"Till this moment I never knew myself."
Hermione arrived at the manse with a trickle of excitement in her belly. She was looking forward to the night's entertainment and to meeting Lucretia's influential circle. It also didn't hurt that she knew she looked very well.
True to her word, Mignon the house elf had arrived earlier that afternoon with both the silver dress and her expertise with hair and makeup. As a result, Hermione was the epitome of a 1930s femme fatale, with dramatic pin waves, smoky eyes and deep red lips. Even Ginny couldn't have achieved such a stunning result.
Mignon had also carried out Madame's orders to ensure Hermione not wear a stitch under the dress. Difficult because although Hermione was happy to go without a bra, she had still insisted on knickers until the elf forcibly turned her around and pointed out the ugly line they left across her waist and hip. She'd reluctantly removed them, feeling like a wanton, although she was actually quite comfortable now.
She chuckled at her earlier prudishness as she skipped up the steps to the manor, Pen and Percy at her heels. Penelope was gorgeous herself in a full skirted 1950s-style ball gown and Percy tall and distinguished in his formal robes.
They entered the main hall to see that the ball was already in full swing. Lucretia wafted over and welcomed them, kissing her fingers to Hermione's ensemble. Chatting with them for only a few minutes, she was soon off to greet other guests, but her eyes held Hermione's for a moment with a mischievous gleam that made Hermione wonder what could be behind such a look. But she soon forgot it in the whirl of meeting new people and the dancing, which had already started.
Pen and Percy were magic on the dance floor and the general level of skill made Hermione glad she'd buckled down and taken wizarding dance classes since school. When she wasn't waltzing, she made a point to seek out a few of the landowners she'd corresponded with, but not met in person. And during a break in the action while she was fortifying herself with a glass of champagne, she was very happy to see Rémy DeLeon waving to her from across the room.
"C'est magnifique!" he declared as she approached and kissed him on both cheeks. "What is this divine creation you are wearing? I am on my knees!"
Hermione did a slow pivot with a flourish and Rémy fanned himself exaggeratedly when he saw the nonexistent back of the dress. "It's on loan from Madame Black," she explained. "An original Vionnet from 1932."
"Couture, naturallement. It looks made for you," he said with a smoldering look before asking her to dance. Hermione smiled up into his handsome face and accepted the invitation.
~oOo~
Draco had barely reached the reception rooms before an old crony of his father's spotted him and pulled him aside to natter in his ear. Since his involvement with the Meadows and his open support of muggle equality, most of these types avoided him. However, the occasional one still popped up to annoy him at social events—usually because they had unmarried daughters.
This one proved to be no exception and, sure enough, within five minutes Draco was being presented to a pretty, but vapid girl with impeccable lineage. He asked her to dance mostly to get away from her father. But his pained expression at her stilted conversation must have been a tad obvious because Astoria appeared just as the song ended and requested his help with an 'urgent matter.'
"Thank you very much," he said as he led her away.
"You're very welcome," she murmured with a smile. "I actually killed two birds with one stone because you allowed me to make my excuses to the younger brother!"
"They work fearfully efficiently," he said with an arched brow. "Champagne?"
"Yes please!" Astoria took the proffered flute. "Ohh I see Georgia Bernard over there! She'll be at Beauxbatons in my year. I'm going to say hello!"
Draco waved her off and watched her dash away, taking a deep draught of his drink and scanning the dance floor from behind a strategic pillar. There had to be someone here he wanted to talk to. Unfortunately the crowd so far seemed to skew on the side of old and boring.
He was weighing his aunt's displeasure against the enticing prospect of an early departure when the dancers parted and his eyes landed on an absolutely stunning dress hugging tightly to an even more magnificent figure. His eyes skimmed appreciatively down a long and elegant back, bare except for a delightfully draped bit of fabric resting just below a trim waist. An absolutely perfect arse and long legs. Dark, lustrous hair caught up in gentle waves above a slender neck and graceful shoulders. His hand tightened on his flute and his breath drew in sharply as recognition dawned. He watched with a sense of inevitability as she turned sideways to reveal her profile and his heart stuttered in his chest.
So much for not being moved.
Without even realizing it, he had started walking toward her.
~oOo~
Hermione wiggled her fingers to Rémy, who was off after some girl he was trying to sleep with. He'd been very candid with her about it since they both seemed to understand the same fate was not in store for the two of them—despite his florid and blatant invitations.
She mentally wished him good luck and headed in the direction of an absinthe bar she'd spotted earlier in a small parlor off the library. She'd been talking with Lucretia about the notorious spirit a few days ago and was eager to sample some of the available selection. Reaching the bar and perusing the bottles, she entered into a lively discussion of the merits of each type with the bartender, a goblin who turned out to be very knowledgeable on the subject. Finally making a choice, she settled in to watch the theater of the pouring of the spirit.
"Why do they prop that funny little spoon on the glass?" asked a deep voice from behind her.
Intent on the ritual she answered distractedly as she twisted to look at the speaker. "He's going to place a sugar cube in it and then pour ice water o…" The words died on Hermione's lips as her mouth dropped open and she stared in utter surprise.
Her heart thumped and she felt heat creep up her entire body. Her brain slowed terribly, but she was able to register that it was him and that he'd never looked better. His fair hair was swept back and his eyes glinted silver with humour…and something more. He never broke eye contact, but took her hand, touching it to his lips and grazing a light, lingering kiss against her knuckles.
"You're breathtaking," he said sincerely, his eyes making a slow trip down to her toes and back up. She felt the trail of his gaze like liquid heat burning down her skin.
"Thank you," she breathed, not having quite found her voice. The goblin cleared his throat and she started, then turned to pick up her drink. Draco ordered another of the same, stepping closer to her to lean toward the bar. She could feel the warmth of his body along her back.
She wanted to step backward and into him, but realised that would probably be inappropriate. So instead she turned again and regarded him over the rim of her glass as she took a tiny taste of the potent anise-flavored liquid. She licked her lips and was gratified to see his eyes darken.
"When did you arrive?" she asked softly, realizing she now had a good idea what Lucretia's look had been about earlier.
He took his drink from the bartender. "About three hours ago. I haven't even seen my aunt yet. Had no idea that I was walking into a massive to-do." He sounded a bit annoyed and Hermione realised he looked tired, with light purple shadows under his eyes. She again had to fight an inappropriate urge, this time to reach up and trace them with a gentle finger.
"And do you always travel with muggle black tie at the ready?" she sallied, finally finding her conversational footing as her shock and surprise gave way to a distinct feeling of giddiness. She reached out and brushed the fine ivory fabric of his lapel. It was really sinful how good he looked in a tuxedo—and she was absurdly pleased that he had seen her looking her best too.
He gave her a slow smile that transformed his face and Hermione inhaled a little sharply. That smile did things to her.
"Auntie Cree left it out for me. I'm sure I don't know why she chose muggle formalwear." The smile deepened into something closer to a leer as he let his eyes slide down the length of her body again.
She laughed and became very aware that she wasn't wearing anything at all except for a thin layer of silk—and even that suddenly felt too warm.
Draco took her empty glass out of her hand and placed it on the bar.
"Want to dance?"
"Yes," she said quickly. He took her elbow and her heart contracted again.
"No foxtrots or quadrilles or whatever rubbish they're doing in the main room. Let's see what Cree's got on in the lounge."
"Ok." She smiled up at him and he stopped for a beat, just looking down at her before guiding her from the room.
~oOo~
Draco wasn't sure he'd got his wits back about him yet, but he was trying valiantly. Perhaps the dark of the lounge would help. God, but she was stunning. He hadn't appreciated it fully until he'd gotten up close, seen her beautiful face and smelled the glorious scent emanating from her neck and hair. And that dress was so perfectly molded to her body—he would have staked the Jaguar on the fact that she wasn't wearing a single thing under it. She couldn't be. He'd actually seen her nipples tighten under the fabric when he'd leered at her. Fuck.
They walked in silence, although she was leaning into his personal space in an enticing way. He caught Astor's bright-eyed stare from across the room as they passed by, but ignored it. He didn't want to talk to anyone just now.
They reached the darkened lounge and Draco realised where the younger crowd had been all night. Cree had done a neat trick and turned one of her reception parlors into an intimate little dance club with sofas and soft chairs, low lighting and vintage films flickering on one of the walls. A mirror ball hung from the ceiling and rotated slowly, sending out moody flashes of light. They arrived just as a slow and sexy tempo began blasting from the speakers. Draco pulled Hermione to the center of the dance floor and into his arms. They swayed slowly and he looked down into her upturned face, feeling her lithe body against his.
How had he ever thought he would be indifferent?
"You really are ravishing. I'm at a loss for the right words." He frowned a bit and his eyes drifted to her lips.
"You clean up very nicely yourself." She smiled wickedly and tilted her head. "I can never decide if I like you better as an elegant wizard or devastatingly handsome muggle."
Draco felt his grin reappear, tugging at the corners of his mouth. This time her eyes went to his lips and her hand snaked up from his shoulder, where it had been resting, to the nape of his neck. She stroked him there lightly in time to the music and absentmindedly mouthed some of the words. It was a song he was unfamiliar with and he couldn't quite tell what she was saying, but he didn't care. The caress was almost unbearably provocative. His own hands were resting on the silk at her slim waist, but in response to her gesture, he moved his palm to sweep up her back then trail down her spine. Her skin was like satin. She sighed and he began wondering in earnest if it would be gauche to ask her to come to his rooms a bare five minutes after they'd first seen each other again.
The song changed and she seemed to come back to herself, asking how he'd found New York and how long he would be staying in France. He told her about the restlessness and the rubbish and of Astoria's plan to stay until term started.
"Of course I'll have to be in and out to Paris and England for work, but I should generally be residing here for the next month or so."
"That's good news," she said softly.
"Is it? I'm sorry there wasn't much opportunity to communicate the last few weeks."
"Yes. Can't you tell I'm rather glad you're here?"
"If we weren't in a crowd with some of the wizarding world's foremost gossips and likely a reporter or two or I'd be forced to answer that nonverbally."
"Mmm, more's the pity."
"Is there a private terrace around here that we can escape to?" he asked craning his neck around in an exaggerated way that had her laughing softly.
"I'm sure there are dozens," she smiled, "but unfortunately your aunt is bearing down on us and will be here in 5, 4, 3, 2…"
~oOo~
It would have been comical how his face fell if Hermione hadn't been feeling the same. Despite her hospitality and generosity, Lucretia was the last person she wanted to see at this moment. In fact the only thing she wanted to do was find a secluded spot and see how fast she could get a muggle bowtie off. When he smiled at her like that, she just…
"My darlings," called Lucretia as she reached them. "How well you look together. I knew the cream would set off the silver."
She lifted her cheek for Draco to kiss and he did, his expression carefully neutral. "Hello, Auntie. Your party looks to be a smashing success."
Hermione added her congratulations, realizing with a start that she was still holding Draco's hand. Lucretia seemed to notice too and her brows lifted. Hermione quickly let go and felt him step a tiny bit away from her, pulling his reserve around him. It was probably for the best—as he said, the whole house was full of wagging tongues. Rita fucking Skeeter probably had at least one spy circulating.
Just then the music jumped in tempo and noise level and Lucretia motioned to them to move on with her.
"Astoria would like to meet Hermione," she said once they were in a quieter spot. "And, my dear, there are a few French government ministers that you should speak with as well. They will smooth your path when you start to introduce the international version of your legislation." The older witch's tone was brisk and Hermione took it as a very slight rebuke of their public display. She noticed Draco look at his aunt thoughtfully.
"So I take it the two of you are well-acquainted," he remarked as they moved into the main reception rooms.
"Yes, yes. I have enjoyed Hermione's company frequently over the last several weeks," said Lucretia with a warm look. Hermione nodded affectionately at her in return. "In fact, that is my Vionnet she is wearing," Lucretia continued with a significant smile at Draco.
"My compliments," he inclined his head, his lips quirking in a rakish smirk. Hermione shot him a look. He raised his eyebrows and looked her up and down again as if to say, what? She stifled a snort of laughter and looked away, noticing a very beautiful young girl hurrying toward them.
"Draco! Auntie! This party is incroyable," she exclaimed as she approached. "Oh, Ms. Granger! I've been so longing to meet you! You look amazing in that dress! And the makeup and hair. L'ensemble est tout simplement parfait! Astoria Greengrass, how do you do?" She bobbed a little curtsy and peeped up with bright eyes. Hermione was instantly charmed by her artless manner.
"It's lovely to meet you too. And please call me Hermione. I've heard so much about you from— well, everyone! Draco, your sister, your aunt, your friends. I feel like I know you already." She held out her hand and Astoria shook it firmly, cementing Hermione's regard. "Your dress is fantastic—like a modern Audrey Hepburn!"
Astoria burbled her thanks, explaining that the dress was her aunt's. She and Hermione then embarked on an animated conversation about Lucretia's collection and the treasures therein. Astoria also had several questions about Hermione's work with the herd. Lucretia took the opening to draw Draco away, explaining that a prominent wizard psychiatrist he'd been wanting to meet was in the crowd somewhere. Draco let himself be led, but not before throwing a significant look over his shoulder. Hermione held his eyes and smiled, a wordless confirmation that they would find each other later.
Hermione continued to chat with Astoria and then was introduced to the ministers Lucretia had mentioned. She conversed with them intelligently, but her mind wandered. It was clear now that she'd been practicing a good deal of self-deception over the last few weeks, thinking she could set aside her feelings for Draco.
Work had been satisfying and a great distraction, but her reaction tonight was telling. For example, she knew it was important she talk to these people and win them over to her cause, but all she wanted to do was make an excuse and dash off to find him, preferably somewhere private. Lucretia had been right to remind them of their position. Desire was making her indiscreet, but it would be awful to be whispered about or splashed all over the papers at this early stage.
And she did need to focus. She redoubled her efforts to inform and charm her audience, letting one of the ministers pull her into conversation with a few other influential witches and wizards from various branches of the French ministry. Hermione was soon engrossed, although she couldn't help looking for glimpses of white-blonde hair and ivory-clad shoulders through the crowd. At one point she saw him laughing with a very beautiful older witch and felt a distinct stab of jealousy. But at another she glanced up to find him talking to someone, but looking at her. And when her eyes met his, he winked.
Eventually she lost track of him. The night was winding down and she felt very hot and a little drunk. She desperately needed to get out of the stuffy ballroom and remove her shoes.
Scanning the crowd and seeing no familiar faces, she made her way to the room with the absinthe bar, recalling that it had a little balcony she hoped would be free of other people and the cigar smoke that was wafting in from the main terrace. The goblin bartender was still there, so she requested another glass and took it with her through the double doors.
Mercifully, the terrace was empty and she sank down on a small bench, slipping out of her shoes with a sigh. Then she stood up and stretched over the rail, enjoying the feel of cool stone against the soles of her feet and warm breeze against her bare back. The now-familiar scent of night jasmine perfumed the air and she breathed deeply.
She sipped her drink and looked up at the stars until the sound of the door opening disturbed her reverie. She kept her gaze averted, hoping whoever it was would keep to themselves or leave. But when she heard no other noise, she looked over her shoulder to see Draco lounging against the wall, jacket and tie gone, arms crossed, looking at her from under hooded lids.
"What are you doing there?" she teased, turning fully around and resting her forearms and back on the balustrade. God, he looked absolutely lethal. She took a slow drink, keeping her eyes on his.
"Enjoying the view."
"Your aunt's gardens are very beautiful at night."
He pushed back from the wall and started toward her. "That's not what I meant."
She put her glass down.
He stopped just shy of touching her and placed his hands on the railing at either side of her waist. This close she could see the dangerous glitter in his eyes and smell whisky on his breath. Her pulse sped up. Men who'd drunk a little too much whisky were such a turn-on.
She met his intense stare with a challenge in her eyes. It didn't hurt that the absinthe was racing through her blood, making her feel a little reckless.
"Do you like what you see?"
"Yes."
She was about to say something else provocative when he suddenly pressed forward and bent her back against the rail, his mouth on hers with hard insistence. She met him with similar force, devouring him with open lips. One of his hands left the stone and swept up her back, pulling her against him, while the other slid up her front to cup her breast. He pushed roughly between her lips and their tongues clashed. Then the world fell away for several minutes, or hours—she didn't know. And she didn't care. All she did know was that it felt good and she wanted more.
Next time she came up for air, she had pushed him down on the bench and was straddling him, her dress pushed up to mid-thigh. He'd pulled her hair down and she had both hands buried in his as she tilted his head back and kissed him with everything she had. He was pushing her dress up even further, his hands wrapping around her arse and pulling her against him.
Suddenly a loud burst of laughter from the main terrace broke through the haze of lust that permeated their little balcony. Hermione drew back and looked at him, stroking the sides of his face with her thumbs. He was so beautiful. She took a very deep breath and let out a shaky laugh.
"God, you make me lose my mind. Where am I? What is my name?"
A slow grin spread over his face and he leaned forward to kiss her softly, teasing against her lips. "I don't know if I caught your name."
She drew back and smacked him playfully. He caught her hand and kissed her inner wrist.
"What happened to your jacket? I liked it," she pouted. Although he also looked unfairly gorgeous in shirt sleeves and mussed hair.
"Must have left it in the card room. I was in there trying to escape this very persistent witch in a silver dress."
"Prat."
He laughed softly, trailing his hand up into her hair and cupping her face. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"
"Mmm." She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. "Tell me."
He murmured something very sweet and silly into her ear and she huffed a soft laugh, leaning in to place kisses down his neck.
He let his head tilt back against the rail and sighed with pleasure. "I want to ask you to come to my rooms,"
"But?" she breathed against his skin.
"It's very late and…" She started nibbling on his ear. "I…I don't remember what I was saying. Please come with me immediately."
"No, you're right. It's very late and I don't think your aunt would quite like it."
He heaved a self-sacrificing sigh. "That's what I was going to say. How very proper and boring of us. But come on. I'll walk you to the apparition point."
She pulled back regretfully and, still straddling him, twisted her hair into a messy knot. Hopefully not too many people were still in the house. She was sure her makeup was destroyed.
He ran his hands up the sides of her waist and watched her, his eyes dark with desire. Then he seemed to collect himself, "Lucretia has commanded a family dinner tomorrow and I have to go to London on Monday for a few days. But then I want to see you. As soon as possible."
"Owl me when you're back. Or come by that farm just down the road. That's where I'm staying— with Percy and Penelope Weasley. They've given me a cottage on the property."
He nodded and she reluctantly climbed off his lap, then offered him her hand. He took it and stood, then led her off the balcony and through the largely empty house. It seemed the remainder of the party was on the terrace, where Lucretia was holding court. Instinctively, they skirted the area and looked for a side door.
"I haven't even asked how your work is going." He glanced down at her, sounding slightly abashed.
"You were distracted," she said with an arch look.
He stopped and gazed down at her for a beat, then abruptly pulled her into an alcove for another urgent kiss. "Still am," he breathed when they came up for air. He ran his hand down her back and over her arse. "I really do want to know what Cree was about, putting you in this dress and then scolding me for my lack of subtlety."
"Oh did you get a scold?" she slid her fingers into his hair.
He closed his eyes and stretched into the caress like a cat. "I did. But it was worth it."
She chuckled. "Well, you can ask me all about my work next time."
"Mmm, I will." He released her reluctantly and straightened her bodice, lingering a little too long on the scrap of fabric covering her breasts. "Or maybe I'll forget all over again."
Leaving the alcove, they eventually found their way out of the house. When they reached the apparition point, they were in view of the terrace, so he inclined his head formally and stepped away from her.
"Tell me when you're back," she said softly,
"I will. Wild horses and all that," he smiled.
She gave him a look and disappeared into the night.