A/N: I'm not British, I'm not rich, and my initials are not JKR, so Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Draco Malfoy, aware of the people not too far from him, converted a groan to a sigh when the mermaid band in a gigantic crimson-ribbon-festooned bowl began crooning yet another muggle Christmas carol. The crowded holiday gathering of prominent witches and wizards provided a social spotlight on the reformed and restored Ministry of Magic. The particular aim of this one was to raise funds in benefit of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, some of whose divisions had languished during the rebuilding years. As a Slytherin and a former (although unwilling) Death-Eater, he was often greeted with icy politeness then avoided at charity functions such as this. "They welcome my galleons, though," he muttered to himself right before the great double doors of the hall blew open with magical force.
Even in his isolated spot—not quite in a corner but certainly buffered by empty space—a whiff of the power reached him and he knew exactly the identity of the new arrival. Why the dramatic entrance? he wondered.
Hermione Granger stood, head high and shoulders straight, in the arched opening, hair almost crackling as the wispy fabric of her full, knee-length skirt fluttered. In the position of assistant head of the Beast Division and the organizer of the elaborate function, one would have supposed her to have been at the party since the beginning. Until that moment, the flatness of the atmosphere had Draco planning to depart for home as soon as was even the slightest bit polite; his desire to leave fled before this new arrival as if chased by dementors.
Merlin, Granger sure cleans up well, he thought to himself while unconsciously straightening. Although cocooned in his misguided pureblood beliefs at Hogwarts, he still hadn't missed seeing puberty hit her like the Knight Bus. While keeping verboten feelings carefully hidden, he had always appreciated her intelligence and wit; her taste in boyfriends, however, was another matter. His eyes sought out Harry Potter and his long-term girlfriend and then returned to stare at Hermione. The Weasel was neither accompanying her nor already present. Interesting.
Hermione sent a quick glance in her friends' direction, raising her chin at the sight before stalking towards Draco.
"Hello, Granger" was all he managed before being assaulted. Her hands grasped his ears and tugged his head down. "What are you—"
The room fell into shocked silence as she kissed him, long and lingeringly. She released him with an enigmatic look before taking possession of his wine flute and draining it. Handing it back to him, her tongue ran over her lips to capture any escaping drops.
Draco steadied himself so that he could respond with his usual aplomb. "There are no shortage of glasses at this gala, Granger."
"I know," she tossed her head, making her curls bounce, "I accounted for all who replied and added a ten percent cushion."
"Not that I mind sharing my wine," he touched his mouth to the smear of lipstick on the glass, "nor my lips, but did you have to do violence to my anatomy?" He rubbed one ear lobe, which sported a cabuchon emerald within the coils of a platinum serpent.
"Sorry, Malfoy," she laughed tautly, "I didn't know that you were fond of 'accessories'." The snake raised its head and hissed at her, miniscule emerald chip eyes sparkling at her.
"I've become a bit of a rebel since leaving Hogwarts," he said drily as he replaced his empty glass with a full one. "But apparently not one of your calibre." He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and jerked his head towards the other side of the room. "I don't know how much longer Little Red can keep The-Boy-Who-Hates-My-Guts from storming over and starting a row."
"How ridiculous!" She shot a glare over her shoulder at Harry. Sure enough, Ginny had a death grip on his arm. "Getting all bent out of shape over a simple mistletoe kiss."
Draco looked above his head. "Is that what that was?" he asked lazily. "Then, in consideration of my continual health, you shouldn't mind me asking the whereabouts of your boyfriend, The-Insensible-Clod-Who-Hates-Me-Even-More-Than-Potter."
"Ron?" She almost spat his name. "I was late because he never showed as my escort. When I apparated to his location, he was well into his fourth round of drinks with a couple of quidditch groupies on his lap!" She grabbed his drink again and emptied the glass before handing it back to him.
He stared at the crystal. "I can tell that it's going to be an interesting night. To start it off," he bowed, "would you care to dance?"
A/N: I began writing this almost a year ago, only to let it sit half-finished while I was distracted by real life. Whenever my muse deserted me while writing Noblesse Oblige, I would shift to this for a change of pace.