Draco straightened his tie, smiling nervously at the polished-silver mirror. He couldn't believe he was actually smiling. That he was actually happy. The pit of his stomach felt like that dance floor he'd danced with Astoria on over two weeks ago. His tie, like his eyes, were blue. It was the theme of the ball being held, and invitations had gone out to all pureblood families, including the Greengrasses. He felt slightly nervous because there was a chance the Weasleys might be there, but he knew that they probably had better things to do than be caught dancing and eating blueberry pies at Malfoy Manor.

How she'd figured it out before him only boggled his mind; apparently her mother had been in touch with his mother about the ball, and so she knew from the very start that there was going to be a ball where they'd meet. He couldn't bother with the technicalities of it; he was just happy she was going to be there. Just thinking of swaying across the ballroom with her made him want to run around joyously in a field. He almost wanted to send a letter to Potter; You were so smug about Weasley but guess what I've found my person too now and all I can say is I understand why you'd choose her but I still don't like you but thanks for saving my life so that I could meet her.

Yeah no. His father would ban owls completely.

He couldn't bring himself to muster the courage to send her an owl, and so he'd waited for a 'sign'. Thankfully, within those two days his mother told him about the upcoming ball. More like a formal dinner, she'd said, but he saw the list of musicians she'd considered hiring for the night, and he needed no further prompt. He was certain. That's what she'd been hinting at in her beautiful grin.

He scrawled her a simple note; are you attending the ball? And sent it with his new owl, a handsome tawny one. He received a quick answer; yes; keep something blue.

He'd been confused, but later at dinner, amidst his father's usual indifference, Narcissa told them it was blue-themed; she enlisted the cobalt draperies she wanted, the kind of berries and syrups she needed. He thought he saw the house elves tremble with excitement at the kitchen's door. But his mind was in the club, the green light of that memory, her clear, dancing eyes, her body gyrating next to his. He was surprised at how soft he'd gone. It's all because of her.

He patted his coat packet smugly; he'd kept something extra blue for her. A small bracelet of blue rosebuds interwoven with stamens of various flowers, a few blooms here and there. He planned to slip it into her hand as they danced, hoping for his mother's approving glance on them. He hoped for her to let him kiss her where the rosebud bloomed against her wrist.

Crossing his fingers behind him, he made his way down the grand stairs, already anticipating arrival. Would she have knotted her hair into an elegant bun? Would she have painted her face? Would she be in a racy dress, or a conservative gown? Would she be shy, or her usual self?

Narcissa Malfoy turned away from conversation with a dark-haired elderly woman with relief, beaming at Draco. He politely smiled at her and all the other guests, most of which were middle-aged or elderly women, a few daughters, and fewer sons. The smile tight on her face, Narcissa took him by the cuff of his sleeves and said, "Let me introduce my son Draco," much to the delight of the lady. But he could tell from his experience with his mother that she wasn't too excited. He wondered why.

He bowed a little, and said, "Good evening, Madam…?"

"Greengrass," said Narcissa tightly, and Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He nervously met the lady's eyes, who obviously was already imagining him strolling down the aisle with her daughter's hand. Lucky for her, Draco wanted that more than she did; unfortunate for them, Narcissa clearly had thought of someone else; Draco could see it in the way she inclined her neck towards someone in the distance. He felt subtle anger pulsating in his throat; couldn't she for once leave him alone?

Women should stick to baking and not decision making, he thought savagely, and then flushed in shame at himself. He imagined Astoria's cool collarbone, her cheekbones, to calm down. Don't lose yourself, he told himself. This ball too, was after all his mother's decision.

"Madam Greengrass," he said, inclining his head towards her, "My pleasure." She beamed and said, "You're a sight for sore eyes, Draco. How fine you look too; let me take this opportunity to introduce my daughter to all of you," she practically shouted the last few words to everyone. Draco could understand why. If he had a daughter like her, he too would parade her around because she's the best person existing, the most exciting, amazing and beautiful creation of nature.

She stepped aside to reveal a demure Astoria Greengrass; and Draco was gobsmacked. Instantly he knew she was the person he was making the mother to his future children. He'd guessed at it before, but now he knew; and his mother's disapproval changed nothing.

She was in a full-sleeved, low-cut ball gown. Conservative, but it was tailored to fit her curves, while the sleeves billowed. It was a pretty periwinkle blue, which matched the bracelet he'd made for her and suited her as well. A simple pearl necklace rested on her collarbones. Her hair was in a high, tulip-shaped bun, but a few strand had sneaked across to caress the edge of her forehead. Her lips, unlike the last time he'd met her, were a lovely natural peachy pink. They were slightly parted. He realised happily that he looked his best.

"This is Astoria Selene Greengrass," she said, obvious pride on her face. He risked a sideways glance towards his mother and noted with a small smile that she too was spellbound. He may be totally hypnotized, but her beauty was real enough. "Astoria dear, this is young Draco Malfoy." He thought he saw the mischief creep back into her eyes, and he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to not kiss her right then and there. Merlin, she was perfect.

She politely bowed, and that surprised him, because…because he didn't know. What had he been expecting? That she'd shake her hips and wink at him and take a swig from her flask? Thinking those very things near her seemed vulgar, that's how angelic she looked.

He prepared to bow back, but he felt an iron grip on his elbow stop him, and it was his mother. He stared at her in shock. "Just a minute," she said smoothly, smiling a sugary smile at both Astoria and her mother, who were both watching with raised eyebrows, "I just wanted to introduce someone very special first to Draco," and he felt himself internally cringe. He knew what was coming.

Sihoban Selwyn. The daughter of his mother's childhood friend, who'd been to a few trips with him as a child. He'd had a minor crush on her the year he'd joined Hogwarts, but after that he saw her snog an elder cousin of his on the next trip together, and besides, by then, he'd made friends with the fellow Slytherins. He'd made the mistake of telling his mother about his crush, but he'd thought she'd left it at that. He had no idea she'd do this to him.

He stared in obvious alarm as a top-to-toe decorated Sihoban made her way towards him. She was in a loud, revealing midnight blue cocktail dress, a huge diamond necklace which almost touched her navel, her lips full and red, her lashes thick and fringed. He could smell the makeup off her. He felt slightly sick.

He shot a glare at his mother, who stared back at him angrily. "Sihoban dear," she said cheerily, "I'm sure you remember Draco?" Her eyes scanned him critically and then she pouted in the way she'd done all those years ago at his cousin. He didn't feel special; he felt replaced. She was gorgeous, he knew that; and maybe if not for Astoria he would have maybe also danced with Sihoban. But now he was not letting go of Astoria for all the Sihobans in the world.

"You've become a man, Draco," she said in an annoying nasal voice, "I can't believe…after all these years." He managed a grimace and muttered, "Yeah, good to see you," and then deciding to not leave his mom alone in her bubble of delusion, he abruptly turned towards Astoria and bowed. He was pleased to see her smile at him.

"I'm sorry, there's something we must privately discuss," he heard his mother say, and the next thing he knew her nails were digging into his arm as she pulled him. "What, mother?" he spits out, releasing the anger that had been building inside him like steam.

"Why must you embarrass me?" she squeaked out of lips tightly pressed together, "The Greengrass girl is not even half of your worth, she doesn't own half of what we have. If not Sihoban, then tell me. I'll find you a girl. I'm not having my son being lonely, but I'm not having you fraternizing with someone of her status. She's not the sort for us."

He felt his blood boil, and he let it show in his eyes. He was glad to see her flinch a little. "I'm a man, mother," he said tightly, "Not a boy to be minded. I think I can tell the right sort for myself anyway, thanks." For a flash he felt grateful for Potter to inspire him with that line. He used it because he knew how it felt to hear it.

"Your father will never allow it," she said quietly, using her last card, "You think I'm blind to the way you looked at each other?" He felt embarrassed for a second, but then he let his anger take over. "Good," he said, "Then you know that I'm not letting the likes of father stop me."

And before he could comprehend what he said, before his mother could stop him, he went to Astoria who'd tactfully pretended to not hear. "May I have this hand?" he extended his hand. He ignored her mother's happy flush; he only had eyes for her. Happiness shone in her eyes as she nodded and he led her to the dancing space cleared in front of the orchestra. A lively violin and piano harmony; it was one of his childhood favourites. The Ire of the Moon Witch; he recognised it. With a pang of guilt, he realised that his mother had probably told the orchestra beforehand to play it; hoping he would dance with Sihoban.

Too bad he thought to himself, grinning at Astoria as he spun her in his arms, I'm not living without her. She smiled that electric smile of hers, and he was no longer surrounded by people. It was only her and him, somewhere. He vaguely felt them moving out of the dancing circle, waltzing around the entire room. He vaguely heard applause, some whistles. Some claps. But she was all he was aware of. Her changing expressions. Absolute happiness. Mischief. Surprise. And, he noted with a touch of lunacy, affection.

Could she possibly feel the same way?

He couldn't believe the question as her back touched stomach, her hair engulfing him with the smell of apples. With him, she moved like a blue flame.

He couldn't imagine what would happen if she didn't feel the same.

He couldn't imagine what he would do if she did feel the same.

Spinning outwards together, he noted with a delirious laugh that they'd made their way out of the ballroom through one of the side doors leading to the garden. He was pleased to see the door shut itself. He was pleased for it all.

The sun shone brilliantly down them, illuminating everything. He felt like his heart had too, changed into shimmering light, nothing else. Blue butterflies fluttered around the chrysanthemums; she watched them with interest but he was glad to note that she'd not let go of his hand, and that her face was pink.

Suddenly, panicking, he remembered something. Reaching into his pocket, he said, "Astoria…I wanted to give this to you before dancing…but uh," "You didn't have to bring me anything," she said with genuine surprise. He laughed at her surprise and said, "I had to keep something blue, right?" she blushed at that and turned away.

He gingerly slipped the bracelet into her hands and grinned when she uttered a squeak of surprise. "It's beautiful," and bringing it to her lips, she kissed it gently. Lucky rosebud, he thought a little jealously. And then with an embarrassed laugh, she brought something wrapped in a blue napkin out of a hidden pocket in her gown. She unwrapped it to reveal a blueberry. He tried to smile excitedly, but inside he was confused. A blueberry?

"I thought about what you said about pure-blood women being bad bakers," she said slowly, playfully, and instantly his urgency to not disappoint her vanished. He could be completely himself, he realised. "And…?" he prompted, not-so-subtly getting closer to her.

"You decide," she said with a cheeky grin, and slipped it through his lips. As soon as she did, he didn't have any questions left.

She had cleverly made a small cake pop, decorated to look like a blueberry. He swallowed it in two gulps, but before he could, he realised at the centre there was something hard. It was a small, hard candy, but here was the catch; he realised it as he bit into it and felt his taste buds explode. It was frozen and crystallized vodka.

She grinned at his stupefied expression. "Is that magic?" she nodded happily. "I change my question; are you magic?" she shook her head and laughed, her face going redder by the moment. He took another step closer, their noses almost touching.

"You've made me drunk," he said, feeling her eyes widen as she felt his words on her skin. "On what?" she asked, a little bit of fear mingling with her mischief. Merlin, what else could she expect of him? How else was he supposed to be?

"Want to taste?" he murmured, but he never got to complete; his lips were engulfed with warmth and the slight taste of apples. His hands encircled her waist once again, and took over the kissing from her, overtaking her.

He wanted it to never end; but eventually it did; but whether one second had passed or a million years nobody knew. She stared at him in shock as they came apart. Had she really not seen this coming?

He felt someone's presence behind him and he realised her expression of shock was not for him. He needn't turn back to know who it was. Pressing closer towards her, his legs against hers, only fabric between them, he said as loudly as he could, "I need every day of my life. With or without the vodka."

And that broke a laugh out of her. He was glad to feel his mother storming away in fury. "She's in a furore," she whispered as they pressed their heads together. He closed his eyes, willing for the moment to outshine anything else in his life. The sunlight grass. The butterflies. Her hair. Her lips. The acidic taste at the back of this throat.

"And I'm in love," he whispered back.