The Uneventful Story
By: Snowflake Imp
Rated: R
Chapter 10
Disclaimer: I TOLD YOU! Hary Poter is MINE! Who cares about Harry Potter! Certainly not I, why would I want to claim that I own it? Ridiculous! Hary Poter has given me so much, I need nothing else. Like an inflated sense of worth. Practically priceless.
As Draco witnessed Isabella, Head of Accounting, bought for 700 Galleons, he couldn't help but chuckle. Oh lord, an auction. Were they serious?
"700, eh? Highest bid of the night so far," Blaise noted, coming up from behind Draco, sipping on his Cabernet Sauvignon.
Draco easily schooled his face into one of carefree amusement. With a flash of his perfect white teeth, he raised his own glass of wine to Blaise's. "Who knew Lord Perry had a thing for number-pushers?" he asked, turning his attention back to the stage. The auction was winding down, with little over half left.
"I see the Ministry has gotten classier since last I attended one of these," Blaise remarked, sitting down near the front of the stage, shifting so Draco could sit to the right of him in the aisle seat. "I had no idea they would be serving vintage Trentino like pumpkin juice."
Draco swirled his glass and sniffed, noting the telling blackcurrant aroma with a slight cherry undertone. It was dry with just a kick of tart. It was a good year. "I agree, although I bet it has less to do with the Ministry's generous nature than with forcing the employees to create most of tonight's revenue."
Blaise smirked at him. "Still, despite the enticing Waterford glass, I can't bring myself to completely fall for a Cabernet Sauvignon."
"You Italians and your distrust," Draco scoffed good-naturedly. "Just because your soil doesn't nurture noble grapes as well as they do in Bordeaux shouldn't be reason to boycott it."
"You must come over to the estate, Draco, it's been years," Blaise announced, pausing only to appraise the strawberry blonde woman currently on the stage before turning back to his companion. "Our gardens have been completely revamped to showcase our new collection of Dahlia orchids. We also have a couple bottles of Solaia Antinori, 1997. Now that's good Tuscan wine."
"Who could refuse such an tempting offer? Although I must warn you, I recently fulfilled one of my life's dreams by acquiring a case of 1989 Haut-Brion. It's everything I could ever hope for in a wine." Draco couldn't help but sound a bit smug.
Blaise whistled. "You must have had to stake out the Château and threaten bodily harm to the owner!"
"I'm a changed man, Blaise," Draco said, eyeing him carefully. "Nowadays I tend to bribe more, intimidate less."
At his seemingly innocent words, Blaise elegantly raised his eyebrow. "If only you switched to this current personality sooner, amico. I daresay you would've had a better understanding for my needs."
Draco smiled without humor. "Forgive me for not being able to conform in order to fulfill all that you desire. Mon ami," he stressed, his tone being anything but friendly.
Whether or not Blaise noticed wasn't too clear. Regardless, he set his glass down in order to adjust his insanely expensive necktie, blood-red in color. Waving his hand as if wanting a change of subject, he queried, "I wonder when your resident Gryffindor is up? I think it will be interesting to see who will buy her."
Draco knew better. "Who knows," he said loftily, sweeping imaginary lint off his suit with a gloved hand. "I wasn't aware you had an interest in the bookworm."
Blaise chortled, giving his friend a knowing look. "Honestly Draco, I can't tell whether you're joking or not."
He merely gave a thin-lipped smile in return. Their conversation was interrupted by the announcement that their second-to-last lady was up next, the Head Alchemist for Poisons and Cures. Hermione Granger.
The two men dropped all pretense of conversation and their attentions focused on the currently empty stage.
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"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God," Hermione thought frantically. Had Parvarti not forced her to accept a French-tip manicure, she would've bitten her fingernails clean off.
She turned to the last girl that was just auctioned off. "Lani," she whispered desperately, grabbing her arm tightly. "Please, save me – find a way to kill me quick! Suicide's a sin, but if you did it – !"
"Oh no, Hermione, you're not getting out of this one," Lani hissed, her ire not necessarily directed at the dreadfully haggard woman in front of her. She was just irritated, still getting over the fact that she would have to spend 3 hours with a wizened old mage from Ireland who had a belly the size of a beach ball. "Don't think you're going to escape the fate that befell the rest of us so easily!" She wretched her arm free from her surprisingly strong grip.
"No! You don't understand – " Hermione was interrupted when the very annoyed woman usher started pushing her towards the stage. She made a mad grab for Lani's hand but she hopped out of the way in time. Despite the usher pushing her more urgently onto the stage, Hermione managed to poke her head back through the curtains. "I WANT your fate! I don't want mine! Lani – !"
She was going to say more but found herself stumbling onto the stage with one final push. Wouldn't it be less embarrassing to be bought by some old man rather than not at all? Large candles floating above the stage grew brighter, their light beamed down onto her and blinded her from seeing the audience clearly. She squinted her eyes.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, mages and wizards, are you in for a treat tonight!" the auctioneer said enthusiastically. "Who will take home this delectable treat, the witch who single-handedly found the cure for the Widow's Blood poison when she was a mere twenty-four years old? Interesting stories, intelligent conversations, witty banter – you can have it all with this lovely lady!"
Hermione grimaced, fidgeting nervously at all the eyes that were undoubtedly upon her. "I'm so glad all of my selling points have to do with my brains not my looks," she thought sourly.
"Shall we start the bidding at 100 Galleons? Do we have 100 Galleons 100 Galleons do I hear 100 Galleons 100 Galleons here 100 Galleons?" the man began his craft, speeding up his speech, pointing at the crowd.
Silence.
With owls hooting.
Hermione's cheeks burned. The only thing she had to be thankful for at that moment was that the Wizarding World had no idea how embarrassing it was to have silence supplemented with the hooting of owls. They would think that it was only natural to hear the owls when quiet, as it was customary to have owls on hand in case letters needed to be delivered.
Little did they know in Muggle culture, the only thing more mortifying than silence was silence accompanied by nocturnal woodland creature sounds. All that was left would be tumbleweeds whooshing lazily across the room.
"Please, someone, anyone, SAVE ME!" she thought fervently. Hermione didn't care at this point – someone, just anybody – she would worship the ground he or she walked on, if only they would raise their hand.
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Blaise and Draco lounged in their seats, to everybody's eyes relaxed and uninterested as Hermione not-so-gracefully tripped onto stage. The only tell-tale sign of their anxiety was their hands, gripping their glasses firmly.
She was a vision. A golden pillar of loveliness. The way her hair was piled up to show off her swan-like neck, the way the fabric hugged her curves, her face, so beautifully yet lightly made up, when she was forced to turn in a circle – that back. She made the two aristocrats speechless.
Draco was the first to break out of the trance. He sneered. "She has no sense of dignity."
"I find her body movements charming," Blaise said lightly, smiling as Hermione looked around the room with a look of pure terror flashing across her eyes. She was unconsciously wringing her hands together.
The grip on Draco's glass tightened considerably. "Well, consider yourself the only one," he ground out, not even wanting to look at the dark man beside him. "Moving past that connasse's poise, her mouth is utterly foul. She makes a horrid date."
At this Blaise's golden eyes burned. He turned to Draco and said very slowly, very clearly, "Again, I find her mouth quite……charming."
Draco whipped his head to face him, his silver eyes blazing. He didn't have the change to say anything before Blaise raised his elegant hand, with his index finger raised.
"200 Galleons."
The room gasped. If anyone were to bid on her, the infamous, mysterious Blaise Zabini was very low on their list of candidates.
Draco trained his eyes on Hermione's face. She never could hide her emotions – he was always able to read her face like an open window. Confusion, relief, then back to confusion. He took a deep breath. His eyes darted back and forth between her and Blaise, who at the moment was sipping his wine with a small smile on his lips. Just Blaise's face alone had him raising his own hand, but he managed to stop himself before it reached over his head. His hand balled into a fist by his side.
"Shite," he thought bitterly to himself. He gritted his teeth. What to do.
He made the mistake of looking directly into Hermione's eyes, which were looking at Blaise and they were shining. She looked like she could kiss him on the spot. Blaise returned her look with a larger grin.
"300 Galleons," Draco's deep voice cut through the whispers. Blaise's eyes widened slightly, then he smiled knowingly.
"400."
"500."
"700."
"1,000 Galleons," Draco announced, ignoring the whispers that grew into outright conversations.
Blaise looked over at his friend, his eyes twinkling merrily. He laughed. "Draco, mate, weren't you just saying she would make a horrible date?"
"Yes I did," Draco supplied easily, finishing his wine. "But she would make an excellent torture subject."
"Well, I wonder who will win out – the one out for amusement or the one for torture?" he asked, waving at Hermione as she stood there with an aghast look on her face.
"The sky's the limit, Zabini," Draco said with a lazy smile.
Blaise groaned good-naturedly. "Then this will go on all night. Why don't you tell me your limit, I'll tell you mine, and we'll see quickly who will win this game."
"Maybe if you tell me your limit first."
Blaise thought about it. They were both Slytherins, but he knew out of the two of them, Draco was always willing to go that extra mile to get what he wanted – Blaise was more laid back in that matter. No matter what insane number he threw out, he had no doubt Draco would top it if he really wanted her.
He leaned over, bringing his lips close to Draco's ear. "Then how about we….share her?"
It took all of Draco's willpower not to rip himself away from the Italian's hot breath. He bared his teeth with what passed for a smile. He turned in his seat to face him, then suddenly he grabbed Blaise's head with his right hand, bringing his ear closer to Draco's lips.
"You know I hate to share," Draco whispered back.
Despite Draco's firm grip, Blaise closed his eyes and smiled easily, as if lost in memory.
"I guess I do."
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Scratch her last wish. Her current wish was, "Please let lightning strike me down, then a hole appear on the stage for my dead body to fall in and have it close up and may no one ever find my body for all of time!."
Again, if not for Parvarti's meticulous make-up job, Hermione would have slapped her hand to her face, hopefully covering it from the world.
WHY was this happening?
How did things come to this? Rather than be pleased that the two were bidding fiercely on her, she was mortified.
Utterly mortified.
If they were just any old blokes bidding on her, she would have been ecstatic, but they weren't. They were Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Two of the most highly coveted men at the Gala tonight. Things were already bad whenever Harry and Ron were around her, but the public forgave her because of their long history together as The Trio. But with these two….. they were handsome, single, rich, aristocratic, untouchable. What would be their reason to bid on her?
The public would eat her alive. Especially the women. It would already be assumed they were bidding on her for reasons such as pity or more believable, some sort of sick, twisted wager. That was embarrassing enough – to be bid on for something other than the desire for her. Add onto that the annoyance everyone would feel, knowing they had chosen HER for their attentions and she was toast. They hadn't even bid on ANYONE the whole night. Only her.
Oh, she was dead.
Everyone stopped eating, stopped dancing – they all focused their attentions to the front of the stage. During Blaise and Draco's impasse, the chattering grew louder. If words were able to solidify into pin pricks, Hermione would surely have been turned into an old voodoo doll by now.
"Er, I hear 1,000! 1100 folk, 1100 Galleons? Okay, 1,000 Galleons going once, going twice – "
While the two were sorting out whatever they needed to sort out, at the moment they didn't seem to be talking at all, a clear, gruff voice rang:
"2,000 Galleons!"
The room, yet again, gasped. All eyes shifted to where the voice came from. There, at the edge of where the seats were, stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
Hermione eyes widened, a huge smile forming on her face. She could recognize that voice anywhere. "Harry!" she shouted out, unable to help herself
He winked, while Ron waved to the crowd with a laughing smile, amused at the attention they were getting. The two men in tuxedos began marching down the aisle, ready to claim her. Their gait was leisurely, an easy strut with one hand in their elegant pockets.
"SOLD! Sold to Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ron Weasley, for 2,000 Galleons!" The auctioneer squealed, pointing his gavel at the pair as the stopped at the front of the stage.
"Wait just one minute!" Draco's deep voice piercing through the applause. Him and Blaise stood up, their stance guarded.
"Didn't you know?" Harry asked, looking back over his shoulder, his green eyes sparkling. "There's a 2,000 Galleon limit to each woman at the auction." He could help but bask in victorious glory.
At their obvious confusion, Ron had to laugh. "Come on Malfoy, Zabini. Are you saying neither of you got that memo sent out a few weeks ago telling you this? Or the flyer they were passing out near the door?"
They blinked. Obviously they didn't pick up the flyers – they were regulars to occasions like this. Those flyers were usually meant for first timers, greenhorns, and the nouveau-riche. They were like little fancy itineraries, but for those who were practically raised at galas, there wasn't much that could surprise them.
There was a memo?
"I will find Farrell's useless, homeless body and emasculate him," Draco thought fiercely, his eyes lit with inner fury.
The Ministry did a lot of number-crunching to come up with this insane price ceiling. The main reason for this was the increasingly dismal profits they were garnering from the past few years. It seemed that when there wasn't any limitation to what to give, people tended to be more stingy. However, with a somewhat reasonable limit of 2,000 Galleons, not only does it give people more confidence and security to bid, but it also left enough money in their pockets for them to bid again, if they so choose. When people knew they could only go so high, they were much more prone to engage in highly entertaining bidding wars.
The four men stood facing each other; Harry and Ron with smirking faces, Draco and Blaise with cool, unreadable expressions. What a sight they were – four handsome, famous men immaculately dressed, engaged in a stare-down.
Without another word, Hermione's best friends turned their backs on them and walked up onto the stage, their faces breaking out into a genuine smile as she rushed towards them, fancy dress be damned. She squealed as she launched herself at them, throwing one arm around each.
"You bloody bastards!" she cried, laughing hard. "Had to have a flair for dramatics, did you?"
Ron chuckled, spinning her as Harry looked on. "What can we say, it was right hilarious to see you look a bit peaky there."
She smacked them both half-heartedly on the arm. "You shouldn't have though, now what are people going to say?"
"They're going to think, 'Damn I wish I were best mates with the greatest blokes in the world!'" Harry supplied. "Would you rather we feed you to the wolves?"
Hermione's face fell before she collected herself. She wagged her finger at them. "But what will your dates think? You shouldn't have wasted all your money on me!" she scolded.
In response to that, they merely pointed behind them, leading her vision to where Ginny and Lavender stood. Hermione's smile returned, even larger when she saw them smiling, giving her a great big thumbs-up. There was no way they wouldn't support Hermione. She was the rock that held them together, that always made them feel welcomed. Besides, Gryffs stick together!
Ron's infuriated date was a little ways away from the girls, turning her back to both them and the stage. Her arms were crossed and she had a highly vexed look on her face. Ginny enthusiastically gave the finger to her back while Lavender laughed on. Hermione snickered, moved nearly to tears. She really did have the greatest friends.
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Once the auction was over, everybody moved towards the tables and the dance floor to enjoy the rest of the evening. As Harry and Ron bent their heads over the folder on Hermione's lap that held all the possible locations, she couldn't help but see across the way that Draco was with Mindee.
Hermione blinked with surprise; she was positive the look Mindee gave him at the party was one of the broken-hearted. Apparently they haven't split up yet. In any case, her sympathy for her grew. Poor dear looked positively desperate. Here Mindee's date drew attention to himself by bidding on her of all people, proving what an insignificant amount of influence she held over him. Hermione could tell Mindee was doing her damndest to attract his attention, knowing that if nothing changed very, very soon, she really was through.
To an outsider's eye, they looked happy enough. They were sitting there, lightly talking over their dinners. Many women looked at them with an enviable sigh, most likely wishing they were in Mindee's shoes. But Hermione knew better. Watching Draco, she saw him barely looking at her, the disinterested look in his eyes. Mindee's time was almost up.
Looking at Malfoy, she wondered again why he bid on her. Even though it was mostly likely for a prank or was just trying to egg Blaise on so he'd spend money, Hermione couldn't help but soften her gaze a little. Regardless, he tried to save her from an embarrassing ending.
Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
Sometimes.
Suddenly Harry stood up and grabbed Lavender. "Come on Lav, they're playing our song!" he said with boyish charm, eliciting her famous giggle.
Ron, not to be beaten, looked around and found a pretty woman with thick, deep brunette hair eyeing him. He grinned. "I'll see you in a bit, 'Mione."
She sighed with good humor and waved him off as he worked his charms on her. In almost seconds they too went off to the dance floor, along with almost everybody else. The band was playing quite a popular, nostalgic song.
Hermione, content with sitting, looked around. She saw Ron's date (whom she was guessing severed all ties to him by now) flirting rather shamelessly and drunkenly with a young, scared waiter. She shook her head. Well, all for the better she supposed. Ron would have broken up with her sooner or later. She scanned the opposite wall and saw Ginny surrounded by three enthralled men – her grin borderline hungry. Hermione smiled, rolling her eyes.
But then she made the mistake of looking at the dance floor and all the dancing couples. She had the bad luck to look upon Alex and Amelia, dancing like they were floating on clouds. Hermione then accidentally locked eyes with Alex and she quickly looked away, clearly embarrassed. Oh no, hopefully she didn't show anything on her face. She has been told her face was like an open window.
Okay, now she kind of had the urge to dance, if not to look like such a loser. Her eyes drifted towards Blaise, who was easily chatting with a few women, obviously vying for his attentions. Hermione blushed. Well, of course he wouldn't ask her to dance. He looked quite in his element over there. She sighed. She shouldn't think too much about his bid – he was probably just a really nice bloke who would do the same thing, had anyone else looked like they were going to die from a heart attack up there.
"Let's go, Granger," Malfoy said from behind her. She turned around, surprised to find he hadn't already taken to the floor. He held out his gloved hand, not really looking in her eyes. She stood up, hesitantly. "I'm willing to risk the scuffing of my shoes for this dance, so please show a little gratitude." Only a Malfoy could turn a request for a dance into something imperious and snooty.
Still on her guard, Hermione stepped slowly towards him. She eyed him funny. "What's going on with you, Malfoy?
He merely shrugged, his white-blonde hair temporarily falling over his eyes before he brushed it back. "You just looked positively tragic," he said, eyeing her up and down. Why did Hermione feel like she should be covering her body if his words were his usual fare of insults? "Since I couldn't make you indebted to me during the auction, the least I can do is to save you the mortification and have a dance with you."
And for some reason, she could explain why, her heart skipped. Malfoy always talked in code, rarely did he say anything straight unless it was something harsh. But she figured this was one of his rare, nice gestures. Hermione smiled brilliantly, looking up at him. Draco's eyes flashed briefly, but she didn't notice. With an impish smile, she lifted her nose and declared, "Then I grant you the pleasure of this dance." She delicately placed her small hand in his.
With a slow smile, he firmly grasped her hand and led her to the dance floor. He turned her so they faced each other and they assumed the traditional dance position. She placed her left hand on his shoulder as his arm supported hers from underneath, resting his hand directly below her shoulder-blades, as etiquette demanded. Their hands gently yet firmly grasped each other, his large hand nearly enveloping hers.
They began dancing – one two step one two step – swishing effortlessly around the dance floor. Obviously Draco was the better dancer, but Hermione was a fast learner and picked up the steps fairly well. He was excellent at leading, never too forceful, but always able to make her do what he wanted her to.
Hermione could feel his muscles rippling underneath his rich, black suit. She wouldn't be very surprised if it turned out he was the same shape, if not better, as he was during the War. She didn't know how he did it. She tried to curb her indulgence to a certain extent, but she didn't fight for her life just to starve herself. Hermione wouldn't call herself chubby, but stick-thin model she was not.
He felt tense. She wasn't sure if this was how he normally danced, but he seemed bent on keeping their bodies as far apart as decorum allowed. So he didn't want much to do with her, understandable.
Then why was her heart pounding? It was strange. She too felt like pulling away, but at the same time, something deep inside her felt warm. Like she wanted to rest her body against him. Hermione instantly stiffened, glancing up at his expressionless face before looking away.
"Don't be such a ninny," she scolded herself. He was only dancing with her for show. She chalked everything she felt, everything she was feeling, up to the champagne she drank before the dance. And dancing with your eternal nemesis was just plain weird. That was why she felt the need to extract herself from his arms.
She looked up again, feeling his eyes on her. His face was unreadable, but…..she could've sworn his eyes were a much darker color than his normal silver. They were a dark gray, tinged with purple.
Was it the lighting?
Before she could dwell on this more, Blaise approached them, swinging his arm around Draco's shoulders, forcing them to stop dancing. "Scusi, but would you mind terribly if I cut in?" he asked smoothly, talking to Draco but keeping his eyes on Hermione.
Hermione was surprised Blaise wanted to cut in, wanted to dance with her. However, she was not as surprised as when she saw the look on Draco's face. His body tensed considerably more, tightening his grip on her hand. It was his expression.
For a moment she thought that he actually wasn't going to let her go.
But of course that was nonsense. Draco let go of her with a playful air, throwing his arms up in defeat. "She's all yours, mate. Careful, she'll step on your shoes."
"I do NOT – " she was cut off when she was whisked into Blaise's arms and she watched Malfoy's retreating back. Hermione flushed. "I didn't step on his feet. I don't step on feet," she said sullenly, looking at him with a defensive air.
Blaise laughed easily. It was a nice laugh. "I believe you," he said, still smiling. "Draco wasn't born with charm, he had to cultivate it over many painstaking years. It looks like he still hasn't gotten the gist of it yet."
At this Hermione had to grin as she was spun gently and back. "And I suppose you were born with charm pouring out of your ears?"
He merely winked. "Those are your words, cara, not mine."
As they danced, Hermione came to the conclusion that dancing with Blaise was one hundred times more uncomfortable than dancing with Malfoy. She couldn't understand it. Blaise was also a natural-born dancer, but unlike Draco, he was very relaxed and had no qualms with touching her.
So why was it that she wanted to tear herself away from his arms?
With Malfoy, sure, she felt jittery, but it was unlike what she felt in Blaise's arms. She literally felt like running as fast as she could out the door. And her heart was beating so fast. Too fast to be mistaken for "ooh I have butterflies and fireworks in my tummy because I luuurve him!" feelings. It took the sheer willpower of her mind to keep her planted in his arms.
She shouldn't feel like this. He wasn't a threat. He was sweet, charming, friendly. He was gliding her gently across the floor, his touch never too firm nor too faint. They would occasionally meet eyes and they would smile at each other. It couldn't have gotten any better than that.
But it was painfully confusing for Hermione. She would find herself twitching, trying to stop herself from wrenching herself away. She took a deep breath. "Think about it rationally, Hermione," she thought to herself. Let's look at the facts.
There, she got it. He was handsome, famous and a good lot of women were glaring at her. Why wouldn't her fight-or-flight reaction go off? She was so….well, plain and he was not. She was embarrassed for herself AND for him. He was different from Harry and Ron because she knew them inside and out, they were her best friends. He was different than Malfoy because she hated him. Or at the very least, constantly annoyed with him. Blaise was none of these. He was practically a stranger, but he treated her with respect and kindness.
Thus, in conclusion, therefore, hence, ergo – she felt uncomfortable.
Now that wasn't so hard, was it. Just knowing the stem of her problem led her to relax more. It was then she noticed he was looking at her as they danced. It wasn't in a bad way, but it was….analytical. Quizzical. Like her face held some sort of puzzle he wished to solve. Hermione looked at him, with question in her eyes. He quickly broke his gaze and merely smiled, his teeth bright.
It was then the music ended on a high, lilting note. The couples parted and they all applauded lightly and politely. Blaise turned to her and thanked her for the wonderful dance. Hermione blushed and shook her head; she couldn't even form in words that it should be HER thanking him.
When the next song struck up, they were making their way back to the table when Blaise took the opportunity to try to arrange a more private meeting.
"…there's a lovely little hole-in-the-wall bistro just opposite Diagon Alley, if you'd like to go," he said softly.
But Hermione's attentions lied elsewhere for the moment. As they were walking away, she couldn't help but notice, over Blaise's shoulder, Dame Griselda Denela had finally arrived and locked her sight onto Draco already.
Hermione was too far to actually listen in on the conversation, but just by looking at his face she could tell he too understood the desire of instant flight. He was trying his hardest to back away without insulting the fragile woman, but you could tell she would have none of it. She kept on taking one more step towards him, her eyes gleaming of untold romantic horrors. Like a stalking puma to its delicious prey.
Trying as hard as she could, Hermione couldn't completely suppress the snicker of laughter escaping her throat. She covered her mouth with her hands, hiding her smile. Noticing her attention was no longer on him, he asked, "What's going on, cara?"
Damn Italians and their easy-going, flirtatious nature. Hermione was determined not to look the virginal youth she SO was. So instead of again painting her cheeks red, she merely tilted her chin in the Draco direction. She swore she saw a bead of sweat forming on his temples. Dame Griselda was practically drooling with lust.
Understanding immediately, Blaise laughed, loosening his tie slightly. "Ah, I see. His gift."
"And his curse," Hermione finished impishly.
Draco Malfoy was not known to have many weaknesses, especially when it came to women. He'd like to think of himself as an expert both in dealing with women as well as getting them. There were however, exceptions to the rules.
Dame Griselda was one of them.
In Hermione's opinion, she was probably the only woman Draco was, "scared bat shitless" of. And of course, Hermione savors every moment of their delusional courtship.
The Denela house was prone to, let's just say, interesting bloodlines. No one quite knew if it was because of the breeding or just their choice in mates, but there was always an interesting quirk to each and every one of them. The women were notorious for being wanton, aggressive love machines. While not all that scary on its own, it IS scary, however, when a Denela woman 78 years of age targets you as the object of her affection. And Malfoy was locked on. Griselda will stop at nothing to have him as her cabana boy, a job description he definitely did not desire.
Dame Griselda discovered him last year at the Ministry Gala, coming back from a twenty-year hiatus living in Scotland. Of course he stood out from the crowd – not too many men his age had such soft, light-colored blonde hair naturally and was so tall. He was like a beacon of light.
At the end of the night, when the lights were dimmed down low, Hermione saw, much to her utter delight, Malfoy somehow backed into a corner with Griselda ready to pounce. Then the most ridiculous series of events occurred.
With no pretense, Griselda suddenly, unabashedly made a grab for his crotch. It was only thanks to his lightning fast reflexes was he able to barely avoid her grabby hands. She was immediately pressed against him, fervently attempting to feel him up, hold him down, and lick the side of his face at the same time.
Malfoy's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head in pure fear. It was quickly replaced by frightened determination, as he tried to pry her off as quickly and efficiently as possible, yet still adhering to class. It was ingrained in him to never hit a woman, much less an elder woman from such a old house. So Hermione was graced with the sight of a frantic Malfoy, waving his arms back and forth like some retarded bird. He was fighting against his instinct to shove her away with a force that could break plywood, his mind forcing his arm back in order to adhere to decorum.
It was hilarious.
Finally, finally, she saw a chink in his otherwise cool, steady armor of emotion and demeanor. Finally, Malfoy's feathers were ruffled. Ruffled, groped, and molested.
It was….it was……
Delicious.
Rarely did Hermione get an opportunity like this, to have something to hold over his head. So delighted was she that Hermione began cackling from across the room like a Macbeth hag. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop. It was one of the greatest days of her life. She had to brace herself on a table in order to not fall to the ground, rolling with laughter.
When everybody was getting into carriages to go home for the night, Hermione was roughly grabbed from behind as she was about to enter one. There a desperate and highly disturbed Draco swore Hermione to secrecy. In order to get home all the quicker, she agreed.
Of course, the next morning everybody knew about it.
In intimate detail.
It had been awhile since she last saw him boil with such rage, such embarrassment. For the next week they sent hexes back and forth whenever they could. Finally their feud ended when a Medusa-haired Hermione walked into his office, oddly triumphant looking. Malfoy was nervous. She shouldn't have looked so pleased after his hex had taken effect.
She declared that he could hex her for all he was worth, but in the end they only last a few hours, whereas people's memories lasted forever.
No matter how much he punished her, he couldn't undo the damage she had done, nor make her regret her decision. It was again, the rare occasion where he conceded out-rightly. With her victory ensured, a giddy Hermione crowed that perhaps her new snake-hair could assist her in her research; perhaps the venom from their fangs could be used as some sort of anti-agent.
With that, she bid him a cheery adieu, but not before swatting away at one of the hissing snakes dangerously close to her throat. She wasn't even scared. She skipped out of his office, leaving a shuddering man.
Back to present day, Hermione's face had a huge grin while looking back on the good ol' days. She could feel the familiar cackle bubbling from her diaphragm, but in light of his recent, not-so-horrid behavior, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
Even if the look on his face was priceless.
She sighed, her decision made. Damn her, she was just too nice for own good. She turned to Blaise, her eyes apologetic. "Sorry Blaise, could we finish this some other time? I'm about to do something very stupid and Gryffindor. You better stand back."
Before he could respond, she was already walking confidently towards the two. All Blaise could do was let out a sigh and shrug.
"Dame Griselda? Oh my, I was wondering when you'd arrive!" Hermione chirped loudly as she reached them, her face overly jovial. "Things just aren't the same without you!"
Griselda spared a precious second to look at who was talking to her, all too ready to return to the business at hand. No pun intended. But when she saw who was talking to her, she instantly released him to grasp Hermione's hands.
"Hello my dear! It has been ages! So sorry I wasn't able to write – trips to Africa are so tedious, absolutely dreadful for keeping communications! How are you, my lovely?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with motherly kindness. Through some strange twist of fate, Dame Griselda actually, against all predictions, was quite fond of Hermione. The reasons were unknown, but she always treated Hermione with loving affection.
While they engaged in animated small talk, Hermione managed to situate herself between Griselda and Draco. Behind her back, her hands were seemingly clasped demurely, but in reality, they were frantically shooing Draco, indicating he should high-tail his ass out of there while she had her distracted.
Draco was confused at her act of kindness, not even noticing her subtle signal. By the time he realized what she was doing and was about to bolt out of there, the Dame unfortunately refocused her energy on him.
"Drakie dear, wherever are you going, ducky? We have so much to catch up on, come, let me take you to somewhere more……ssssss…private," her attempt at hissing sexily was met with Malfoy's near vomiting.
Hermione gritted her teeth. That stupid wanker! Couldn't he react faster? Soldier reflexes her arse! She rolled her eyes. She had hoped it wouldn't have to resort to this, but it seemed she had no choice.
He better be damned grateful.
"And where is your beautiful daughter, Jolie? I haven't seen her all evening!" Hermione attempted to say in a chipper voice, hoping to keep the dread out of her tone.
All thoughts of Draco temporarily flew out the window.
"Jolie? Oh my, you're wondering if – you – you think she's beautiful! Well, I – she'll be so delighted to – she's here somewhere, let me get her, wait right here, lovely!" she practically cried out in happiness. Dame Griselda was beside herself as she quickly dashed to find her daughter.
Hermione quickly turned to Draco, her voice pained. "Go, hide! Don't let my sacrifice be in vain!"
Draco hesitated for a millisecond before dashing off. "Godspeed Granger," he hurriedly called out over his shoulder as he quickly made scarce.
Oh, she was going to need it.
"HERMIE!" a loud, screeching voice cried with abandon.
She cringed. Then forced a watery smile on her face. "H-Hullo, Jolie, you…uh…you look……great."
And then she was attacked into a major bear-hug by a decently-looking yet definitely deranged young woman.
"Oomf!" Hermione grunted at the force. She gingerly patted her hands on the girl's shoulders before wheezing out, "I-I can't…breathe…."
"Oh, you're always so silly!" Jolie said giddily, smacking Hermione's arm playfully.
"Ha..ha…," she said weakly, rubbing the spot she was just attacked on.
"Oh ho ho ho, well, I'll just leave you two alone then, shall I? Dear dear, where did ducky go?" Dame Griselda said with proud excitement before going off to search for the lust of her life.
Jolie quickly attached herself onto Hermione's arm, snuggling her face on her biceps. Hermione tried not to shiver with displeasure. Was it too late to change her mind about being a noble Gryffindor?
"Aren't you going to ask me about my visit to St. Mungos these past few months?" Jolie pouted, lightly tracing patterns on Hermione's collarbone. Hermione squeaked, freezing up.
Yes, it was too late.
"Er….," she managed to gurgle.
"Never mind that, come on, let's go sit somewhere so we can be Jolie said slyly, licking her lips deliberately. Hermione nearly felt her soul leaving her body through her mouth.
"S-sure," she said weakly, allowing herself to be dragged across the room.
Like mother, like daughter.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later on in the evening, Hermione was extremely, extremely close to madness. At the moment, she was sitting down on a bench near a wall somewhere, with Jolie practically draped over her. Hermione was sitting with a ramrod straight back, her hands clenched together and in her lap. Her shoulders were hunched, no doubt due to the stiff way she was keeping her arms. And her legs were firmly held together, thank you very much.
If looking like a complete ball of tense nerves wasn't an indication that she was uncomfortable, the beet-red color currently gracing her face should be a dead give-away.
Girls like Jolie shouldn't be allowed to talk so dirty in such a nice, elite accent. It was unnerving. She was whispering dirty, naughty, scandalous things of what she dreamed about doing with Hermione, to Hermione; murmured her wicked desires of what she felt right now, what she wanted to do to her.
Okay, okay, when she was complaining in her diary about not having any fun with all the sexy, naughty things adults do……she meant…..well….she meant…with a bloke.
"Must….find….escape….!" was all Hermione could think of at the moment. Her eyes darted wildly, trying to find salvation. Her attention was suddenly, acutely, on her knee. More specifically, on her knee and slowly, slowly, upwards…up her thigh, up to –
"Woah!" Hermione yelped, jumping back in shock. Jolie managed to grab her and kept her firmly in place. She placed a well manicured finger on Hermione's plump lips.
"Shhhhh darling, people will hear us," she said naughtily, letting her hand once again being its trek up her leg.
At first Hermione tried gently, subtly pushing Jolie's hand from wandering too far up her thigh. As this did not detour her, she resorted to frantically slapping then pushing away her hand only to have Jolie's hand slide up in a warped game of Patty cakes.
Slap push sliiide
Slap push sliiiide
Slap push slide slap push slide slappushslideslappushslideslappushslide
Hermione leaped to her feet, back away, holding her arms to her chest in hopes of protecting her womanly goods. "Jolie, please…I-I think you're taking things a little bit to….uhm…I mean, not that I…that is to say…," she stammered, trying to communicate her utter disinterest and blatant creeping out of.
Jolie just tittered, once again enveloping Hermione into a tight hug. She tried not to sigh – it could be mistaken for one of passion and enjoyment.
Heaven forbid.
"You know," Jolie mumbled in her ear, yet again. What was with the Denela's and their obsession with talking in ears! "I've been telling you all night, but you really are so gorgeous. The most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. I wonder why more men aren't lusting over your right this instance."
"Er, thank you, Jolie, that's very sweet of you but – "
"You know what else I love about you? You're sooo modest," she paused to stroke Hermione's neck. Her eyes bulged but otherwise made no sudden movements. "But yes, why is it no one else is appreciating your beauty like they should? Then again, men are very, very stupid. That's why I hate them and love women…."
This had gotten to the point where Hermione was ready to close shop and just make a run for it. Yes, that was it, just throw some excuse, like bathroom break, and then before she knows it, she'll be miles away. As she was ready to implement her rash plan, she saw Draco marching up to them, with Mindee in tow. His eyes were clear and determined, meaning that he had a plan. The Calvary has arrived! Never had he looked so beautiful to Hermione.
"Jolie, I was wondering where you disappeared to this whole time," he said heartily. Jolie managed to pry her face away from Hermione's neck long enough to give him a long look. She only tolerated him because of her mother.
"Yes, so if you'll excuse us," she said snappishly, turning back to Hermione, all smiles.
"Let me introduce to you Mindee Case, recent addition to the Ministry. Mindee, Jolie Denela," he continued, never missing a beat. He took Mindee's hand and pulled her up to Jolie.
Her eyes quickly devoured Mindee and her Barbie-good looks. She smiled, showing all her teeth as Mindee shifted her eyes nervously, too desperate to speak a word against Draco. Jolie stepped forward, then with a guilty look to Hermione, quickly whispered in her ear, "Hermie, you know you're the only one for me, but…..oh, please! Let me scratch this one insignificant itch and I'm all yours!"
With that, Jolie practically tackled Mindee and dragged her onto the dance floor where the band began striking up the last song of the night. Hermione, amazed at what just happened, could only let out the deep breath she was holding and collapsed back onto the bench. She placed a hand over her heart, feeling it beat like a hummingbird. Or a gerbil.
Draco looked down at her with almost pity. She managed to shake herself out of her stump and began righting her gown and patting down her hair. Then, she managed the smallest of smiles, directed at Malfoy.
"So, are we even?" she asked with a growing grin. "If at all possible, I'd rather not be indebted to the likes of you."
"For now," he merely replied with a smirk.
For awhile they both looked on in silence as Jolie began snuggling with Mindee, Harry dancing with Ginny, Ron with Lavender. Even Blaise was dancing with some beautiful Spanish dignitary's daughter. Draco and Hermione looked at each other simultaneously. He once again held out his hand, this time ungloved, Hermione noticed.
"Well, Head Girl? Might as well do one last dance, yeah?"
She shrugged and put her hand in his once more. "I suppose so, Head Boy. Except this time, let's not hex any first years, shall we?" His hand was warm yet rough.
He chuckled. "I'll try my best."
As they were dancing, she noticed this time he was much more relaxed, easily moving against her body. She looked at him, an inquisitive look on her face. "Malfoy, have you been drinking or something?"
"Something," he replied unhurriedly, his eyes lazily lidded.
Suddenly Hermione gasped. Draco was languidly dragging his ring finger up and down the curve of her exposed spine.
She shivered, tightening her grip on his shoulder and hand. His finger was like electricity.
"You really do give this dress justice, Granger," his voice soft, husky. He began toying with her pearls, his knuckles occasionally brushing against her smooth back.
Frozen with confusion, Hermione looked up at him in bewilderment, only to notice it wasn't the trick of the lighting – his eyes really have darkened. He didn't avert them when she stared into them with wide eyes. Instead it seemed like he relished the connection.
He was giving off a strange vibe. It was thick, invasive, heavy. It was like he was trying to look into her.
Instinctively, Hermione began to pull away to get some distance, to try to figure out what was happening. But he wouldn't let her. Draco firmly pulled her back, snaking his arm around her waist, his hand gripping her hips tightly. As she was pressed firmly against him, his hand clenched, intertwining her fingers with his.
Hermione couldn't breathe, she couldn't speak, she couldn't move. She felt like her heart was going to burst out of her mouth.
She wanted to run. She didn't want him to let go. Her face was burning. Her heart was pounding. She was dizzy. His body was so warm.
"M-Malfoy…"
Why Why himWhy was he –
Without warning she was ripped away from his arms and into the cool arms of Harry.
"'ello luv!" he announced, cherubically merry, twirling her round and round.
"H-Harry!"
"Don't mind if I cut in, do you? Ginny, he's all yours!"
"Cheers Draco, do me the honors?" Ginny asked playfully, blocking his path. "It seemed I was abandoned by my dancing partner. He has a habit of doing that."
Draco glared at Hermione's direction but quickly schooled his manners to that of a perfect gentleman. "If course, Ginerva. I never thanked you properly for your great service that one night. Allow me to show you the extent of my gratitude." And with that, they began to dance, albeit a tad stiffly, as Ginny sometimes took the lead and whirled Draco around so he wasn't facing Hermione.
"You didn't dance with us all evening! In a bit you're all Ron's, so let's make the most of this eh?" Harry was a whirlwind of chatter and good cheer, it seemed. He was spinning her and dragging her all across the crowded floor.
"Are you foxed?" Hermione asked, a bit sternly. She tried to sniff his breath but couldn't smell anything incriminating.
"Just a smidge, nothing to worry about – oi! Watch where you're touching my wife!" he yelled good naturedly to Ron across the way.
Ron laughed. "I didn't complain when you were dancing with my sister, mate!"
"Well, SOMEone please touch me inappropriately, I'm terribly bored," Lavender teased.
"In a minute darling, then I'll make your mind explode," he replied back.
"Ugh, Harry, please! We're in a public place," Hermione interjected, temporarily forgetting Draco.
"Makes it all the more exciting, I say," Ron answered, ignoring the looks they were getting from the other couples, dancing silently,
If distracting her was their goal, they succeeded tremendously, for not long after, Hermione was joking and laughing with them like nothing happened. When there appeared to be a lull in the conversation, she took the chance to rest her head on Harry's broad shoulders.
With her eyes closed, she prayed. "I wish for uneventful times just like these."
Unbeknownst to Hermione, Harry and Draco were glaring icicles at each other as the music played on. The air crackled.
Woot! I guess this update wasn't so late, probably due to the fact that I already had a pretty detailed summary for the whole Gala episode, so it was only a matter of filling in the blanks. Well, did you like it? Hate it? Let know and why! Seriously, I'm so grateful for your reviews. Always flattered when you leave a note, ALWAYS. Because I know I'm notoriously bad at leaving reviews (read: SnowFlakeImp is lazy), so to have you actually go through the trouble and review – well, let's just say I bow down to you all.
Some translations (be warned again, I don't speak French nor Italian, these were pulled from the web so correct me for errors):
amico friend (Italian)
mon ami friend (French)
connasse bitch (French)
scusi excuse me (Italian)
cara dear (Italian)
Sorry if it seems pretentious to keep dropping foreign words in their speech, but aristocrats of their pedigree probably are quite fluent in at least a few languages – no doubt they're used to mixing the languages. Besides, I think it's sexy when a man talks in another language (so long as it's second-nature and not trying to be some showoff jackass).
Hope you didn't find the whole wine bit too boring either – just recently started to appreciate wine and took a wine tour in Napa Valley and such. So hurray for a little research for authenticity's sake!
No offense was intended to anyone who is gay/lesbian when I portrayed Jolie Denela – I just needed a silly character to help move the story along. She is in no way an indication of any kind of prejudice. The character could have been male, but I figured poor Hermione, already with all these guys around her – she needed something a little bit more left-field to freak her out a bit.
Did you see how I worked in the word uneventful? Ha ha ha. I'm having second thoughts about the title of my fic, but when I first wrote it, it was on a whim and I wasn't thinking all this dark, back-story crap.
WARNING: Just to let folks know, uh, this chapter is probably as fluffy as it's going to get. Thought I should warn you. For those of you who are reading purely for comedy, light-heartedness, and fluff, I would savor this chapter as much as possible. It's kinda down-hill from here, though I'll try to transition it slowly.
Next chapter: a few things will be answered (or at the very least, a lot of light shed upon them) and our very first appearance of smut! YAY! 10 chapters later! Talk about taking one's time, eh? Haha I'm nervous about the smuttiness. Never written it before, hopefully it won't be too horrendous and some of you will feel naughty tingles. Or not. Whatever. Toodles!