Work Text:
The first time Draco sees Hermione Granger after the news breaks is at a ball being hosted in her honor. She's on the arm of his closest friend, Theodore, who's reintroducing her to guests as his long-lost twin sister, Hermione Nott.
On the surface, she and Theo seem an unlikely pair, but Draco knows instinctively that their similarities run deep. It’s no wonder her brother was so pleased to have found her. He was eager to show her off, too, if only to bite a thumb at their deceased misogynist of a father.
The entire affair is ridiculously overblown. Draco sneers at the horde of Purebloods pandering to the newly minted Nott, conveniently forgetful of their violent rejection of her in the past. Her influence is undeniable, and they are all opportunists who seek to benefit from a connection.
Granger herself looks tired of it, judging from the bland smile she wears. Yet she stands there in a delicious, form-fitting black gown, nodding and chatting with all she meets. If Draco hadn’t known her, he would have thought she’d been running in Pureblood circles all her life.
In a sense, she has been. A force at the Ministry, she was behind reforms that ruffled many a Pureblood’s feathers over the last few years. It gives Draco a sense of wicked satisfaction that she now holds a family seat on the Wizengamot. With the Nott name behind her, she'll be unstoppable.
It’s not the first time the thought has occurred to him.
No, he’s longed for years to lend Granger the strength of an old surname. His, if she wanted it.
In spite of all his best manoeuvrings, the witch stayed stubbornly out of his grasp.
While his name would no longer serve as a carrot (not that it ever would have, with her), tonight is his chance. Patience is difficult where Granger is concerned, but Draco nurses his drink and watches. When she turns around, he resists the impulse to loosen his collar.
Her back is bare, save for a stark silver ouroboros—the Nott family sigil—strung on thin chains. Her dress is as much a temptation as it is a warning: all can want her, yet none may touch her. But what a temptation she makes.
Draco grins into his crystal tumbler, thinking, Theo's a fucking wanker.
The Notts do the rounds until finally they are standing before him.
“Draco, mate.” Theo claps his shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”
Draco nods, extending a hand to Granger. She places her hand in his with a resigned sigh, and he kisses it politely.
“Granger," he says, "you look delectable.”
“Sure, Malfoy," she replies dismissively.
"I mean it."
Theo only looks amused. “Say, can I leave my sister with you?” He says the word 'sister' with obvious relish. “I’m itching for a cigar.”
“Those are bad for you,” Granger objects, and Theo pokes her side playfully.
“I’ll take care of her,” Draco promises.
She shoots him a glare. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Would you rather he leave you with Pucey over there?” Draco asks, not unkindly. “Or Montague, perhaps?”
Granger knows without looking that Draco and Theo's former housemates are leering at her from the bar. Her nostrils flutter lightly as she sighs. “I don't need a keeper. But go ahead, Theo. I’ll be right here.” As her brother walks away, Granger picks up a glass of champagne from a passing server's tray.
“So, Granger," Draco says, "are you enjoying yourself? Theo pulled all the stops.”
“It’s Nott now.”
“You’ll always be Granger to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I suppose to some people, not even a shiny new name and fancy clothes could wash me of the mud. Bless Theo, he did his best.”
“For a Slytherin, Theo isn't very subtle,” Draco agrees. He lowers his tone. "But clothes don’t make the man. And you wear the dress. It does not wear you.”
For a moment, she looks lost for words. And then a familiar scowl takes over her face. “What are you playing at, Malfoy?”
“I’m paying you a compliment. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night.”
“As if you would have looked twice at me if not for all... this.” She gestures vaguely about herself, and the room at large.
“As if you would have noticed that I’ve been looking long before all this happened,” he counters. “If you hadn’t been up to your ears in legislation, you’d know.”
She eyes him skeptically.
“Although,” he confesses quietly, “this dress may have prompted me to take another look.”
She actually shivers, which Draco takes as a good sign. But she says, “So it’s just the dress, then.”
He steps closer. She does not move away. “The dress suits you. Playing dumb, not so much.”
“Just what have I done to catch your eye?”
“You could quiz me on your reforms and I’d probably get an O.” Draco smirks. “You could ask which of your policies I've voted for with my Houses' seats, or which of your causes I’ve donated to, and I’d tell you, all of them.”
Granger stills. He isn’t lying and she knows it. Finally, she asks, “What do you want from me?”
It's a shame, Draco thinks for the second time that night. Everyone wants something from her now.
“Tonight? I'm happy to admire you in this dress.” He also wants to peel it off and make love to her, but he settles for coming closer, and thrills when she doesn't pull away.
“I can’t be bought, Malfoy,” she says softly.
“I couldn’t afford you.”
She snorts. “I don’t mean the dress. Though Theo did spend a fortune on it, even when I told him not to."
She's joking, but her dark eyes and the pebbling of her exposed skin reveal her true sentiments.
She licks her lips.
Draco can't believe his luck. She wants this, too.
“And if I wanted to take you out of that dress?” he asks, fingering the silver ouroboros lightly. “Could I convince you that I think you’re priceless?”
He holds still as she considers him.
She sets her champagne glass down. “Then you should know,” she says finally, “the snake doesn’t bite. But I do.”
“Is that a threat?” he smirks.
“No, Malfoy. It’s a promise.”