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Forgiven	By : Tassanaburrfoot Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 18105 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Harry Potter or the books or contents. This work is purely for my own pleasure, no profit to be made.

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He looked at himself in the mirror and brushed his hair off of his forehead. Straightening his dress robes again, Draco had to admit that, regardless of all that had happened the past few years, he still looked good. He gave a small smirk at the mirror. “You can do this, Malfoy,” he said to himself.
A single spritz of cologne and he was ready to go. He grimaced momentarily as a sharp pain went up his left arm. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to breathe deeply. The pain wasn’t real. It was just a memory. The mark on his arm was no better than one of those tattoos he knew Muggles enjoyed getting.
He was kidding himself. There was no way he could go to this ball. He couldn’t face all those people again. He couldn’t face her. What would she say to him? Would she even speak to him? What could he possibly say to her to make up for all the things he had done?
“I can’t go,” he said, opening his eyes and looking into the mirror again.
“You’re not doing yourself any favours by wallowing in self-misery,” said the soft, feminine voice of his mother from behind him.
He glanced up and could see her in the mirror standing just off to his right. “I’m not ‘wallowing in self-misery’,” he argued. “I’m being honest. Mother, this is a mistake.”
As he turned to face her, she walked up to him and grabbed his chin. For someone so frail, Narcissa had a death grip. She glared up into his eyes. “You listen to me, Draco,” she hissed. “You are my son and a Malfoy. You can do this. And you will. Your father is rotting away in that god-forsaken prison for doing what he thought was right by this family. He made a mistake. He believed in the wrong person. You, on the other hand, are getting this family back on track. You will go to the ball. You will win her heart. You are handsome, intelligent, and cunning. You have what it takes to build this family back up.”
He sighed. “Last I heard, she was dating the Weasley kid,” he told her. “I highly doubt she…”
“No doubts!” she snapped, letting go of his chin to slap him on the cheek. It wasn’t a hard slap, but it was enough to surprise him. “I know the kid you speak of. The Weasleys have nothing on the great and proud Malfoy family. Now, finish getting ready so you can go to this ball, turn on that Malfoy charm, and steal her right from under the nose of that pauper!”
Narcissa was so confident of her son’s pending victory. As Draco looked down at his mother, he couldn’t help but notice the hope that was shining in her eyes. She truly believed the things she was saying. Giving her a soft smile, he could only wish that he had the same hope and belief that she did.
(II) (II)
Draco gave his name to the bouncer and waited. “You may go,” the bouncer said as he checked his list and allowed the young man to pass him.
As Draco entered the dance hall, he looked around him. People were laughing, dancing, and chatting with one another. Some sat at little round tables draped with purple and silver table cloths. In the middle was a cleared out area with a disco ball shining light upon the floor. This was where people were dancing. It reminded Draco of old parties he would attend with his friends. Was he dressed too formally?
The young man shook his head. While the décor lacked in formality, the people there were also dressed in formal robes, so it was safe for Draco to assume he was dressed appropriately. His eyes glanced over the various people, seeking out anyone he might deem familiar. None of his former colleagues were present. He wasn’t surprised. He almost felt like an idiot and wondered again why he had bothered to show up. His mother. Right.
He needed to find Hermione Granger and convince her to fall in love with him. Once that task was complete, he and Granger could work towards restoring the Malfoy name. But how was he supposed to get her to fall in love with him?
The answer came as his eyes rested upon a red headed couple. They were older and not very wealthy. They wore old robes that he could only assume they had purchased at a pre-owned shop. Though, he hated to admit, they didn’t really look all that bad. As poor as the couple was, they stood proud and united. In many ways, they reminded him of his own parents before the Dark Lord returned. The difference, however, was the subtle humbleness that surrounded the older couple.
Draco could see what he had to do quite clearly. If he had any chance with Granger, he would have to gain this couple’s trust first. Or at the very least, their acceptance.
He began making his way towards the couple when a large hand suddenly clapped onto his shoulder. Spooked, the young man swiveled around to glare at his attacker. His fears died instantly as he came face to face with a large black man. The man wore deep blue robes.
“Minister Shacklebolt,” Draco greeted, giving the black man a nod of his head.
Shacklebolt smiled as he offered Draco his hand to shake. “Draco Malfoy. I didn’t think you would show up. When I received your rsvp, I was rather surprised,” the man returned.
Draco accepted the man’s hand and shook it. He tried not to think about how much bigger and stronger this man was. Instead, he gave the older man a smile. “Yes, well, I know it has been a while, but I felt as though it was time I stepped back into the world,” he said. “One can only hide in their manor for so long before money and food run out. It is something my mother has yet to learn.”
Shacklebolt chuckled. “Yes. And it seems she is not the only one. Many families of former Death Eaters remain sequestered in their homes.”
Draco did not find the humour in that and frowned. “Yes, well, perhaps if they weren’t so frightened of being arrested…”
The older man raised an eyebrow and nodded gravely. He released the young man’s hand and patted Draco’s arm. “I understand their fears, Mr. Malfoy,” he told the boy. “It will take years for us to rebuild the damage caused by Voldemort and his followers.”
“Not all those who lived with Death Eaters were Death Eaters themselves,” Draco pointed out. “Some had little to no choice in the matter.”
“We all have a choice,” the minister said.
The younger man’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes narrowed. Lips pinched, he commented, “You don’t understand the kind of power the Dark Lord held. The only other choice we had was to die. That wouldn’t be so bad if it is just a wife or a husband, but many Death Eaters had full families. Children, grandchildren, and parents. To sacrifice oneself is one thing, but to sacrifice one’s entire family?”
Shacklebolt swept his arm at the many people in the room. “Look around you, Master Malfoy,” he said. “Everyone here gave those sacrifices. We have all lost family members and friends to Voldemort and his minions.”
“And of all of you, not a single person here had a family member who served him,” Draco observed. “Those ‘minions’ were only doing what you do, Shacklebolt. They were doing what they thought was right for their families. And once you are branded, there is no turning back. The Dark Lord doesn’t just own you. He owns your entire family. And if you step out of line or he catches you in the act of treason, it is not you who suffers the penalty. You are not the only one who gets sacrificed. He will destroy every person you hold dear. Your children, your parents, your siblings. He will even kill your aunts and uncles. By the time he is finished, you will be the only member of your family left. Only then will he kill you. And he doesn’t just kill them, Shacklebolt. He makes you watch as each of your family members are tortured and raped.”
The minister said nothing as he looked at Draco in horror. The boy’s eyes were narrowed as he sneered. “Sacrifice? These people here know little of sacrifice. What the Dark Lord did to them was merciful compared to what he did to his own followers. My father would have taken death upon himself if it had meant that my mother and I didn’t have to suffer. Hell, I would have died if I had known for certain that the Dark Lord wouldn’t have gone after my parents. But the Dark Lord was cunning. He lived to tell the lie that they would be safe if only you would do this or that. The moment you did it, however, he requested more of you. And he kept demanding more, no matter how much you did. We weren’t free. And we didn’t get any choices. We did what we had to do.”
Shacklebolt was silent for a very long time. Draco knew the minister had been caught up in the black and white fairytale that the world was made up of Death Eaters and good people. Most were. No one bothered to think of how the Death Eaters’ families had been affected. They were victims, too.
Draco glanced at the table the older red headed couple was sitting at. He had no way of knowing what they were whispering about, but he could tell by the look on her face, that the woman had wanted to get up. He needed to speak to the both of them before they left.
“Excuse me, Minister,” Draco said politely as he left Shacklebolt and walked to the older couple.
Both stared at him as he approached. Once he felt he was close enough, he stopped and gave them a full bow, bending himself at the waist and glancing at the ground. “Mister and Mrs Weasley,” he greeted. “I know it is late, but I wanted to offer you both my condolences on the loss of your son.”
He straightened up and saw them both staring at him. Neither Weasley said anything, so he took the opportunity to continue. “I would also like to apologize for any and all grievances I may have caused to your youngest children, especially to Ronald while he was in my home.”
Mister Weasley held out a hand to stop the boy from speaking any more. “There is no need to apologize, Draco,” he told the young man. “What happened in your home was not your fault. Nor did you have any control of it.”
Mrs Weasley smiled. “Would you come sit with us, Draco?” she offered, pushing back the seat next to her.
The young man gave a gracious smile as he accepted the seat. Sitting down he unconsciously tugged at his left sleeve. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
Her eyes were watery and he could tell that she had been crying. Draco took care not to point this fact out to either of the Weasleys and instead sat patiently while Mrs Weasley piped, “It is so good to see you, young Draco. Arthur and I didn’t think you would come to one of these gatherings.”
Draco gave a pained smile. “Yes, well, I had debated the idea myself,” he admitted. “In all honesty, it was my mother who encouraged me to come.”
“And how is your mother?” the woman asked.
The young man looked at her for a moment, trying to determine if she was genuinely asking or just making polite conversation. Deciding it was the former rather than the latter, he answered truthfully, “Some days are better than most. She misses my father terribly, but she knows what he had done had been wrong.”
“How long was he sentenced for?” Mrs Weasley questioned.
Draco sighed. “Twenty years,” he told her.
A pained expression crossed the matriarch’s face as she placed a condoling hand upon the young man’s forearm. “I am sorry, Draco,” she said to him. She looked to her husband. “It really is a shame, Arthur, what these poor young folk have to go through.”
Mister Weasley nodded, though he did not look quite as forgiving as his wife. “It is a shame,” he agreed. “But know this, Mr. Malfoy: It is your father, not you or your mother, who is at fault for his crimes. He is the one making the payment.”
Draco held back his nasty retort. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He knew if he had any chance with Granger, he would have to play nice with these people. He slowly began to understand why his father loathed them so much.
As he opened his mouth to change the subject, a certain black haired young man took that moment to make an appearance. Harry Potter looked cleaner than the last time Draco had seen him. Though his hair was just as messy, his robes were well made and Draco immediately recognized the Italian cloth. On Potter’s arm was the youngest Weasley. She looked stunning in robes that matched Potter’s. Her long red hair was pulled up in a fabulous design that, again, Draco recognized to come from a premiere beauty shop in Hogsmeade. The couple looked stunning.
As was customary, Draco stood as the couple approached. He met his former rival’s eyes and held back his retort. If he wanted to gain Granger, he would have to be cordial.
“Malfoy,” Potter greeted, confused. The ginger on his arm also looked at the former Slytherin, her eyes widened in surprise.
Draco bowed his head slightly. “Potter,” he returned the greeting. “It has been a while.”
“Fortunately,” the ginger whispered, not realizing that Draco could hear her.
He had shot a glance at her, but did not respond to her jibe. He could sense the sudden tension in the air and knew he was overstaying his welcome. He had hoped he would see Granger before things became too awkward, but now he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“It has been a while,” Potter agreed. “I’m surprised you came, Malfoy. Didn’t think you were up for these kinds of parties.”
Draco gave his customary smirk as he shrugged. “I can’t hide in my hovel forever. I was hoping I could talk Minister Shacklebolt into some sort of job.”
The red haired girl snorted. “Fat chance of that happening, Malfoy,” she snubbed. “You’d be better off trying to get a job at Flourish and Blotts or perhaps Quality Quidditch Supplies. I wouldn’t try getting a job anywhere that serves food, though. Somehow I doubt anyone would want to eat anything you give them.”
“Ginevra!” Mrs Weasley reprimanded.
The girl did not look contrite as she spat. “What? He doesn’t deserve anything…”
“Ginny, that is the very prejudice we just fought this war over!” Potter argued, pulling away from the girl. “Don’t stoop to that level, or you are no better than him.”
“But, Harry…”
Potter looked at Draco and the former Slytherin could see the gravity in the former Gryffindor’s face. This man wasn’t Draco’s former school rival. He was someone entirely different. He had seen things Draco could only begin to imagine. If there was anyone on his side in this building, it was Potter.
“Look. I’m not trying to start any trouble,” Draco said as he looked at the young couple. “All I wanted was to give my condolences to your family. They’ve been given, so if you will all excuse me, I shall leave all of you be.”
He gave another polite bow and offered Mrs. Weasley a small smile before turning back to the rest of the ball. The family watched him leave with varying levels of confusion on their faces. He didn’t bother to look back at them. Baby steps, he thought to himself. He offered the olive branch, now it was up to them whether or not they would accept it.
He took out his time piece and inwardly groaned. He had only been there for half an hour and he still hadn’t spotted Granger. At this point, he secretly wondered if she had even attended the ball. Certainly she would have made her appearance known by now.
And then… There she was. Standing against the counter of the bar, nursing some cocktail in her delicate hand. She wore the richest of red velvet robes with golden lining and a plunging neckline. Draco felt himself freeze for a moment as he simply stared at her. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Gulping down the saliva that had suddenly entered his mouth, he closed his eyes and steeled his features. It wouldn’t do to approach the lioness while looking nervous.
Taking a deep breath, he opted to approach the bar casually, glancing around for a tender. He stepped next to the Muggle-born, pretending not to notice her as his eyes rested upon the bartender. He lifted a hand to flag the man down and oh, so, casually glanced about. He feigned surprise upon seeing the witch in red.
“Granger,” he remarked coolly, with a nod of his head.
Her honey coloured eyes merely glanced at him. She said nothing to him as she took another sip of her red cocktail. She turned her attention back to the dancers and his eyes followed hers. He watched for a moment before the bartender came up to them. Draco quickly asked for a Firewhiskey, though his eyes remained transfixed upon the dancers. While he and the Muggle-born continued to watch, he chanced a glance at Granger.
“Seems everyone here is enjoying themselves,” he commented, trying to start some form of conversation with the beautiful witch.
“Clearly,” Granger finally said, grimacing slightly before draining the rest of her drink, “you haven’t been looking closely enough if you think everyone is enjoying themselves.” Finally, she looked at him and he allowed himself to return her gaze, looking into her honey eyes. “Are you enjoying yourself, Malfoy?”
He sniffed, taking the glass the bartender handed him. “Not particularly,” he admitted with a shrug. “Honestly, I haven’t enjoyed a dance for years now.”
She said nothing to that, turning her attention back to the tender to order herself another cosmopolitan. Draco silently took note of her drink and inwardly smiled to himself.
“I’m actually surprised to see you here, Malfoy,” Granger said as she waited for her drink. “Word has it that since your father has been away, you and your mother have sequestered yourselves in that manor of yours. Didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”
Draco smirked. “Missed me?”
The Gryffindor rolled her eyes. “Hardly,” she sniffed. “One could only hope and be grateful for small favours.”
He frowned at that and pushed some hair out of his eyes to tuck behind his ear. He nodded gravely. “Yes, I can only imagine. Although, we are not dead, so, surely you had to assume that we would come out of hiding at some point.”
“Don’t all snakes?” she asked as the bartender handed her the new drink.
He nodded, more to himself than to her. “Yes, well, thank God the right side won, yes? Long live Dumbledore and Harry Potter,” he commented, taking another pull of is firewhiskey.
“Is that sarcasm?” she hissed, glaring at him.
He bit back a laugh and shook his head. “No. This beats the alternative, don’t you think?”
“You were part of that alternative,” she pointed out, lightly swirling her drink.
He frowned again and lifted his shoulders just a bit. Sighing, he agreed, “I was born to be part of that alternative. It’s what I had known my entire life and I almost succumbed to the temptation.”
“Almost?” she questioned, then she nodded as her eyes widened in memory. “Oh, yes, in the end, you couldn’t do it, could you? You couldn’t kill Dumbledore. You couldn’t kill anyone. In fact, you didn’t fight at all. You just… looked for your parents, hoping to find them and find a way out.”
He stared at her, a single blond eyebrow raising as he couldn’t quite believe how much she had known. But then… “Potter told you, didn’t he?”
She gave him a small nod and glanced back at the dancers. “He told us all, and a good thing he did, too, otherwise a fate worse than a 20 year prison sentence would have awaited your father. Never mind what would have happened to you for your attempted murder or your mother for her housing of Death Eaters.”
His frown deepened as he turned his attention back to the dance floor. He wanted to lash out at her. To make her take back her words, but he bit his tongue. How his mother expected him to woo the little hussy, he had no idea. He closed his eyes again, allowing her words to pass unchallenged. Swallowing the saliva in his mouth, he raised his glass to his lips and took another drink. Licking his lips, he placed the half full glass onto the counter and looked back at her.
He watched her for a moment as she watched the dancers. There was almost a sort of longing in her eyes as she gazed at the couples. Wrinkling his nose, Draco licked his lips again and glanced at the dancers himself. “So… Where’s Weasley?” he asked innocently.
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “What business is it of yours?” she hissed.
He held his hands up in surrender and leaned back from her a bit. “It was just a question, Granger,” he defended. “All this dancing, I would have thought he’d taken you for a turn or two about the room.”
“Who’s to say he hasn’t?” she snapped, still glaring at him.
He shrugged. “How am I to know? That’s why I asked. We’ve been standing here for a near half an hour or so. He’s yet to collect you, so… it made me curious.”
She turned back to the dancers, taking another sip of her drink. “Not that it concerns you, but Ron doesn’t dance,” she said angrily.
He nodded. He honestly didn’t find that hard to believe. Paupers, the lot of the ginger family. More than likely, none of them had even ever seen a dance floor before the Yule Ball. While he had seen the Weaselette dancing with Potter, he was almost certain she was most likely the only one of the bunch to ever even try.
“Still. He should dance with you,” he commented more to himself than to her.
“Why?”
Surprised that she had heard him, he glanced at the Muggle-born. For a moment, he simply looked at her. Memories of the War and of their time within Hogwarts flooded his mind, and yet… she hadn’t really changed much. Sure there were probably underlining changes, but overall? She was still the dazzling beauty who had caught his attention so many years ago.
When had he fallen? Their fourth year? His mind wanted to say so, but he had a feeling it had been longer. Sure, at first he had been jealous of her. Some random Muggle-born witch who had beaten him at every subject? He must have spent every free moment he had bitching and complaining about her top marks during their early years.
His eyes met hers and his lips pinched together for the moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he explained, “You are still the most beautiful witch at the dance.” He waved his hand at the dancers. “Any bloke should be more than happy to have you upon their arm. Seeing you standing here, alone…” He shook his head. “You deserve to dance.”
She turned away from him again. He could see the water collecting in her eyes, though she did not shed a single tear. “What if I don’t want to dance?”
He stood up straight and stepped closer to her. Holding out his hand, he said, “Something tells me that you do. Come on, Granger. Dance with me under the stars? For old time’s sake.”
She stared at his hand, no doubt mulling over the idea. Certainly she remembered their dance, though this time it would be quite a bit more public. “You want to dance with a filthy mudblood?” she asked, glancing up into his eyes.
“I want to dance with the most beautiful girl at the ball,” he replied, keeping his hand out to her.
She set her glass down on the bar behind her and delicately placed her hand into his. “Alright, but just one dance.”

Author's Note: Ok. So I have no clue where I'm going with this one. So... enjoy the ride? Lol
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Forgiven