Hi everyone, uploading a bit early this week. I hope you enjoy the ball 3 Please leave a review if you're enjoying the story, it means a lot!
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His reception to the ancient castle tucked into the Irish countryside was chilly at best.
For one thing, Draco arrived alone, fortified with Firewhisky. But he'd also had a hand in exposing the prejudice and bias of the most powerful wizards and witches in Britain. Although perhaps his greatest sin was wearing a Muggle tuxedo. He'd put his own spin on it — a slim cut trouser, a silk shawl collar, and a formal black holster for his wand. What seemed a brave choice back in the shop now had him feeling foolish amongst the more traditional magical finery.
He made a circuit of the room, marking where Aurors stood guard. No sign of Ron Weasley, who he thought he might've had the guts to speak with had Hermione been at his side. But he had no idea if she'd come tonight. His reaction to her hallucinations hadn't been the best, maybe, but they'd been thrown obstacle after obstacle since he'd dragged her out of St. Mungo's and they'd overcome them all. As long as they were together, he didn't think there was anything they couldn't accomplish. He'd been used to being alone before, but now he knew there was no going back.
He didn't want to traverse the continent, skulking in a different alley every night. He didn't want to reject every offer of help. Now that he knew what it was like to have Hermione Malfoy in his corner, he never wanted to do anything alone again.
He'd been an idiot. That much was irrefutable.
But he loved her.
Did she feel the same?
Draco plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray but kept his eyes on the wide gilded staircase. His heart hammered so loudly he thought it might drown out the string quartet. All at once they paused, preparing for the next piece, and as the first notes rang out, charmed snowflakes fell from above, dissolving into a fine glittery sugar halfway down. He himself had arrived fashionably late, and with each passing minute it seemed less and less likely that Hermione would appear at all.
"Waiting for someone?"
Pansy sidled up to him, Luna's hand in hers. Both women were wrapped in powder blue chiffon; Pansy in a jumpsuit, Luna in a frothy mini dress. Luna's silver bangles clinked merrily with every step she took.
Luna smiled knowingly. "It's the Yule Ball all over again."
"I wasn't waiting for her at the Yule Ball."
"Maybe you didn't know it at the time, but you were."
Over the years, many people sought Luna out for advice, claiming the Lovegood women had always had a touch of the Sight. Draco wondered, not for the first time, if the rumours were true.
"Don't worry, Draco. She'll be here," Pansy reassured him.
He brought the champagne flute to his lips to hide their subtle trembling.
"I think I see her now," Luna said, a starry quality to her voice. "Come dance with me, my love."
Pansy and Luna must have fluttered away, but he didn't hear their departure. Everything became muffled all at once — the tittering of the tipsy guests, the languorous strains of the quartet, the clink of glasses and the soft clicks of heels meeting polished marble floors.
She was here.
In bridal white.
Hermione skimmed her gloved palm along the bannister, descending the stairs carefully in a white silk ballgown. Her hair was swept away from her face in a braided updo, but he couldn't read her expression from this far away. The white gloves travelled from her fingertips up past her elbow, but her shoulders were bare. The neckline was indecent in all the right ways, a fine netting revealing the inner curve of her breasts, and the silk skirt blossomed from her hips and kissed the floor on which she walked. Matching slippers peeked out from under the hem with her every step.
Just when he thought she couldn't get more ethereal, the dress began to glow. In the span of a heartbeat, sheer, sparkling wings sprouted from the back. Hermione's soft smile as she scanned the crowd for him shattered the last barrier he'd erected, and it took everything he had to let her come to him.
Gods, let her come to me.
Her eyes alighted upon his, and he stood stock still, transfixed. Even when she came to a stop less than a half a metre away, he found himself immobilised.
Draco wanted to feel the whisper of silk on his skin, peel the gloves away with his teeth. Capture her pillowy lips with his own. Commit everything about her to memory.
He'd give her everything, every piece of him, for however long they had.
"Hi," she whispered. She gathered her skirts with a soft swish, waiting.
"Hi," he managed. His head was thick, his lungs devoid of air. "You're so fucking beautiful."
She smiled so widely he'd swear the candelabras burned brighter. Maybe the room was on fire. It didn't matter.
Draco stepped towards her, and she reached up, stroking the collar of his tuxedo. "You don't look so bad yourself."
Finally they were close enough for him to take a deep breath of her decadent honey and vanilla scent — the vanilla he'd chosen with her in mind. He felt he owed an immense gratitude to her gloves, because if she wasn't wearing them, he worried her touch would strike like a match against his skin and he'd be set ablaze.
"I'm glad you like it," she said as he gulped the last of the champagne. The glass winked in the light and vanished.
"It reminds me of a wedding dress."
"Maybe that's the idea."
Warmth lit up every nerve ending in his body. Before he could formulate a response, she licked her lips and ran her eyes over the crowd. "Do you think there's somewhere we could talk? Alone?"
Draco shook his head. "I don't know if that's a good idea. We're not exactly guests of honour, you and I. There are Aurors everywhere and this place is warded beyond belief, but I don't trust most of these people as high as I could levitate them."
She stood on her tiptoes as if to confirm his assessment. "I'm with you. But this wouldn't be a proper Ministry-sponsored event without a backroom to make ill-advised deals."
"As much as I'd love to be alone in said backroom with you, I think I saw a balcony earlier. Would that suit?" He held out a hand to her, and when she took it, everything else faded away.
They cut through clusters of conversation, turning heads everywhere they went. Draco gripped her hand firmly, squeezing it now and again as if to guarantee he wasn't dreaming.
Before long, they arrived at a thick blue velvet curtain. Cold air drifted in underneath, and when they swept it aside, they walked across broad flagstones and into the starry night.
"Thank you for being here," he said, taking both of her hands with no intention of ever letting go.
"I thought about what you said… Draco, I don't know where this is going. All I know is that I don't want to leave."
"Hermione." His heart soared at her words. She didn't have to say she loved him if she wasn't ready. She was staying, and that was enough.
She withdrew her hand and reached into a pocket hidden in her skirts. Her eyes shone bright in the torchlight.
"I know how you feel about taking potions, after how hard you've worked to put that part of your life behind you. So it's really more of a symbolic gesture, if you will," She shifted on her feet. "And I also wanted to tell you that I lo—" Hermione broke off as someone shouted something from the ballroom, but no one disturbed their privacy.
Draco was so amazed at her gift that he didn't hear her last words. In her hand was a phial filled with shimmering golden liquid. It could only be one thing, one of the most precious potions in existence.
"Felix Felicis. Hermione," he said, awe colouring his words as he accepted it from her. "This is… Incredible. How did you get this?"
"I made it for you. Used a secret Slughorn shortcut. Now you can be both lucky and good."
The memories of that night came rushing back. Hermione's smile in the glow of the Christmas lights, their gentle teasing, the first time in a long time that he'd allowed himself to feel hopeful.
"Do you know what I wrote on Pansy's parchment under your favourite memory with your partner? I said it was that night. But this definitely tops it."
He swept her into his arms, thankful that they didn't have an audience, and kissed her thoroughly.
"Draco," she halfheartedly smacked his shoulder.
"What? I can't kiss my wife?" He threw her a devilish grin. "I have something for you, too. But I don't want to give it to you here."
She walked her gloved fingers up his sleeve. "Perhaps an early anniversary present?"
"You could say that."
"That's alright then. Can I have a dance for now?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
They made their way back to the ballroom, where the strains of the last song were fading. The violinist turned the pages of his sheet music and shook out his shoulders in preparation for the next piece.
As Draco bent to kiss her hand, Theo strode up. Ever the traditionalist, the solicitor kept his hair loose around his shoulders, blending in with his black dress robes. He gave a short bow with a windmilling wave of his hand that had Hermione stifling a small giggle.
"Enchanté, my lady."
"Good to see you, Theo." she leaned into him and placed a kiss on his cheek. He lifted his hand, tracing the light sheen of lipstick she left behind.
"Draco," he acknowledged with a bob of his head.
Draco, the brightness in his chest too much to contain, pulled his best friend into a tight hug, which Theo readily returned. "You made it."
"Yes, well, work will always be there. It's not every day I can attend the event of the season alongside two of my favourite clients — and people."
Hermione laughed, a sparkling sound. "We're everyone else's least favourite."
Indeed, situated as they were in the middle of the dance floor, thinly veiled looks of disgust and contempt surrounded them. The article had clearly hit its mark.
It dawned on him that their fates had been reversed. He'd grown up with every advantage and privilege, praised and pampered by his parents in preparation for a place in Pureblood society. As soon as he strayed from the path, everything had turned to ash, and he found himself withering without the attention he'd been accustomed to receiving as his birthright. Hermione, on the other hand, everyone dismissed and neglected despite her immense magical talent and prickly intelligence before being thrust into notoriety thanks to her proximity to Potter. And now it was almost as if it was easier for her, being on the outside looking in.
His eyes caught on a woman barreling towards them, and he nearly drew his wand before he recognised who she was. Potter's wife stomped across the dance floor, nostrils flared, her sights set on Hermione.
"Oh, dear," his wife said. A massive understatement, from the looks of it.
"You really put a target on your backs with that article," Theo sighed. "And I don't think your wings are helping matters."
"I regret that I didn't make them functional." Hermione relieved Theo of his drink and gulped it down. Just like the other glasses, it winked out of existence.
"Hermione Granger!" Potter's wife elbowed her way into their circle, shooting daggers at Hermione.
"Hermione Malfoy," Draco corrected.
The redheaded witch narrowed her eyes at him before redirecting her ire back at Hermione. "We have so much to discuss that I'm not even sure where to start."
She grabbed Hermione's elbow, and his wife seemed to accept her fate.
"Don't miss me too much," Hermione chided as Ginevra Potter dragged her away.
"It's a privilege even to miss you, Hermione," Theo said, patting Draco's shoulder and heading off to search for another drink.
Draco, bereft, searched for Pansy and Luna, but the ballroom was a total crush. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Goyle and Daphne engaged in a waltz. Daphne met his gaze, and instead of acknowledging him, steered further away.
00000
Hermione waved to Blaise as Ginny yanked her across the dance floor. He looked to be assisting an elderly woman wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver W embroidered on one side — a former member of the Wizengamot, maybe. Blaise's dedication to his job was admirable. He had no date, nor did he have a drink in his hand. His sole focus seemed to be helping the woman, a spacey smile on her face, enjoy the ball. Blaise finally looked up and nodded to Hermione, but then she lost him in the sea of people.
Ginny stopped short in the far corner of the ballroom and hugged Hermione so hard she could barely breathe.
"I'm fucking furious. I'm so mad at you I can't even see straight," Ginny said, squeezing her even harder. "Harry told me everything. I can't believe you ran away and didn't let us help you. And I really can't believe you married Malfoy. What the fuck? I know we weren't perfect, we were kids and I really didn't understand what it was like to be Muggleborn. But we love you and you disappeared without saying goodbye. Merlin, we'd been at war and Fred died and I never got to say goodbye. You were alive and you just left. How could you do that to us?"
Ginny had inherited her mother's brand of anger. She raged on the outside to cover up the hurt in her heart. Hermione flung her arms around her friend.
"I'm sorry, Gin. I'm sorry."
"You'd better be," Ginny said in her most threatening tone. "I was right, wasn't I? It was you the day I took the boys to the shops?" She loosened her grip but didn't let go. Hermione nodded into her shoulder.
"I wasn't ready. I swear I'll tell you everything. Just not here."
"Of course, I don't want to make even more of a scene. Surely all these knobs know I'm on your side, though. Always will be."
"I'm glad," Hermione wiggled her shoulders, the wings showering her with glitter. "But um, I'm not going anywhere. You can let go now."
"Not until you promise to come for Christmas dinner."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. I do have one condition, though."
Ginny rolled her eyes as she released Hermione. "If you have to bring the ferret, I suppose I can conjure up an extra chair. But it'll be wobbly and next to Kreacher."
"You're not going to put up more of a fight than that?"
"I didn't say I'm going to like him right away, or even at all. He may have proven himself to you, and Harry was suitably impressed, but if it gets you back at our table and back in our lives, bring on Malfoy, I suppose."
Hermione grinned as Harry appeared with a plate from the buffet. "This is a sight for sore eyes."
"Hi Harry," Hermione said, hugging Harry while managing to avoid his food. "I've just agreed to Christmas dinner. Draco's coming too."
"Excellent. George has three days to whip up a few pranks. Ron will be happy to see you, too. And Neville, of course," Harry said through a mouthful of prime rib. "Pansy and Luna always bring some complicated dessert. And the boys are going to adore you."
"Where is Ron, by the way?"
Ginny swiped a dinner roll from Harry. "He's on duty, probably around here somewhere. He's Head Auror, you know. Mum's in a constant state of worry."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Any hard feelings there?"
"His grudges are still legendary — that much hasn't changed. But if you bring a couple tins of biscuits and agree to look at his vacation photos with Neville, he'll probably forgive you before tea is served. Plus he'll be happy to offload the near-dozen jumpers Mum's made you in your absence."
Touched by the thoughtfulness, Hermione regretted her self-imposed isolation even more. "Do you think she'd make one for Draco?"
Ginny grinned. "Oh, that's wicked."
Harry wiped his face with a napkin, but it couldn't hide his smile. "I think mustard yellow would suit Malfoy's features perfectly, right dear?"
The conversation came to a halt as Sturgis Podmore approached. He cut an imposing figure in his formal robes, and the Minister for Magic's confident gait said both he knew it and used the fact to his advantage.
He spoke to Harry and Ginny first, his deep baritone smooth and even. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter, it's nice to see you out and about. Congratulations on your new little boy. Albus would be honoured, I'm sure."
"Thank you, Minister," Harry said. Neither of them extended a hand.
"We sure could use a man of your talents at the Ministry, Harry."
Harry did that little thing where he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hermione had always found it endearing, and seeing that he still did it all these years later warmed her heart. She wondered if his boys did it, too. "I'm flattered but I'm very happy where I am, Minister. It's important to educate young and old alike about the war, Voldemort, and of course the ever-present dangers of corruption."
The Minister's laugh came off too bright. "I thought as much, but it doesn't hurt to ask, does it? I'm afraid I've come with the intent of stealing your friend away for a moment. Mrs. Malfoy, might I have this dance?"
Hermione stalled just a moment before accepting his hand. It wasn't like he could hex her in a room full of witnesses. Not everyone here tonight was on his payroll. And besides, the last time she'd fought alongside him, she'd been a more creative and decisive caster.
He centred them in the middle of the ballroom underneath an ostentatious chandelier dripping with diamonds. Witches and wizards wearing badges she didn't recognise — Aurors in training, perhaps — danced around them, forming a circle so they could talk privately. Hermione extended her neck in an attempt to see over them, looking for Ron or Neville. She didn't see anyone with Weasley red hair.
Podmore interrupted her search. "My aide showed me the most interesting article this morning."
"I'm glad we got your attention."
"I have to ask — Did you think you could just turn up, publish an article in some second-rate rag, and unseat me? After all I did for you and your parents, all we went through in the Order, this is how you repay me?"
"First of all, The Quibbler is not some second-rate rag and you know it. It's the only large paper circulating that you haven't been able to buy off. Secondly, it took you ages to write me back. I sent owl after owl."
"The magical community was in shambles, so you'll have to forgive me for not answering a teenager's letter demanding an expensive Portkey and an exception to one of the oldest statutes on the books. You'd know if you hadn't slunk off to Australia right after the war instead of aiding us in the rebuilding efforts. You only wanted to come back here after the going got tough. Did you miss the cachet of being a war heroine? Needed to see your likeness outside Hogwarts in person?"
"It's not like that," she fired back.
"Oh, I don't know about that. What I do know is that I've spent years dealing with an ungrateful populace in decline. Death Eaters didn't want to reintegrate themselves into society after Voldemort's defeat. They'd become accustomed to the power and proximity to dark magic. Rehabilitation was near impossible, but the Wizengamot refused to jail most of them beyond a year or so." He whipped Hermione into a dizzying spin.
"What does that have to do with—"
Podmore pulled her back in and continued. "Purebloods that didn't take the Mark were unhappy with the cratering economy and my focus on integrating Half-bloods, Muggleborns and even Squibs into magical society. But then discrimination got even worse, and who was to blame for that? Me, of course."
Hermione's hand ached in his crushing grip. "Poor you, poor Minister Podmore, having to face unpopularity and a potential loss of your newfound power."
"You can't understand what it was like. Death Eater numbers exploded. Aurors quit in droves. The new rise in dark magic triggered their trauma from war and all its horrors. Wizarding Britain needed someone strong at the helm, someone who'd fought and knew the risks of another war."
"How convenient for you," she spat.
"I had no money to spend on the day-to-day costs of training new Aurors and educating the populace on the seductive dangers of the Death Eaters. Clearly you've fallen prey to one, so I suppose I've failed yet again," he said, caustic accusation dripping from his words.
"Draco is not a Death Eater."
"But he once was. Hermione, you were like a daughter to me in the Order. If I'd known sooner… I would never allow any daughter of mine to marry that scum. Although, I suppose your father doesn't know, does he?"
Hermione wrenched her hand from his, tears stinging her eyes. But the Minister simply moved to her waist instead, lowering his voice further.
"You should know the truth. I couldn't let Purebloods keep deciding the future. My cabinet and I decided to explore new funding streams, and wouldn't you know it, it's been very popular amongst the bigger demographics."
"And somehow none of those funding streams have trickled down into St. Mungo's, or our other public institutions." Hermione swept her eyes across his gold rings and bracelets. Engraved in each bracelet were initials: HP, for his son Hector. UP, for his daughter Ursula. And AG. AG? "Seems like you've gotten plenty wealthy off of your new laws."
As the song ended, he sent her into a final spin and reeled her back in. She felt one of her wings bend. "I know you're new money, Mrs. Malfoy, so I'll let you in on a little secret. These are family heirlooms. I haven't taken so much as a Knut in wages as Minister. If anyone's in it for the money here, it's you.
"I feel sorry for you, really. You've always been quite the social climber, and you've played a good game. Latching onto the Chosen One early, leaving Hogwarts with top marks, marrying into one of the most prominent Pureblood families still around today. But strategy has never been your strong suit. And neither is acting, by the way."
She lifted her chin and looked him dead in the eyes. "I love Draco Malfoy, and I'm not going anywhere. Your days as Minister are numbered."
"I don't think it's wise to threaten me, Mrs. Malfoy. Take a look around. Even a blind-worm could see that as of this morning, you and your husband don't have any friends in high places anymore. You're quite on your own."
Before Hermione could formulate a reply, he smirked and walked away, glad-handing supporters as he went. His entourage of badges followed him, disappearing into the crowd.
00000
Draco didn't quite know what to do with himself. In previous years, he'd avoided public outings altogether, and when his mother was alive, he followed her lead. Narcissa Malfoy performed flawless curtsies, made thoughtful introductions, and had a memory like a Pensieve. Draco wished he'd paid more attention. Navigating the morass of friends-turned foes exhausted him, and he soon found himself paying another visit to the champagne fountain.
As he considered a platter of exotic fruit, he caught sight of Hermione's wings. She danced stiffly with Podmore. That couldn't be good. He abandoned the buffet and marched to rescue her.
Before he could elbow his way through, he was intercepted by Goyle and Daphne near one of the many dining tables. Goyle, fresh from the buffet, carried a plate stacked high with pasties and some sort of gelatinous meat. Upon discovering Draco in front of him, Goyle shoved his food and drink at Daphne, who wrinkled her nose but otherwise made no complaint.
"Happy Solstice, Draco."
"Thank you, Goyle. Happy Solstice to you both. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to relieve Minister Podmore of my wife's dazzling company."
Goyle snorted. "No Imperio tonight? You're taking this marriage a bit too seriously, don't you think? I know Malfoy men let their wives walk all over them, but no need to degrade yourself further, eh?"
"Greg," Daphne cautioned, setting Greg's meal down on the table. "This isn't the time. Everyone can hear you."
He snarled at her. "You wanted to be here, and we're here. You wanted a summer wedding, you're getting a summer wedding. Let me have my own bloody conversations, witch."
"Daphne's right." Draco admonished.
"It's always later with you. Isn't that what you said to your dad? He and I talked quite a bit these last few years, you know. He loved you dearly."
Something inside Draco snapped. "You don't know anything about the so-called love my father had for my mother and me. Lucius Malfoy was never who you thought he was. He was a demon in a wizard suit, and he dragged me to hell with him. It took me years to escape, and I'll never forget what a long, arduous crawl it was to get to where I am today. I'm glad he's dead. And if we'd ever been real friends, you'd be glad too."
Goyle looked at Daphne and gestured toward Draco. "This is so sad, don't you think? Draco Malfoy, brainwashed by a taste of Mudblood cunt."
Cold fury lanced through his entire body. Draco removed his jacket, folded it, and hung it over the chair behind him. Then he unfastened his platinum dragon cufflinks, dropped them into his pocket, and began rolling up both of his sleeves. "What did you just say about my wife?"
Goyle patted his robes in search of his wand. "You heard me. You know, the night your father died, I sensed the change in the Mark. My first thought was to find Lucius and tell him, but the guards turned me away. I didn't know it yet, but he was already dead. I flew by your flat, thinking now you'd come to your senses."
So it was Goyle who'd scared him half to death that night. The two men circled each other, shield charms up, drawing an audience. Draco held his wand in an iron grip, waiting for an opening.
"But no, I saw you weeping into your drink like a weakling, still mourning your traitorous mother. There's no use crying over spilled blood, Draco. The future is here. The Dark Lord's magic will choose a vessel, and I, for one, want to be counted among the victorious this time around."
"Haven't you learned by now, Greg? Hate never wins. Darkness never wins."
"Haven't I learned?" Goyle scoffed, extending his wand arm. "I learned from the best. I learned from the man whose love you spurned. Now I can only be sorry for you, Draco, because it will be your downfall."
Draco fired off a jinx, but Goyle was not the slouch he used to spar with at Hogwarts. It bounced off Goyle's shields easily. Goyle cast a few hexes in quick succession, but all they did was draw his opponent closer so Draco could employ other methods.
Muggle methods.
Draco's fist collided with Goyle's nose, breaking it on impact. Daphne screamed and covered her face. The music came to a screeching halt as the ballroom's attention shifted to the two wizards.
Goyle fell to the ground and tried to get another spell off, but Draco's years of duelling with Theo meant he left the man no quarter. He drove his fists into Goyle again and again and again, but it would never be enough. Rage clouded his vision, and he didn't even try to Occlude. He let it all out on Goyle's infinitely punchable face.
"Draco! Draco!" Theo's firm voice brought him back to the present moment. His friend grabbed him by the shoulders and Draco staggered away. Goyle lay on the ground, groaning, swatting away Daphne's attempts to help him. Draco gazed around to see Aurors pushing through the throng, then held up his hands. They were covered in bright red blood. A witch in a towering pink hat dropped her champagne flute and fainted at the sight.
Goyle rolled to his side and spat out a gore-covered tooth. "This isn't the end of this, Draco. Not even close."
Theo held off the Aurors with phrases like "my client" and a bunch of legalese. Draco's ears rang, but he thought he heard him promise he'd be in for questioning tomorrow.
Fat chance of that.
"Draco!" Hermione, one wing drooping like a fallen angel, swooped in to clean him up. "What happened?"
He tilted his chin towards Goyle. "I've set him straight. He won't bother us anymore."
She escorted him to a nearby damask-backed chair and checked him over one more time. The quartet resumed their playing, and eager wizards and witches swept their dates back onto the dance floor. Draco longed to spin Hermione across the room, too, but more than anything he wanted to be alone with her.
With no interruptions.
He flexed his hands over his knees. Aside from some split skin on his knuckles, he felt fine. Without thinking too much about where they were or what she'd almost said earlier, he brushed them over her cheek. She was so tantalisingly soft.
"Hey," she whispered, shaking him from further meditations on which other parts of her would be that soft. "What are you thinking about?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I'm thinking about how badly I want to take you to bed right now."
Her skin flushed a deep scarlet. "Oh," she said, reaching for his discarded jacket.
His heart sunk a little. "Oh?"
If it were possible, she turned even more red. "I mean, yes please," his wife said, fishing something from one of his jacket pockets. She opened the handkerchief to reveal a shiny gold bell. "I wanted to leave ages ago. But you have the only Portkey home."
Draco made a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan and pulled her to him as the activated bell enveloped them in brilliant light.