A/N: Right, I know what you're thinking. I can almost hear you screaming 'LW where is the ASWG update??' to which I say, I'm working on it. I promise. In the meantime, you can have this.
In my defense, I did not intend to write this in the first place... it just sort of happened. This is an accompaniment that follows chapter twelve: and her presence (on a moonlit night). You can find the actual story, And She Was Golden, in my profile!
Hermione watches him lean down with a gracious bow, placing a light kiss on the hand of some socialite before pulling away with a devastating grin. The girl giggles with a flirtatious wink and Draco ducks his head, looking away. Even from this distance she can tell the smile that stretches across his face is genuine, but what does she know? She's certainly not an expert in matters of his delight.
It's funny how she's known him for nearly a decade. Hermione doesn't think she knows him at all.
He looks riveting tonight, more dignified than usual if that is even possible. This Draco is much more reminiscent of the charming boy she remembers from Hogwarts and less like the shadow she's only now starting to get used to. He's so different these days and yet, considering the way her heart twists, nothing has changed at all.
He's still Draco Malfoy. She's still Hermione Granger. A whole chasm of impossibilities scattered between them.
"You're staring at him again." Ginny's voice breaks her reverie.
"And what of it?" Hermione asks, not bothering to avert her gaze. He is not the brightest idea she's had. In fact, Hermione hardly understood the first flutter she'd felt back in Third Year, but she'd come to acknowledge that sometimes things like logic were overrated anyway. Nothing made sense when it came to him; it never has. Hermione allows herself the luxury of letting her eyes trail after him as he walks away.
"You could just talk to him, you know." Ginny sniffs, "What's the worst he could do?"
"Laugh. Kick me out of his house. Announce to the entire party that Hermione Granger has lost her marbles."
She arches an eyebrow. "It's not like I'm asking you to confess your undying love. Besides, he wouldn't do that to you."
"No," Hermione shakes her head as Draco disappears from her line of sight. "I reckon he wouldn't."
Ginny hums in response, "Even if you did show up to his house dressed," She gestures to Hermione's dress, eyes alight with mischief "looking like this on the arm of another man." She gasps in mock horror, throwing her hand up to her bosom like a scandalised old spinster.
"Ginny." Hermione takes a deep breath, "I assure you, Draco Malfoy doesn't give a flying fig about who or who doesn't accompany me to one of his grand parties."
"Sure, I bet that's why he's been looking like a kicked puppy all night; but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Maybe his date stood him up—that American splashed across all pages of the Prophet."
"Please, it was two pages at the most. Besides, has he ever mentioned this girl?"
"No."
"Then there's no girl." she shrugs, as if that settles things.
"You've had far too much too much to drink, Gin."
"And you haven't had nearly enough, especially considering your new position as Lucius Malfoy's shadow."
Hermione scowls, "He'd promised me a few introductions, that's all."
Introductions to people Hermione couldn't have dreamed of approaching. Wizengamot figures, prominent lobbyists and everyone in between.
"A few? You've shaken hands with everyone and their mothers at this point."
Perhaps it had been a bit more than a handful. Though in her defence, she had no idea exactly how thorough his network truly was. One would think his actions would have ostracized him, but Lucius greeted everyone like a lost friend. Hermione could do nothing but stare in amazement as Lucius conversed warmly with all of them.
'Is your mother feeling better?' said with a sympathetic smile and a gentle nod.
'How is William doing at Durmstrang?' A tilt of his head and shake of a hand.
'I heard Angelica was top of her class this year at Beauxbatons, you must be so proud!' A hearty laugh and witty reply.
'Congratulations on that promotion, I can think of no one else more deserving.' And on and on it went.
When Lucius Malfoy spoke, one could do nothing but whole heartedly agree to every claim, bizarre as it may have been. It is something in the very manner he holds himself; the conspiratorial tone that made you feel like you are part of an inside joke. Watching him, Hermione suddenly saw all the stray pieces click into place. Getting to witness his charismatic demeanour first hand, it is easy to understand how he had worked his way into Tom Riddle's inner circle.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Hermione. Even I know that going around striking deals with Lucius Malfoy will have repercussions."
No doubt Lucius Malfoy is a wolf in sheep's clothing if there ever was one. Yet, the allure of his hazy promise hasn't quite faded away. The seed had been planted and the idea was slowly taking root in her brain. More often than not, she'd found herself mulling over the strained dinner, poking at his words. Lucius Malfoy, after all, isn't one to place losing bets.
Hermione downs the last of her drink, "I know what I'm doing." She scans her eyes through the room for Theo, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but with Ginny's accusations.
"Not when it comes to him."
Hermione's has had her fill for the night, and she's ready to go home. The charms on her feet have started to ebb away and Hermione has started to feel the burn of the heels she'd slipped on earlier. She only slightly regrets the bold choice as it proved to be another fruitless effort that had gone entirely unnoticed by the intended recipient. Besides, an expensive pair of stilettos isn't going to catch Draco's attention⸺ not when these were the people that formed his regular acquaintance.
"Really Hermione, I don't even know why you're so hung up on him. There's other nifflers in the nest."
This is a conversation they'd already had many times before. "You know what Ginny, I think I see Theo." she fibs, not wanting an encore of the same.
"If you'll excuse me." Hermione places her drink on one of the many floating trays, gathering the skirts of her dress to brush past Ginny.
In all honesty, she could admit Ginny had a point. It is rather odd to be pining after a man whose hardly given you the time of day; even if the man in question has a particularly striking silhouette, or unfairly pretty eyes or even if—
Hermione shakes her head, trying to clear it. She walks a lazy path on the edges of the grand Ballroom. She keeps her eyes peeled for Theo, though he's seemingly vanished into thin air. Admittedly, if Ron hadn't been so busy setting up the new shop, she wouldn't have had to ask Theo in the first place. She wasn't going to show up to the event alone— and Ginny's alternate suggestions were better left in the realm of fantasy.
A strange glint in one of the corners catches her eye. Hermione blinks, looking at the shimmering sheen before scanning the crowd. No one else notices it. As she focuses on it, the strange glint gives way to a more familiar hazy shimmer of a Notice-Me-Not.
Curiosity bubbling up inside her proves to be a better distraction than her hunt for her missing date. She steps forward and as if on cue, a looming doorway leading to the outside balcony appears in front of her.
Something akin to relief washes over her, the prospect of a moment of privacy is enticing. Quickly, she pushes the handle, happy to see it already unlocked. The crisp winter air hits her like a brick wall and it's a welcome reprieve from the busy night. She's never been one for such grand gatherings anyway. The effect is nearly instantaneous—fresh air rejuvenating her countenance. Hermione shivers involuntarily, her backless dress doing nothing to help her state. However, it's not nearly as cold out here as it ought to be. It must've taken a clever bit of spell work to achieve these weather wards.
Distracted by her newfound freedom, it takes her a second to realise she isn't out here alone. Hermione doesn't know if she wants to curse her luck or praise it. The man of the hour himself, is leaning against the railway, head tilted up to the starry night sky.
"Sorry," Hermione blurts, "I- I didn't realize anyone else was out here."
His eyes slowly blink open, turning carefully to her. Draco's bright gaze rakes over her and she shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with him.
"Am I intruding?"
He tilts his body away slightly, as if her presence is of no consequence. "No, not at all." An unreasonable bout of jealousy she has no right to feel rages in the pit of her stomach. "There's enough room out here for us both."
It is irrational and unyielding as she wonders how nice it might be to capture his attention forever; how nice it must be to be the object of his study. Hermione somehow pries her eyes off of him as she steps in his direction, hoping that he can't see her thoughts painted across her face.
The gentle snow wafting down just outside the boundary creates a picturesque backdrop. The cold winter view contrasts with the warm lights cascading into the space from the glass windows, illuminating his stance. She curls one hand around the stone railing, gripping it tightly as she leans forward. Hermione reaches the other out, just barely managing to graze the edge of the wards.
"You could've mentioned that you were stepping up."
Hermione feels the full potency of the winter night as she catches the errant snowflakes in her palm. She steals a glance at him from her periphery, wondering if he noticed her rather blatant staring throughout the night. Maybe today would be the day when he finally confronted her; sometimes Hermione wanted to shout her feelings into the universe and scream them into the abyss.
"Does it matter?" he drawls in a smooth baritone. Hermione loves the crisp enunciation in his velvet tone. There's something so formal in the articulate way he says all his words—they have always been his forte. He uses words the way most would wield a wand, precise and with purpose. Hermione has experienced their cruelty first hand when they were younger. More recently, she has experienced their benevolence streaking through his sincere apologies.
Hermione shrugs. "Depends, will you make me address you as Your Grace?"
"I was thinking Highness actually." he quips.
The comment pulls out a laugh and it sounds too high pitched to her ears. She doesn't know if she should blame the alcohol or simply blame his presence. She is just another giggling girl in his orbit, one of the many vying for his attention.
"I thought we agreed you weren't a prince."
"I have no recollection of agreeing with such blasphemy."
He's always so quick, keeping up with her in a way she isn't used to. It's not the first time she wonders what might have been in another life; one where they'd found their way to friendship instead of animosity in their youth. Easy banter giving easy access to a charming friendship, one where her affection would be the natural course of things rather than unthinkable.
Even now, Hermione has a difficult time reconciling their new found casualty. She doesn't know if she'll ever get used to him; not when she's been craving the idea of him for so long. She twists around, turning towards the arched windowpane. The dressed up ballroom is still bustling with merriment even at the late hour. The Manor has come to life tonight. It is made for happiness and joy like this; made for throwing parties and celebrating the years as they passed.
Some weary days, Hermione still recalls the hazy darkness she once associated with the Manor. During stormy nights, she could nearly feel the cobblestone scratching her skin and creating a bloodied mess as snatchers dragged her up the endless walkway. This is the same house that had held the swinging chandelier that she'd latched onto, unable to do much of anything else as Bellatrix stooped over her.
All of that is a distant blur, a hazy memory incomprehensible in the blatant light of tonight's cheer. Lucius and Narcissa waltz past, the very picture of elegance and grace. Their affection is of the subtle sort, hidden in between sly glances and light touches. Anyone who knows them could not doubt their adoration. On the rare occasion Andromeda spoke of her days at Hogwarts, Hermione was whole-heartedly convinced that the couple was something straight out of a fairy tale.
She used to think her Mum and Dad were something straight out of a story book as well. Hermione has no right to mourn them; not when she is the reason for her own orphaned state.
Hermione mourns them anyway.
"Your parents make quite the pair." she murmurs, watching Lucius spin Narcissa. Hermione wonders if Wendell and Monica Wilkins still like to dance. Maybe Wendell still sings an old french love song off key to serenade Monica. Maybe she still insists that a wailing seal would know harmony better than he does. Wendell might still coax her to join him in the middle of the living room floor, where they would sway gently to some quiet music that Hermione only faintly remembers.
The sound of Draco clearing his throat interrupts her, "So I've been told."
She doesn't think the hollow spot in her chest meant for her parents will ever quite go away. Hermione should have spent more time with them. She should have given them a choice. She should've done an array of things, chosen one of the hundreds of different branches on the haunting path she walked. Hermione steals a glance at him wondering if maybe one of those timelines could've led to him.
"What did Father want, earlier?" he asks. Hermione sighs, shaking her head⸺she wouldn't waste tonight on her guilt.
"It's the strangest thing. I didn't really believe him at that dinner, you know?" That's the truth of the matter. Deep in heart, Hermione fancied Lucius was simply toying with her. She hadn't really expected he would spend the majority of his night introducing and parading her around the room.
"My father rarely says things he doesn't mean."
"He introduced me to some people." Hermione pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, trying to figure out how best to phrase her thoughts. "It's just... civility from him feels more like a trap. It's like tiptoeing around a conversation I'm not even sure we're having!" Even now, she didn't quite believe Lucius to be sincere in his veiled insinuations; Hermione was hardly sure if they were there in the first place.
"You met Lady Finkelstock, didn't you?" Draco muses.
Hermione nods resolutely, recalling the old woman. "Yes. She seemed rather nice." She was one of the few Lucius had mentioned would be of particular interest but Hermione didn't think there was anything remarkable about her.
Draco scoffs. "She helped pass the Werewolf Registration Act."
Hermione startles, looking at him in abject horror. The kindly old woman was so lively⸺nothing like the haggard old spirit Hermione would expect something like this from. "No!" she seethes. "It's barbaric! The laws are so rigged and bigoted. It's ridiculously unfair how—"
"You realise, then, she has power to help revoke said Act, or at the very least amend it."
'Miss Granger, it's been brought to my attention that you're a passionate advocate of the lesser creatures.' The seemingly off hand comment that Lucius had made earlier reverberates through her thoughts. 'There's nothing lesser about them, Mr Malfoy. It would be in your best interest to use more acceptable terms.' That had been the end of the matter, a harmless little jab she hadn't paid much attention too. A small blip in between two introductions but really, Hermione ought to have made the connection sooner. Lucius Malfoy, much like his son, is not one to waste his words.
"I suppose your father didn't believe me when I said I had no political aspirations."
"You want change, Granger?" His voice growing a bit louder, "Then you're going to have to be the one to usher it in." Draco declares, like it was the obvious conclusion to draw. He confidently stated his opinion like it was an inevitability rather than her fanciful daydreams coming to fruition.
Draco prods further. "As much as I don't like agreeing with my father, you should have political aspirations." A surety in his words she didn't hold herself and despite it, a thrill curls up her spine at his easy verdict. Her traitorous heart leaps in her chest, even as she knows it's all for naught.
Hermione is nothing but a girl who has been in all the right places at all the right times. The universe has blessed her with just enough luck to ensure her survival and she wasn't keen on pushing its limits. "I'm happy working where I am."
"Who are you trying to convince?" he says, voice dropping down to a softer pleading tone.
Hermione turns to look at him in earnest, eyes searching his face for any sign of dishonesty. His sincere eyes are magnetic as they latch onto hers; a raging storm of secrets she will never be privy to.
"Politics is for power. A hobby of the rich. I have no affinity for it." She thinks she could get lost in those eyes, nursing her hopeless one sided desire.
Draco shrugs nonchalantly, "I beg to differ."
It's quiet as they both stare through the large window. She waits for him to break the silence but he makes no move to do so; content enough to watch the dwindling crowd as the seconds tick by.
"Do you truly think I could do it?" Hermione whispers, shattering the still waters. "Minister, one day?"
A light breeze wafts in, ruffling the fine strands of his hair gleaming under the twinkling lights. He looks like he's been spun from the stars themselves tonight⸺he is the constellation he was named after come to life. It takes her breath away.
"I know better than to bet against you."
Power in his stance and influence in his name. Adored by his family and revered by friends. There must be some kind of peace, a nirvana hidden in the comfort that comes with acceptance of your own skin. Maybe one day, Draco might tell her how it feels.
"I'm just me." Hermione Granger is just the bookish girl to balance the scales, a Golden Girl only by association. It was a sleight of hand, wriggling her way into a figment of importance. The only thing golden about her came in the form of regurgitated words from a textbook.
"Granger..." He says her name like an accusation, laced with disbelief. She hadn't known all the different connotations her name could hold, until he came along. A thousand stories told by his tone and inflection alone, adding layers of infinite meanings. "Surely you must know you're—" The words cut off abruptly. Hermione tilts her head up, watching him pause as he rewrites the sentences in his head. She hates it when he does that; hates that she's not good enough for them.
"Must know I'm..." Her voice quivers in the silent night. She wants to know what he has to say-needs to know. Hermione watches his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, finally coming to a conclusion.
"You're capable of achieving anything you set your mind to."
His darkened eyes finally meet hers and she thinks her heart might have skipped a beat. She's never sure of anything when it comes to him. His steadfast gaze is intoxicating and Hermione still isn't used to this. She doesn't think she will ever get used to the rush that accompanies a Draco Malfoy who speaks such pretty words and with unwavering conviction.
A Draco Malfoy who sometimes looks at her like she's the only thing that's worth seeing. It's enough to take anyone's breath away.
"Anything?" Her traitorous heart lurches and against her better judgement, she carefully reaches out placing the palm of her hand on his chest. Hermione hardly has the patience for subtlety, not when life is far too fickle of a mistress. Godric knows, how long she's wanted this; how long she has burned for this⸺for him.
"Granger?" She can't quite place the tone in his voice.
"Draco?" Hermione wonders if he can hear the devotion in hers.
She leans in closer to him, silently begging the universe to listen. Steeped in the light of the night sky, he looks nothing less than angelic. He always has been unfairly beautiful, and tonight is hardly an exception. Her eyes flutter shut of their own accord. She feels him shift closer and she waits.
Hermione waits.
She waits and waits and waits. It's all she ever seems to do. His warm breath is a whisper away. It teases her as much as the fingers barely grazing her jaw, like a butterfly dancing around a flower petal. If Draco notices the way she's shaking like a helpless leaf in his hurricane, he doesn't say anything.
"Hermione!" Theo's voice is a rock being hurtled at a crystal mirror, shattering the fragile piece. Immediately, the scene breaks and the curtains are hastily pulled closed.
She steps back, eyes blinking rapidly. The play has come to a close—but she can't hear the audience clapping. She hears nothing but her own blood rushing through her ears, anticipation rapidly being replaced by embarrassment.
"Uhh… Hermione, Harry was looking for you… and I…" Theo's wide eyes flicker between them and she knows there's going to be so many questions later. Unfortunately, she never has answers when it comes to matters regarding Draco Malfoy.
"Right! Harry, of course…hmm." She quickly makes her way towards the exit. Hermione bites the inside of her cheek as her face burns. What had she almost done? Draco had deemed her good enough to be his friend, and that friendship would have to be enough for her. She ignores the apology in Theo's soft eyes as she moves past. It doesn't matter anyway⸺the damage has been done.
The next time she would see Draco, he'd walk up to her with those sorrowful eyes and kind hands. His deep voice would quiver as he put Hermione back in her place; as he reminded her of the unbreachable divide that existed between them.
Draco Malfoy would be entirely too gentle as he broke her heart.