Chapter 34: Hello Van Gough

"Come now, Cissy, you can't be at all pleased with this match?" Delilah Selwyn, an odious old hag and sister of Hoster Greengrass, queried in a voice that grated on Narcissa Malfoy's last nerve.

"Why on earth not?" The hostess of the event kept her eyes on Draco, beaming as he spun Hermione Granger under his outstretched arm. Narcissa had never seen her son dance, something she hadn't realised until that night.

"Well, for a start, she's…." Delilah began as she dusted her dark green robe of invisible dust.

"Yes?" Narcissa managed to drag her eyes away from the dancers to look at the woman whose skin no longer fit her.

"Well, she's common, isn't she?" the witch shot a foul glance at Hermione.

"I heard she attended one of the best schools in London before Hogwarts. She's hardly trade." Constance Flint, ever the well informed and gin-soaked, laughed at Delilah's audacity.

"I wouldn't care if she were a dustman's daughter. She's an accomplished young woman with excellent connections and personal wealth. What more could a mother want?" Narcissa blinked calmly.

"clean blood." Delilah offered, not at all ashamed of her words. Constance spat half of her drink across the small table, where they sat.

Narcissa flipped from serene to scary in a toss of her hair. " That woman will be my daughter soon enough, then she'll carry my grandchildren and dote on me in my decline. I will destroy you if you let another derogatory word fall from that slack hole you call a mouth." Narcissa chuckled at the old woman's aghast expression. "Not like Lucius would, dear… no, he'd have killed you. I'll just ruin you, socially." Miss Black, because that's who was speaking, grinned, displaying all of her teeth.

"I love these tablecloths, Cissy. Where did you get them?" Constance spoke calmly. The matter was at rest.

"Paris, dear, I'll have some sent to your new home in Shropshire." She nodded kindly at Ms Flint, mentally noting to invite her to all forthcoming events.

"Panties Parkinson." A voice spoke a nickname only one living soul dared. She shot a sideways glance at George Weasley.

"Hello, Van Gough." She greeted tightly. The twins had called her Panties Parkinson since she dared make a snide comment about their brother in the first year. It had driven her up the wall. It was too bloody catchy. Her attempt at a witty moniker fell on a deaf ear, given the Weasley man's lack of knowledge of Muggle art. She sighed at his blank expression. "He was a painter."

"I know who Van Gough is, Panties." He smirked. "My silent astonishment was at you, 'A' knowing a muggle thing and 'B' thinking you were the first person to make that joke…" he clucked. "Must try harder, Panties."

"I'm sorry, your specific brand of deformity doesn't come with a wealth of reference points." Pansy realised too late what she'd said and was relieved that the Weasley seemed unphased by her snide words, "Enjoying the bash?" She asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. It wasn't that she was intentionally cutting. She was just naturally sharp.

"Oh yes, you know me…" he grunted, "love nothing more than throwing on an itchy suit so my mother can introduce me to single purebloods in their 30s who collect leaves… that's Pricilla Rowle's actual interest… leaf collecting." He shook his head in disbe lief .

"How fascinating, Can I quote you on that?" She shot him a grin.

"Ah, that's right, you've got a little column." he teased.

"There's nothing little about my column," she drawled, "and before you continue to minimise my work, let's not forget who among us sells fart bombs."

"And fake poops," he added, taking a sip of his champagne primly.

"ah, well, in that case, you're a visionary." She chuckled and reached for a glass from a passing server.

"Not a dancer?" He nodded to the floor, cleared of dinner tables where humans and hob elves swayed to the live band.

"No, I like to watch," she smirked, knowing exactly how it sounded. "You can tell a lot about people by how they dance." She scanned the crowd. "Look at the minister and his date," The minister danced with Serene, his social event companion and, unbeknownst to Pansy, beard. "They're an arms-length apart."

"Sometimes arm's length is nice." George tilted his head and watched the minister.

"well, Sometimes it's passionate and full of promise." She agreed, "but they look like their bodies are repelling each other." George laughed at her observation.

"Compared to Granger and Malfoy," She pointed at the young couple wrapped in each other, barely swaying. "Every inch of them wants to be touching."

"ah, but full-body contact occasionally can just mean familiarly." He nodded towards Rory Pince, holding his wife close in his arms "he might be touching Mrs Pince, but his eyes are locked on Hermione's arse."

"You're good at this game." Pansy snickered into her drink.

"Hermione, this is Blaise." Draco finally introduced her to his oldest friend. "Blaise, behave," Draco warned the dark-skinned man with a wicked grin.

"It's an honour to properly meet you." Blaise grabbed her hand and pressed a salacious kiss to her knuckles.

"And you," Hermione grinned. "I love hearing about your adventures into the muggle world."

"Ah, we should get together one night, and I'll regale you with all my muggle faux pas!" He laughed genially. "And then I'll tell you about the monumental wet dream our boy had about you in the fourth year." Blaise raised his eyebrow suggestively, and she heard Draco groan. Blaise did not get the blush or batted eyelashes he expected from Hermione. Instead, he watched Granger's face morph into an almost Malfoy-Esque smirk.

"Oh, he's already told me all about that," she snaked her arm around Malfoy's waist. "Why do you think I'm wearing the Yule Ball dress." it was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. She felt Draco's silent laugh shake through her body and grinned at the unshakable Blaise Zabini, who found himself shook.

"Oh, I get this now…." Blaise nodded as he looked between the pair. "You're both little freaks!" he chuckled, finally getting a blush from Hermione's cheek. "It all makes sense now!" The man grinned. He patted Draco on the shoulder. "I'm going to head off,"

"It was nice to properly meet you." Hermione smiled, her cheeks a little redder for their interaction.

"Well, I got him too drunk." Ginny pulled a tight-lipped smile. "I tried to get him kinky drunk, but that last tequila knocked him into dance mode." The red-head stomped her foot as she spoke to herself.

"He does look like he's having fun, though." The figure stood beside her spoke, and Ginny's neck snapped around. She'd thought she was on her own as she leaned against the wall. It appeared she had thought wrong.

"Mrs Malfoy, thank you for having us." No amount of Quidditch glory or motherhood would ever make Ginny feel grown-up enough next to the Malfoy Matriarch.

"I'm so pleased you both came, especially you." To Ginny's great shock, Narcissa grinned and gave her a nudge. "You won me a new flat, and I've been eager to thank you."

"Oh." That was all Ginny could manage. She watched as Harry bopped along with a group of elves to something modern.

"You should really visit. I've had an oil painting commissioned. It's an artistic rendering of the photograph of Draco and Miss Granger with your husband and baby, celebrating your win." Narcissa couldn't stop the chuckle that crept up her windpipe at the shocked expression on Ginny Potter's face. Cissy had nipped back upstairs half an hour prior for another nibble of something soothing. "It's the size of a wall and quite possibly the most hideous thing I've ever seen." Narcissa laughed loudly, and Ginny's frozen expression finally cracked into mirth.

"No!" Mrs Potter gasped, wide eyes pinned on the blonde woman.

"Oh yes, a total impulse buy. It was just such a lovely photograph… the artist is new-wave, and used an ever-shifting pallet…." Narcissa Malfoy actually snorted with laughter as she tried to describe what was indeed one of the world's most unsettling paintings. "So you feel like you're going to vomit if you look at it too long." Narcissa sniffed, attempting to pull herself together. "I should warn you that the artist wasn't confident with painting a baby, so your son looks mildly demonic in the rendering." Narcissa cracked up again, realising far too late that she may have overindulged slightly with her herbaceous snacks.

"Now I really need to see this." Ginny gasped, entirely left-footed by the suddenly genial Narcissa. The woman had never been rude to her but had always maintained a degree of distance. Ginny wondered if the Malfoy was attempting to convey her support for the newest couple of the moment by making nice with the Order.

"You should come soon. I do intend to have It burned soon." Mrs Malfoy beamed down at the small redheaded woman and paused for a moment of thought. Much had passed between them, between their families. Narcissa wondered if the wound would ever heal. Perhaps now she was tending to it, the process would speed up some.

"I'll do that," Ginny nodded, sensing Narcissa's pensive turn. "You should invite Andi and Teddy. I'll bring James."

"That's a top idea, Mrs Potter," Narcissa grinned. "I'll have my cook whip up some child-friendly cakes!"

"Are there other kinds?" Ginny laughed, imagining Mrs Malfoy serving an array of genital shaped food.

Mrs Malfoy chuckled again, ignoring the question, "Where on earth did that son of mine get to?"

"Is it like you imagined?" Hermione breathed into his ear as he fumbled hastily with his belt buckle.

"so much better." He groaned, bunching her dress up with one hand and fighting his trousers with the other.

"Tell me. Tell me about the dream." She stilled his hasty paws.

"I've already told you."

"Tell me again."

"Granger…" His eyes shot to the far end of the corridor where the ball was still in swing, though it had wound down a little.

"I've cast a distraction charm, a proximity alert and a silencing charm." She blinked up at him as if he were stupid. "There are three suites of armour between us and the possibility of prying eyes." she tugged at his tie. "I've been waiting all night to sneak off, so stop being a little swot and tell me." she nipped at his lower lip and pulled his face toward her.

"I had this dream," He cleared his throat and dragged that dress up her thighs. "After the Yule Ball."

"Obviously," Hermione's hands worked the leather free of the buckle on his belt and pulled it loose.

"About finding you in one of the corridors, one of the upstairs ones near charms." He always added unnecessary detail.

"A bit like this?" She pointed to the stone walls of the manor.

"A bit." He agreed with a groan as she freed him from the restraints of his underwear.

"Then what happened in the dream?" She gasped as he pressed his fingers against her core.

"You were in your dress and…." He paused as he pushed into her, reaching down to hook her leg over his arm, "It was confusing because it was like I was outside of myself watching me, watching you."

"Ah," she vocalised as her fingers locked into the soft down of his neck hair.

"I pushed you up against the wall," He braced himself against the brick as his thrusts became faster.

"was I scared?" She ran her hands down his front, observing him. The faces he pulled while inside her were almost as potently arousing as the act itself.

"never." He moved his hand from the wall to join his manhood between her legs. The nostalgic value alone was almost pushing him over the edge, so he needed her to finish in short shrift. Having the star of your first real sex dream reinterpret it for your adult enjoyment was a heady situation. "And then I kissed you, and it wasn't rough. It was soft." He gently pressed his lips against hers.

"Did I kiss you back, Draco?" She whispered against his mouth.

"Yes." he ground into her as his voice cracked. He revelled in the soft, warm thigh gripped in his clammy hand, her breath tinged with champagne and strawberries sweeping over his cheeks and lips, the myriad of colours that combined to make the flecks of her eyes. He stilled his hips while completely sheathed in her, pressing all of himself into her. "I love you." He sighed, his fingers between them moving faster. He rested his forehead against hers, teetering on the edge, watching her eyes. The widening, followed by the sudden closure, corresponded with her pulsing core as she broke apart silently. The only soundtrack to their interlude were gasps and the sound of skin colliding with skin.

"Fuckety-fuck." It was barely a whisper as he stuttered, filling her full of him. "If it was real." He gasped. His heart thudded painfully. He withdrew from Hermionie but kept her pinned against the stone. "If I had done that, back then, kissed you like that, touched you gently… would you?" he wasn't sure what he was asking or why.

"Yes." her brow furrowed as she responded honestly. The second they'd touched, on her desk in the ministry, she'd known deep down that she couldn't deny him. She couldn't deny it . Well, she could deny it out loud. But her truth, nay her admissions, were the screeds of stories she'd written and read over and over. The hours of imagining, longing and wanting. Ginny had been right, a drunk but very right woman. Hermione had wanted him for as long as wanting was someone was a part of her emotional repertoire, but knowing she couldn't have him, she'd shoved it down. She had a far more disciplined mind than most. His touch undid it all. Had he kissed her? She would have let him. She would have kissed him back.

She watched as tears filled his eyes. "Draco." she raised her hand to his face.

"I wish…" The waves of wasted time lapped at his back, making it impossible for him to let her go.

"Draco, everything went the way it was supposed to." She cooed

"We would have died." Hermione had seen Draco Malfoy cry before. She'd seen his tears of pain, desperation, and regret. Never this close, never this freely. "All is well that ends well, my love." she pushed a gentle kiss to his trembling chin. It had become her favourite place to peck. She loved the bristle of his barely-there stubble. She loved how his jaw flexed at her touch, making his neck muscle pop out just a little bit.

"My mother said that too." He muttered, pushing her hair back. Allowing her to wipe at his tears with her perfect fingers. He'd never willingly cried in front of another human. Any tears he'd previously shed had been met with his own scorn and stiff fingers swiping at his own eyes.

"She's so smart."

"She's so high." He'd calmed his tears, or she had. A half-smile cracked at his face.

"I still don't fully believe that." Hermione pushed off the wall, attempting to head back to the party. Draco, trousers at ankles, stumbled backwards and nearly crashed into a candelabra. "Oh, this is a mental picture I'm going to treasure." She clutched herself as he hurriedly tried to cover his lower half, almost falling again as he dragged the fabric up his legs.

With a quick clean using her wand and a moment to let the blood in their faces settle, the pair headed back to their friends. "If you ever wanted to have a cry after sex, I wouldn't judge Granger." He sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Terribly cathartic."

"Give me one good reason?" George Weasley folded his arms over his broad chest and grinned challengingly at the woman sitting in the chair beside him. He wasn't sure at what point of the night Pansy Parkinson had become his companion or when half the attendees had departed. It was shocking to see how quiet the ballroom had become.

"I'll give you fifteen good reasons, Georgie boy!" His one ear had gone red when she'd first called him 'Georgie boy, he was sure she noticed, and that's why she persisted. "The press is necessary. It exists to hold the ministry accountable for its actions!" She spoke passionately, and George felt indignant laughter burst from his lips. He didn't see his mother watching him from her spot beside Kingsley and so didn't see the surprise in her eyes.

"The Prophet was Voldemort's mouthpiece." He watched her flinch at the mention of their tormentor's name.

"That's why we need to foster a robust and boisterous press now! So that if, Merlin forbid, anything like that happens again, we have the strength to push back against it." He watched as she burned with intensity. "There are more papers in circulation now than ever before. Because people want to be informed. They don't want another time to come when they're caught off guard by their own ignorance." he smiled at her as she defended an industry she was clearly passionate about.

"That may well be, Parkinson, but articles about who's kissing who aren't exactly holding back the rise of a dark wizard."

"You sell jokes. You sell laughter to people who can't make their own. I do the same thing, Georgie boy, only I'm selling love. I'm selling hope. I'm selling a happy ending to people who didn't get theirs." She jutted her chin. "I think what you do is important, and I think what I do is just as meaningful."

"Even the stuff about Millicent Bulstrode's dinnerware?" He cocked an eyebrow and shot her a grin. He hadn't played with someone in such a long time.

Pansy got a look in her eye like she'd caught the scent of her prey. She smirked. "Firstly, Millie has really nothing going for her, and I wrote that piece to make an old friend feel special, so yes. Secondly…" She smiled and bit her lip. He watched as her fingers danced in the air in front of her. "You read my column." She wiggled in her chair, and he felt his stomach tighten. He wondered if perhaps the chicken had done him a mischief.

"I do not." He rebutted. But he did. He spent most of his weekdays alone in a joke shop with nothing but the newspaper.

"Oh, your one ear has gone all red!" She leaned over to tug at it. "You read my column religiously," She placed her hand on her breast. "You should have let on that you're a fan, Georgie boy."

"I glance at it…." He finally admitted, the red spreading to his cheeks "occasionally."

"You're obsessed with me." She laughed and leaned back in her chair.

"Who's obsessed with you?" Hermione slid into one of the chairs at their table. Draco followed soon after. Both looked a little flushed and strangely emotional.

"Georgie boy is." Pansy bit her lip as she grinned, trying to remain serious. "He reads my column religiously."

"I glance… occasionally," George repeated to no avail.

"Oh, He loves it," Ginny appeared behind her brother, dragging a still dancing Harry beside her. "he and mum talk about it at Sunday lunch."

"I regret choking out Ronald for you," George grumbled. It was rare that he was the butt of the joke.

"No, you don't." Ginny kissed the top of her brother's head as she pushed her husband into the chair beside him. She slid into Harry's lap and turned to look at Pansy. "You had a fun night Parkinson?" Ginny grinned.

"Lovely, and made all the better by finding out I had a fan in the ranks." Pansy Parkinson caught Draco's eye as she smiled easily. He'd watched his friend struggle with who she was for most of their lives. He'd witnessed, first hand, her effort to be free. He saw lightness as he observed her interact with the people they'd once considered enemies. He saw the person he'd only glimpsed in private moments of extreme vulnerability.

"At what point does this become slander?" George Weasley queried.

"When she tells a lie." Hermione grinned at the boy who'd teased her through every awkward moment of her life and relished in his uncomfortable squirm.

"Your mum offered me a bag of weed," Ginny told Malfoy, her mouth curled in an amused smile.

"I told you!" Draco turned to Hermione with triumph. "Mum's high!"

Ginny felt her husband snore beneath her and shook her head. "He's tuckered himself out with the dancing."