divination under Professor CuthbertBinns snores. Another one of Draco's thoughtless blurts that occurred far too often when he was bored.

Draco's memory was not that sharp. She knew. She'd once spent an entire forty-five minutes explaining the difference between Chinese and Western Zodiac signs to him. He stared at her with such strain and intent, that she finally thought he understood the chapter only to have him ask her to repeat herself.

If by some stretch of the imagination he did remember his invitation, he couldn't possibly be that patient. She knew that, too. Draco routinely came to class at the chime of the bell. The rare days he came five minutes early it was so he could boast about finishing his homework a day early. Unfortunately, she happened to be part of the very audience he ranted to.

Surely there'd be at least one Slytherin girl who could stand the size of Draco's ever-ballooning ego for a night. She'd in turn hoped Harry would come with her out of solidarity (unless Ron suddenly got over his 'girls-can't-be-just-friends-phase' that begun over the summer).

And so far, the night passed exactly like she'd imagined it would. Draco took Pansy. She'd been graciously invited by Viktor from Durmstrang. However as the night went on, Viktor left for drinks with his friends in their guest dorms and Pansy disappeared into a crowd of girls off to get autographs from the lead singer of The Weird Sisters.

The clock struck nine, and Hermione was stuck behind a candle-lit table with an inconsolable Beauxbaton girl. She had listened to her recount every episode of her fight with her petit-ami back in France and was no longer making an effort to nod at appropriate times.

She'd wished she'd gone off with Viktor when Draco made his way over.

He braced his hands on the back of the empty chair.

"So, then," he said in an upbeat voice. "Tough night?"

"Not exactly," Hermione replied.

However, Draco asked again, his attention directed at the sobbing girl. She flinched, quickly wiping the remains of mascara and blue eye-shadow from her eye with her dress sleeve.

Hermione waited for his half-hearted attempt at consolation. At the very least, a joke about how ugly girls looked when they were crying.

Draco did nothing of the sort. In fact, he made no attempt to draw attention to her disposition. He only handed her a crumpled hanky from his pocket.

Then he smiled, cheeks turning rosy and the corners of his blue eyes crinkling.

After a few short questions about her boyfriend and quips about the guests, the girl's sobs slowed until she stopped crying altogether. Clarice, as she made clear was pronounced with an 'r', smiled back, and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

How Draco managed to calm her was a question she couldn't answer. Only that he must have known some formula for dealing with people that she couldn't figure out for the life of her.

When she watched them whisper, leaning into each other, Hermione noticed that something had also changed in Draco over the summer.

His hair no longer slicked back hung in messy strands around his temples. The boyish contours of his nose and cheeks sharpened and his brows were now framing a very intent gaze. When he caught her staring, she shifted her attention to the crowd.

"Looking for Potter and Weasley?" Draco said. "I don't think they stayed long after the band left."

"I didn't come with them. Besides they're probably around with the Patil twins."

"Well, Pansy went off with her girls so-." Draco's words settled in the air. As though he wanted Hermione to finish his thought.

If he was planning on asking her to dance, he'd have to muster up the courage himself. She adjusted her blue skirt around her knees. Draco, not picking up the hint or perhaps ignoring it, continued to push a streamer on the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"I'd like to dance with you," he said when the tiny paper floated under a tablecloth.

Hermione had been anticipating the very moment she'd be asked to dance. She savored her time, choosing between replying with a half-hearted 'yes' or a firm and vengeful 'no'. After all, Draco hadn't really deserved to be forgiven even though he was tolerable most of the third year.

But Clarice, who had no such dilemmas, quickly took Draco's hand and they left for the dance floor leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

They made a pretty picture, the two of them. It was easy to stew like a bubbling potion. Clarice, very petite and light-footed, slipped her hand on Draco's shoulder and adjusted his hand on her hip. Draco in turn grasped a fistful of her poufy skirt and held his back as though a measuring stick was taped to it.

The frog choir croaked a tune about Yuletide Puddings and the Pygmy Puffs and the crowd hopped in a jive under the red and yellow lights.

Clarice trotted on her silver kitten heels and shook her shoulders so vigorously that the tiny horse broach on her chest nearly took flight. It was like she'd been preparing all her life for this very day. Not missing a beat, she led Draco to the middle of the dancefloor for all eyes to see.

Draco in turn was barely keeping up with her nimble movements. How could he with such an expert instructor?

Professor Snape did not prepare the Slytherins for such booty-shaking, shoulder-shimmying, skirt-flouncing gaiety. The caution with which the Potions Professor was bobbing up and down in his corner of the room suggested he didn't even consider dancing to be on the itinerary. He looked like a giant, black coat hanger having a mild seizure. A rather handsome coat hanger, but lacking in looseness of the limb.

Hermione bit her lip. She had to at least give Draco credit for trying to keep up with Clarice. Draco wasn't a joker, but he sure couldn't dance.

His moves looked like a mix between a whithering Mandrake and a Whooping Willow. His shoulders barely moved and his right arm dangled by the floor while his left struggled to stay on Clarice's waist. Regardless, his face lit up from within and he didn't look the least bit phased.

Hermione tried to find fault with Draco, some hidden cruel intention for dancing with Clarice instead of her, but couldn't. If terrible dancing was a remedy for a broken heart, Draco was the Healer of the century.

Draco. His goofy grin spread from ear-to-ear and his feet kicked wildly into the air. With each turn, he bumped into a nearby girl or boy and Clarice kept pulling him in to face her. Draco's expression was sweet and un-supposing, like a child bouncing in front of the telly while an old musical played.

Luckily, he didn't mar the spectacle that was the dancing professors.

Professor Flitwick wiggled his bottom, his celebratory jacket glittered as he conducted his musicians in tune. Headmaster Dumbledore was swinging his gingerbread bonnet in the air and his beard cleared a rather large opening in front of him. Hagrid and Madame Maxime thumped their feet so loudly that the wine jiggled in the goblets on Hermione's table.

Everyone bobbled and bopped, wiggled and waggled, shook and shivered as the frogs darted their tongues in and out with every down-beat and bugged their eyes at the end of each chorus.

Clarice had drifted far enough and conveniently into the arms of Dean who despite his height, was giving a very believable performance. The two of them did a very harmonious two-step.

Draco appeared from the crowd, hips swaying, and extended his hand to Hermione. He mouthed the words come on!

Hermione hesitated, hands tight around her chest. Could she? Draco persisted. Finally, Professor Sinistra, who appeared from behind hoisted her up and into the blinding, multi-colored lights.

At first, she took a note from Professor Snape, swaying from side to side. She watched Clarice toss her hands in the air and bring them back into the form of a tiny water-lily with her fingertips. Perhaps she could try and loosen up? She put her hands a little higher and wiggled her hips a little quicker.

Draco was inventing moves on the spot. He pushed an invisible wall growing at his left and right. He spun his arms around like a windmill. He even dipped to the floor and imitated a Bulgarian Squat dance that would have made even Viktor blush. Hermione was sure he must have ripped a seam or two on his dress pants or popped a couple of buttons off his white, tailored vest.

He wiggled his brows at her and stuck out his tongue. At that moment, Hermione realized that there was no use trying to remember the dance moves she'd read about in a Regency Era romance. She would not become a good enough dancer in a single night, not if Jane Austen were to swoop down and transform her into Emma Woodhouse herself. Nor did she want to.

Her new goal was to become the most ridiculous dancer the Yule Ball had seen. Like all things she did, Hermione took her job very seriously.

She burst into a wild mix between the chugging of the Hogwarts Express and a Trolley Shuffle. She eyed Draco, trying to wipe the look of bewilderment from his face. The boy slowed his moves for a moment, watching her. Then slowly he began to mirror her steps with more and more speed until the two of them were one with the beat. He clasped her hand and swung her in a circle. They spun twice, thrice, four times.

The crowd parted. Faces blurred in shadows and light, colors and shades. She shut her eyes for a moment to keep from getting dizzy. They must have been clapping, or maybe it was the beating of Hagrid's feet or the croaking of the large toads in the chorus. Someone called her name. A cheer sounded out. They'd spun for an endless time.

For the first time, she let herself strike out her chest and roll out her shoulders and take control of every fiber of her body. She let the music run through her veins, rush from her fingertips to her toes. Like she'd been struck by a spell. Like she'd been a fragile wax candle and now she was the flame, burning and bursting and blazing with every last flicker of white light. It was her. Only her. Always her.

When the final chord strung, Draco dipped her back. Her back arched. She gasped for air and swung her head so far back she could count the glittering snowflakes on the ceiling. Then he lifted her back into his arms, his eyes wide open and breathing heavily.

"I'm fine, really," Hermione said and gave her neck a quick rub.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

The room suddenly felt very hot. She'd been burning for too long. Her cheeks flushed. Her skin tingled from the top of her untangling hair knot to the little dip between her chest where the stitches of her blue silk gown met by a thread. And her heart pounded. She was standing in Draco's arms, only one breath away from his. He was looking straight at her too.

"I-I think we've outdone them all," he said between breaths.

"Yeah- yeah I think we were quite good."

"We were the best!" He took off his tie, tucking it into his pocket. "At least I was."

The other students were deep in conversation, some hugging each other, others nursing their toes and sore shins.

Neville and Luna came over to tell her they'd never seen such dancing. Luna even did a reenactment of Draco's Squat Dance which had Neville pulling her skirt down and cursing. Apparently, he was not a fan of her flashing her knickers to the entire Hogwarts faculty, even if they were new and freshly laundered. Hermione caught Draco grinning at Neville as he scolded Luna for being so embarrassing before dragging her away.

"Now, a final waltz to finish the night." Professor Flitwick wiped his brow and turned to face the crowd. "For our Champions and the lovely couples gathered here tonight. May our schools always be close-"

"Not too close." Professor Snape flew onto the stage, extending a measuring stick. "If I see any bodies pressed together at a distance which surpasses six inches, I will personally escort you out and you will lose fi-"

"Oh Severus, let them be," Professor McGonagall said before snatching him off the stage by his shirt collar.

The lights grew dim and a cool-mist swept along the floor. It was like they were standing knee-deep in fog by the Black Lake. The smallest of the frogs sang ribbit-ribbit and the largest hummed a resounding borggit-borggit.

Hermione turned to Draco. In a moment, the song would sound in full bloom and it would be too late for them to leave. Draco only said they'd have one dance. But Draco was also facing her, not taking a step back or searching for a way out.

"Did you want to keep dancing?" She asked, watching him for any hint of rejection.

"Sure," he said.

She'd practiced before with Ginny and Harry. Viktor danced with her twice. This couldn't be much more different? Hermione's thoughts raced.

Would he be okay dancing hand-in-hand or did he expect a proper hand-on-waist waltz? Her palms sweated and held her nails into her skin.

"I mean, if you don't want to, we don't have to," he grumbled. As he spoke, the fold between his eyes furrowed.

"Well, I've just never done it...like this before."

Her stomach tightened at his grasp. Gentle, but the heat of his palm went right through the silk, as though she wasn't wearing anything at all.

She slipped his hand higher to the curve of her back, but that only made her realize that Draco smelled like nutmeg, like warm pottery at the Greenhouse on a summer's day, like the first whiff of spiced tea. Even turning away didn't do much to mask it.

She tucked her fingertips into the folds of his shirt collar, slowly feeling them warm around his neck. Every breath, every heartbeat now so close to hers.

Not like with Viktor, though he'd been a much better dancer and his chest felt much warmer and larger. With Draco, it felt more exposed. A dance should not feel so intimate, like one's entire mind had been unfolded like a book. But it did feel like that. Not with Harry, not with Ginny, not even with George over the summer after the Cookout, but with Draco Malfoy.

Is this what it was like to dance with a boy?

"You haven't invited me because of some bet with your friends?" she asked.

"Obviously not, as though they'd care," he replied. "Why? You think Potter won't approve of us?"

"How should I know."

It was jarring. His body should not feel so warm, his chest so loud. The dip of his neck filled with echoes into the hollow of his chest. Murmuring. Beating. Steady with each moment.

And with eyes closed, it also felt like being tucked under a down blanket on a rainy day. How had she agreed? Why did she not do this sooner?

How much time had she wasted laughing at Draco with Harry? Picking apart every conversation they had after class, even the ones she swore not to tell a soul of.

The conversations which lasted far into the night. Hiding in the alcoves on the way back to her Common Room when McGonagall or Flitwick did their rounds and laughing hysterically when he'd tossed a tapestry over Snape's head.

Him waiting until she shut the door, safely inside her room. Recalling all those moments only to make a story of it all with Harry and Ron, laughing at his stupidity. He was like a small dog to them, trying to win back her affection after nearly two years of being an absolute git. Like he could. Like an apology would help.

Now in his arms, it didn't feel funny at all.

His cheek pressed into her hair, the strands flickering in the warmth of his breath. There was no one else in the room. Only the two of them.

He didn't know she laughed at him. He wouldn't have to know, she'd make sure of it.

Then she saw them. Harry and Ron, staring straight at her from the shadows. One blob with black hair and one in a salmon-colored suit. Harry and Ron were watching her. She let Draco move away from her, releasing his damp shirt. She'd be back in a moment. As walked, every part of her dress smelled of him.

"Dancing with Draco? Really?" Ron said, his mouth gaping.

"Yes, he asked me to." Hermione closed her mouth mid-sentence. "I thought you two were in bed?"

"Bloody Hell, what did Draco do to you? I swear, I'll punch his face in if I have to."

"You won't." Her voice firm.

Harry's hand on her shoulder. "You're sure you're fine? I mean, you can tell us if anything happened."

"It didn't," Hermione said, as the sounds of the band faded behind her and Harry's cape was around her shoulders. "We were just dancing."

The boys took her down the hall.

"You know what-" Ron said, still two steps behind them.

"Ron-" Harry raised his voice. "No."

"No, I'll say it. If you think we can't handle Draco, after all, we've done, you're wrong. Gods it was disgusting, his hands were all over you. I wouldn't even let my kid sister dance like that with some bloke, it's bloody wrong. I swear 'Mione whatever that bastard told you to get you in his pants was complete shit."

Her hands trembled as she spoke. "Maybe if you asked me out beforehand instead of at the last minute, I wouldn't be dancing with the bastard in the first place!"

As she yelled out the words, her ears rang. Ron stepped back, his freckles barely seen above her red face. Harry gripped her shoulder tighter and was trying to console his friends. But one sound broke above the rest.

Footsteps.

Draco Malfoy. Vest untucked, shirt collar open and holding her evening cape in his hand. The fabric tucked in at the seams and draped over his arm. His eyes were glassy. Draco had even made sure her handbag was there. He lunged forwards, as though he was going to shove her belongings into her hands in anger.

But he didn't. He just stood there, face hidden by wet messy bangs and holding her cape out. She ran the fabric over his shirt sleeves until her black cape was tucked against her chest. She took the bag too, careful not to touch his fingertips. Draco had remembered her coat. Even Viktor had left without it. But Draco remembered. What could she possibly say? She avoided his eyes for as long as possible, as though even glimpsing at them would send a shock through the ocean.

He turned his back and walked back in solemn silence. And Ron, with all his supposed fury, didn't even lay a finger on him. Didn't even try.

"Draco."

Her feet sank into her heels, her toes aching with every step.

"Draco."

"Back off." His eyes glistened even under the lanternlight of the dark corridor. His lip curled downwards between words. "Bastard? That's what I am to you?"

"I wasn't thinking." She felt like she'd throw up. "I don't- I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Maybe that's just fucking it, Hermione. You weren't thinking. Maybe that's all I'm good for, getting into your pants."

"I never said that, stop twisting my words."

"You might as well have." His voice held every bit of hurt.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Hermione repeated again, letting the apology hang in the air.

"You said what you said. Go back to your...pathetic friends."

Ron lunged at Draco with a menacing look in his eye and his wand at the ready. Draco drew his wand in return. Sharp. Quiet.

Hermione put a hand on Ron's shoulder, and Ron retreated. No sooner did his wand touch his knee did Draco hit him with a Hex. With that, he ran off into the darkness of the night.

It had been two days since the ball. Hermione dragged Harry into the library under the guise of helping him with the Triwizard Competition. Instead, she set a pile of books on his desk and let the rest of her pent-up feelings come out between sobs, the second time after voicing them to Ginny.

Harry was not the sort of friend who interrupted. Perhaps he was even happy to be distracted from his Potions parchment.

"I should apologize to him, it was all so nasty. Should I? Would you?"

Harry nodded his head. "You're sure? I mean it is...Draco. Not that he doesn't deserve an apology."

And what of that? Hermione made a point to herself that nobody deserved to be told off in that way.

"I know, but it was still wrong and low."

"If you're going to apologize, do it for yourself."

That's exactly how she found herself waiting for Draco after Charms during the third period. He took one look at her and sped up his step. She followed close behind, unaware of how she might look.

In the courtyard, away from watching eyes and ears, he gave her the chance to catch up.

"I only wanted to say one thing. I meant it when I said I enjoyed the dance and I'm sorry for hurting you," Hermione said after a group of Ravenclaws passed by them.

"You think that matters Granger? Most people think I'm a bastard, why should it be any different with you."

"What's stopping you from changing?"

"Why would I do that?" He said the words slowly, mulling over each sound.

The courtyard filled and emptied again in time for the fourth period. Ginny walked by with Luna, giving her a sideways glance. And then she too disappeared behind the columns. They didn't even move when the bell tower chimed and a flock of owls flew into the owlery.

"I'm going to be late for class. Unless you have something else to add."

"So we're fine?"

He snorted. "Fine. Why should I even bother wasting my time forgiving you?"

"At least to show that you aren't as much of a bastard as you put yourself out to be."

She headed to Potions class, not even turning back to see if Draco was following her.