A/N - As this moves into the 8,000 word count with much more still to go, I thought it was probably a good idea to split this into more than two parts.I advise you to listen to the songs that Draco mentions the orchestra playing to give it a more authentic feeling I suppose, but not all of you probably like classical music - so it's not necessary.

This story is going to be over very soon, but from next week I'm going to be going on hiatus until June 17th, after which this story will be prioritised until it's complete, and then re-edited from the very beginning. Unfortunately, this may mean that I decide to remove certain parts of the story, re-write chapters - or even delete the chapter entirely, so enjoy your favourites while you still can!

Here's the first part:

Hermione sat in front of a dressing table, covered in a black silk robe. Narcissa chatted away as she brushed out the unruly curls in her hair, trying to be as delicate with her as possible; Hermione tried not to watch her in the mirror lest she accidentally caught her eye, as she had done earlier. Her smile was all she needed to know that she enjoyed grooming her like this – as if she was her own daughter, being prepared by her mother for her debut.

She, strangely, felt guilty. As if she was betraying her own family.

Draco stood in front of his floor length mirror, judging his appearance.

His hands shook; he moved them behind his back, puffed out his chest and lifted his chin.

He looked regal, sure – smart, in fact. Very smart. An inspiration to those who were soon turning 18. Although, he looked far more Christmassy than he felt – and, quite possibly, resembled an upper class 1910s gentlemen. How could he portray an image of power and charm if he felt as ridiculous as he did, in his red currant blazer? Still, he supposed that the Christmas Ball never did have a colour scheme for himself that avoided his embarrassment; he'd much rather never have worn the blue or gold – or even green suits that his mother forced upon him. Of course, it wasn't so bad for her; she looked wonderful in any colour dress.

He smoothed out the creases in his blazer. He hadn't worn this particular one since he was engaged to Astoria; he felt old, and strange. At his real debut – if he hadn't carried the Veela gene – he would've been introducing her as his fiancée, his date - his young, glorious partner - as he would be now, for Hermione.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

From outside his room, he heard his mother as she walked into his wing. "Uh, uh, I do not think so, Mister," Narcissa tutted, startling him as she appeared in his doorway. "Both of you in red? No. You will look like the uncoordinated couple."

Draco snorted mirthlessly. He knew that already – but! He groaned. Astoria had always made sure that whatever colour he was wearing, she wasn't. As a matter of fact, despite his parent's insistence after their official engagement that she'd wear their family's colours when attending, she continued to wear the colours for those who weren't their close family. Angrily, he untied his matching cravat and threw it on his bed, turning away from the humiliating image in his mirror. "Well, you said the dress code was red." He walked back over to his wardrobe to choose a new blazer. "So what am I supposed to wear then? You let me wear those ridiculous suits every other year."

Narcissa smiled warmly. She didn't suppose that Draco would've ever thought that'd he'd spend hours trying to make himself look perfect for one of their Christmas balls. She walked over to his cupboard and chose one of his black tailcoats and matching trousers, handing it to him. "Change into these; I will be back in a minute with some things from your father."

His father. Draco fidgeted. He wasn't just a son anymore, he was the official heir to the Malfoy line. His father's acceptance and support for him tonight meant just as much as every other family - and possibly even more. If his father didn't present him with their heirlooms tonight, then he didn't hold much hope for everyone else not to ostracise him. He'd seen it happen once or twice before – their family much preferring to give their heirlooms to a young sibling, and cutting the eldest off completely from the inheritance. Still, not all of them had disastrous consequences – some created a new, elite pure-blood family under a new title, and if they were well liked, then they were welcomed back into the circle. However, Draco needed his father's acceptance; it'd be embarrassing to be denied it, since there were no other living family members of theirs that could've stolen it from him – and it'd be unlikely that he'd be welcomed back in, no matter how well-liked he was, since he wouldn't be starting a pure-blood family.

Draco had this name or nothing. He really was – almost – better off dead.

Hermione fingered the necklace hanging at her neck, watching herself in the dresser's mirror. She was in awe.

She had never touched a ruby before now, much less have around 21 one of them touching her skin. She, of course, had seen a small diamond before on engagement rings and such, but the ones surrounding the rubies on this necklace were much bigger than anything she had ever seen - and the diamonds in the small tiara that sat atop her head! Her hair had been tightly tied back, creating a waterfall of curls, in front of which her tiara sat, neatly nestled in the tresses and holding everything in place. They were, as was expected, heavy to carry, but she was sure that she could bear it for a few more hours until she was done being Cinderella.

Narcissa had left her over an hour ago so that she could begin her own preparations at Hermione's insistence. She had convinced her that she was perfectly able to do her own make-up without her assistance; and so, with orders on the colour of lipstick to use and the thickness of eyeshadow or eyeliner and a specific request to keep her face clear of anything other than that, she went away.

Hermione, of course, had finished her make-up relatively quickly and had now been sitting in her seat since then, almost ready, admiring herself in the mirror. She thought her self utterly striking and beautiful – not that she didn't think she was before now, but she felt as if it had only been enhanced.

It was almost thrilling to imagine what Draco must think – must look like when he saw her for the first time descending those stairs. Oh, she couldn't wait. Couldn't wait one bit.

"There," she said. "Now don't you look far better?"

Draco felt silly again. He didn't feel like an adult at all; more like a child who was pretending to be an adult. He wasn't prepared for this; he had never been told how to prepare for this.

"Far better," he repeated numbly, staring at himself in the mirror.

It was true, to an extent. He did look far better in a black suit than his shitty red one; and his scarlet waistcoat was delicately embroidered with holly patterns which perhaps gave it a more Christmassy feel than what a black tailcoat gave off. It also matched his cravat, cufflinks and pocket square, which he didn't have before.

He looked polished.

"And just imagine what you'll look like with the Malfoy heirlooms," his mother gushed, mussing his hair. "And with your Mate." She rested her head on his shoulder, her hands enclosing over his and stopping them from shaking. "My little boy."

He smiled despite himself.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

Draco couldn't stop looking at himself. "I don't feel ready," he mumbled. He pulled at his sleeves.

"I don't think I did either." His mother had had a debut experience similar to what Hermione was going to have later that night, sharing it with his father. Draco supposed that their whole family had a tradition of having early debuts. "I think you're ready in any case, and so does your father."

Draco hadn't even seen his father yet. He doubted that he was any busier than the rest of them, but perhaps he needed all the time he could get to really think about whether he was going to let Draco and Hermione be the new heads of Malfoy Manor.

"So how are you going to introduce your Hermione?"

He wasn't sure, if he was honest. There weren't any words strong enough to convey their intertwining destinies that he could use. He knew that his mother was introduced as his father's fiancée, but he wasn't engaged to Hermione and doing it now or right then, in front of everyone, was a bit sudden. And in any case, Draco didn't think that marrying her on top of Bonding was special or important; it didn't matter to him at all as long as they were connected as Mate and Veela. Yet, he couldn't introduce her like that – Mate didn't mean anything to them, and he doubted that they even knew about it unless their children had told them.

She wasn't his wife, she wasn't his fiancée; she was his soul-mate, his girlfriend. Except they weren't solid-sounding positions and had no outward signs of commitment. No real unity.

Draco closed his eyes. "I have nothing," he confessed.

A large hand gripped his and shook it forcefully. The large man who it belonged to smiled politely at him, as politely as anyone else had smiled at him this past hour; but most of the polite smiles were fake and sycophantic. Still, Draco conversed with them as politely as their smiles and entertained them as well as his parents had ever done before, for this was something that he would forevermore do alone now he was an adult. Semper Fidelis drifted in to where he was standing, from the ballroom.

"Master Malfoy, may I say on behalf of my family that we are so sorry to hear of your sudden illness," he said, withdrawing his hand from Draco's grasp.

Illness. That's what they were using as the reason of his sudden debut, so far away from his actual birthday. It was only a half lie.

"Thank you, Mr Duckett," Draco said sombrely. "It's unfortunate that the rest of your family was unable to make it tonight; they will be deeply missed, I am sure."

"Yes, they were sad to miss it. Nevertheless, one must prioritise the birth of a new life!" Mr Duckett declared.

Draco wondered why he wasn't at the birth of his grandchild, unlike the rest of his family, apparently.

"Anyway," he continued, completely diverting away from the topic of his family and back onto Draco himself, "it is always so sad to see someone so young perish, but alas - if that is the fate we are given!" He paused. "Will you be keeping a wife - or fiancée - to keep you company before you die?"

Draco smiled and bowed his head; thanking them for their silent offer, but politely declining their gift. "I, in fact, already have someone. Please offer my condolences to your daughters; if angels looked like them, then I truly wouldn't mind dying. Alas, Fate has picked someone different out for me."

"I see," he said stiffly. Draco noticed how he was eyed suspiciously by him; he wished he could've phrased it in such a way that hadn't made him sound gay. "Well, I'm glad to hear of it, Master Malfoy. My daughters, however, yes, will be very disappointed to hear of it." He cleared his throat and reached out to shake Draco's hand again. "All the best for you both, then."

He walked away before Draco could thank him for his words again and congratulate the birth of his grandchild.

"Bon soir, Monsieur Malfoy!"

His hand was once again grabbed by a larger, sweatier one and roughly shaken in eagerness. Draco turned away from curiously watching Mr Duckett enter the ballroom, and easily slipped into French, conversing with Monsieur Brochard before him.

Draco was pulled down by his lapels and kissed firmly on both cheeks. Though this was the most informal thing that had happened yet, and he was sure that she was to be reprimanded by her mother straight after, he welcomed the familiarity of the Greengrasses and Astoria's child-like ignorance of the standards she had to upkeep.

"Astoria," Mr Greengrass admonished; she withdrew gracefully. "Enough of that. He is no longer your fiancé and these sorts of greetings therefore are no longer supposed to happen. Did we not tell you as much at the manor?"

She ignored him. "I've missed you," she told Draco. Behind her, Draco could see her sister, Daphne, smirking and clutching the arm of her fiancé, whom he had yet to properly meet; her father, continued to seem exasperated with her behaviour and her mother just seemed to be decidedly withdrawn from the subject. Astoria tugged on his lapels again, and straightened out the creases that she had created on his suit. "You look handsome tonight."

"Master Malfoy, I really must apologise-"

"It is quite alright, Mr Greengrass," Draco responded, cutting him off and trying to save Astoria from any more embarrassment, "I remember how Astoria can be. Nevertheless, her compliments are very welcoming and I must say, Astoria, you also are looking extraordinary tonight." He smiled charmingly as she blushed. "As do the rest of you." He thrust out his hand to shake Mr Greengrass and Daphne's fiancé, Douglas's hands, and politely kiss the knuckles of the women, as he had been doing for almost two hours now. Some families still had yet to arrive. "It is lovely to see you all again; I hope things are able to stay as they once were without the engagement to unify our families."

"My, Master Malfoy," Mrs Greengrass drawled, grinning delicately. "Are we not supposed to be ones bestowing the compliments upon you tonight?"

"The night is still young," Draco quipped.

They tittered politely. "We must be moving along now," Mr Greengrass suggested, shaking Draco's hand again in bidding. "The other stragglers are beginning to form a queue now. We'll talk again soon, Master Malfoy. We wish you the best with your…illness; it's unfortunate that such a thing had to come between us."

Draco nodded, and bid each of them a farewell as they followed after the head of their house. Daphne and Astoria both made him promise to save them a dance as they left, Astoria being taken away by her sister. They all were the only ones to know that they weren't as pure-blood as they put across, and that the pretence of 'illness' was simply not true; their family was told days prior to when their engagement was officially placed on hold that there was a possibility that he carried a Veela gene, and therefore could not marry Astoria as he was supposed to. He was not there when they were told, and so was never completely sure what they thought or felt about the cancellation, but Astoria had continued to be nothing less than pleased to see him whenever she did, and her parents had never done anything that would wreck their image. Draco imagined that they had had a back-up fiancé for Astoria anyway – or, at least, had found one soon after; Augustus Greengrass was no fool.

He swayed imperceptibly to Polonaise as he greeted a new family.

Once he had greeted the last guests, Mr and Mrs Florea, and their 4-year-old son, Felix, a Romanian family, Draco's parents walked with him into the ballroom as a sign that the debut had officially started. He pulled his mask down, over his face and moved around the ballroom, surveying and conversing with those who began to speak with him. This ball was perhaps one of the few occasions that truly allowed for a large gathering of pure-bloods, of whom many would not see or socialise with in any other circumstances – or simply may not even have the chance to see. Engagements were discussed here and proposed by several families, making sure that their pure-blood was not confined to families in their own country and was spread across Europe; the young had fun here with friends from abroad, whom they may have not seen since the previous year, and some even fell in love. Others, like Draco himself had, sulked in dark corners and prayed for the hours to pass quickly; and others still, the ones who were closer to Draco's age now, watched him with interest and with a hunger for inspiration on how to make their own debut a success.

The hall looked as lovely as it did every other year, with guests, dressed in white and smudges of other colours, chatting with each other and milling around with flutes of champagne; the orchestra was playing the Emperor Waltz, but no one was dancing yet. Not until he began it with Hermione. Draco fidgeted, trying to be subtle as he continued to speak with a Grecian lady; he couldn't believe that he had gone this long without seeing her, and was expected to go for at least half an hour longer, until everyone had settled in, while she waited, nervous and alone, in the halls for her cue.

Draco watched the Weasley clan cautiously as they, just as cautiously, wandered about the room and the table where they were seated (unfortunately close to his own), sticking out like a sore thumb. He hoped that this decision to invite them for Hermione wouldn't ruin his debut and cause the other guests to feel uncomfortable; he hoped that they relaxed soon, after they saw Hermione. He also hoped that they wouldn't be the cause of any fights, and thus, ruining his introduction in another way - whether it was because they started it or because of their presence; Draco was no fool to know that they had no familial allies here, unless they accepted his own family to strengthen their connections and be more accepted by this society after their years of rejection. Still, he knew that they wouldn't, and would rather be as ignored and warily watched as they were.

He had to give them credit, however, for their decision to dress in what must've been their finest; white may have suited their family the most, alongside the Greengrasses, with their genetic black hair. He imagined that they must've been awarded a small sum of money for their help in the war, and perhaps even for the death of their son, from the Ministry of Magic, to afford something from their usual tatters; richness seemed to suit them. Draco picked up a flute of champagne from a nearby tray, and sipped it, making a mental note to save a dance for Ginevra and Molly Weasley as well, and to take Hermione straight over to speak with them once she descended.

Draco tapped his wand against the glass in his hand, and, seconds later, everyone in the room faced him, awaiting his introductory speech; small children were being hushed, and some of the older ones even paused their play to watch the spectacle curiously. The orchestra continued to play Invitation to the Dance quietly in the background.

Having so many people watch him and hold many different expectations of him as a young Malfoy made him slightly nervous – but not much more nervous than he already was about finally seeing his witch.

Nevertheless, it was true, that he had never introduced anyone before - no one was ever solid enough in his life for his parents to allow him to stage an introduction. Astoria would've been the first, had everything gone the way that his parents and theirs had been planning; but everything to do with that wedding was put on hold 6 weeks before his 17th birthday and, subsequently, cancelled when it was obvious that he too had the Veela gene.

If there was one main – no, important - thing that he needed to do tonight, it was to convince them of the place of Hermione Granger in his and their lives and how, though it may not be considered an obvious improvement to some, their lives weren't going to deteriorate from it. That, he thought, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin up ever so slightly so it was as if he were looking down on them, was something that only could be done through his words and his words alone - for now. They needed to be delivered with the utmost confidence and control.

A part of Draco wished that it still was Astoria that he'd be introducing; with her, he would've been calm, indifferent - if it went wrong, he wouldn't have minded much. That introduction wouldn't have meant everything for his future - whether he lived in peace or not, whether he had social and/or financial support should something have happened in the long run of life. Astoria was already pure-blood and from a well-liked family. Still, to say that he regretted Hermione would be a grossly misinterpreted assumption. He was just nervous (and feeling slightly sick); he was sure she was as well.

He quickly reminded himself that he couldn't get lost in any thoughts and make everyone impatiently wait for him to come back down from the clouds; an heir that lost themselves to their thoughts wasn't a very good one. He needed to be quick with the things he did: carrying out orders and delivering them, thinking and speaking and preparing for the future. Draco had known that for a very long time.

He discreetly glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye, and briefly watched him assess him with the faintest of smiles. Draco's eyebrows furrowed slightly; this was unusual behaviour from his father indeed. Maybe he was happy after all.

He looked back at his audience, smiling at them, and fought the faint blush. He cleared his throat. "My lords, ladies and gentleman," he started, glancing around at everyone. He lifted his flute. "It is wonderful to see us all together again, the survivors of a dark, dark time indeed. I haven't seen many of you - particularly our European neighbours - since last Christmas, which, even then, many of you, understandably, where not able to attend. It was a very different mood that year. I wish to keep in memory those who are not able to join us tonight, due to Azkaban imprisonment, illness, death or any other prior engagement."

He paused respectfully. There were murmurs of names and small prayers from a few, but mostly the nodding of heads as they remembered.

"Tonight - as most - if not all of you already know, is not just the celebration of Christmastime, but also my début, which had to be moved forward for health reasons." He smiled, so as to show that it wasn't so troublesome. This was light. "I hope that I prove to you that I have, indeed, reached maturity early and am in an admirable position to take over my family, as the head male, when my father does eventually die. Hopefully, not after me." There were a few good-natured laughs. "I do not intend to entertain the ideas of engagements from your respective daughters, though it is evident that anyone should be so lucky to be approached with one. I, in fact, already have my…soul mate, who will be by my side until the end of my days."

It wasn't difficult to discern who knew about his nature and who didn't by this comment. At least a third of them all did, and Draco wasn't sure whether he minded or not; they didn't seem to be kicking up a fuss so far, after all. The rest just seemed to be confused – most of their first marriages were not for love or the notion of a "soul mate".

Draco grinned wonderfully, charming them all with his outward display of happiness and excitement. He lifted his flute higher, and they all did the same, sensing the end. "It is with my absolute pleasure that I, for the very first time, introduce this delightful young woman - who I hope is treated respectfully, as a member of my own family." He watched them suspiciously. "My guests, the love of my life – and my date for this evening" – he sucked in a deep breath, prepared for any negative responses – "Miss Hermione Granger."

Oh yes, they had no doubt about who she was. Miss Hermione Granger. War heroine, muggle-born, Harry Potter's best friend. The Brightest Witch of her Age.

Draco, however, would've never guessed that the angel he was watching descend the marble staircase was The Hermione Granger. "Merlin," he whispered to himself, a smile lighting up his face. He moved lightly to the bottom of the staircase to await her landing, thankful that his mother had made him change out of his shit red suit. Finlandia played in his head.

They looked much better as they were now – the Prince and the Princess, as they were predicted to be.

Hermione winked at him upon seeing his mesmerised face, and Draco swore that he died there and then. There would be no sweeter moment in the next 141 days.

"Princess," he quietly greeted her, as her hand slipped into his. He moved into a bow, and kissed her knuckles. She blushed prettily, still looking around at everyone laid out before them. Draco was pleased to note that there hadn't been a single hiss or uproar upon her emergence. They all seemed rather…fine with it all. Perhaps they were just too flabbergasted (as he was) – she was the epitome of a pure-blood lady. She was what they all aspired to look like on their day.

His hand slipped around her waist and he handed her her own flute of champagne, turning them around to face the crowd. "Let the ball begin," he announced, taking a swig of his champagne and walking Hermione forward into the crowd.

They clapped and smiled; the children went back to playing and the adults to socialising, and all awaited the first dance to begin so that they could too dance.

The Marriage of Figaro began to play; this time, Draco blushed. He looked to his mother with his father standing by the orchestra, and she smiled.

"You look so…" He couldn't think of how to phrase his words.

She smirked. "Indescribably wondrous?"

All he could do was nod his head. "Indescribable," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. "Am I handsome?"

"You're beautiful."

"Beautiful," he repeated to himself. "That's the word I should've used."