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The carriage rattled over the cobbled street. The sun stood low above the horizon, dipping the town in a golden hue. Hermione gripped the handle next to her seat, more to steady her nerves than herself.
“It will be a wonderful night.” Ginny beamed, sitting across from her. She wore a stunning deep green dress that made her hair and skin glow even more.
Hermione fiddled with her gloved hands. She wasn’t used to wearing gloves. She wasn’t used to sitting in a carriage pulled by two auburn Hippogriffs either. Nor was she used to having her hair in a twinging updo or wearing a dress made of the finest fabric she had ever worn.
Ronald rolled his eyes, sitting beside his sister. He had been repelled to escort her and Hermione to the first ball of the season, but his mother —a rather assertive lady— had forced him to accompany them.
“This is the only chance for our Hermione to find a proper man to enable her a future she deserves.” Lady Weasley had said.
The whole Weasley family had been too kind to her. They were the viscounts of Hermione's hometown, and especially known for their kindness to Muggle-borns. Hermione had met Ginny when they were children and their friendship held on until today.
She even had gifted Hermione the old wand of her eldest brother so she could practice some advanced magic on her own. Even though the Weasley’s belonged to the upper class, they weren’t the wealthiest.
The carriage came to a halt in front of a huge entrance way. Ronald stepped outside to first help his sister and then Hermione out onto the path. Their Carriage had been the smallest one compared to the others, that were pulled by Abraxans, Granians or invisible horses, that must have been Thestrals. Hermione had read about them in the book she had lent at the bookstore.
Ginny tugged at Hermione’s elbow, snapping her out of her trance, turning her around. But she could not stop gaping at the world that had revealed before her. The air was saturated with magic, humming inside her chest as Ronald escorted her and Ginny into the ballroom.
Hermione didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly not that. Marbled pillars, decorated with golden vines and loads of fresh flowers, reached from the polished floor up to the impossibly high ceiling that was charmed to look like the night sky. The way the Weasley’s had cursed about those events, she had thought it must be boring. But this was exciting.
“My Lord.” The concierge bowed and gestured to a table with small cards.
“What are those?” Hermoine hissed in Ginny’s ear.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” She took two and held them out to her brother, to fasten the delicate chain around her wrist.
“They are Dance Cards.” She whispered while Ronald fumbled with the clasp of Hermione’s bracelet.
“First you walk around and let yourself be introduced to other gentlemen. If one is interested, he writes himself on your card.” Hermione swallowed. She had learned all the dances, but now, being here, she suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Hermione,” Ronald held out his elbow. “Let me introduce you to some friends.”
“His friends are boring,” Ginny said.
“They are not.” Ronald spat. “I promised mother to make sure she finds a suitable gentleman.” A slight flush crept on his cheeks, as he wrote himself into the first of seven slots on her card. Ginny rolled her eyes. They made their rounds and after an hour of talking to the most tiresome people Hermione had ever met, her Dance Card was full. She knew she was in no position to be picky, but the mere thought of marrying one of those men made her stomach churn. Even though she had never had romantic feelings for Ronald, he was by far the most interesting one on her list. And that didn’t mean much.
Hermione scolded herself. She should be grateful to get a chance like this. Her future husband didn’t need to be the most witted man. She only wished he would be kind and allow her to get further teaching in wielding magic and maybe a better suiting wand.
She bit the inner side of her cheek when the face of the young man she had met over the winter flickered into her vision. He had been kind, intelligent, well mannered. Not muggle-born but also not from the upper class and seemed not to care about her blood status. One day, he disappeared and never came back. Her stomach felt like it was made out of lead, thinking about him.
Ginny snapped her out of her thoughts while she dragged Hermione with a surprisingly vice grip, over to the refreshments.
“Here, drink this.” She pushed a delicate glass into Hermione’s hands.
The redhead had somehow avoided the most tiresome individuals of writing themselves on her Dance Card, and looked like a lioness ready for hunt as her gaze stopped on a tall curly haired gentleman at the other side of the room. He was flirting shamelessly with the crowd of striking witches that were gathered around him.
“This is Duke Theodore Nott.” Ginny had a slight blush on her cheeks while she sipped at her drink with her gloved hand. “It came to my ears that he has the plan to settle down this season. And you know,” Ginny smirked as the duke's gaze flicked up to the two girls and winked, “I’m ready to settle him down.”
“Watch, and learn.” She emptied her drink and pressed her glass into her friend's hand, turned around and walked straight over to the duke.
Hermione gaped, as Ginny broke all the rules Hermione had internalised. The duke laughed, pulled out a quill and added himself on Ginny’s card, kissing her knuckles. Ginny curtsied and came back.
“See? I got the last dance with the duke. And you know the last dance is the one that stays in your mind.” Ginny looked like the cat that got the cream.
Hermione sighed. How she wished to be allowed to stroll through the people alone. But with her sketchy backstory, it would be difficult not to get exposed.
The door in the back of the room opened, and a collective gasp rolled through the room. Hermione tried to get a better view of who had entered the ballroom. All she could see was a white blond, impeccably dressed man, standing in the doorway. He wore a striking black suit with loads of decoration on his uniform and a waistcoat made of the finest silver brocade.
“Is it him?” The woman in front of her whispered.
“He is back!”
“The Prince!” The girl next to Hermione gasped.
The only-child of the royal family had disappeared three years ago, the day he came of age. His father, the King, had sent his guard out to find his heir without success. Rumors said it nearly ruined the monarch's mind.
Hermione tried to take a glimpse. This was for sure her only chance to see the prince in her entire life.
A wave of curtsies rolled through the room, allowing Hermione a proper look at his Highness. His gaze flickered up to meet her eyes, and time held its breath.
His gaze bore straight into her soul, and all air seemed to leave the room while her heart fluttered like a trapped hummingbird.
A hand appeared on her arm, pulling her down, blood flushing her cheeks as she tilted her head as she managed a stumbling curtsy. Her eyes lowered to the checkerboard floor, trying to force her breath in her tight corset under control again.
The blood rushed in her ears as she heard a muffled “Malfoy!” and a “Nott!” as an answer. The surrounding people stood up and Hermione swayed slightly. Mothers and fathers ushered their daughters to the prince with the hope they could marry theirs off to the crown. And he … he looked utterly bored, if not annoyed by the chattering crowd.
Hermione couldn’t quite get her eyes off of him while the duke smirked and said something to the prince's ear. The silvery grey eyes locked with Hermione's again. Her breath caught.
The prince excused himself and walked with long strides in a straight line over the polished dancefloor towards her. She felt panic rising and looked around frantically to find Ginny, who had magically disappeared from her side.
Hermione’s dress felt suddenly far too tight while her breath got shallow. He slowed down as he approached her. She tried to scold her fluttering nerves into finding composure, to recall the proper behaviour towards not only a gentleman but the future king. With the most grace she could manage, she made a deep curtsy and tilted her head the proper way.
“Your Highness.”
A long-fingered hand took hers. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. Hermione lifted her head as he pulled her up again. He held eye-contact as he bowed slightly to kiss her hand.
“And you are Miss…”
“Hermione Dagworth-Granger,” she breathed.
“Dagworth-Granger?” He cocked an eyebrow. Hermione blushed and nodded.
“May I have a dance, Miss Dagworth-Granger?” His deep but somehow soft voice felt like a warm blanket.
Hermione swallowed and said with a sad smile. “Unfortunately, my Dance Card is already full.”
The prince's eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite decipher.
He pulled out a foldable quill out of the pocket of his waistcoat, took a proper look at the card attached to her wrist. A smirk played around his lips as he began to write.
The first dance was announced and she had no time to look at her card as Prince Malfoy held out his hand invitingly.
“Miss Hermione,” his voice was soft as silk, “Dagworth-Granger.”
They got into a dancing position, waiting for the orchestra to begin. Hermione tried to say something witty, but all she could do was gaping. How was this possible?
Her cheeks flushed even more as he pulled her closer when the dance started. Not ever breaking eye contact.
“I never knew that my old potion master had any family left. And if … not this beautiful.”
Hermione almost stumbled at his compliment. He caught her with practiced ease, like someone who had dance lessons since he could walk.
He twirled her around and as she leaned back in his arms; he was far closer than before.
”I’m desperately looking for a specific book.” He whispered into her ear. Lips brushed along the shell of her ear. Her breath caught in her throat as he dipped her low.
“I happen to know a well-stocked bookstore,” she breathed. He lifted her up.
“The one in Ottery St Catchpole?” The tip of his tongue played in the corner of his lips. It was such a slight gesture in his otherwise perfectly composed face. A small breath escaped her as her eyes lingered on his lips. This must have been a dream. She, at a ball, dancing with him.
“It’s my favourite place in this world.”
“Your favourite?” She finally had found her voice.
“There works a rather competent and incredibly well-read saleslady.”
They swapped partners but never stopped looking at each other. When she finally landed back in his arms, she saw his chest rising as if he was taking a deep breath.
”Is that so?” Hermione continued as if they had never broken apart. His eyes flickered, and a smile appeared on his lips.
”Yes, and she looks breathtakingly in periwinkle.”
Hermione bit her lip. “You remind me of a regular customer I ran into at said shop.” He twirled her away, only holding her with his outstretched hand. Their eyes met again and after a pause, he pulled her back to him.
“But he was less … posh.”
He barked a laugh, his eyes shining like molten silver.
With a shock, Hermione remembered who she was talking to. The man in front of her was a prince, not the young wizard she had spent endless hours talking to in the cosy reading nook. The man she danced with was the prince.
The dance ended; she curtsied, he bowed.
Hermione felt as if she woke up from a dream. He knew who she was. He knew they would never happen.
“I apologise, your Highness. I shouldn't have talked to you like… I’m not—”
He tsked at her, touching her chin feather-light, tilting her head up. His expression was soft, with a certain longing in his gaze. “Don’t.”
Her lips parted, a small breath escaping her. His eyes lingered on her lips.
The next dance was introduced. The mere thought of dancing with those tiresome men on her Dance Card made her stomach drop. Maybe she should leave and go back to her bookshop and never come back, even though everything there would remind her of him.
With a quick movement, he snatched her card and ripped it off her bracelet. A challenging smirk plastered on his face.
”You won’t need this anymore.” He held out his hand for her to take. “The old potioneer is so confused. No wonder he forgot he had any family left.”
His finger left a tingling trail on the skin of her back. The smile he showed her reached his eyes, showing off his perfect teeth. He turned her. The scent of crisp apples flooded her system as she closed her eyes, getting lost in the feeling of his embrace.
How she wished this could be her future, her life.
They danced and talked and danced all seven dances without spending a look at anyone else. The chandelier sparkled over them like the night sky as they twirled under the stars.
He held her in his arms after the orchestra stopped, their faces inches apart, breathing each other in like it was the only air they needed.
“I thought I’ve lost you,” she whispered. Her hand resting on his chest. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it while the other one rested on her waist.
“So did I. I promise you; I’ll never leave again.”
His gaze rested on her lips as he came closer.
“Your Highness.” Hermione breathed as she reminded herself where they were.
The prince stopped immediately. With a feather-light touch on her chin, he lifted her head.
“It’s Draco.”
Her heart made a jump while her stomach fluttered.
“Draco,” she said with a smile as she bit her lip.
A voice cleared next to them. They snapped out of their trance like a soap-bubble had popped.
Theodore Nott stood there next to Ginny, who looked utterly content. Ronald scowled with crossed arms, looking first at Nott and then at Malfoy.
“Expect me at calling hour tomorrow.” Draco squeezed her hand as he bowed and kissed her knuckles.
Before she left, the duke slipped a crumpled Dance Card into her hand. It was hers.

