A/N: Still plugging away on Irrevocable, but I spotted this prompt on Tumblr and I couldn't get it the resulting mental images out of my head, so I wrote this up really quick. Feel free to fancast, although Draco is always Tom Felton to me. The title is a small play on words, and not an especially clever one, but it made me happy.
Party Favor
The boat glittered through the night, a shining beacon against the black ribbon of the Thames. The sky was heavily overcast, but that only seemed to enhance the vessel's glow, and even a casual observer would have called it magic as they marked how lovely, sparkling shapes in the form of exotic creatures danced around it. Those enchanted fireworks helped candles—hundreds and hundreds of candles—light the dining area and dance floor. A slightly less casual observer might have noticed that there was no sign of an engine, or even the hint of a sail: it simply glided along (perhaps propelled by a strong current?), a picture of merriment against this gloomy evening.
There were no observers, casual or otherwise. Hermione stood near the boat's aft railing, ignoring the beautifully appointed dining area behind her in favor of watching the wake spread out behind them. Their vessel had been charmed and protected against any inappropriate eyes, and the guest list was rather exclusive even for those in the know. The Ministry was good at that sort of thing; the elitist pageantry meant to amuse and distract. She, Harry and Ron were their favorite party favors, brought out to be lauded for their heroics once a year at similar galas. She'd hated it since the first one. Ron had taken someone else to the second. This was the fifth.
As a dragon-shaped sparkler swept past her, a hand came down on her arm. She turned, her meticulously happy smile already on her lips, but she let the façade drop as soon as she spotted her new companion.
"Ginny," she breathed, relieved. "Thank Merlin it's you."
The redheaded girl winced sympathetically. "That bad, eh?"
Hermione's hand waved as if she could sweep all this glittering nonsense out of the way with one gesture. "You know I hate these things. They don't mean anything, they just distract from all the work we still need to do. There are people still hiding in France, did you know that? They left as children, Gin, and they still aren't welcome on their home soil."
"Children of Death Eaters," Ginny reminded her quietly.
"Children, nevertheless. Children who had far fewer choices then we had." Hermione made a frustrated noise. "We'll never heal the wizarding world if we insist on these old divisions. Pureblood, muggle-born, Death Eater, Order Member…those were supposed to be labels we cast away when Voldemort finally fell."
"The world doesn't work like that, 'Mione." Ginny looped an arm around her friend's waist and gave her a squeeze. "Not yet, anyway. But I wouldn't bet against you, so maybe someday it will. And anyway, I came over here to help you relax a little, not to talk about work. Harry said you came alone this year. Tell me it isn't true?"
Hermione's lips curved into a reluctant smile at Ginny's wide-eyed hopefulness. She shook her head a little. "I'm afraid it is."
"Hermione," the redhead whined. "You're a war hero, tons of wizards would have fallen all over themselves to bring you to this thing. Why didn't you bring one of them?"
"Well…" Not this again. She cast around for an explanation, knowing that a simple, I have no interest in dating, wasn't going to get her anywhere. "I had a date, but we work together, so we decided it might be too complicated…you know, so we decided we'd just come as friends. Separately."
There, that sounded plausible. It was an outright lie, of course, but it came from her lips smoothly enough. Ginny was watching her face closely, her eyes slightly narrowed as she contemplated the validity of Hermione's story.
"Really? A date with a co-worker? One of them that's here tonight? Which one?"
Oh, Merlin! Ginny was far too clever for Hermione's good. With her bluff called, Hermione spun and let her eyes dart over the crowd, looking for inspiration among their faces. Not Neville; he'd never catch on quickly enough to convince Ginny, and anyway he'd come with Pansy. Not Dean Thomas or Seamus Finnigan—they'd come together. Obviously not Ron, not with Lavender dangling from his arm. There were a few wizards around her age that she was on nodding terms with at the Ministry, but panic had made her forget their names and she moved over them quickly. She was running out of plausible options here, and Ginny was starting to look very suspicious, and then her eyes settled on a familiar face.
Oh no, she thought, barely resisting the urge to cover her face and groan. Oh Merlin, no…
But he was the only one left that was even close to her age, and certainly the only one clever enough to pick up on Hermione's wild story and play it off convincingly to Ginny. That is, if he bothered to play along. She was not at all sure that he would, because after all, he was…Draco Malfoy. And she and Draco Malfoy had never exactly been bosom-buddies.
He was a newcomer to this event. He'd been under house arrest for the first year and he'd been ineligible for Ministry work for several years after that, until Hermione herself had pushed through legislation protecting the rights of the last generation of Death Eaters. She'd been the one that had passionately argued that the likes of Draco Malfoy, or Theodore Nott, or Blaise Zabini, or Pansy Parkinson, the ones that had been children in the last war, ought to be able to serve their society and their government. How else could they reintegrate? How else could they be properly represented? Barring them from jobs and especially government positions had seemed wrong to her. There had been a huge wave of opposition to her bill, but after four years of researching and endless shouting, she'd gotten her way.
Draco had accepted an extremely low position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a place in the Ministry where his extensive connections and fluent use of French and Italian might garner a quick rise through the ranks. He'd been on the job for six months and had mostly kept to himself, although he and Hermione had struck up a surprisingly cordial professional discourse as he was frequently called on to help her speak with the French Ministry about the status of their young refugees.
Still, she wasn't at all sure that, "Tell the Minister that I'm doing my best," and "Would you mind getting me a cuppa as well," translated smoothly to, "You're my almost-fake-date to this stupid, fancy party, please don't out me to my ex-boyfriend's sister."
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione raised her champagne glass to indicate him to Ginny. This was about to blow up in her face, and she downed the rest of her glass quickly as her friend's eyes went wide with shock. She was absolutely going to need more champagne—lots more champagne—to deal with the inevitable fallout.
"You almost came to this thing with Draco Malfoy? Childhood bully, former Death Eater, all around prat, Draco Malfoy?" her friend gasped.
"Uhm…" Hermione's cheeks were already flushing a very deep rose color. "Well…yes. And really, he's not that bad, he's rarely a prat at all anymore, at least at work, and he seems to be getting past his blood status thing… But listen, Ginny, please don't make a big deal out of it. He's only just started at the Ministry and I don't know what I was thinking when he asked and we both decided it was a bad idea and—"
It was too late. Ginny had already dragged her halfway toward the bar. Draco had just accepted a glass of better-than-decent firewhiskey from the bartender when Ginny pounced on him, her hand locked around Hermione's wrist like a shackle.
"You," she declared to the rather stunned blonde as she poked him in the chest with her free hand, "are an idiot."
Looking vaguely confused but, and Hermione had to admit she was impressed by his self-control, not all that unfazed, Draco cleared his throat. "And how, pray tell, have I offended the Great and On-High Weasley family this evening? Or is it Potter family?"
He glanced down at Ginny's left hand—the one wrapped so tightly around Hermione's—and then looked back to the redhead. "Well, not Potter yet then."
"Soon," Ginny said with a shrug, but she poked him again. "Don't change the subject. You're an idiot."
Draco took a small, bored sip from his firewhiskey. "I'm well aware of your family's dislike for me, Ms Weasley. Would you mind coming to the point?"
"Why did you let Hermione talk you out of bringing her to this party? And don't bother denying it, I know it was her that got cold feet. Merlin, you are stupid. If Hermione Granger accepts a date with you, you take it. And then you fight to stay in her good graces long enough to actually take her on said date, no matter how many stubbornly reasonable arguments she makes to get out of it."
This time, Hermione did groan and cover her face. Of course Ginny had no problem accepting that, somehow, despite his old and deeply ingrained prejudice against her blood status, Draco might have asked her to this party. Ginny was her biggest fan and would never accept that Hermione wasn't the most eligible witch around, and she'd fight anyone who bothered to disagree. Most people didn't. And of course Ginny had no problem calling Draco out in this very public setting because she was absolutely fearless.
Draco's eyes flicked to Hermione's now, and she could easily read his complete and utter shock at the accusations Ginny was throwing at him. She flailed her hand out and somehow managed to nab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and she downed the whole thing in two gulps. This was going to be bad, very bad…but as she lowered her empty glass, something was changing in Draco's expression. A sly mischievousness crept into his grey eyes and, one corner of his lips quirking, he turned his attention back to Ginny and made a small bow.
"You're absolutely right," he said in his smoothest, most contrite voice. How many times had Hermione heard him use this same tone in the last six months as he tried to pacify the French Minister of Magic? It was so well-practiced and so convincing that Ginny stopped, mid-tirade, and blinked at him as he straightened up.
"I—what?" she asked, sounding a little baffled at this swift turn of events.
"You're absolutely right," he repeated. "I never should have let Hermione talk me out of bringing her. I wanted to save her the embarrassment of being seen with a former Death Eater as an escort, and she made a few very fine points about fraternization, but you're right. I never should have let her convince me that it was a bad idea. In fact…"
Now his eyes met Hermione's, and there was something very determined and very, very hungry in his gaze, something that had her heart flipping over in her chest as they stared at each other.
"In fact, I've been standing here at the bar the whole evening, kicking myself for it."
Ginny, who wasn't used to being so easily mollified, crossed her arms and blew out a short, frustrated breath. She'd only just got started, he was taking all the fun out of this. But she was no fool; she recognized the look on Draco's face, and there was no way she was going to keep his attention any longer. No, he was entirely wrapped up in Hermione. And that meant, however much she might have liked to keep ribbing them both, her job was done here. She melted back into the crowd, not that either of them noticed, and took her place at Harry's side again.
"Kicking yourself for it this entire time, huh?" Hermione murmured, trying to ignore the way her blood was singing through her veins.
"Absolutely," Draco replied, a small and infuriatingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "You are maddeningly stubborn, I admit, but I never should have let you turn me down."
"I didn't turn you down, remember? You never asked," she corrected him, and his grin blossomed. That mischief was back in his eyes. With one easy, viper-fast movement he'd caught her and pulled her close, nuzzling the curls at her neck. She gasped a little, her hands coming up to his biceps to steady herself.
"Will you accept my invitation to this ridiculously fancy waste of time?" he murmured in her ear, chuckling at the shiver that ran through her at the feel of his lips moving against her skin.
"I don't think…I mean…"
"Don't make me beg," he added as he placed the firewhiskey on the bar in order to bury his other hand in her hair.
"Yes," she replied, a little embarrassed at how breathlessly the word came out. "I'd be delighted."
"Excellent." Draco pulled back and looked into her eyes. "And…I may be getting ahead of myself seeing as we've just started our first date, but would you also be inclined to accompany me to dinner tomorrow? After work, of course?"
"You don't play fair," she said, but her words were bellied by the beginnings of a brilliant smile. He shrugged, still looking far too pleased with himself.
"You don't lie well," he retorted, and she laughed, her cheeks turning a delightfully rosy color.
"Yes, I'd like to go to dinner with you."
"It's a date." His gaze burned into hers. "No arguments, no backing out."
"A date," she agreed. "Now, how do you feel about dancing?"
He twirled her out onto the floor without another word, and suddenly the party didn't seem like such a waste of time anymore. Suddenly it felt magical.