Chapter 4

In the end, he wore much the same thing he would normally wear at a Ministry function: high quality black dress robes. The only concession to the night that he would allow himself was a Slytherin pendant draped around his neck on a silver chain. To him, being a Slytherin spoke of quiet power. When he wore it, people tended not to look him in the eye. He thought it fitting, since most people thought he should be ashamed of his heritage, and though he didn't always flaunt it, he would never allow their viewpoint to become his own. He did wonder, briefly, if he was purposely testing Hermione to see if she would be uncomfortable with it. He needn't have worried.

They had arranged to simply meet at the Ministry, and Draco had strategically arrived early to choose an advantageous seat. Or so he told himself, refusing to believe that he wanted to ensure that Granger wouldn't have to spend a moment alone, or unsupported, in the shark-infested waters of the Ministry crowd.

She didn't see him when she walked in, so she didn't notice the shock on his face. She was wearing a brilliantly emerald dress—expensive, sexy, and uncompromisingly proud—vastly different from her usual conservative neutrals. Her chestnut curls, piled on top of her head, seemed to gleam with the slightest of reddish tints and he realized there were jewels dancing in her hair radiating light.

He didn't think he'd ever seen Granger's knees before, Wizarding styles being anything but risqué. But in this Muggle dress he was treated to the sight of quite a bit of leg, and as she turned around, clearly looking for someone, he saw the open expanse of her back, covered prettily with the black lace ties that draped from where it was fastened around her neck.

He had told her to wear the best dress. And in that moment, Draco couldn't think of any dress, Wizarding or Muggle, which could beat Hermione Granger. She was fabulously sexy, and she didn't even notice the admiring glances sent her way, so intent was she on searching the room.

It took a moment for Draco to realize that she was looking for him, and the thought that she was there, for him, wearing that dress, for him, sent hot streaks fluttering through his stomach. He reminded himself that she was not wearing it for him, she was wearing it for herself. But he could certainly enjoy the sight.

As he moved toward her, a glass of wine in his hand, she noticed him, and her face lit up with a smile. He didn't return it, knowing that Malfoy with a silly grin on his face would be highly remarked upon. Instead, he kept his eyes intent on hers, and when he reached her, he inclined his head briefly, offering her the glass of wine.

She looked at him a little shyly, and whispered, "I had to look all afternoon, but do you think I got it right?" He could tell she was resisting the urge to tug on her much-higher-than-usual hemline. "The dress, I mean," she clarified, as if he didn't already know what she meant.

"If you wanted the Weasel's eyes to fall out of his head, yes," he returned, and she smiled at that. "If you wanted Lav-Lav to cry tears of inadequacy that she could never look so beautiful, then also yes." She smirked a bit at his use of Lavender's ridiculous self-appointed nickname.

"And if you wanted to show the Ministry and the entire Wizarding World that Hermione Granger is a force to be reckoned with who needs no man to define her, then absolutely, yes, you got it right." She made a little hum of approval, and with a show of spirit, she took his arm, for him to walk her to their table.

"I'll tell you a secret," she said, "I can't walk in these heels too well, so I'm going to have to use you to hold me up."

"Well, I suppose that's my job for the evening, then," he responded in good humor, his eyes just catching with hers, feeling light at the sensation of Hermione Granger looking like a goddess, hanging on his arm and joking with him.

"Actually, your job is to make snarky comments and remind me why I have every right to be mad."

"A task I excel at, fortunately, allowing me plenty of time to also serve as a prop to hold you up." She giggled quietly at that.

Draco wondered if this was what it was like to have someone on your side. To share jokes, to make plans, to declare war on everyone else. He was afraid to enjoy it too much, being too used to fighting a one-man battle.

The evening meal progressed very normally. There were countless courses offered to them, and Draco did his part to keep up a colorful commentary on anyone whom Hermione so much as frowned at. Before long, she wasn't frowning anymore, she was trying very hard not to laugh loudly at his all too perceptive and frequently unkind observations.

"You're really very mean," she said, enjoying herself immensely, for the first time in many weeks.

"If you think that was bad, wait until you hear what I have to say about that incredibly tacky ensemble Lav-Lav deceived herself into thinking was attractive." He watched her face fall a little, as his pointed words alerted her to the fact that Ron and Lavender had just walked in together, fashionably late. He saw her start to turn around, so he quickly said, "Don't look. They don't matter."

"Easy for you to say," she said sadly, but she didn't look.

"He's a two-timing bastard, and she's a two-knut hussy," he dismissed them with a flick of his finger. "Have some of this chocolate torte." He cut off a generous slice and placed it on her plate.

She blinked at his abrupt change of subject, and then as if steeling herself, she picked up her fork and started to take large bites. Draco's hand on her wrist stopped her.

"Darling," he drawled, not looking at her, as he slowly used his fork to take a piece of her torte, "dessert is never a chore, and always savored unhurried." So saying, he placed the bite in his mouth.

Realizing the advice he was giving her, she resolved to enjoy her dessert, pushing the subject of Ron and Lavender far from her mind, concentrating instead on the creamy richness of the chocolate dessert in front of her. Whether it was the chocolate, or the company, by the time it was finished she felt fortified, stronger, and ready for her next personal battle.

It came sooner than expected, as the dancing began, and people started to move around the room, shooting glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking. After the first few songs, during which both Draco and Hermione remained seated, each sipping on a glass of champagne, the Minister walked up to the stage, along with a few other heads of departments, including Harry Potter.

From the stage, Harry Potter looked directly at them, surprise evident on his face, as he saw Hermione sitting there. He quickly looked away, probably guessing, correctly, that he would draw attention to her if he was staring, although his eyes did flick to her once more before he settled to listen to Shacklebolt.

"I told him I wasn't coming tonight," Hermione whispered out of the side of her mouth, by way of explanation, looking a little concerned about the reserved expression on Harry's face.

As the Minister spoke, there were several accolades handed out for various accomplishments within the Ministry. When Potter stepped up to speak, Draco felt his heart sink in his chest. He very much hoped that what he feared was about to happen was not truly going to happen.

When Potter began to wax poetic about bravery defining the Aurors, Draco knew without a doubt, and he looked quickly over at Hermione who didn't seem to have a clue, as she was smiling proudly at Harry as she always did.

But then Potter began to describe the battle in which Draco had rescued Weasley, and he saw her face go white. All eyes turned to them, and Ron, who had jumped up to cheer Draco's rescue paused comically as he saw who was sitting next to him, an indescribable look on his face giving way to anger and contempt, quickly hidden behind a mask of politeness as he resumed his clapping, not looking at Draco, and sitting down.

Potter and the Minister gave him public thanks for his service, while Draco tried not to sneer that Weasley's life wasn't worth saving, and Hermione was practicing gracious and polite applause, carefully avoiding the eyes of everyone. Her face had regained some color from its initial blanching, but she was clearly a bit unhinged at finding herself so awkwardly, and indirectly, spotlighted.

After, when the Minister encouraged everyone to continue to dance, and the band struck up a lively tune, Draco grabbed her hand and said, "We're dancing, Granger." She balked, unwilling to bring herself further into the public eye.

He tugged on her hand a little more forcefully, and in a low voice, he said, "I'm a celebrity tonight. I need to dance. You're a celebrity every day. You need to dance. Show off the dress. And if the Weasel tries bothering you, Merlin help me, I will hex him again."

He saw her chin go up, belatedly remembering he was supposed to remind her of her right to be angry, although his words did seem to do the trick. She grasped his hand more firmly, and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

When he took her in his arms, he realized he'd forgotten that her back was bare, and the feel of her skin beneath his fingers sent electric shocks up his arms. Her skin was soft and warm, her flesh firm but yielding under his palm. He was blinded momentarily by a bolt of lust, entirely inappropriate to the evening and which he quickly suppressed, launching them into an easy waltz.

As a Malfoy, Draco knew all of the wizarding dances, and effortlessly transitioned to the next dance, gratified to see her face reflecting momentary enjoyment. When she glanced up at him, her innocent remark, "You're fun to dance with," sent shivers up and down his arms as he helplessly envisioned much slower, much closer dancing.

He was almost relieved when Potter cut in, and Draco, surreptitiously rubbing his stomach as if that could soothe the knots that were tightening there, handed Hermione over to her best friend.