5

Pansy had decided it was finally time to reconnect with their traditions⸺at least the ones that made her happy; which meant the Parkinson Christmas Ball was back and was here to stay. It was one of the things from their past that Draco was happy to see reestablished. He had many happy memories associated with this event; a chance for the younger version of him to let loose and goof around with his best mates. Anyone who was anyone of importance would be invited, but somehow he was still surprised to see Granger in attendance; standing around conversing with people, a bright smile donning her features.

It made perfect sense, of course. Hermione Granger was quite the political figure these days, climbing up the Ministry ranks with a frightening speed. She'd once told him she wanted to make a difference; leave a meaningful mark on this world and Draco does not doubt that she would.

He knew better than to bet against her.

She was wearing a seductive red; a fitted dress draped elegantly on her but all he could think about was how easy it would be to pull off. Tonight she was a bright raging fire and Draco wanted to burn. It wasn't the first time his thoughts had run ahead of him, forming elaborate schemes he wasn't allowed to execute. It was getting harder to keep his sanity in her presence.

She was the light while he was the wretched shadow; he shouldn't be thinking about her at all. Hermione Granger was golden while he was...whatever the opposite of that would entail. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he made his way towards the witch who had wormed her way into his every waking thought. Hadn't she always been there though? Even when he had thought he hated her, she had been the only witch he ever saw.

As he approached unnoticed, Granger turned around to greet someone else and he sucked in a sharp breath, mouth going dry. Salazar, this must be cosmic punishment; torture of its own kind. Thin straps crisscrossed across her back, leaving most of her skin artfully exposed. An irrational surge of jealousy surged up in his chest as he wondered what lucky sod got to be her date to this event.

At least, he knew it wasn't Weasley.

The Prophet had been running articles for weeks now speculating upon the Granger-Weasley breakup. They had whipped up fanatical stories; everything ranging from infidelity to secret elopements followed by a messy divorce. As far as Draco knew, it had been a fairly mutual parting of ways; no hard feelings on either side, but one wouldn't know that after reading the exaggerated gossip rags.

He sauntered up, calling out, "What's a pretty witch like you doing standing in a corner?" Granger spun around, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "Doesn't your date know it's rude?"

She rolled her eyes but Draco didn't miss the flush that appeared across her cheekbones. "I haven't got a date tonight. I could do without adding fuel to the rumours, don't you think?"

Draco blinked. "Well," he drawled, dragging out the syllable, "it would be a waste of that pretty dress if you didn't get to dance."

"I don't have a partner."

He gestured to himself, "I think I'm rather well suited, don't you?"

"Is that so?"

"We've waltzed together so many times before. This wouldn't be any different." He held out a hand to her. She simply stared at the proffered hand with an arched brow. "Come now, Granger. Don't antagonise me."

"Come now Draco, antagonising you is part of my job description."

Draco made a show of scowling and snatched her hand to pull her toward the dancing couples. She laughed as he spun her into place.

"Minx. You're nothing but trouble, witch."

It was effortless, somehow even more so than he remembered, to sway together to the orchestra of strings. She was still as elegant as ever and he snuck a glance toward her only to find her already gazing up at him with a small smile playing on her lips.

The song came to a halt far too quickly and Draco sighed, expecting her to scurry away like she always did.

But she didn't.

Instead, she pointed up and Draco followed her line of sight toward the seemingly innocuous sprig of mistletoe dangling above them. He sucked in a sharp breath, not daring to meet her eyes for fear of the disgust he might find etched there.

"Well," she stepped closer to him, reducing what little space existed, "let's get this over with, Draco." His eyes dropped down to meet hers and never before had he noticed how warm they were. His gaze fell further to her full lips, painted in a deep merlot and Draco wondered if they would be as soft as they appeared. Granger looked up at him through her long lashes expectantly, mischief making her eyes glitter under the charmed lights.

With aching slowness, he cupped her jaw. 'Is this okay?' A silent question. He tilted her chin up and her eyes flutter shut in reply. He traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, leaning closer until their noses brushed.

"Are you sure?" he breathed, heart racing.

She pushed up onto her tiptoes in answer, steadying herself by using his shoulders as leverage before pressing her lips to his⸺once, then twice.

They should've done this ages ago.

She pulled away slightly and Draco stared at her in awe, wondering if he was still perhaps dreaming.

"Draco?"

And then his mouth was on hers again, frantic this time, dripping with all the desperation he'd been feeling. Her hands clutched at his shirt, reciprocating his need and he groaned as he let his hands wander into her hair⸺ tangling his fingers like he's always wanted to, pulling her closer still.

She was perfect; far better than his wildest dreams could conjure up.

His tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting her and she whimpered, a sound that could be mistaken for protest, but was so obviously the opposite as her arms wrapped around him. Draco knew all those little sounds would haunt his dreams.

When he reluctantly pulled away, they were both gasping for breath but there was no mistaking the wide grin on her face.

"I think that ought to do it." Her voice was playful and her eyes sparkled with delight.

"I'm sure that was thoroughly sufficient," he drawls, allowing himself the indulgence of playing with her curls. She made no move to pull away, palms of her hand resting firmly on his chest as she met his eyes.

He tipped forward to place his forehead against hers, "Let me take you out on a proper date, Granger." The words were a yearning whisper against her mouth.

"Yes," she murmured, capturing his lips one last time, "I'd like that."

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix the mess she'd made. The corners of his mouth furled up; Granger had made a right mess of him. He watched her walk away and Morgana knew that wherever she strayed, he would follow blindly.