Author's Note: Well it's back to school as of yesterday (for me at least) and after only one day, it just figures-- I get behind on my posts!! See, I have this all written out up until chapter…8, I think, somewhere around there, and have thus far been posting every other day, but don't know if my posts will be able to be as frequent. I'll definitely try to get something up every few days. Anyway, I'm really happy with this chapter (in fact I have fondly nicknamed it "The Big One"); I have rewritten and tweaked to no end and I really hope you guys like it! You find out the logic behind the title, too. Oh and before I forget-- many, many, many thanks to everyone who's read and even more to those who have reviewed. Hearing from you guys makes me smile so wide I keep thinking my face is going to split!! In any case, I've kept you long enough; enjoy! xxx*Anya*xxx
Chapter Five
The Christmas Ball and Surrounding Events
The days passed by without any sort of excitement other than most people trying to find dates to the Christmas Ball. Hermione hadn't yet been asked by anyone (including, as much as she would have liked to deny it, the one person she really wanted to ask her), but she didn't mind as much as she might have. The Ball was in four days and at this point, she wasn't even sure if she was going to go.
However, fate—or perhaps just a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Tom McFarland that she knew only by sight—found her in the library that afternoon.
"Hermione?" he asked timidly as he approached her. "I'm Tom."
"Hullo Tom," she said cheerfully, accepting the hand he offered.
"Hullo. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I'd like to talk to you for a moment. If that's alright?"
"Of course it is," she said, smiling, and put her book down.
"I know this is going to sound really random," he began uncomfortably, "but I've, er, admired you from afar for some time now and I would like it if…oh I'm sorry, I sound like such an idiot."
Hermione put her hand on his. "No you don't, please go on."
He smiled slightly through the blush that had inched up his pale face and continued awkwardly, "Well, I'd really like it if you would consider being my date to the Christmas Ball. That is, if you aren't already going with someone else. You don't have to answer right away."
Hermione smiled and thought as she looked him over. He was sweet and polite; two big plus points. Lavender Brown had dated him for all of three weeks in fifth year and even though their relationship came to a crashing halt after such a short time, she always spoke highly of him—or she did after the pain wore off. He was rather attractive, too, in a bookish sort of way. He was fairly lanky and shorter than both Harry and Ron but taller than her, and he had comparatively understated, although attractive features: floppy, sand-colored hair and large hazel eyes.
"Sure," she said at last, a bright smile upon her face. "I'd love to."
"Really?" Tom said happily. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'll meet you outside the Great Hall ten minutes before the Ball begins, alright?"
"Alright," she replied, feeling uplifted at the thought of brightening his day. He's a sweet lad, she thought, trying to push out the incommodious part of her mind that wished someone else had asked her. Unfortunately, her efforts went to no avail.
*~*~*~*
Draco sat next to her at dinner that night, a charming smirk upon his lovely face.
Hermione eyed him suspiciously, attempting to ignore the fluttering feeling that had entered her stomach. "What've you been up to?"
"What do you mean, Granger?" he asked, raising a single eyebrow.
"You, you look like you've done something," she accused, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "Do I even want to know?"
"I haven't done anything," Draco stated crossly. After a moment's pause he added, "D'you have a date for the Christmas Ball?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said proudly.
"Who?" he demanded.
Hermione smiled smugly. That was, by all definitions, a very jealous 'who'. A feeling of power filled her suddenly; she liked it.
"Oh, just this Ravenclaw boy," she said evasively.
"Do I know him?" he pressed.
She looked at him questioningly. "How do I know who you do and don't know?"
Draco leaned back in his chair, mentally chastising himself for how ridiculous he was being. "You don't," he snapped. "But whatever."
"Do you have a date?" she asked politely, buttering a roll.
He smirked. "Of course. Erin Pallor, if you must know."
"I didn't ask," she said quickly, thinking, what happened to that racy Miss Allegra? Merlin, can't he hold onto the same girl for two weeks?
"Granger, I don't care if you asked or not, either way I offered the information," he said exasperatedly.
"Okay, Malfoy," she said, slightly taken aback. "Merlin, you're testy tonight."
"It's all part of my charm," he said arrogantly. With a quick smirk that was almost a true smile, he went back to his food.
After a moment he decided it was too quiet and shoved Hermione's arm. In retaliation, she chucked bits of her roll at him and so he tackled her, trying to get the roll out of her hands.
Hermione squealed in delight, trying not to knock over the people next to her and all too aware of how close Draco was. He was touching her. She couldn't not notice that.
*~*~*~*
The day of the Christmas Ball, as much as Hermione would have hated to admit it, she spent over two hours getting ready. Dumbledore had said they didn't need to dress too formally, but that didn't mean she was going to go in blue jeans. She put on a fabulous espresso brown silk dress; it was knee-length with a long bodice, short, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a swishy skirt, and sheer black tulle over the brown fabric. To top it off she had demure black and pale pink kitten heels and a small pale pink rosette pin that fastened just under her bust. She wore her russet curls loose, with just the front and sides elegantly pinned back with delicate pearl barrettes.
Before she left the dormitory, she checked herself in her full-length mirror one last time. A sudden thought entered her mind, which was: Eat your heart out, Draco Malfoy!
*~*~*~*
She met Tom outside the Great Hall ten minutes before the Ball was to begin, just as he'd said. He looked very nice in a plain gray button-up shirt and black dress pants. Hermione kept telling herself she should feel lucky to be with such a cute, sweet boy, but she couldn't manage to keep her eyes from darting around the room, searching for Draco.
"Hermione," she heard Tom's voice call faintly. "It's time to go in, are you alright?"
She blinked and looked up at her date, who wore a concerned expression on his sweet face. "Yes, sorry, I'm fine," she said with a forced smile. "Ready?"
He smiled and offered his arm. "When you are."
And so they went in, and Hermione never saw the dark eyes behind her that lingered too long on exactly what, according to society rules, they shouldn't have.
*~*~*~*
"Welcome to the Christmas Ball!" Dumbledore proclaimed once everyone was inside. The Great Hall looked wonderful; the enchanted ceiling showed an image of a perfectly clear night sky alight with billions of dazzling stars, and the whole room was done up in silver, black, and crimson. The House tables were exchanged for several small, black wrought-iron café tables, sort of like at the Yule Ball two years past, and a large, long buffet table covered in a shimmering silvery cloth stood on one the westward walls, decorated with candles and bits of holly. A beautiful, 18-foot Christmas tree stood proudly where the staff table usually was, covered in tinsel, candy canes, and tiny charmed lights that let off a subtle luminescence. A string quartet sat in the southeastern corner, playing a beautiful, sweet melody. The whole room was awash in the soft, gentle glow of elegant candelabras strategically placed throughout the room. When all was said and done, the Great Hall had rarely looked better.
Hermione was not in the best of moods. She looked around the room and wished with all her heart that Harry and Ron were here to see this. She and Ron would have probably gone together—just as friends, of course—as they had for the last social function since Harry had started dating Cho. She missed them both a lot. It was one thing when they went away for the summers and had other things to distract them (well, maybe not Harry—poor boy), but to be at school without her two best friends made Hermione feel incredibly small and alone.
Tom squeezed her hand comfortingly, although he didn't know exactly what he was comforting.
"Thanks," Hermione whispered, smiling a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
To make matters worse, she had spotted him at last. Young Master Malfoy, looking breathtakingly dashing in dark gray expensive-looking dress pants with perfect creases and an even more expensive-looking dress shirt in a rich navy that impeccably set off his eyes (which Hermione was now convinced could be seen from outer space).
She watched him walk to a table with a tall, shapely blonde—she assumed it was Erin, his date—and then suddenly he looked up and those gorgeous eyes landed on Hermione. She watched him slowly look her over, a small smirk crossing his lips and a practically hidden glint in his eyes that let her knew he liked what he saw.
Hermione's heart leaped; she couldn't bring herself to believe that her past enemy and the current Hogwarts sex god might be a little bit interested in her. It just didn't make sense, from where she was standing. It didn't make sense from where anyone was standing! But, deny it thought she may, it was there. Then their eyes met and held, and suddenly it was Tom who? Erin who?
Hermione's thoughts raced. He's doing that mysterious thing again, which he unfortunately happens to be fabulous at. What's behind those masks he calls eyes?
Her yearn for learning took over and she was overwhelmed with the desire to know everything there was to know about Draco Malfoy.
He's too much of a secret, she thought disdainfully, biting her lower lip.
"Would you like something to drink?" Tom asked courteously, leading Hermione over to one of the tables.
"Oh, no thanks," she said politely.
"I'll be right back, then," he said, smiling at her as though she were the most beautiful woman in the world. Hermione watched him walk away, feeling disgusted with herself. Right then and there, she decided to be a perfect date to Tom. He must be thinking I'm an awful person, or that I don't like him, Hermione thought, furrowing her brow.
When Tom came back with his drink, Hermione gave him a minute and then dragged him (as only a lady would) onto the dance floor. There were several couples dancing at that point, but Draco and Erin were still seated. They seemed to be attempting at a conversation, but between Erin's frequent blushes and Draco running his hands through his hair like a madman, Hermione guessed it wasn't going all that well. She couldn't help but smile, but as her chin was resting on Tom's shoulder, he felt her mouth move and asked why she was smiling.
"No reason," she said vaguely, not able to take her eyes off of that blasted supercilious blond. She hated this so much, this whole business with liking him, and yet she couldn't seem to get enough. He'd woven a spell over her, and there was seemingly no way out.
"Tom, I'm feeling a little dizzy," she said. She felt terrible; she still couldn't take her eyes off of Draco (who knew it) and had stepped on poor Tom's toes no less than three times. "Maybe we should go sit down again."
"Sure Hermione," he said, concerned. "Are you having a good time?"
"Oh yes," she reassured both him and herself, "I'm having a lovely time. I just need to sit down for a minute."
Not five minutes after they did sit down, a tall, shapely blonde girl approached Tom. The girl, of course, was Erin. From up close, Hermione thought she looked almost nice; she had a friendly smile and a cute smattering of freckles across her nose.
"Hi Tom," she said shyly with a voice as breathy as it was kind. So this is Draco's date? Hermione thought critically to herself. Seems like quite a last-minute choice to me, especially for his standards.
"Would you care to dance?" Erin asked timidly, a hopeful expression on her pretty face.
Tom opened his mouth, then looked back at Hermione and said almost desolately, "Actually, I—"
"No, it's fine," Hermione assured him. "You go ahead, I'll be fine here."
"What about your date, Erin?" Tom wondered. "Weren't you here with Malfoy?"
A goaded expression crossed Erin's face as she said slightly bitterly, "Yes, but I can assure you that he won't even notice I'm gone. He was too busy ogling other girls—one in particular, his eyes kept following her all around the room, although I don't know who it was"— (Hermione's heart leapt at this)—"and then saying boorish things when I tried to bring him out of his fantasies."
"Well, you two have fun," Hermione called after them as Tom led Erin, mesmerized, onto the dance floor. Well, that's the last I'm seeing of Tom, she thought good-naturedly. I was a lousy date, anyway.
She looked longingly at everyone around her and wondered why she couldn't just be happy with what she had. It wasn't like her to get distracted. Mind you, she was just as bookish as ever, but for the past five or six weeks she was more likely to need a ten-minute break every so often because she'd gotten caught up in one daydream or another.
"Granger, get your head out of the clouds," drawled a familiar voice, and Hermione was startled to see a tall, gorgeous blonde boy standing in front of her.
"Hullo Malfoy," she said.
"Hullo," he said, a true smile crossing his lips. Hermione's breath caught in her throat; it was one of the loveliest sights she'd ever seen. "You look beautiful," he said quietly. She glanced up at him to see if he was serious; his face was completely honest (a rarity for him) and his eyes were that pure shade of summer-sky blue she loved and only saw when he looked at her.
"Thank you," she said coyly, feeling the heat of an oncoming blush racing up her neck. "I'm flattered."
His smile widened and he offered a hand. "May I have this dance?"
"How can I refuse?" she purred, accepting his hand and letting him pull her up.
The string quartet began a new song just then; a haunting, lilting melody that reminded Hermione of old, mystical days that were long gone, to be recollected only in a dream.
Their eyes met and Hermione fell hard for him as he placed a strong but gentle hand around her waist, pulling her close. Around they twirled, waltzing effortlessly in the darkened room under the magical twilit sky. Hermione felt entirely lightheaded and the room was spinning around her, but she barely noticed; all that mattered was that he was holding her and that the music went on.
Draco spun the exquisite beauty around and danced in perfect step with her, paying no mind to anyone else in the room. Her chocolate eyes never faltered, and he felt her increasingly shallow breaths underneath the hand he kept wrapped around her slender waist. He hated this feeling; it was beyond his control. He wanted to eat, sleep, and breathe Hermione, and oh, how delicious those cherry lips looked. He pulled her closer, hungry for more. His entire body was filled with a burning lust that he couldn't explain. He couldn't explain when it first started, even. It might have been that day in the library, when they were both supposed to be at Hogsmeade.
If only I'd gone to Hogsmeade, he thought wistfully, and then I wouldn't be feeling like this. I wouldn't feel like wolves are about to eat me alive, I wouldn't feel like I could fly on my own if I tried, and I wouldn't feel like I'll never be satisfied, like there's something I can't live without just out of my reach.
He sighed inwardly and looked at Hermione; she looked just as deep in thought as he was. "What are you thinking?" he asked her quietly as they glided across the floor.
Her eyes sharpened as if only a few seconds before she'd been someplace far away. "Oh…just about this Muggle Studies essay I need to get done," she lied.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't bite, you know. At least, not anymore," he said. "And it doesn't take a genius to see that you were lying."
She sighed. "I've never been a good liar," she admitted.
He twirled her once more before they took off waltzing again. "Too right. Now what were you really thinking?"
She frowned and took her hand off of his shoulder for a brief moment to push a stray lock of golden hair out of his eyes. "Just about…how lonely you look."
Now it was his turn to frown. He doubted that was what she'd been thinking before, but she wasn't lying now. "Lonely? I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do," she insisted, "and it's not just that. You're so closed in all the time. Don't you ever feel anything?" His face shut down again and she pressed, "Don't you want to feel anything? Anger, happiness, sadness…jealousy…even love?"
"Love? I know of no such thing," Draco scoffed, finally halting their dance. "Love is something that exists only in fairy tales for the weak-hearted to believe in when they think they have nothing left."
"No, Draco, it's not like that," she persisted, pushing back the tears she could feel forming in the corners of her eyes. "It's not like that at all. Love is the cruelest and most wonderful emotion in the entire world; love is what keeps people going when there is nothing left! None of us would survive without love."
His eyes turned back to that steely blue-gray. "Why are you pushing this?" he demanded.
"I needed to know something," she said uneasily. "But I do believe I found it out, and have decided it's not worth it."
She turned to leave, but Draco grabbed her arm. "What's not worth it, Granger?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter anymore," she said firmly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "But I have to go."
With sad eyes and an angry-looking mouth, Draco clenched his jaw as he watched her leave and made a mental note to kick himself hard in the ass later on. I couldn't very well have told her I fear love above all because I have never known it, he reminded himself. But to watch her go before they'd even gotten started had to have been one of the worst feelings he'd ever had.
*~*~*~*
Hermione exited the Great Hall in an angry, sad, and tearful flurry, unsure of what to do or where to go. She could go back up to the common room…and do what? She asked herself. There was nothing for her up there, just as there was nothing for her with Draco Malfoy.
I should have known, she scolded herself. I should have known not to let my feelings run away with me. They get in the way in the best of situations, never mind when you're dealing with someone as cold and awful as Draco Malfoy! He doesn't deserve my tears.
As much as she tried to tell herself exactly this, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing.
At last she decided to wander the grounds. A walk was just what she needed to clear her head. Besides, it looked so lovely all done up for the holidays, with icicles everywhere, ornamented Christmas trees all around, and fairy lights artfully decorating the gorgeous, massive grounds that looked splendid even at night in the wintertime.
"Perfect," she said to herself, sitting on a bench and gazing up at the clear night sky. She let her thoughts slip away and just let herself be, something she didn't do nearly often enough.
Hermione didn't know how long she stayed there, but he found here there some time later, and she inadvertently replayed what had happened earlier in her head.
"How'd you know I was out here?" she wondered when he hurried over to her and joined her in sitting on that bench.
"Lucky guess," he said with a smirk. "Look…I know you're mad at me, and I can understand that. I wasn't exactly the nicest guy in there."
She let a small smile escape. "Is Draco Malfoy apologizing?" she queried with a raised eyebrow.
"No," he scowled, but his eyes laughed. "I'm just saying you have every right to be mad at me."
"I just didn't understand why you were getting so defensive about your feelings," Hermione said honestly, "or lack thereof, as the case may be...I don't understand a lot of things when it comes to you."
He jiggled his leg nervously. Come on Malfoy, don't be a prat. Just tell her you're scared. What's the worst she can do? Look at those big eyes…she's completely trustworthy, and she won't think any less of me. Right? Right…I should just explain to her that I'm not as perfect as I might seem. Wait, that sounds arrogant. What am I saying? She'll never even notice. Okay. Okay. You can do this, Malfoy, it's not that difficult.
"Hermione, I have a bit of a confession to make," he started uncertainly. "But before I say anything, you have to understand that I didn't grow up in an environment that was anything like yours. Never mind the pureblood-Mudblood thing at the moment, I'm talking about the people I grew up with. They weren't exactly…warm. They were chilly, at best…on their good days, which didn't come very often."
Hermione nodded, unsure of where this was going and trying to suppress the excitement she felt when he said her first name. "Go on," she prompted.
"Yes, well the whole thing before, about…er, about…oh, well, never mind," he said with a sad smile, mentally cursing himself for chickening out. It's the only way, he assured himself. Don't let anything out, don't let anyone in. That way you never get hurt. Remember? Don't let yourself fall under her spell, Malfoy, she's dangerous. The pain she'll cause me is worse than any physical pain I could ever know. Father always said that's why he never bothered.
Unfortunately, as much as he tried to talk himself out of it, Draco knew he'd already fallen.
"It's okay, Draco," Hermione said soothingly. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to. And I forgive you, about before. I think I understand a little better now."
"You can read minds or something?" he accused.
"No," Hermione assured him.
"Then how do you…?"
She smiled. "Womanly instincts," she said complacently.
Draco knew not to go there.
"Hey, look!" she said suddenly, unwittingly grabbing his arm in excitement. "Ice sprites!"
Ignoring the simultaneous shivers and heat he felt at her touch, he followed her gaze to the lake not far off, where dozens of tiny blue fairies known as ice sprites danced across the lake, leaving a faint trail of shimmering snow where they went. He sighed in awe; there were some things about the magical world that never failed to impress him.
"Hey, Hermione?" he said quietly after a few moments. What he was about to do, he told himself on deaf ears (his own), was very, very stupid.
Hermione looked at him, certain that she'd never get used to hearing her first name come out of his tantalizing lips; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. "You said my name," she breathed, her words visible in the chill of the night air.
He swallowed and tried to stifle the fluttering feeling in his stomach. He'd never, ever felt it before, not even when he should have. And he should have, many times. "Well, it's a very nice name," he stammered.
"You were going to say something?" she reminded him, brushing that same stray lock of hair out of his face.
"I'm not really big on words," he admitted. "This is the best I could come up with, being a man of no eloquence."
Hermione looked at him, at his summer-sky eyes, and realized that even if the poor boy didn't know how to love, she still wanted to let him give his best shot. "I'm sure it's perfect," she started to say.
But she never finished the phrase, because suddenly his mouth was on hers in a torrent of raw, packed emotion that had been suppressed for too long. All the secret looks, the late-night library interludes, and, best of all, the waltz could be felt in this kiss. All the softness and sweetness in the world could not prepare Draco for Hermione's lips, just as all the burning passion and untapped emotion a person could contain could never have primed Hermione for Draco's needy, desirous touch. She somehow knew that he'd never kissed anyone like he was kissing her right now, and the very thought of that made her let out a small moan she could hold back no longer, and then she pressed her mouth harder against his, deepening the kiss. His soft, deliciously wet tongue parted her lips and she invited him in with her own, and now it was their tongues' turn to waltz. He tasted like peppermint, gorgeous, priceless antiques, and secrets. Oh, so many secrets. She pulled his body as close to hers as it could get at the time and shifted herself so that she was practically sitting on his lap. He didn't seem to mind at all. Heat coursed through their bodies, flaring where their skin touched. His arms locked around her back and waist underneath all those luscious curls, her hands ran frantically through his pale golden hair, and everything earthly was forgotten. They soared through heaven and beyond, attached at the mouth, as they both were filled with the rawest passion, desire, and affection that they'd ever felt.
It felt right.
When they broke at last, Hermione was laying drowsily in his arms; Draco had no intention of ever letting her go. The magnitude of all that raw emotion had taken its toll on Hermione, who could suddenly scarcely keep her eyes open.
"Thank you," she whispered sleepily, before collapsing into a dreamless slumber in his arms.