AN: Thank you for over 40 reviews! I'm so happy you're liking the fic!
"What about a nice shimmering gold?"
Hermione shakes her head.
"I don't exactly want to be drawing unnecessary attention to myself, Gin," she replies, the redhead in front of her pursing her lips, "why don't I just wear something black, simple-"
"But everyone is going to be wearing black-"
"Even better," she says, cutting Ginny off, "I need to blend in, I'm not there to just enjoy myself, I'm going to be there working."
Her friend huffs spectacularly and then turns back to the stacks of dresses, slowly flicking through them one by one.
They've been here for hours, Hermione thinks, and she really does not have enough time to prepare everything, get ready and be undercover at the event- it's madness.
She's argued with Ginny several times about the necessity of keeping it simple, but the redhead won't budge. But she also knows why she won't, why she's so insistent that Hermione dress up-
"Malfoy might like this one," Ginny says, plucking a deep green ensemble from the mass of dresses hung up in the shop.
Hermione shushes her quickly before she can say anything else loudly and incriminatingly, giving her a tight glare. Her eyes scan the other shoppers but no one seems to be paying them any attention.
"Don't," she says, her voice filled with warning, "I am not dressing up to impress him, I'm doing it because the dress code explicitly states formalwear-"
"Sure, sure," Ginny says, tossing her a look that says 'I don't believe you at all', "so if it's not green, then what colour-"
"Dark," Hermione says, again, "preferably black, maybe even a deep navy will do, nothing bright, please and thank you."
Ginny's hands are on her hips now, and it's all Hermione can do but brace herself for the oncoming lecture.
"You're being stupidly difficult you know," the redhead begins, pulling a face, "how am I supposed to help you if you're being so limited in your choices?"
Hermione groans, pressing her forehead into the top of the couch she's perched on.
"Merlin, save me," she mutters into the fabric.
She can feel Ginny's stare on the back of her head, but she refuses to continue this charade.
"Look, Gin, I just need a formal dress," she says, her voice calm, matter-of-fact, "I'm going to be spending my night interrogating a potential suspect in a serial killer case, and perhaps even dueling if it comes to that, I need to be prepared."
Her words seem to finally sink in for Ginny, who exhales, long and slow for a moment.
"Fine," she says, voice snappy, "we'll come to a compromise, appropriate dress, but it's going to have a twist on it."
As they continue looking at dresses, Hermione can only think of one thing.
That she has no bloody idea what she's gotten herself into.
"Are we clear on the plan?" Humphries is saying as Hermione attaches her wand to a small holster on her thigh.
She and Ginny have gone for a mostly simple, deep maroon dress, just over knee length so she can move easily if she needs to, the top half sheer with a delicate embroidered pattern across her chest and tapering off at her collarbones. The sheer fabric continues down her arms, loosening around her elbows, billowing out from there into a kimono style sleeve- the twist of which Ginny is immensely pleased with.
Hermione nods quickly, promptly.
"We're to join the other guests and mingle, make ourselves inconspicuous, and await Niphel's arrival," Malfoy says, voice calm and controlled, "he will arrive precisely at 8pm with another Auror as his guard and we will meet him in the designated side room off of the main reception area. After we've discussed the case and his involvement, he will either be returned to the safe house or taken to azkaban to await our verdict."
She and Malfoy haven't spoken since the previous night, but he's given her a few sideways glances, as if making sure she's still there.
After everything, her chat with Ginny, Hermione can't bring herself to be embarrassed over the intimacy of what they've done to cloud her mind. She's accepted it, and she plans to bring the subject up with him later, after the case is all said and done- the subject of them, if there is a them, to simply divulge her blossoming feelings and retreat if he doesn't harbour the same ones.
Merlin, she knows he must have some feeling for her, but she knows Malfoy, knows herself and so the prospect of him wanting her- wanting her in more than just the physical sense makes her stomach flip with uncertainty.
She's thought it over and knows what she's going to say, has it all planned out in her head. The only thing left to do now is to get through this interrogation, and crack the case like they all so desperately need to.
Humphries appears impressed with Malfoy's perfect retelling of the plan.
"Indeed," he says, and then he diverts his attention to her, "now, I don't think I need to remind you, Miss Granger, but if anything goes wrong, anything goes awry, you are not to duel, you are not to head into any such situation in which you will be endangered without Auror Malfoy or another Auror present, do I make myself clear?"
It takes her a moment to process his words, and then she is frowning.
"Sir, with all due respect, I am a capable magic user, a capable wand user, I highly doubt dueling will be an issue-"
"Miss Granger, this is not a question of whether you are capable," he replies sharply, cutting her off, "this is a question of your position within this case and your strengths, you are not a trained Auror, and therefore I am reminding you to keep yourself away from any such incident which may lead to yourself being endangered."
Hermione wants to argue, to huff and persuade him that really, she's immensely capable and won't have any issues, but she catches Harry's eye over in the far corner, and he's shaking his head, a silent suggestion that she keep her lips sealed.
So she stands down, nods numbly in response. Can feel Malfoy's slate grey eyes on her, but she refuses to look back, at least for a moment.
"Now, I'd like each of you to take one of these," and Humphries is passing them each a small vial of deep brown liquid. It doesn't at all look inviting.
"What is it, Sir?" Harry asks, stepping forward to get his own vial.
"A rather potent antihistamine, brewed specifically to counter the effects of Mosp stings on the level each of the victims encountered," the older man explains, uncorking the stopper on the vial in his hand, "it should keep you all safe for the most part if you somehow find yourself compromised by Mosps, but we cannot be fully sure it works so try not to get stung if you encounter any."
Then, he tips the vial back into his mouth, downing the putrid looking concoction. Hermione wouldn't even call it a liquid, it looks thick, and drains into Humphries mouth at a snail's pace.
She grimaces, but follows everyone else's suit and downs her own vial.
It tastes putrid as well- like she's attempting to swallow pure coagulated bee venom and hardened honey.
"Disgusting," Harry says, grimacing, his eyes screwing up at the edges as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand.
Hermione surveys the rest of the room, the several other Aurors also looking either sick or in some stage of nausea, and then her gaze lands on Malfoy, who's clearly occluding because he looks absolutely fine, not a hair out of place, expression placid.
Harry comes to stand by her side, and he looks serious once more.
It's been a while, she thinks, since she's seen him look so haunted, worried and nervous like this. She supposes it makes sense, considering everything that's at stake. No one has brought it up, no one has voiced it, but they're all worried, all nervous.
If this goes wrong, they could well be on their way to having Lord Voldimort back on their hands, on their heads.
No one knows what happens if a prophecy is fulfilled and then half undone. She thinks that perhaps it might reignite it, re-awaken it somehow. She also thinks that there's the possibility it won't, that they wouldn't be able to rely on Harry this time. That they'd have very little in ways of stopping the dark lord a second time around.
It's a terrifying prospect.
Hermione finds herself linking arms with Ginny as they saunter into the event.
Her brown eyes take in every small detail, every exit, the balconies to the left, the wide, marbled room filled with guests already. It's a grand room, she thinks, brilliantly decorated in white and black, a hint of gold amongst it all. Several statues are scattered about, aligned with constantly refilling tables of various drinks and beverages.
There are waiters too, regardless of the refilling tables, each carrying small platters of nibbles and drinks.
One passes them as they make their way around the side of the main room, and Ginny plucks a single drink from it to hand to her.
Hermione begins to object, to say that she most definitely doesn't need a drink, thank you- but she spots Glenn on the other side of the room, his smile bright as he chats away with a stumpy woman- an official she notes, and decides rather abruptly that she must go in the other direction. She hauls the redhead by her side behind one of the large sculptures, her eyes wide.
"Merlin," she exclaims, and Ginny is looking at her, eyebrow raised.
She doesn't want to explain, knows for absolute certainty that Ginny will have a field day if she divulges any information about herself and Glenn. Instead, she takes the glass from her friend and takes a deep sip.
"You look lovely in your dress by the way," she says to Ginny, and even if she's using it as a diversion, she really, truly means it.
Ginny is wearing a lovely fresh shade of moss green, and it brings out the red tones of her hair, which she's carefully curated into a half crown around her head. Hermione thinks she looks almost like an elven princess, and it really does suit her.
"Where's Malfoy?" Harry says, having made his way over to the two of them, his eyes searching the growing crowd of guests.
Hermione shrugs briefly, "he's off somewhere with Humphries, making sure the side room is ready," then she takes a quick glance at her watch to ensure they've still got plenty of time before Niphels' arrival.
"We've got a few hours before he arrives," she comments, attempting to reassure Harry, who looks like he might be having an internal crisis, green eyes glossy, wide.
She shares a look with Ginny, who unhooks their arms and takes Harry's into her own.
"Should we get some fresh air?" she asks, beginning to cart him towards the open balcony doors. Harry let's her lead him away, leaving Hermione to her own devices.
"Miss Granger, it's interesting to see you here," comes a familiarly annoying voice.
She turns, and is greeted with a rather bored looking Blaise Zabini.
"Zabini," she says curtly, sharply, "I would say it's a surprise to see you here, but it most certainly isn't."
His dark eyes swiftly take in her appearance, a look of unhindered judgement crossing his features for a moment- of which he's definitely meant for her to see, she's sure- before it's replaced with a simple look of carefully curated pleasantness.
"You look- interesting, Granger," he says, voice languid, maybe even a little amused. There it is, that same word- 'interesting', said in a way that alludes to his feelings that she's much the opposite.
Hermione stiffens in her posture under the scrutiny, his words. She takes another quick gulp of whatever it is that's in this drink Ginny handed her. Liquid courage, as it is.
"Can I be plain with you for a moment, Zabini?" she asks, a flicker of anger inside her veins.
He smiles, entirely fake- plastic. But she's too familiar with the signs, the minute tells. His jaw ticks, just slightly, and if she wasn't looking, if she didn't know any better, she'd have missed it. The jaw tick, the gaze of his eyes- Hermione knows that the young wizard across from her does not like her, not one bit.
And really, she's curious as to why.
"Of course, Granger, ask away," he replies, voice placid- and she truly wonders what it is with Slytherin's and their ability to control their demeanors, their emotions so perfectly- so well. It's immensely unnerving.
"Why do you dislike me so much?" she asks, a murmur that to anyone else, anyone attending the event, might see as a quiet joke between colleagues, "better yet, why do you hate me?"
Zabini doesn't appear to be affronted by her question, nor even a little bit surprised.
In fact, a tugging of his lips seems to indicate that he might even have expected her to ask these very same questions, and it irks Hermione somewhat. Bloody damn Slytherins-
"For someone so intelligent you're also quite oblivious, you know," is his reply, and she is stunned into silence for a moment, before her eyes are narrowing, glaring at him.
"I've spoken plainly, and it would only be fair if you do too" Hermione hisses, "I've no idea why you dislike me so much, why I'm apparently being oblivious, but I'd like to be enlightened."
Zabini chuckles, a small glint in his eye.
"Very well, Granger," he says, slowly, carefully, as if talking to a toddler, "I dislike you because you're a know-it-all, a mess who can't see what's directly in front of her, a fool-"
Their eyes meet, dark brown on her own, and she tries not to bristle as his words sink in, she had asked for this, after all. So she straightens slightly, and doesn't interrupt, doesn't make a sound.
"But most of all, Granger, I dislike you because you're going to hurt Draco, and that's not something I want to sit on the sidelines for."
"What?" she splutters, because this wasn't what she'd expected. Honestly, she'd envisioned something along the lines of her being the Golden Girl, how dare she think she's better than everyone else, etcetera, etcetera.
Most definitely not this, and honestly, she's even more baffled because-
"I tried to just sit back and let it take its course, I truly did," he continues, cutting off her train of thought, "but you're so clueless, so in your own head that you've neglected to see the truth, and it won't be you hurt in the end, it will be him-"
"I have no intention of hurting anyone, of hurting him," she replies, voice half sharp, half confused, "but I fail to see what truth I'm neglecting, how I might hurt Malfoy it's-"
"That is precisely my point, Granger," he responds, and she thinks he might even roll his eyes at her, "you fail to see it, and I truly believe you're going to let the scars that weasel left on you ruin everything, including Draco."
He sighs, as if exasperated. Hermione opens her mouth to retort, anger now positively thrumming inside her veins-
"Look, whatever it is that you've got going on with that Alden either needs to stop, or you let Draco down easy, because otherwise-"
"You do not have the right to speak on my personal matters," she spits, furious, "you do not know everything, the ins and outs of what's going on, but I assure you Zabini- you're wrong."
He seems slightly taken aback by this, his dark eyes widening a fraction. And then he is leaning in close, a spark of something unknown on his features.
"Yes, well consider how it looks from an outside perspective- that's what everyone else sees," he says, voice low, as if he's sharing a secret, "that's what Draco sees as well."
And his words, they do sink in. They sink very far down and settle into the pit of Hermione's stomach. She swallows.
"Take Alden asking you to come with him tonight, and your response-"
She puffs out a sharp, intense breath. Realisation hits her like a freight train.
"It was you!" she seethes, angry once more, "you eavesdropped on my conversation with Glenn and you were the one that told Malfoy!"
Zabini runs a hand through his dark locks, eyes closing for a second in what appears to be an attempt to control his own rising anger- his own contempt.
"I did it for Draco's sake-" he attempts, but she is far past hearing him out.
"No," she spits, "you have no idea what's going on, at all. You have no idea what I feel, Zabini, nor what's transpired away from prying eyes-" she gives him a significant, disgusted look, "in fact, your meddling has only caused more turbulence-"
"Look, you shouldn't be hearing this from me," Zabini says after a moment, voice a murmur, and this time she's sure they're sharing a secret, "but Draco, he-"
"Blaise, Granger, having a pleasant evening?"
The very wizard they've been discussing is making his way towards them, his gaze flickering between them both, as they're hunched over in discussion.
Hermione straightens, turning towards Malfoy as he reaches them.
"As pleasant as it can be," she replies, her brown eyes scanning his face, trying to discern something, anything in his expression. But of course, he's still occluding, and at some point she really ought to tell him the side effects of prolonged use-
"Indeed," Zabini agrees, and she doesn't miss the significant look held between the two men before her. Her mind revisits his last sentence to her before Malfoy joined them and she wonders what he could possibly have been about to say. Several options come to mind, but none seem to be fitting enough.
"I'm going to find my date," he continues, nodding to the both of them, "I appear to have lost her in the crowd."
And with that final intense look between himself and the blonde next to him, he saunters off into the throng of guests, leaving Hermione alone with Malfoy.
"I'm surprised he has a date," the blonde comments, his eyes still lingering on where his friend disappeared into the mass of bodies.
"How so?" she finds herself asking, because if she's to admit anything, she hasn't been keeping an eye on Zabini's dating habits.
"He doesn't tend to bring any witches to events like this, he prefers usually to go home with one though," and although his face is perfectly controlled, there's a hint of amusement in his voice.
Hermione finds herself smiling softly.
"They must be pretty special then, if he brought them tonight," she comments lightly. Malfoy nods, his slate grey eyes taking her in quietly.
A flush begins working its way onto her face under his gaze, and she wonders what he sees- if he likes what he sees tonight.
"I was quite the same you know," he says, his eyes never leaving her face. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say 'was?', "I did offer to come with you tonight, you know."
As nonchalantly as he says it, his words have Hermione gasping quietly, breath trapped in her throat. Because it's significant, she realises. Because he had offered- to come with her, to be her plus one, her date- and if he was like Zabini and never accompanied someone to events like this-
'Look, you shouldn't be hearing this from me- but Draco, well- he-'
'Why don't you just ask him?'
She's startled, the thrum of her heartbeat beginning to reverberate wildly in her veins. Doesn't think she can wait- to talk to him, to ask him. It suddenly feels like the missing piece, the confirmation of him, of them, is eating her alive.
If she doesn't get to the bottom of it tonight, if she has to wait one more moment, she might just burst.
She looks quickly down at her watch- plenty of time, of course.
"Draco," she says, her voice careful, quiet- looking so intensely at the doors to the balcony that she misses the way his eyes widen, "can I talk to you privately, for a moment?"
The blonde is quiet for half a second and she chances a quick look at his face, just to see-
He's quirking an eyebrow at her, then, at the Merlin forsaken expression on her face, no doubt, but still nods his ascent in return.
"Of course".
It's only as they reach the doors of the balcony that she realises she'd just called him Draco for the first time.
His name tastes sweet on her tongue, she thinks.
AN: I am aware of how evil I am for ending the chapter here *side eye* but trust in the process, the good bits are coming!