Work Text:
“What are you wearing, Granger?”
Hermione glanced up from her typewriter at the sound of her surname, humming slightly in question. “Wearing to what?”
Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes from where she lounged across the cubicle, chatting with Mandy Brocklehurst. The former Ravenclaw often took breaks in Hermione’s cubicle along with Pansy, making good use of her kettle and supply of fruity teas. Neither of them worked in Magical Creatures — Pansy was in international relations and Mandy was an assistant supervisor in Transportation. But they made the trek once or occasionally even twice a day to filch her blackberry sage black tea.
“Honestly, it feels like you are ignoring us,” Mandy teased.
“Almost like I am working,” Hermione said dryly. “What are you talking about, Pansy?”
“Malfoy’s New Year’s Eve ball?” She raised a brow. “It’s the first one in seven years. I was trying to decide if I ought to wear traditional robes or go for something more modern. What are you thinking?”
Hermione felt her mouth fall open soundlessly, staying that way for a full ten seconds before she snapped it shut. “I - I haven’t been invited, Pansy.”
Frowning, Pansy crossed her arms. “Nonsense. You’ve probably overlooked the owl, check as soon as you get home.”
She shook her head. “I’ve gotten nothing besides a postcard from my parents all week.”
“That can’t be right.”
Mandy also looked concerned. “There has to be some mistake, there is no way you wouldn’t have been invited.”
“Where you?” Hermione looked at Mandy.
“Of course not.”
“Why is it so likely I’d have been, then?”
Mandy immediately began laughing. Soon Pansy was chortling along with her. Hermione just huffed and returned to her forms.
.
.
.
She fiddled with the strap of her dress as Ginny applied the finishing touches to her hair. A bottle of Sleekeezy’s and about a dozen hair-sticking charms had gone into the up-do, which was a polished chignon at the base of her neck, a few tendrils artfully framing her face. Ginny had managed to keep her natural texture without losing the shape of the hairstyle.
“This isn’t too much?” Hermione asked as she smoothed her skirts. “The pins and the necklace?”
“Hermione!” Ginny scolded. “You need to relax, you look amazing. And it isn’t too much, this is a ball for goodness sake, black-tie. You’re perfect.”
She had attended a few similarly upscale events over the last ten years. So her dress wasn’t exactly new, just given a few alternations for the occasion. She’d lightened the black satin to a deep cobalt and coaxed the skirt into a fuller shape. Changing the pattern of the beading to look less floral and more snowflake-like had been the most time-consuming piece. She thought it looked rather good, especially when paired with the small snowflake crystal pendant her parents had given her last Christmas. Harry had conjured some hairpins that nearly matched from his family vaults.
“Ginny won’t get much use out of them,” he’d said with a shrug when she’d arrived at his house four hours ago. She’s not much for hairpins. Think of them as a holiday gift.”
Now they twinkled against her chestnut locks. She had to admit, they suited the dress.
Applying one last make-setting spell, Ginny sat upon her bed, looking at her work with admiration. “Draco Malfoy will regret his decision to slight you.”
Hermione frowned. “How will he regret not inviting me if I’m there despite his not inviting me?/”
The redhead grinned. “He’s going to regret it. Just wait. You’ll know the second he sees you.”
Harry chose that moment to call up the stairs, reminding them that the party started at 7. Ginny leaned back on her elbows, rolling her eyes. She reminded him that his wife was currently the size of a blue whale and if he wanted a goodbye kiss he could jolly well climb a few flights of stairs.
A few moments later a breathless Harry — having jogged the three flights — bent to kiss his very pregnant wife, then leaned over to kiss his very well-dressed friend.
“Apparition okay? I figured it would do for neither of us to get our dress robe sooty.”
Hermione took his arm, eyebrows raised at Ginny. “You are sure it’s alright? There is still time, it’s not like it’s illegal to go to a ball when you’re pregnant.
“Go!” Ginny cried. “For the love of Merlin, I don’t even want to cross the room let alone dance until midnight. Go, have fun. Just save Harry’s midnight kiss for me. I’m sure you can find one of your own.” She winked.
With that they disappeared with a faint pop.
.
.
.
The Malfoys had kept their wards intact, which meant that guests apparated a few meters outside of their gates. Hermione and Harry landed, stumbling only slightly on the gravel, nearly bowling into another couple.
“Easy there, mate,” Theo grunted as he caught Harry by the arm. Daphne Greengrass stood beside him in a silver wrap dress, a white fur stole about her shoulders, eyes wide.
“Hello,” she said uncertainly.
Daphne was one of the Slytherins Hermione hadn’t seen much of since they left school. She kept a lower profile both in and out of Hogwarts, so it was difficult to read her. But seeing as she was here with Theo and giving them both a tentative smile, she probably wasn’t so bad.
“Pansy is already inside,” Theo explained as they started up the drive. Other witches and wizards milled about. Hermione spotted Professor Slughorn, Ernie MacMillian, a few members of the Wizengamont. When they slipped in line, Harry pointed out a few fellow Aurors. Hermione felt a flash of confusion and hurt, but let it slide. She was here to have fun with friends.
It had taken a bit to put herself in that mindset in the first place. Hermione had not stepped foot into Malfoy Manor since the war. Harry assured her that any room she’d encountered would have been thoroughly altered, and they’d likely avoid any part of the house she’d been in the first time. Steeling herself, she prepared to enter the house — it was, after all, just that. A house.
.
.
.
“Hermione!” Narcissa Malfoy cried with delight, taking the younger witch’s hands into her own when they reached the front of the receiving line. “What wonderful a surprise. Draco said you were unable to attend due to familial obligations.”
“Oh, he was mistaken,” Hermione managed, smiling weakly. The older witch’s warmness was less surprising than it had once been a few years ago when their renewed acquaintanceship became a positive one. “I hope you don’t mind, Harry brought me as a plus one, since Ginny is —“
“She must be quite far along,” Narcissa nodded sympathetically. “And not at all, my dear, I am thrilled you are here. And won’t Draco be delighted?”
The last part she said with a gleam in her ice-colored eyes. Hermione felt a sense of foreboding that only came with a mother’s pleasure. She squeezed Narcissa’s hand, saying something about seeing Theo by the punch bowl, and slipped away before that sense of foreboding became more tangible.
Malfoy had gone so far as to give his mother an excuse for why she couldn’t attend why simultaneously not giving her an invitation? What was he playing at?
Harry and Theo were standing by the appetizers, murmuring as Pansy sipped her wine looking professionally bored. She and Daphne brightened when Hermione approached.
“Nothing but quidditch,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at their dates.
“Better than regulation cauldron bottoms,” Hermione quipped.
“Not by much.”
“Try one of the lamb skewer things,” Harry interjected abruptly. “They’ve got a pomegranate-mint sauce, absolutely heavenly.”
Theo took that as his cue to fetch her a strawberry-feta-basil bruschetta with a balsamic reduction. After which Pansy flagged down a person carrying a silver tray laden with champagne flutes. Daphne helpfully pointed out the goat cheese stuffed pastries, topped with honeyed walnuts. And within less than twenty minutes, Hermione was losing her regret. This food was more than worth any embarrassment she might feel later when Draco realized she’d crashed his holiday party. And if she ate enough, it would also make up for any teasing he did at her expense next week.
“Any sign of the ferret yet?” Harry asked as they moved into the next room, where couples danced to a string quartet.
Hermione elbowed him. “We’re in his own house, Harry!” she hissed primly. “Do be respectful.”
Grinning, he held his hands up. “It’s not like he can hear us. Besides, I’ve said it to his face before —“
“And it’s less funny each time,” a voice drawled from behind them.
The pair turned around to see their host, leaning against one of the pillars lining the ballroom. His silver eyes gleamed as he eyed Hermione, who was already blushing furiously. She’s hoped that they might be able to avoid him for most of the evening. As host, he surely had host-y duties, right?
And yet, now he slouched stylishly before them, wearing jet black dress robes, the family’s crest ring winking on his left hand, hair immaculate.
Pushing himself off the pillar, he loomed, smirking at her specifically. “I would have never pictured you to be a gatecrasher, Granger.”
She straightened. “I’m not,” Hermione replied trying to sound unruffled by the sight of him. “Harry brought me as his plus-one.”
“Ah, the little wife must be not-so-little.” He turned his attention to Harry, expression softening. “She’s only a few weeks away, yes?”
Harry, beaming already with fatherly pride, said, “Maybe even sooner. “
“We’ll be pleased when we get a break from you during your leave, Potty. It will certainly mean fewer injury reports.”
They were partners, and he was most definitely joking about the first part (though definitely not about the second. Harry was one of the few Aurors who gave Malfoy respect. No doubt during Potter’s paternity leave, poor Draco would be stuck with some terrified rookie for the duration. Hermione even felt a little bad for him. Though she was in a different department, she was well-aware of Malfoy’s struggles to be perceived as anything less than a former terrorist. His morning walk through the Ministry’s atrium was evidence enough for anyone — five years on at the ministry and it was still filled with hisses, filthy looks, and murmurs.
“Well, as an uninvited guest I hope you’ll refrain from snarfing down too many hor d'oeuvres, Granger,” Draco sniffed, breaking her musings.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, already envisioning her second return to the table of nibbles. She’d have extra oysters just to spite him. Maybe even three glasses of champagne instead of the two she’d planned to limit herself to.
.
.
.
It ended up being four flutes of very good champagne, and twenty minutes before midnight, she was in desperate need of a water closet. Since she wasn't at risk of disappointing a date in regards to a holiday kiss, she slipped away, wandering the manor’s corridors for a bathroom, wondering how she was going to maneuver the dress while doing the deed.
At fifteen minutes to midnight, she left the incredibly polished marble bathroom, complete with a (hired for the event) house elf attendant. Hermione took her time, ambling down a wide corridor lined with windows deeply-set into the thick stone walls, ignoring the murmurs of the paintings she passed. Rounding a corner, she suddenly found her arm yanked and the rest of her pulled into one of the nooks created by windows.
She shrieked once, a sharp sound that punctuated the quiet of the corridor, stopping only once she realized her assailant was none other than her host. A flash of panic crossed his face, causing Draco to surge forward as an attempt at reassurance. Backing into the wall, she found herself trapped.
“Ouch, you oaf,” she snapped after he smashed her toes; it was a rather small space. “What are you doing —“
He sealed her mouth with a kiss, cutting off her protest rather efficiently. Hermione wrapped her hands around his forearms, fully prepared to shove him away. But then, she ended up just kind of clutching him, fingers digging into his flesh as she tilted her head for better access. Draco smiled against her lips before deepening his kiss, lightly nipping her lower lip before plundering her mouth.
One of her hands moved to the back of his head, mussing that oh-so-perfect hair, encouraging him closer. When he responded by placing his hands on her hips, molding herself to him, letting her feel his body’s response, Hermione let out a small moan.
“Shhhhh,” he crooned, pausing in his ministrations. “Hermione, there’s a whole party just a few doors away.”
She hit him lightly. “You’re an asshole,” she whispered breathlessly. “Why spend all night avoiding me?”
Draco sighed, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I’m not sure you’ll be pleased with the answer.”
Hermione stiffened. She knew it. She knew it. The first slight of the lack of an invitation had bothered her a little — after all, they’d only been dating a few months. But then when he refused to even ask her dance tonight, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he would be embarrassed to be seen with such a frizzy-haired, big-toothed, muggle-born —
Numb, she made to push past him. She’d tell Harry she was tired and Floo home.
He shifted quickly to block her exit. “Hermione, it’s not anything like that. It’s just, my mother.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I haven’t told her about us.”
“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” she snapped, trying again to move past him.
“No, no, it’s not — ugh, I just know the second I do she’ll be all over you.”
“I can handle myself with angry parents.”
“Angry?” Draco’s brow furrowed. “Oh, Merlin, no, Hermione. She’d be thrilled. To have such an accomplished, famous, beautiful witch dating her son who is in permanent social rehab? She’ll be over the moon. To an overwhelming degree.”
The implication sunk in. Draco was worried his mother would scare her away with her enthusiasm for the pairing! Hermione felt the anger drain from her body. Well, most of it.
“You’re ridiculous,” she cried softly as she struck him again before pulling on the lapels of his dress robe, leaning up to kiss him. “We’d be fine. I can handle over-excited parents too, you know.”
“I just didn’t want to scare you off,” he said helplessly. “After all, there are a lot of other factors that should have prevented you from even noticing me romantically in the first place —“
A sudden sharp crack from beyond the glass of the window cut him off. They turned together, wands at the ready.
Fireworks. A series of brilliant white and red blooms lit the sky above, sparkling before falling to the earth in bright shards. Hermione could see guests trickling out onto the lawn below, looking up, clapping, and laughing with delight.
“Midnight,” she said.
Draco looked down at her. “Happy New Year, Hermione.”
“Happy New Year,” she murmured, standing on tip-toe to kiss him once more, this time softly on the cheek.
He sighed happily, turning to take up her lips once more before pausing to look down at the witch in his arms. “I think we’ve got just enough New Year’s luck to venture to tell my mother. And maybe a few more people.”
Humming happily, Hermione allowed herself to be escorted back to the ballroom, feeling more than a little pleased to be sporting swollen lips.
.
.
.
Narcissa watched from the top of the staircase as her son and Hermione Granger crept back into the ballroom, hands linked between them. She smiled a private smile, nails tapping against the polish mahogany of the railing. It hadn’t been difficult to guess where her fellow host had disappeared to only twenty minutes to midnight.
As the pair scanned the room for the Malfoy matriarch, Narcissa summoned the family elf, Meldy, to her. The elf curtsied deeply in her dreadful little mustard yellow dress. “Mistress?”
“You can send that note to Mrs. Potter,” she instructed the elf. “Such a pity she cannot be here to see herself. Not even to Floo for a peek.”
“Floo is not good for those who are expecting,” the small elf scolded.
Narcissa smiled. “Yes, yes. But she will be so pleased. After all, she missed the event of the year to help achieve this.”
Turning back to the room at large, Narcissa spotted her son and Hermione joining those that had not ventured into the cold watching the fireworks from the wall of windows along the far side of the room. Hermione was enfolded in Draco’s arms, her back against his chest as they swayed faintly in time with the music.
All was as it should be.