Part 2
Draco met up with his mother by a drinks table about half way through the evening. They were at yet another ball. This one was hosted by the Ministry.
Going to balls felt very different to Draco since the war. Their changed position in society had had certain effects on things, like the fact that they now arrived at the exact time designated on the invitation. They could no longer presume to be entitled enough to do otherwise. The Malfoys were never fashionably late. You have to be eagerly anticipated for that to work. Their new social roles had a narrow rule book for acceptability and it was best they behaved.
This season was proving particularly trying. It seemed to go on and on. He would have been in his element in his youth but now each ball grew longer and more tedious.
"Have you said hello to the old men's set? Gringotts? The Governors board? Slughorn?" Draco nodded. And he'd danced with their dusty wives.
"Yes, Mother."
"Well then come along, darling. You can say hello to Mrs Withering with me." He barely managed to stop himself rolling his eyes. They hadn't seen the old badger for a couple of seasons. He presumed she'd died.
He allowed his mother to take his arm and proceeded to escort her through the crowd to a mouldy old witch in an orange and purple dress when suddenly his mother was falling on to none other than Hermione Granger.
If he didn't know better he would have sworn that she had done it on purpose. His mother would never be so crass...
"Oh, Miss Granger! I'm dreadfully sorry. I hope your dress is alright?"
"Oh think nothing of it Mrs Malfoy." She smiled and looked over at Draco, seemingly unsure of how to address him. Then horror flooded her features as she realised her mistake. "I mean Mrs Black." Her wide eyes darted back to Narcissa. "I'm so sorry." Draco watched helplessly from the sidelines as an adorable blush suffused over her cheeks.
His parents were only really separated for show. It merely allowed people to treat his mother with a little more respect than they would otherwise have felt comfortable with.
"It's quite alright, dear." She soothed, taking Granger's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm still getting used to it myself. I hope you have been enjoying your evening so far?"
"Yes, thank you."
"And have you had a dance with my Draco already?" She took her hands from Hermione and moved one to press against Draco's chest. Now it was Draco's turn to blush. It had been a long time since his mother had paraded him around a ball room to beg for dances. He could be 13 again. He tried to manage his expression. Appearances; As important as ever.
"I'm sure Miss Granger's card is full, Mother."
"Don't be silly, Draco," she laughed delicately. "- you know we don't use cards anymore." She turned back to Hermione who was eyeing Draco warily. "My son is referring to a card that young ladies used to carry on which a young man could petition for her hand in a dance."
"Yes I am familiar with the old system." She smiled at the older Witch. "They used the same in the Muggle world."
"Really?"
"Yes, the class system in Muggle Britain is very similar to ours. Particularly the upper class. There are many conventions that are practically the same, if you factor out the magical elements."
He noticed she said 'ours'. He also wondered what kind of experience she could have had with upper class Wizards, or Muggles for that matter, aside from being tortured in their manors.
He was lost suddenly in visions of the war and missed his mother's triumph. She was placing Granger's hand on his arm and he was nodding at whatever his mother was saying, then he was escorting Granger onto the dance floor. The violins swelled.
They danced in silence until Hermione could no longer take the tension. She decided the best course of action was to make light of it. A reasonable decision by any account. She looked up at him.
"I'm sorry I allowed your mother to push us to dance together when you obviously don't want to." She said, smiling lightly.
Draco winced. He was being removed and cold with her. No wonder she thought he found her unpalatable.
"It's not that, Granger." He looked down to find her pretty face looking up at him puzzled. He steeled himself and looked away. Honesty is the best policy. "She thinks you are excellent wife material."
Hermione choked on a gasp, blanched and then turned almost completely red.
"Oh, God." She said disbelievingly. His sentiment exactly.
She had looked away from him, evidently horrified. Then she caught him off guard by saying "I can't imagine why."
How odd.
Did she think she wasn't good wife material?
Why wouldn't she be? He looked down at her and took her and her, admittedly wonderfully tasteful, gown in for a moment. What did she mean, why?
"My mother only wants the best for me, Granger." He answered slowly.
Her face betrayed her confusion again but he had no intentions of elaborating, so he looked away.
They danced in silence again until he caught his mother's twinkling eye, just turning away from watching them. He sighed. "I had thought she would forget about the idea but you've given her hope now that you've accepted a dance from me after I assured her you wouldn't." He tried a rueful smile on her, going for lightening the mood, just as she had.
"And how did you know I wouldn't accept?" He scoffed.
"Come on Granger, why would you accept a dance from me."
"I've danced with worse." He wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or not, but in any case he had no right to be. "Don't think I'm brave enough?"
He looked down at her again intently and frowned slightly at her last words.
"No one doubts your bravery."
The dance came to what felt like an abrupt end shortly after and Draco twirled her out from him to bow over her hand but paused, lips an inch from her warm skin, suddenly realising what he was doing.
He glanced up at her shocked face.
Shit.
He quickly finished the move like he always did, with a small, light kiss pressed to the back of her hand. It was too late not to. He couldn't leave her thinking that he didn't want to kiss her.
He went back to standing, holding her eyes and released her hand. She was slightly wide eyed and flushed. Mouth partly open. He grimaced in apology.
"Habit." He offered by way of explanation.
She gave him a short nod and turned away.
He deflated in relief and moved off the dance floor feeling very odd. He'd been overtaken by a kind of buzzing sensation, and definitely not a good one.
Mr Shacklebolt caught him.
"Ah Draco, my boy!" The Minister greeted him warmly. He gladly forgot about whatever just happened.
"Mr and Mrs Shacklebolt. Good evening." He smiled at the couple.
Draco had been working part time at the Ministry for the past two years. He didn't see the point in working full time and taking a job away from someone who needed it.
His mother complained that it made him look lazy and therefore undesirable. He argued that he would surely seem less lazy than if he had no job at all, and given that the Wizarding population surely knew that he was financially secure enough not to need a job, and it was widely known that Shacklebolt would love to have Draco in the office full time if Draco wanted to be there, his mothers point was mote.
And even as financially secure as they were, the war reparation fines had still left a considerable dent in their family fortune. He wasn't going to make back his ancestors' millions working at the Ministry, so he spent the rest of his time devoted to their investments. Something he wouldn't have time to do effectively if he had a full time job.
Despite all this clarity, he still often wondered what he was doing it for. He had no heir and couldn't foresee himself ever having one. But still, he was very young by Wizarding standards. He couldn't let himself sit back and watch his family's fortune rot like every other part of their legacy had. It was the only part that he had any control over. The only part he could take any pride in.
"How are you finding the dance, Draco?" His boss' wife queried.
"It is as lovely as any I've been to." He knew in reality Mrs Shacklebolt had little to do with the arrangements for the ball, but that never stopped Draco from treating her like the Lady of the Manor on nights like this.
"Thank you so much for your generous donation to the ball." Mrs Shacklebolt graciously returned.
"It was my pleasure." He made one every year.
They slipped into easy conversation about Draco's cases at work and recent dinner parties the Shacklebolts had attended with acquaintances of interest. They were interrupted when Mrs Shacklebolt's favourite dance started and the younger Malfoy turned to her to bow and offer his arm. She blushed lightly as she accepted, smiling at her husband who kissed her on the cheek.
"Have fun my love."
This had become the routine for every ball both parties attended. The Minister had a bad knee but his wife loved to dance. Draco had been obliging her ever since he started working in the Minister's office. The only department at the Ministry that his mother had not whined about when he initially brought up the idea of working there. However unbecoming she found being partially employed, she never complained that his job was a waste of his time or beneath him. Not now that the Minister and his wife so publicly endorsed him.
They twirled around on the polished wooden floor, reflections of the chandeliers glittering under their feet.
Draco felt eyes on him wherever he went in the Wizarding world but his fellow guests tonight were used to the Minister allowing Draco to take his wife for a spin and very few people were watching them. He relaxed in the lighter atmosphere, letting Mrs Shacklebolt direct the conversation from the guests, to his mother and then inevitably to him.
"How old are you now?"
"28."
"28 already. My, my. Your mother must be anxious to find a wife for you."
"Yes, I am sorry to disappoint her."
"Why would you disappoint her, my dear?"
"I do not imagine myself married, Mrs Shacklebolt."
"Why ever not, dear?" She sounded surprised. He tried to keep his face from colouring but could feel that he had failed.
"I do not have anything to offer, madame." She paused. Examining him.
"Do you not want to continue your family line?" He failed to hide his grimace. More Malfoys?
"Not particularly, Mrs Shacklebolt." He smiled blandly at her. His blood pounding in his ears.
/