CHAPTER 3: Silk

Parties, galas, and banquets were no longer Draco Malfoy's scene. He received no shortage of invitations, in large part due to his generous (and guilt-ridden) monetary contributions to many charitable organizations, yet he rarely made public appearances. He understood that his polarizing reputation made him a controversial and often unwelcome presence at social events. Though part of him wished to attend and prove his critics wrong, he was too afraid of getting whacked in the face in the process. Odds were, any gathering of the Wizarding elite would include at least one person eager for a go at him.

Thankfully, after requesting and carefully scrutinizing tonight's guestlist, Draco was relieved to find no likely assailants. Other than his former classmate Hermione Granger, of course, and in some absurd twist of fate, he was actually excited to see her.

Mr. Draco Malfoy,

You are cordially invited to the Double-ended Newt Conservation Fund's Annual Celebration. Please join us on 13 November at 19:00, at the home of Ms. Camilla Bulstrode. Formal dress.

Thank you again for your generous contributions,

The DNCF Board of Directors

From the invitation, one might expect this to be a classy evening of toasting and discussing the Fund. However, donors to such causes always seemed to have ulterior motives. While Draco threw his money at various boring causes to repair his persona, most wealthy young people donated simply for the chance to be invited to these extravagant parties and mingle with other famed heirs - perhaps for the purpose of finding a potential mate of requisite financial standing.

After arriving exactly on time in hopes of avoiding unnecessary attention, Draco grabbed a stiff drink and introduced himself to an unthreatening-looking group of mingling socialites. He tried to pay attention to the dull Scandinavian bachelors but he found himself anxiously checking over his shoulder for Granger. She seemed the type to value punctuality and he worried if maybe she had backed out at the last minute.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a group moving down the marble staircase into the large ballroom - Camilla, Astoria, and Hermione. He shook his head and choked back a grin. She was infinitely, impressively clever and he had no clue how she'd done it. He watched Hermione gently embrace each of the women and giggle as Camilla whispered something in her ear. As Astoria and Camilla departed to socialize with other guests, Hermione caught Draco's eye with a raised brow and quickly started walking down the hall to her left. Draco excused himself and followed at a distance. Passing the bar, he grabbed a glass for her and a refill for himself.

She moved quickly, even after they were far out of sight, and Draco struggled to keep up without spilling either drink. She held fistfuls of her long teal gown to prevent herself from tripping. "Shall we run forever or can we someday reach a destination?" he hissed at her. Hermione turned her head and shushed him, peering around dramatically as if they were committing a top-secret act of espionage. He saw a mischievous glint in her eye. She was teasing him.

After sneaking past a few more closed doors, Hermione saw a door cracked and hurried inside. "I brought you a drink, though I might've lost half of it at that speed," Draco grumbled, entering. She locked the door behind him. It was one of those useless rooms you see so often in mansions - perhaps called a drawing room or a study. The thick layer of dust on the furniture indicated it had been out of use for some time.

Hermione draped herself onto a small couch, placing a hand on her chest as if to steady her heartbeat. "Malfoy, I have had such an evening," she said.

"Do tell," Draco said, placing her drink on a side table and taking a sip of his own. She nodded and took a deep breath, compiling her thoughts.

"Alright, well -" Hermione started, before abruptly stopping and downing a gulp of the drink. "That tastes delightful, actually. Anyway, I got here at 6 instead of 7 and Camilla answered the door. I told her I had misread the invitation and could come back later, but she was how cold I looked in my dress…"

As Draco perched on a chair to listen to Hermione's genius plan, he was finally able to see her clearly without movement blurring his vision. She managed to mimic the style of the aristocratic perfectly and she did look rather pretty like this. Her turquoise silk gown was gathered elegantly at the waist, before cascading softly to the floor. Her hair was restrained in pinned updo that had begun to unravel, soft curls brushing her chin and tickling the back of her neck. She had this magnificent flush on her cheeks, her shoulders, the top of her chest exposed by a deep neckline...

"She said I should join her for a drink in the sitting room, which is a silly name for a room, and guess who was there? Miss Astoria Greengrass, of course." Hermione smiled triumphantly. She seemed energized by the adventure. Though he knew this was highly productive, Draco still felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Astoria.

"You were right, Malfoy, she's insufferable. I've only spoken to her in passing before but wow! What an abhorrent human being," she said, growing impassioned, "All she wanted to talk about was appearances and money. She kept pushing me to guess who would wear the ugliest dress tonight - I won't tell you who she picked."

Draco interrupted anxiously. "Did she mention me? Or the paper?"

Hermione nodded. "I asked about the paper and she said she hadn't seen it. I got her really drunk and everything sort of seemed to tumble out so I'm almost inclined to believe her. She did say, though, - god, you're going to hate this - she called you her fiancé. Multiple times. Her 'betrothed'. She sort of mentioned that once you were finished fooling around and had got it out of your system, you would be married."

Draco tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to say. For esteemed families like the Malfoys and Greengrasses, a betrothal historically had nothing to do with romance. His was a calculated agreement by their parents with no consideration given toward his wants. With the tumultuous events of the previous years, Draco decided he would make his own choices and refused to acknowledge the arrangement.

Hermione looked at him curiously and he realized that he had shown more of his emotions than intended. "I don't understand," she said, rising from her cushion and pacing a small circle on the floor. "Why would she want to humiliate the man she intends to marry? Wouldn't that hurt her reputation too?"

He was silent. Before him was an image he could never have imagined - Hermione Granger in a surprisingly revealing evening gown, dressed like the arrogant nobility that he had grown to detest. She wasn't like them, though, and a dress couldn't hide that. It radiated off of her, this nonconformist, defiant light emanating from her brilliant mind. Even a place like this - a cold, formal room in an imposing mansion - felt brighter with her in it.

"Draco, can I tell you something?" she whispered. He didn't understand why her voice now gave him gooseflesh and his breath caught in his throat.

The corners of her mouth turned up into a grin. "I'm really drunk too, Malfoy. I tried to pace myself for the sake of the mission but the girls kept refilling my glass and I couldn't help it," she giggled. He realized now just how much Hermione's playfulness had been amplified by liquor. The way she flitted through the halls and seemed to flirtily taunt him - entirely alcohol-fueled, of course. And the way she stood so close to him now, swaying ever so slightly with a buzzed imbalance that fluttered the skirt of her dress. He noticed the way it sensuously skimmed the curves of her body…-

Wow, I must be drunk too, Draco thought, breaking his gaze from Hermione's figure. He had surely been staring and hoped she was too inebriated to notice. It wasn't his fault, he decided - he probably would've stared at any woman in a dress like that after a couple of drinks.

"Er, should we be getting back? We wouldn't want anyone to notice we're gone," Draco said, standing up and increasing the distance between them. He fidgeted restlessly with the cuff of his jacket.

"It's only been a few minutes, and I told them I was going to spend some time touring the library," Hermione said, "Besides, Camilla said she was going to spike the punch with Euphoria so I'm sure everyone's plastered by now anyway."

Draco shook his head. "Still, I should say something to Astoria, she'll wonder where I am -"

"I promise, she couldn't wonder anything in her state. She's trashed. Let's explore a bit longer," Hermione said, opening the door and starting down the hall in the opposite direction of the party. Draco watched her stumble slightly and decided it would be rude of him to not accompany her.

He caught up to Hermione, instinctively offering his arm, and was surprised when she grabbed on with one arm and then two. He could feel her steadying herself while trying to carefully maintain just a hair of space between their bodies. Each time her hip brushed against his, he nearly shivered at the feeling of the cool fabric. They walked wordlessly until they reached a new wing of the mansions, where white and cream marble was replaced by green and black stone.

"Have you been here before?" she said quietly. She let go of Draco's arm and used the banister for balance as they ascended a flight of stairs. He noticed wrinkles where she had firmly clutched the fabric of his jacket. It would need to be ironed.

"Oh, yes, many times," Draco said. "The Bulstrode Estate was my favorite birthday party venue when I was little. It's been years but I remember running all around these halls."

He saw Hermione smile at the thought of him as an innocent child, playing normal childish games. Pre-evil.

At the top of the stairs, Draco pushed one of the giant silver knobs on the intricately-carved double doors and gestured for Hermione to enter. His heartbeat quickened as he watched her gasp, taking in the colossal library. The circular room spiraled several stories upwards, the ceiling replaced by a magical imitation of a night sky. If there was anyone with a love of books that rivaled Hermione's, it was Draco Malfoy, and he was captivated at the sight of her so entirely in her element. Hermione found herself crossing the room to investigate a particular shelf of illuminated, ancient-looking tomes.

And then, suddenly, she slowly walked to a couch in the center of the room and sat down, her face pale. "What, what's wrong?" he asked. She simply shook her head. Draco went to look at the shelf of books. He recognized immediately. They were about wizarding heritage - pure-blood supremacist books. He silently cursed himself for bringing her in here and not anticipating the contents.

Draco crossed toward her, stuttering quickly, "Hermione, I'm sorry, the Bulstrodes are a very old Wizarding family and -"

"It's alright," she said softly. "That stuff usually doesn't bother me anymore, but sometimes…" Her voice trailed off.

Draco sat down on the couch beside her. "I don't want to go back to that party," she said, "Would you stay here with me?"

"I don't want to go back either," he responded. They sat quietly a few inches apart for what felt like a long time, Hermione slumped forward and Draco rigidly straight. He noticed Hermione's quivering hand and took it in his to steady her. He felt beyond guilty for bringing her to this party. Despite appearances of tolerance and even Camilla's attempts at befriending Hermione, their families' histories would always threaten her safety. She had been so brave earlier and now, because of Draco, she was shaking with fear.

Draco stared at the night sky above them. It was an accelerated version of real star patterns and blazing comets soared over every minute or so. He felt the soft brush of her hair against his neck as she leaned her head against his shoulder. It felt in that moment as if he would never be able to catch his breath again. This brave, wonderful woman was all at once so vulnerable and open. He swore he could feel her heartbeat against him and his body relaxed, gently closing the gap on the couch between them.

He wanted to say something - what, exactly, he wasn't sure - but looked over to see her eyes closed. Hermione was asleep, probably from being both drunk and overwhelmed, and her head had surely accidentally fallen against him. She looked so peaceful and he couldn't bear to awaken her back into her unpleasant reality. He longed to stay there and close his own eyes but decided it was best to apparate them to his home.

He muttered a quick-sleeping charm so as to not wake her during the sometimes-jarring process and kept a hold on her hand. In an instant, they were sitting in the same position on the new couch in Draco's living room. Immediately, he felt entirely guilty for not having helped her to a carriage that could've taken her to her own home. He could only rationalize his choice by explaining that he hadn't wanted to leave her alone. He felt responsible for her wellbeing after having caused her distress. Surely, Hermione would understand.

He delicately picked her slender body up from the sofa and carried her to his room, placing her on the mattress. He chose a t-shirt and sweatpants to set beside her, in case she awoke during the night and wanted to change. Grabbing his own pajamas and a bedclothes to keep himself warm on the couch, he hurried toward the living room, trying not to look at the sleeping figure any more than necessary. He didn't need to feel distracted again by her warmth, her curls, her dress, in his bed…

Draco couldn't understand why he was making himself absolutely sick with shame. Logically, he was experiencing nothing more than natural, human feelings, yet they filled him with disgust. He removed the sleeping charm from her, now that she was still, and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.

(A bit of a longer chapter and Draco's perspective! Hope you're enjoying - more to come very soon.)