A/N: Thanks for your patience! Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)
"And, after all, what is a lie? Tis but the truth in a masquerade." - Lord Byron
Chapter 14 - Silver Lace
"As this is your last lesson before the ball, I trust everyone to put their best foot forward. Formation, everyone." Professor McGonagall lifted her wand and gestured for the students to take their places.
Without hesitation, Hermione stepped closer to Malfoy and placed her hand on his shoulder; he grabbed her spare hand and clasped it in his. The fact that this gesture had become a routine over the past few weeks was certainly disconcerting but it wasn't something Hermione allowed herself to think about too much.
McGonagall flicked her wand and soft, classical music filled the Great Hall.
Malfoy started to move, pulling Hermione with him, and soon they were waltzing around the hall effortlessly. Suddenly she lost her balance and stepped on Malfoy's foot.
Well, almost effortlessly.
"Maybe if you learned the steps, you wouldn't trip so much," Malfoy hissed. His hands moved fast and he steadied her.
"Maybe if you were a better leader, I wouldn't trip at all!" Hermione snapped back.
"I lead just fine."
That's not what Astoria says. The thought hits Hermione so suddenly that she actually stiffens and freezes. She hadn't given Astoria much thought at all over the last few weeks. Except during these dance lessons.
"What's wrong with you today?" Malfoy shook her once, jarring her enough to grab her attention.
"Can I ask you something?" she asked. She glanced up to meet his eyes—up this close they were a stormy grey, a hint of blue to the deep, silver depths. But mostly they were unfriendly, and unwelcoming. They were also so cold.
"Does it make a difference if I say no?" Malfoy asked.
"No."
"Then I suppose that was a rather stupid question, then."
"Exactly how long have you taken dance lessons?"
Malfoy blinked, his guarded expression shifting in confusion, as McGonagall's voice rang through the hall, "Mr. Weasley, what are you doing? Miss Patil is your partner and your concentration should be on her."
Hermione turned to look at Ron and Padma. He was staring at her, a strange look on his face. She shook it off and turned back to Malfoy, who now, had composed himself back into an unreadable statue.
"Well?" she persisted.
"Why do you ask?" He made a turn, pulling her with him, and arched a brow at her.
"Why don't you just answer?" she rallied back. "Maybe I'm just curious."
"Or," Malfoy said, "you're just being nosy, like always."
"And you're failing to answer, like always."
His grip tightened and his eyes flicked down to hers, annoyed and angry. She just glared back at him.
"Seven or eight years," he finally said through gritted teeth.
Hermione's mouth dropped in surprise but she quickly recovered. "Then how come Astoria Greengrass, or should I say your betrothal, seems to think you are a horrible dancer because you step on her feet? And yet you haven't once stepped on mine."
A look of surprise flashed across Malfoy's face. He was too taken off guard to try to change it, now. His mouth opened and closed, and then he finally snapped it shut. "I am not marrying that woman," he said spitefully.
"She seems to think so."
Malfoy twirled her once. "When have you talked to Astoria Greengrass, Granger? Trying to steal money for Weasley, are you?"
She shot him a nasty look. "No! It's a long story. Anyway, she said it was arranged for the two of you to marry when she turns of age."
"Over my dead body," he scoffed. "I don't care how much money her father pays mine. It's not going to happen." He glanced down at her, lip curled. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Just making conversation," said Hermione with a shrug. For some reason, her lips twitched into a grin.
"Excellent!" said McGonagall, and with another flick of her wand, the music stopped. Hermione stepped back out of Malfoy's embrace. "I am quite impressed. I had my doubts, but you lot have taken this responsibility with the utmost respect. I award each house twenty five points."
Hermione nearly squealed in delight. At least something came out of her civil behavior toward Malfoy.
"Please remember we will open the ball with the dance after dinner and I expect you to put your best foot forward. You are dismissed."
Hermione turned to fetch her bag from the floor. Hogwarts, A History and several rolls of parchment had split onto the floor. She bent to shuffle them back inside the bag when a voice spoke from over her shoulder, making her jump—
"What color is your gown?"
Of course it was him. Hermione finished packing her things. Then, she swung her bag over her shoulder and stood to face him. "Being nosy, are you?" she threw back at him.
"Making conversation," he said. His lips twitched almost into a smirk and Hermione couldn't help but conceal a grin of her own at the irony.
"Yes, you certainly need the practice."
"What color, Granger?" Malfoy demanded. He ran a hand through his pale blond hair. "I want to make sure we don't match or anything stupid like that."
"You're being stupid," said Hermione. She made her way to the exit when he said, ever exasperatedly,
"Fine, what color is your mask, then?"
Hermione froze, blood draining from her face. With a frustrated groan, she smacked herself in the forehead.
"You do have one, don't you?" Malfoy sounded annoyingly smug.
"No!" Hermione sucked in a panicked breath. How could she forget about the mask? Why hadn't Ginny said something! Did she already have one? Hermione turned around to look at Malfoy, wide eyed. "The ball is in three days!" she practically shouted, pulling at her hair in frustration. "Do you think McGonagall can take me to get one?"
Malfoy looked alarmed at her sudden panic. "Hell if I know, Granger—"
"Draco!" The doors to the Great Hall burst open and Pansy stuck her head inside, looking impatient. "What's taking you so long? Oh," she said, looking at Hermione blankly, "it's you, Mudblood."
Hermione was too worked up to care about the insult. She was still staring at Malfoy in panic. "What am I going to do?" she asked desperately.
"I don't know! Ask your friends if they have an extra."
My only real girl friend is Ginny, and she's not going to have an extra, Hermione thought miserably. For one desperate moment, her eyes drifted to Pansy lingering near the doors, but then she quickly shook herself from that ridiculous idea.
"Draco," Pansy whined.
"Just go back to the common room, Pansy," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll meet you there."
She gave him a look that rang of betrayal, her black eyes bulging in disbelief, but she said nothing. Instead she nodded once, stiffly, and then slammed the doors shut. Hermione and Malfoy stood there in silence. He looked, for the first time, slightly uncomfortable, but she was hardly paying any attention to him at all.
"Granger," he finally said, somehow managing to sound irritated and resigned at all once, "if you have no other options, I could write to my mother and you could borrow one. She has more than she could count."
Hermione's head snapped up. "What?"
"I said—"
"I know what you said. I mean, why?" She swallowed, flushing for some stupid reason. "I don't want you do to me any favors." The thought of Malfoy writing to his mother about this, of lending Hermione a mask, was rather horrifying and humiliating.
"I'm not doing it for you," he said quickly, harshly, even. "I'm offering because you're not going to use not having a mask to get out of this ball. If I have to suffer, so do you."
Hermione opened her mouth, offended. "I wasn't—"
"Your gown," he demanded again. "The color?"
She just stared at him. Why was he so bossy? Did she sound like this? No, surely she didn't.
"Silver," she finally said with a sigh. "It's silvery white."
He nodded once. "I'll have it by the ball," he said tartly, and then with a sweep of his robes, he was gone.
On the day of the Halloween ball, Hermione was running late, having been caught up in finishing Professor Snape's essay on how to fight werewolves. Though the assignment called for a roll of parchment, she struggled to keep it at three. She was supposed to be in the Great Hall in two minutes, and she was just leaving her common room. If being late for set up wasn't bad enough, she still did not have a mask. She had asked Malfoy yesterday and he had all but shouted at her. Yes, he had written to her. Yes, she would send a mask. No, he hadn't received it yet. It was beyond frustrating, and Hermione was running out of time. Tonight was the ball and she still had no mask.
Outside the hall, she doubled over for breath before wrenching open the doors. Professor Dumbledore stood near the head table, surrounded by the rest of the Prefects. She bristled as she walked up to them, barely able to hold Dumbledore's gaze—she was so embarrassed—but his eyes were twinkling and he didn't look the least bit upset.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," he said cheerfully. He seemed to read her expression because he added, "No need to worry—you are not the last to arrive. Miss Granger, do you know where Mr. Malfoy is, by any chance?"
Damn him! Hermione thought angrily.
"Why would she know? It's not like they're friends," said Pansy. She must have realized her sneering voice was addressed to the headmaster, because she flushed and added, "Professor."
"Well, do you know where he is?" said Hannah, and for once, Hermione felt a stab of pride at the bold Hufflepuff.
Pansy started to stutter, "I—he's—"
"I'm here." Malfoy made his way through the Great Hall, looking oddly disheveled from us usual clean cut appearance. His pale hair was ruffled with what could only be sleep. Did he just wake up? Hermione thought, bewildered.
"Excellent," said Dumbledore happily. "Well, I believe I will leave the rest to Mr. Carmichael, who seems to have everything under control. If you need my assistance, simply send your patronus, Mr. Carmichael. I look forward to seeing the final result of your hard work. Tut tut!"
After the headmaster swept from the room, Eddie faced the group with a determined expression. "Alright everyone, you know what you have to do. Once you finish, you can leave. Let's try to get this done as quickly as possible."
Ron looked desperately at Hermione when the group started to separate. "How do you enchant the armor?" he asked hopelessly.
"Maybe you should have asked Lavender," she quietly snarled. She hadn't meant to say that, but she had seen Lavender kiss him on the cheek after lunch today and the vision was haunting her.
Hermione turned her back on Ron's shocked face and addressed Eddie.
"What can Malfoy and I do? Obviously we'll need to be ready early to begin checking in the guests, but until then…? Is there anything you need?"
Eddie gave a small shrug. "Actually, you can just go. Honestly, I don't expect this will take too much time. The house elves are preparing the tables and food. We've already got five people enchanting the objects around the room and decorating. The Weird Sisters will set up their own equipment."
"Are you sure?" Hermione was starting to feel a little put out and underused. "We can help."
"It's alright, really, Hermione," Eddie reassured her. "If we need you, I'll send a message. Just be ready at the doors by half past six, alright?"
"Alright," said Hermione, sighing.
"Thanks—Ron!" Eddie's alarmed voice cut across the hall. "No, that's not…" he pulled out his wand and made his way to Ron, who had failed miserably at enchanting the armor. He had somehow managed to transform an arm of one of the knights into a long banana.
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She turned around to face Malfoy—who was staring at her. Immediately she felt uncomfortable. "Where were you?" she demanded.
"Always being nosy," he mused.
"We have to be back here by half past six."
"I heard."
"Good." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, you said you're mother—"
"Granger, I've got it, calm down," said Malfoy. She blinked in surprise, relief and a bit of surprise washing over her. "I'll give it to you before we head down. Meet me in the common room at fifteen after six." He placed his hands in his pockets and turned, calling over his shoulder, "Don't be late."
"I'm never late!" she shouted after him, but he was already gone.
At five o clock, Hermione found herself scurrying around Ginny's crowded dormitory, her hands wrapped with mascara, a hairbrush, Fred and George's Anti-Frizz Potion, and her wand. Four other girls were getting ready for the ball as well, gossiping excitedly and buzzing with nerves.
Hermione was using her wand to curl Ginny's hair, creating long, wavy red curls. "Ginny, I know this is wrong to say because of Dean, but I'm really happy you're going with Harry," she said guiltily.
"You're going with Harry? Harry Potter?" a voice gasped, one of the girls, from behind a four poster. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed with another girl in Ginny's year, holding a tube of lipstick, openly gaping. She had long, dark curly hair, a prominent chin and heavily lidded eyes.
"Yeah, Romilda, I am," said Ginny.
The girl shot a confirmation look to the other girl on the bed, and then to Hermione, who nodded awkwardly in return. Romilda then leapt from her bed and dashed from the room, as though there was a fire. The other girl, the one who was sharing the bed, took off after her, calling her name, "Romilda!"
"Who is that?" Hermione asked, still staring out the open door in surprise.
"Romilda Vane." Ginny snorted with laughter.
"Is she in your year?"
"No, thank Merlin." Ginny gave a shudder. "Bit annoying, really. She's friends with Natalie, one of our roommates. Romilda talks about Harry all the time. She's probably jealous she's not going with him."
"You're probably right. Ginny Weasley gets to go with the boy who lived!" Hermione mused. Both girls fell into a fit of laughter but Hermione quickly sobered up. Her voice came out in a hushed whisper, "What about Dean?"
Ginny looked up into the small, oval mirror that Hermione had bewitched to float in the air out in front of them. "What about him? It was his idea for me to go with Harry, anyway."
Hermione couldn't argue with that, so she simply gave a noncommittal kind of shrug. By the time she finished with Ginny, she looked absolutely radiant. Tightly woven red curls fell down her back. Hermione used her Muggle make-up on Ginny, explaining how much better it would look and used a sticking charm to make sure the make-up would stay in place. With the charcoal eye shadow, Ginny's brown eyes stood out brilliantly.
Ginny stood up and put on her new gown.
Hermione didn't know Ginny possessed such magic. Though the gown was certainly pretty, albeit a bit plain, it was nothing of the sort now. Ginny had transformed it into a very couture gown. It was strapless and full of layering fabric all the way down to her knees. The bottom of the dress flared out to reveal several layers of lace and fringe. The back had crisscrossing fabric—the front set in a deep v-cut.
Ginny placed her black laced mask on her face.
"You look beautiful," breathed Hermione.
"Thanks," said Ginny brightly. "Collin wants to take pictures of everyone, so I better get down to meet Harry. Shouldn't you be getting ready now?"
"Yes." Hermione signed.
Ginny's expression softened. "It won't be that bad. It's only one night."
"One very long, very miserable night, you mean."
"Something like that," Ginny said slyly. "Get going, then. You're going to be late!"
Hermione left the fifth year girls' dormitory and found Harry in the common room. He was sitting by the fire talking to Seamus, who was already dressed in navy blue robes. Several younger students were already dressed and ready, talking animatedly, not sure of what to expect tonight. Hermione knew exactly what to expect tonight—a nightmare.
She took a seat next to Harry. "Ginny looks great," she said to him, trying to catch his eye.
But Harry had suddenly found the flames of the burning fire rather interesting. "Oh yeah?" he said, trying for nonchalance and failing.
"Yes." Hermione grinned. "I only wish I could stick around to see your face."
"Yeah, well," said Harry, flushing. "I'm sure it won't be as priceless as yours during the opening dance."
Hermione's grin shifted into an ugly glare. She was about to tell him exactly how priceless his face would be after she punched him, but Luna suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, and started to dust invisible bits of dirt from his shoulder.
"Luna!" Harry exclaimed, half surprised, half annoyed. "How are you in here? And what are you doing?"
"A second year let me in. I was about to give Neville the necklace I made, but I saw the Wrackspurts attacking you. You should think about cutting your hair, you know. It tends to be a popular nesting spot." She blinked her wide eyes and twisted a little to examine the walls.
Harry and Seamus just stared at her.
"It's very nice in here. Quite cozy and warm. Ours is similar, in a way, I suppose. A little more airy and open, though." Luna twirled a finger through her dirty blonde hair—her nails were painted a bright, vibrant orange. She was still wearing normal clothes, not yet dressed up for the ball. "Where's Ginny?" she asked suddenly.
Hermione blinked. "Oh, she's in her dormitory. Are you going to get ready soon?"
"I suppose I should. Have you seen Neville? I only just remembered the necklace and wanted to give it to him."
"Why didn't you just wait until you see him later?" Seamus asked.
Luna turned her wide, blinking eyes to him. "Because I might have forgotten later, but I remembered now." She held out what appeared to be tied pieces of twine with several charms: a bottle cap, a radish, a clove of garlic, and what could only be a small bone. "I made one for me to match. For best wishes, you know. Daddy got the bone from a Crumpled-Horned Snorkack from Sweden. They are very rare and are used for good luck." She shifted her attention to Harry. "You know Harry, you could use some good luck. I'll make one for you, too."
She stood up then and bounced out of the common room before Harry could open his mouth to object.
"A Crumpled Horned what?" asked Seamus, fighting down a laugh.
Hermione and Harry both spoke at the same time.
"Don't ask."
Hermione got ready quickly. She curled her hair with her wand the same way she had Ginny's, and added a touch of dark make-up around her eyes. She used the anti-frizz potion from Fred and George's shop to make her hair look sleeker and the curls tighter. A few strands dangled in front of her face, unwilling to rest behind her ears. She fished through her trunk and dug out a simple white headband. It slid perfectly into her curls.
"This is it," she said to her reflection in the mirror. The dress, she noted now, was definitely worth the money. She looked like a modern day Belle, but in silver instead of yellow. "It's just one night. Suck it up, Hermione."
Malfoy was standing nearing the fire place when she opened the door to the common room, his back to her. He turned around quickly, as if startled, and Hermione immediately took in a sharp intake of breath. He was dressed in solid black robes and his pale hair tumbled over a black half mask. Somehow all the black seemed to bring out his angular features, the silver of his eyes. He looked quite handsome, and Hermione's stomach squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. She gathered herself quickly and moved across the room, trying desperately not to fall in Ginny's heels—which happened to be a half size too big.
Reaching into his robes, Malfoy pulled out a mask. It was a half-moon shape, silver with lace overlay, studded with tiny, shimmering diamonds. There was something classic and timeless about its simplicity.
"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, momentarily stunned. "That was...nice of you to do this. Thank you."
Malfoy made a strange sound that she couldn't quite identify with any certain emotion. "Turn around," he ordered, sounding frustrated for some reason. Hermione turned; he lifted her curls with a hand and placed them gently across her bare shoulder. His fingers burned when they brushed across her skin, and she shivered. For some horrible reason, Hermione felt her herself flush.
Malfoy fastened the mask over her eyes. Her fingers reached up to tough the soft lace tenderly. When she turned back around, Malfoy was staring at her. "What?" she snapped.
"Nothing." With an annoyed sigh, he opened the door and gestured forward with a flippant hand. "Let's go."
A/N: I did quite a bit of tweeking with this chapter; that's why the update took a bit longer. Thanks for reading!
Review Responses:
Hannah: "It's almost a bit hard to remember what happened in the last chapter when you post a new one 'cause it's been so long since you read it.." - I feel you! Sometimes I have to go back myself before I post a new chapter. I try to update every two weeks, that way everyone has time to read it. Sometimes I update before then, sometimes after. :/
AnnaAza: "I really have not explored the Draco/Hermione ship because I thought it was purely ludicrous. I still think it is, canon-wise, but you sure make it fit!" - Thank you! It's so great to see you here on another story! haha I'm so used to hearing what you have to say about The Black Games so this is a pleasant surprise! I thought Draco and Hermione was ludicrous as well until I came across a fantastic post-Hogwarts story. Do check it out: Lady Malfoy by cherrypie3601 over at HPFF. It's wonderful. I posted this story once, but now that I'm sort of going over it again, I'm catching many moments that seemed OOC. I'm glad you're reading this version! haha
Giselita: "the scene of next chapter...when they are with the list and you know...what hermione says in front of you know who...i think that scene was a bit oc" - I know exactly what you're talking about! There are a lot of things I've caught this time around that seemed OOC. I'm definitely working on that, especially where Astoria is concerned. I really want to make Hermione and Draco in character-that's the most important thing to me. Curious, what was your favorite scene I cut? lol