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I
"You make a good elf."
His tone was clearly mocking, as he swayed them both to the music.
"Why, because I'm cute and helpful?"
Her sarcastic tone seemed lost on him as he tugged at her ears, made pointy for the event under her Christmas hat.
"No, because you're short."
Hermione frowned, annoyed at his tone. Couldn’t he be polite after all the trouble she had gone through? It was his Mothers’ Muggle Themed Christmas Ball.
“Are you saying that because I didn’t wear the heels?”
There was no way in hell she was wearing those death traps. Even if Narcissa Malfoy had advised it; she just couldn’t. She would fall, ruin her dress and probably her make-up if she was drunk enough to cry. And if that prospect wasn’t already dreadful enough, she would then live to be mocked for ever more by Malfoy. Her stupid ploy to make him notice her by helping his mother would all come crashing down.
As he opened his mouth, most certainly to say something unsavoury to her, she exhaled sharply. At least if she would have worn those shoes, she could have made him laugh – wasn't that a good enough start?
“I’m saying that because it’s true.”
She shook her head, trying to ignore his smirk. How was he so annoying? Why couldn’t she get over this stupid crush?
She spun on her flat shoes as he grinned lazily at her. Her heart fluttered a bit as her chocolate eyes met his; deep pools of cinereal which washed over her, dousing her with their intensity. Why did he keep looking at her that way if she was only a joke to him? Wasn’t he aware of his effect on women?
With a small laugh, he whirled her around, his fingers dipping lower down her back, his other hand clasping her shoulder and pulling her closer to him. He wore a devious smile as his lips brushed over her earlobe, making her shiver slightly.
“But let’s make things interesting, shall we?”
Good Merlin... How had she fallen for this childish tosser?
Narrowing her eyes, she answered anyway.
“What do you have in mind?”
II
Draco pulled back and tilted his head slightly. “On second thought, nevermind, you wouldn’t be interested.”
Hermione struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?” The feigned innocence dripped down her spine as his fingers tightened around her hip.
Right, we’re dancing , she reminded herself, swallowing.
“You’re trying to entice me into whatever silly thing you have in mind.” She was quite proud of how even her voice was, in spite of Draco’s breaths tickling her neck and his fingers dangerously close to her arse.
He scoffed. “That doesn’t sound like me at all. A silly thing... Please, Granger. You wound me.” The sarcasm drifted off of him like lynx body spray does a hormonal teenager.
“That’s fine, I have no interest.” She lifted her chin, curling her lips into a soft smile.
“That’s good.”
She refused to look away, irrationally sure that the second one of them blinked or breathed they’d have lost this strange game they were playing. And it seemed he was in agreement, given the intensity of his gaze and the tightness of his jaw.
Like children , she realised, chastising herself. This was what her strange infatuation with Draco Malfoy had reduced her to; playing childish games with a too-handsome man in the middle of the dance floor at a charity ball.
But she kept her eyes glued to his, doing her best to ignore his taut shoulder muscles and most certainly not imagining what it would be like if he lowered his hands just slightly.
His fingers drifted up her back, resting between her shoulder blades. “You really don’t want to know?” he breathed.
She didn’t, but she also did. “Uh-huh,” she managed out.
“Even if it involved”—his fingers drifted up to her face, deftly tucking one of her curls behind her ears and forcing her to hold her breath to keep it from hitching—“a competition?”
“What sort?” she squeaked out, meeting his gaze but still struggling to breath without giving herself away.
They’d been friends for a while, just friends, but surely he knew what he was doing to her? He must have some clue how she felt?
His smirk renewed the heat in her belly. “For charity, of course.” He squeezed her hand and spun her, pulling Hermione flush against him. Something flashed across his eyes for just a moment, but it vanished before she could identify precisely what it was. “We see who can raise the most money at this ball.”
It was a strange, if admirable game, Hermione admitted, trying to focus on Draco’s proposal rather than the feel of his fingers at the base of her spine. “And what does the winner get?”
III
“What, charity for charity’s sake is no longer enticing for Our Golden Girl?” Hermione scowled at the moniker, but Draco just snickered. Over the years, she’d vocally expressed her displeasure with that moniker. Frequently.
She tossed her hair while he spun her, successfully ignoring his attempts at goading her. She was less successful at ignoring her heart skipping a beat at the ‘our’ he’d added.
“Our Golden Girl?” Hermione managed out. “I didn’t know you cared, Malfoy.” As the dance drew them closer together, she slid her hands up his arms. Arms of steely, sinewy muscle wrapped in silk that were setting fire to her skin through his button-down.
“Come now, Hermione,” his tongue danced silkily over the syllables of her name as he whispered in her ear. “I always care about you.”
Her foot caught on the hem of her gown and pitched her heart into her throat. She would have taken them both to the floor had she not suddenly become weightless, her chest pressed tightly against his, his arm snaked tightly around her waist, their faces inches apart. Draco continued dancing, her feet never touching the ground. A pause in the music stilled them.
Her dress swung around and settled back into place against the polished wood floor, but still, he didn’t set her down. Encased in his arms and the spice of his cologne, Hermione drowned in his stormy eyes and forgot how to breathe.
Not breaking eye contact, Draco tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “How about-- the loser must entertain the winner for an entire evening?”
Floating in his arms and enveloped within the music, Hermione’s mind struggled to return to the conversation. Loser? Winner? Entertain? How long had they been dancing together? Three songs? Four? What was he—
Draco slowly lowered her to the ground and cleared his throat. “Unless I’ve misread—”
His words came crashing back.
“No!” she practically shouted at him. “I mean sure, Draco,” she said in a more neutral tone. She smirked. “You’d better start thinking of ways to entertain me. You haven’t much time left tonight and I’m already quite far ahead of you in donations.”
The music ended with a flourish from the strings and the dancers began clapping. Hermione stood up straighter, suddenly remembering they were not alone.
Draco’s face was smug. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea of what to do if you win, princess.” He took her hand and bowed over it, eyes looking up at her. “But you are mistaken if you think I’ve ever lost at anything.” She felt his breath hot against her hand before he kissed it softly. Her heart skipped another beat.
“I always get what I want,” he said, still clasping her fingers. “But what will you do if you lose, I wonder?” He blinked slowly at her, an unreadable expression on his face.“I’d give it some thought if I were you,” he said softly, withdrawing his hand and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Hermione completely dumbfounded.
IV
It took her a moment to resume her train of thought again.
Was she reading things correctly? Yes! Oh, Merlin, she certainly hoped so. He had seemed pretty open to the idea. Enthusiastic, even. His actions – his words gave away his intent quite clearly.
Astonishing. They were actually doing this, much to her inner delight. The mere notion of him fantasising about having her all for himself – and also setting the conditions to facilitate such an intimate scenario between them – was extremely arousing. Enough for her to blush profusely as she stalked towards a small group of guests and stunned the lot of them by the way of too bright smiles and fake sociable energy. By the end of the conversation, the likes of which she couldn’t be bothered to keep her full attention on, she was reasonably sure she had secured herself three different donations. Well, what could she say? Her competitiveness had been roused and she was quite keen in seeing what he had in store for her. His wishes seemed to go on a similar vein, with the way she could spy him looking at her through hooded eyes as they both prowled around the room, swerving around guests and ball attendants alike, turning up the charm and becoming utterly unstoppable in their pursuit of a shared goal.
Christ almighty, he was very charismatic. As a man, he was quite capable of seducing every witch in attendance out of their knickers with only a wink and insinuations of a good time. Hermione was quite aware of that.
“Oh, that’s mean,” she said through gritted teeth as she watched him kiss the hand of one of the witches he was speaking with. The prat had absolutely planned for her to witness such an action, judging by the smug look he was giving her.
Hermione huffed and stalked off in the direction of the champagne. Harry was bound to be in the bar - obviously an attempt to escape the dancefloor and the humiliation of being the center of the attention once again. The least he could do was to support her in this time of need as he moped.
V
Harry had indeed sought refuge at the bar. He looked downright miserable as he nursed a drink in the corner. Hermione first stopped by a table with flutes of champagne, grabbed one, and then made a bee-line for her best friend. He sat with his back to the wall and raised the glass in his hand in a mock salute as she approached.
“The party’s not even half-over and you look like you’re about five minutes away from hexing someone,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Did anyone say something to you?”
Despite her building frustration, Hermione smiled slightly at the protectiveness in his voice.
“Nothing like what you’re thinking, but thanks Harry.” Merlin, it was a very good thing that he had no idea what was going on with her; that would be quite the awkward conversation. Before she could think for some excuse to give, she glanced back in Draco’s direction. He was still with the witch whose hand he’d kissed, though now he had leaned down to whisper something in her ear. He was no longer looking in her direction, but surely he must feel her eyes burning a hole through him?
Harry had turned his head to follow her gaze and asked quietly, “Malfoy has something to do with this?”
“You could say that,” she said, hand clenching her champagne flute like a club. “We might or might not be competing right now.” And he’s playing dirty.
Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’m guessing he’s winning if you glaring is anything to go by. Don’t you think you’re being a bit ridiculous turning getting donations into some sort of game?”
Hermione snorted. “Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?”
Harry grinned at her. “I grew up. I don’t get into pissing matches anymore-“
“No, you just go and sulk in the corner at parties.”
He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken, “But if I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. I’d go down fighting.” His grin was teasing now and there was a playful gleam in his eyes.
Hermione looked in Malfoy’s direction one final time and this time he caught her eye. He met her stare head-on and his mouth curved upwards into a satisfied smile. The smile of a victor towards their rival. It wasn’t a bad look, but she was going to turn that back on him. She smiled back at him and he raised an eyebrow at the unexpected reaction. Hermione was very aware that his eyes were on her as she left a chuckling Harry and strode towards another group of donors. One of which was a wizard who wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.
Watch this.
VI
She approached the man, moving in a slow seductive manner. He was taller than her, with deep brown eyes and short-cropped dark hair. He noticed her immediately, meeting her eyes with a small grin as she joined the group of donors.
“Good evening, Ms. Granger,” he said with a distinct American accent. Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“Well it seems I am at a disadvantage, you know my name, but I don’t know yours,” she replied while sipping from her champagne glass.
“Everyone knows who you are,” he winked. “My name is Beau Rennings.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rennings, I trust you’re having a lovely time at our charity gala?” She leaned in, settling her hand onto his bicep.
“I am,” Rennings smirked. “However, I feel that my evening just got much more entertaining. May I offer you a dance?”
Hermione nodded. Sitting their drinks on a nearby table, she allowed him to lead her out onto the dancefloor. She snuck a glance at Malfoy and saw his eyes were on her. She winked at him deviously then brought her attention back to the man she was to dance with.
“So Mr. Rennings, what are your thoughts on our organization?” Hermione asked him as they swayed to the music. “As one of the founders, it is, of course, close to my heart, but I’m always wanting to hear outside perspectives.”
He chucked. “I have several thoughts, however, I must say, if the incredible speeches earlier tonight hadn't convinced me of the good you all will do, I’m sure the enticing beauty in my arms certainly will.”
Hermione giggled. “We only hope to make great changes in our world.”
“Hmm, perhaps throughout this dance, you can tell me about those great changes you wish to make,” Rennings pulled her closer as he whispered in her ear. Hermione shivered from the deep timbre of his voice.
She could still feel eyes on her as Rennings moved her body in a slow dance. They swayed around the room while the music played loudly. Hermione felt smug as she worked to secure Rennings’ donation, victory flashing through her mind as she evened the score between her and Malfoy. She refused to let him win their competition, and if she had to stoop to his level of playing dirty, she would.
As the song came to a close, Hermione decided to play her final move.
“This dance has been lovely, I do hope you consider donating. It would mean,” she blinked slowly, “so much to me.”
“Ms. Granger—”
“Excuse me,” a voice broke their conversation. Hermione whipped her head around to find Malfoy looking at Rennings. “May I cut in and have this next dance?”
Rennings looked conflicted but nodded. Kissing the back of Hermione’s hand, he passed her off to Malfoy. She settled into Malfoy’s arms and smiled at Rennings as he walked away.
“What the hell, Draco?” Hermione hissed once the other man was far enough away, “I almost had his donation.”
VII
Draco scanned the room above Hermione's head, a casual, vacant smile playing along the corners of his lips as he nudged her body forward, into the fray and turned them in a slow, wide circle. Hermione forced an exhale through her nose and slid her hands down his arm to push him away. He only tightened his grip on her waist. She held her breath to keep it from catching at their proximity.
"How much do you still need?" he asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder at Rennings, who had exited the dance floor and installed himself between the pyramid of champagne glasses and Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione couldn't tell which one seemed to interest him more. Turning back to Draco, she nearly scoffed. Americans.
When her eyes met his, she started. He'd closed the distance between their faces, lowering his head so his nose nearly touched hers; his minty breath caressing her top lip. "How much do you need?" he repeated, carefully articulating each word.
Her shoulders dropped as her arm fell slack. Draco cursed under his breath, and with a grip gentler than it must have appeared, returned her hand to his shoulder and replaced his own. His eyes ricocheted around the room, searching for anyone who may have witnessed her blunder.
"You're not—" she started, but Draco interrupted with a sly smirk before she could say anything else.
"He doesn't think he can sleep with you for any less than three million galleons, right?"
Hermione pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, until the ballroom and the guests and everything in her periphery faded away, and it was only Draco. In the end, it would always be only Draco. "I would have asked for five."
Draco cocked one shoulder. "He'd have been a fool to pass it up."
VIII
The smirk carved a smooth line across the wizard's pointed features, sharp as a blade.
Her pulse rushed a half-beat too quickly in her pointed fae ears. She stole her breath away into her where it was safe. Hers. But the scent of him lingered and curled like vines and smoke and married itself into her bones. The mint from his lips, the cologne on his throat as rich as him. A wizard's heart cost more than those five million galleons Rennings would never pay her, not as her accomplice, as her underling. The vile cretin was just a diversion to bring her to this very spot on the ballroom floor with a wizard's breath dusting minty kisses over her cheeks. The faery and other folk of her Queen's realm depended on Hermione now, on her stealing this wizard's heart, stealing his kiss. Not the ghost of it as he smirked and teased, but a true one. His lips on hers, her magic draining away all of his.
She had done it countless times since entering the realm of humans and wizards. Why was stealing the heart of Draco Malfoy so hard?
The orchestra swelled into a rising whirl of dazzling music, and Draco spun her in circles as wild as fingers across woodwinds, bows over strings. The waltz arrived at a lulling halt – sudden, yet expected. Right. And with a poised tug, Draco tugged Hermione into his arms. She laid her palms flat on his chest, then looked up into eyes as grey as the silver rivers that glittered like moon gems in the Teardrop Forests of her youth. She'd like to see them again, after all these centuries. And it'd only take a single wizard heart, the price of freedom, to stop serving her queen.
He leaned down. Mint and cologne and warmth surrounded her. Unwittingly, she arose to her tiptoes, pressing into his chest until the fabric bunched under her fingers. She gazed into those moon gem grey eyes, and it wasn't rivers and forests and queens she saw but smirks, torch-lit Ministry offices, croissants and tea at dawn. They were a whisper apart. Draco's eyes closed, and the spell broke.
Instead of lips, he kissed the fingertips she pressed against him. She slipped away, the skirt of her gown twirling as she fled.
"Where are you going?" he called out, a second too late, sharp Auror reflexes tangled up in his confusion.
"Thank you for the dance!" she tossed over her shoulder.
And she disappeared into the throng.