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Pass/Fail	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7132 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world aren't mine and I am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Pass/Fail
- 1
Author’s Note: This
is a little gift fic I wrote for Tassana
Burrfoot, winner of the kitten naming contest for my
story Hungry Thirsty Crazy. The prompt
she requested is as follows: “I would like you to write a little one shot of
Hermione spending Christmas with the Malfoys. The
premise would be that she's married or dating Draco
(I don't care which one) and that, while Lucius and Narcissa do not approve, they are willing to tolerate the ‘Mudblood’ for Draco. Lucius would be horrendous to Hermione, while Narcissa just cold. But, I want them to surprise her
somehow.” I bent the rules slightly, but
I think everyone will enjoy it.

<>

“I don’t want to go!” Hermione
whined, stomping her foot.

Draco
looked at her, quietly entertained by her small tantrum. His grey eyes were warm. That was a sight that she’d only recently
gotten used to.

“We have to,” he said gently. He reached out for her hand and clasped it in
his own. Then he turned her palm down so
that the back of her hand was visible, and along with it, her engagement ring
that was at best ostentatious and at worst completely obscene. “They know we’re engaged. We can’t ignore them.”

She whimpered.

His face turned sympathetic and the
tiniest bit worried. “Well, they didn’t
immediately enact a death pact or disown me when I told them. That’s a good sign, right?”

Hermione sighed. “You tell me.
They’re your parents.”

“Yes they are,” he replied, lifting
her hand to kiss it. “In
all their questionable glory.”

“You said it.”

Draco
released her hand and reached up to untwist the strap of her dress. “You look beautiful.” His knuckles grazed across her cheek. “Let’s get this over with.”

Draco was
nervous, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn’t. She could see the tension around his
mouth. When she wrapped her arms around
him in the short line for the coatroom, the muscles of his shoulders were
knotted.

Once she had handed her shrug off
to an old house elf, she turned back to Draco. He offered her a smile. Bolstered by his warm expression, she looked
around her.

The Malfoy
Christmas Eve party was the society event of the year. Now she saw why; the entrance hall of the
Manor was gorgeously decorated. She was
sure the rest of the house would look just as beautiful.

She could say many things about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but she could never impugn their taste. The decorations were natural and elegant,
consisting of evergreen boughs, white and silver garlands, and small crystal
sculptures in various winter-themed shapes.
It did amuse her that the color red wasn’t strongly represented. She supposed that was to be expected in the
den of Slytherins.
They could be forgiven, because there was not a sprig of mistletoe in
sight. Hermione hated mistletoe. She thought that the holly branches were a
much better substitute.

She had considered wearing a red
dress with the full knowledge that people would find it predictable and
gauche. Draco
would have supported her, whatever she chose to wear, but in the end another
dress had won out. It was a flattering
cocktail dress the color of sapphires with a satiny grey bow at the waist. Draco said it made
her look like a present, one he couldn’t wait to open.

Draco
offered his arm and Hermione took it. He
was wearing a tuxedo. It didn’t escape
her notice that his tie matched the bow on her dress. He was impeccable like that, something he had
probably inherited from his father.

“All right,” he said in a low
voice. “Everyone already knows we’re
engaged, but they’ll pretend they don’t.
We’ll have to split up. The women
will want to see the ring and ask you questions. I’m sure you can handle those. It’s the cattiness I’m worried about.”

“You think I’ve never dealt with
catty women?” Hermione asked.

“There are catty women, and then
there are catty pureblood women.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I can handle them, Draco.”

“Okay. Then there are the men. You look ridiculously gorgeous, so they’ll
hit on you. I regret to inform you that
most of them lack the subtlety of the women and may be vulgar.”

She laughed, but she knew Draco was only half kidding. “I have
been hit on before, you know,” Hermione retorted, “by many men with varying
levels of tact and vulgarity.”

“The difference is that you
can’t--”

“Oh, there they are!” Narcissa’s chirping voice interrupted whatever Draco was about to say.
“I thought you’d never arrive.”

“We’re only two minutes late, Mum,”
Draco said lightly, obviously used to her
hyperbole.

“Well, I haven’t seen my boy in so
long!” She pushed a bit of his hair from
his forehead and kissed him.
Endearingly, Draco colored in embarrassment as
if he was still a twelve year old being smothered by his over-affectionate
mother. Narcissa
turned and dipped her head slightly, giving Hermione a decidedly frostier
reception. “Hello, Miss Granger.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,”
Hermione made a slight curtsy. “Thank
you so much for inviting me.”

“Oh, silly girl, I didn’t, but
you’re Draco’s date so that is beside the point,
isn’t it?”

Hermione blinked, wondering if she
had heard what she thought she heard.

“Mother,” Draco
said in a warning tone of voice.

“Come, dear, you must join us in the parlor,” she said,
smoothing over the gaffe as she took Hermione’s arm.

“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling
as she allowed herself to be led away from the small bubble of protection at Draco’s side.

“I’ll find you in a little while,”
she heard him promise. “I love you.”

“Goodness, don’t wear it out,” Narcissa grumbled.

Hermione took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be fun, not in the
least.

Hermione sipped her hot chocolate. It was liberally spiked, but the alcohol was
barely detectable because of how rich the chocolate was. That was why she sipped. She couldn’t risk becoming drunk and sloppy
in front of these people.

So far, she had been introduced to
about a dozen of Narcissa’s friends and several of
their daughters. The women crowed over
her engagement ring (evidently they approved of that). The daughters mostly ignored her. She was fine with that; their cold shoulder
was actually more comfortable than their attention.

She wouldn’t let herself feel
safe. Even though she was scarcely more
than an accessory in their little circle of conversation, having nothing of her
own to contribute, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she was really
included. They were tolerating her.

The conversation turned to fashion,
yet another topic on which Hermione didn’t have much knowledge. She might learn something, so she tuned in.

“As always,” Narcissa
was saying, “some people have no taste when it comes to dressing for these sorts
of events.”

“I know,” another woman chimed
in. “Have you seen some of the hemlines?”
She sounded positively scandalized.

“So short!” a
third woman exclaimed. She could
only have been Pansy Parkinson’s grandmother – the nose was unmistakable. “For heaven’s sake, it’s
winter, and these young people should have a little decency, besides!”

Hermione felt markedly
uncomfortable. Her dress was cocktail
length. Every other woman around her
wore a full length dress.

“Absolutely,” Narcissa
agreed. “But you know some women are
only after one thing and will use any means to get it.”

Hermione tried to convince herself
that she was imagining the stealthy sidelong glance Narcissa
was giving her.

“One thing?” the large Bulstrode matriarch chuckled. “Don’t you mean two?”

“Two?”

“Sex and money,
of course!”

Narcissa
laughed delicately. “I’m not sure which
one I forgot.”

“Hermione, dear,” Mrs. Pucey spoke up, “have you thought about a wedding dress?”

“Oh, she’ll wear mine, naturally,” Narcissa said before Hermione could even process the
question. The woman’s icy eyes inspected
her. “Though we may
have to…let it out a bit.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Pucey said. Hermione
liked her; she was the only one in the whole group who had visible laugh
lines. Everyone else had either never
gotten them or had magicked them away.

“Actually,” Hermione dared to voice
an opinion, “I was hoping to have a look around before I decided on a
dress. I’ll consider yours, of course,
and my Mum’s as well. Vintage dresses
are so beautiful.”

“Your Mum’s? Do Muggles wear
wedding dresses?” the Malfoy matriarch tittered. Some of the other women snickered with her.

Hermione was glad she was holding
her mug or else her hands would have balled into fists. She kept her face neutral. She would not give Narcissa
the satisfaction of reacting.

“They do,” she answered. “My Mum’s was quite beautiful.”

“So was mine.” The blonde tilted her head conjured a false
expression of apologetic concern upon her face.
“Normally I would be all for a young woman having her choice, but I
wouldn’t be a very good mother-in-law if I let you make the same mistake
twice.”

She was clearly referring to
Hermione’s choice of apparel tonight.
The curly-haired witch blinked.
It was non-stop. Narcissa had the tongue of a viper.

“You really ought to leave that hot
chocolate alone. It’s very rich and
quite fattening. It will go right to
your hips, my dear, and there is only so much fabric in the dress that we can
let out.” She smiled sweetly.

“Of course,” Hermione replied
robotically. “I want to look my best for
the big day.” She put the hot chocolate
down on a small table next to her. “If
you’ll excuse me, I think I have to visit the ladies’ room.”

“I’ll have one of the elves escort
you.” Narcissa
snapped her fingers and the smallest, most disheveled looking house elf
Hermione had ever laid eyes on appeared.
“Please excuse Mixie’s appearance. She isn’t the brightest and we frequently
have to tell her to punish herself. She
can’t do anything right. Isn’t that so, Mixie?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the tiny elf
squeaked, practically cowering.

“See if you can manage the
monumentally difficult task of leading Miss Granger to the ladies’ room,” Narcissa sneered.

“Of course,
Mistress! Right
away!” She nearly tripped over
herself to bow to Hermione and step in front of her.

Hermione turned away from Narcissa to avoid punching the woman. She could take a lot of subtle insults, but
the treatment of Mixie infuriated her. Now Hermione’s hands did curl into fists, but
thankfully she was clear of the estrogen-swamped parlor and no one noticed.

She willed herself to breathe. Mixie led her deep
into the hallways of the Manor, all decorated as beautifully as the
entranceway. Hermione couldn’t help but
think that it covered up a wealth of ugliness.

She made sure to profusely thank
the elf and even offered to knit her a hat so she would be freed. Mixie refused in a
panic and went back to her other duties, whatever they might have been. Hermione stepped into the refuge of the loo and locked the door behind her.

In less than ten minutes, Narcissa had insulted her wardrobe, her intentions, her
weight, her appearance, her intelligence, her parents, and her sensibilities. How could she possibly last another four
hours? These people were going to eat her
alive.

No.
She was not going to let them
win. Draco had
warned her and it seemed that he hadn’t exaggerated. She just had to toughen up and be sure to
control her tongue.

When she was a bit calmer, Hermione
took care of her business and then exited the loo. She instantly wished she hadn’t scared the
house elf away. She was in an empty
hallway and had no idea how to get back to where she had been. She was so far into the house that she
couldn’t even hear the sounds of the party.

Her first choice was between left
and right. Her instinct told her right,
so that was where she started. After two
more hallways, she heard footsteps.
Relieved, she moved toward them.
That was how she nearly collided with Lucius a
moment later.

They both managed to put on the
brakes in time, though Lucius had to lift his hands
to her shoulders to steady them. He let
go in an appropriate amount of time.

“Lost?” he asked. If she was not mistaken, a very slight smile
was tugging the left corner of his mouth.
That was strange, yet interesting.
She wouldn’t have pegged Lucius for the more
accepting of Draco’s parents.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I was in the loo.”

“That one’s a bit out of the way. If you wait a few moments for me to finish
what I came down here for, I’ll lead you back.”

“All right.”

“Come, sit
in the study for a minute.”

Her initial comfort was
fading. Lucius
was being too nice to her. Or was she just being paranoid? He was only practicing good manners. It wasn’t as if he was complimenting her or
extolling her virtue as a person.

He opened a door a little further
down the hall and beckoned her in.
Hermione followed, feeling distinctly awkward. Lucius crossed the
ornate, yet masculine space and spent a moment rifling
through a cabinet.

“You look like you could use a
drink.”

“Oh, no, I’m all right. I had some of that hot chocolate.”

“I mean a real drink,” he
scoffed. “Say no if you like, but I
still need one either way.”

She watched him prepare some kind
of drink that involved a healthy amount of vodka. It was bad that she was starting to think
that a finger of vodka might make her better able to tolerate the sedate
thrashing that awaited her return. As if
he knew what she was thinking, Lucius made a second
drink. He was gracious enough to reduce
the serving of vodka in hers.

“Thank you,” she said, not even
pretending that she didn’t want it. The
tonic water and slices of lemon and lime were unnecessary. She would have been okay with just the liquor. Nevertheless, she accepted it.

“Parties are such a dreary affair,”
he sighed.

“Even at the
holidays?”

“Especially at
the holidays. Christmas is best
spent with family, not a bunch of fools that you can’t be bothered to talk to
any other time of year.”

            She
couldn’t argue with that. Still, she was
surprised to hear it from Lucius Malfoy. Hermione stared at him for a moment. Then she took a large gulp of the drink.

            “Shall we
address the elephant in the room?”

            “The what?”
he asked, perplexed.

            “It’s a Muggle saying. It
refers to a situation where people have things to say to one another that they
avoid and they both know it.”

            “Ah. So you’re referring to the fact that you are
engaged to my son.”

            “Yes. That.”

            Lucius sat in a burgundy upholstered chair and sipped his
drink. Then he shrugged.

            “I have no
issue with it.”

            “You’ll
excuse me if I find that hard to believe.”

            “And you’ll
excuse me if I lie so well that no one can ever tell when I’m actually speaking
the truth. I mean it, I could care
less.” As quickly as he had sat, he
stood up again, taking a step towards her.
“I believe my son has excellent taste, something he undoubtedly got from
me.”

            Hermione
bit her tongue so hard that it nearly bled.
Malfoy was leaving himself wide open for
several scathing comments and it took everything in her not to make them. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was
baiting her. But why would he do
that? He was just being his pompous
self.

            “He gets
other things from me, as well,” Lucius nearly purred,
taking another step into her personal space.

            Oh dear Lord,
did he mean…? Yes. The look on his face was an abundant yes.

            “Mr. Malfoy, are you hitting on me?” she asked, horrified.

            He
smirked. “My dear, I don’t hit on
women. I seduce them.”

            “Are you
trying to seduce me?”

            “Are you
amenable to being seduced?” He tilted
his head towards the chair he had vacated moments before. “That seat is the best in the house for woman
on top.”

            Hermione
could have sworn that her head was going to explode. “You’re married and I am about to be, to your son!” she exclaimed in disbelief.

            He
shrugged. “Those are only obstacles if
you allow them to be.”

            “How could
you even think to do that to
him? Or to Narcissa?”

            “Ignorance
is bliss,” he replied. Lucius smiled a cold, predatory smile.

            Hermione’s
temper got the better of her.

            “And you
would know, wouldn’t you?” she shouted at him.
“Your wife and son would be well shot of you! The whole world, in fact!” Her arm moved of its own accord, and before
she knew what she was doing, she had deposited her vodka and tonic directly in Lucius’s face.

            She might
have run. She didn’t remember. In the aftermath of the drink tossing, her
instinct to flee had reasserted itself and she removed herself from the study
as quickly as possible.

Lucius
hadn’t come after her to kill her, so that was a good sign, but only mildly
so. Half-panicked, Hermione made her way
back towards the party. Before she could
get there, however, someone stepped out into her path.

She nearly screamed because she
thought it was Lucius. It wasn’t.
She didn’t recognize the wiry woman.
She did recognize the Quick
Quotes Quill.

“Miss Granger. You recently became engaged to Draco Malfoy. Would you care to elaborate on why you were
just alone in a closed room with his father, Lucius Malfoy? You’re
looking rather flushed. Are you having
an affair?”

“No!” she blurted.

“I see. Miss Granger was not eager to elaborate on
her indiscretion with Mr. Malfoy…”

“I meant no to the affair! There is no affair! I love Draco and
would never do that to him. Now, if you’ll
excuse me.”

The reporter didn’t move. She was blocking Hermione’s path.

“I could be persuaded to forget
what I know for a certain sum of money.”

“You don’t know anything,” Hermione snapped.
“Look, Miss…”

“Templeton.”

“Miss Templeton, I really wouldn’t
want you to lose your job over this. You
see, what will happen if you publish this so-called story is that you will be
made to look a fool when it becomes clear that it isn’t true. You and the paper you work for will be sued
by Mr. Malfoy and myself for
libel, defamation of character, and emotional hardship, which will surely
result in you losing your job. I may not
have the money for the best lawyer, but Mr. Malfoy
certainly does and he will take everything he can get from you. You’ll be left penniless and unemployable, at
least in the field of journalism. So,
Miss Templeton, I encourage you to think very hard before you submit anything to your employer.”

The lanky woman sneered at her, but
stepped aside. Hermione strode past
her. Oddly, the encounter with the
bottom-feeding reporter had calmed her.
It had forced her to put her brain back in order. However, she didn’t think she could bear to
stay much longer. She had to find Draco and convince him to leave.

It was not meant to be. She was nearly to the ballroom when yet
another person stepped into her path.
She was having absolutely miserable luck.

“If it isn’t the bride-to-be
herself!” the blonde woman, who looked to be about Hermione’s age, said.

“Yes,” she replied, struggling to
remain polite. “You know who I am, but
I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

“Daphne Greengrass.
We were in the same year at Hogwarts.
I was in Slytherin, of course.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hermione
replied, holding out her hand. Daphne
just looked at it. Ah, so it was to be
one of those conversations…again.

“You don’t deserve him, you
know. He’s above you. You aren’t worth the tiles on this floor,”
Daphne said scornfully.

“Right. Well, thank you for your input,” Hermione
grumbled and tried to step around her.
To her surprise, Daphne grabbed her arm as she went by and roughly
tugged her about.

“I wasn’t finished yet, mudblood.”

Hermione tugged her arm away. Clearly politeness didn’t exist in this househould, so there was no reason for her to abide by it.

“Frankly, Daphne, I don’t care what
you think or when you’re finished. I am
marrying Draco and there’s nothing you can do about
it.”

“Oh, you’ll marry him, but see if
you can keep him,” she smirked maliciously.
“The Malfoy men have wandering eyes and my
sister and I will certainly be trying to catch them, along with every other
woman who is better than you. He’ll come
to his senses.”

“He’ll come to his senses and stop
associating with people like you,” Hermione spat. “Have a happy Christmas, Daphne.”

She brushed past the vitriolic Slytherin. Just as
she did, as if by some miracle, Draco stepped out of
the ballroom doors and closed them behind him.
His face lit up when he saw her striding rapidly toward him.

“I was wondering where you were,”
he said, enveloping her in his arms for a brief moment.

“Here and there,” she said with a
nervous laugh. “I’m not feeling
well. Can we please leave?”

“Not feeling well? Was it something you ate? Did my mother give you too much to
drink? Her eggnog is deceptively strong,
I’ve fallen victim to it a few times myself--”

“I don’t know what it was, I just…I
need to go.”

“All right,” he said, his face
concerned. “Let’s say our goodbyes in
the ballroom.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It’ll only take a minute. Please?”

Hermione took a deep breath. It would be quick and no one could say
anything in front of Draco; their torture was
reserved for her alone. It would be all
right.

“Okay. Just…let’s be quick.”

He nodded and opened the door for
her. Hermione walked into the
ballroom. In a way she was glad she was
so angry that she wanted to hex someone; it prevented her from having to think
about the room she was entering and what had once happened there. Draco had assured
her that his parents had gutted the ballroom and redone the entire thing after
the war; she wasn’t the only one with bad memories.

It was pitch black. She stopped just inside the door,
confused. This was where the party was, right?
She had heard the hum of talk and stray notes of music just now,
standing outside with Draco. Was this yet another joke on her?

She was about to open her mouth and
say something when the lights flashed on.
The first thing that registered was the fact that the ballroom was
indeed completely different than it had been.
She couldn’t see the extent of it because the room was packed tight with
people. They took a collective breath.

“SURPRISE!!!”

Hermione jumped and took a step
back, directly into Draco’s chest. She started again when several decorations
burst into existence all around the ballroom, spraying confetti. Her fiance’s arms
went around her to keep her from falling over in pure shock. Everyone
was there, even people who would never have been invited to a Malfoy party. Her
eyes catalogued all the Weasleys and Harry. Every member of the DA that she was on good
terms with was there. Most
surrealistically, her parents were there, as well. They looked a little befuddled, but proud and
resplendent nonetheless.

“I…what?”

“I think it’s a surprise engagement
party,” Draco whispered.

“What?” she repeated. “But I…they…everyone…”

At that moment, Lucius
and Narcissa stepped out of the crowd. Hermione gasped. Lucius had a very
obvious shiner at the outside corner of his eye.

“I think perhaps we should talk,”
he said.

Hermione allowed herself to be led
to a small, private sitting room. She
was numb and confused. She didn’t
understand what was happening and she dreaded this encounter.

Narcissa
shut the door behind them. Hermione
dared to look up at Lucius, who was leaning against
the windowsill in an oddly casual posture.

“Did I give you that?” she asked in
a small voice.

He nodded.

“But it was just…vodka…”

“And ice cubes.” He raised an eyebrow. “You have a strong arm.”

“You threw a drink in his face?” Draco asked, aghast.

“I deserved it,” Lucius said mildly.
“I made sure of it.”

“What do you m-mean?” Hermione
stammered.

“It has all been a ruse,” Narcissa spoke up. “A few tests.”

“Tests?”
Hermione and Draco asked at the same time.

“Being a member of this family
comes with its share of challenges, the least of which are getting along with
us,” Lucius said with a self-deprecating smile.

“There will always be people
waiting for you to make a mistake.
They’ll take any chance they can get to embarrass or insult you. You need to be able to handle that
diplomatically and make them hate you even more because of your
composure.” Narcissa
smiled warmly. “You impressed me.”

“Then everything you said…”

“I didn’t mean any of it, and
neither did the ladies in my company.
They were in on it and ask that I apologize to you until they are able
to do it personally.”

“The reporter?”
Hermione asked.

“Also in on it.”

“You dealt with her quite
effectively,” Lucius said. “You said exactly what I would have, give or
take a few threats.”

“Oh, and Mixie,
our house elf, was playing along as well.
She fancies herself an actress, if you couldn’t tell. She actually writes little plays and traps
the other elves into performing with her!”

Hermione’s heartbeat began to slow
from its rabbit-like hammer. She
laughed, relieved that all was not as it seemed. Thoughtfully, she glanced at Lucius, waiting for his explanation.

“I think you can probably guess why
I behaved the way I did. With money
comes power and with power comes a certain ability to…bend the rules. Temptation rears its head more frequently,
which we learned the hard way. We needed
to know the strength of your character.”
He grinned. “If you can resist
me, you can resist anyone.”

“Wait, what?” Draco
exclaimed. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” Hermione assured him,
closing her eyes in relief. “I
overreacted.”

“I think not. I was being a prick. Your reaction was loyal to your future
husband and that was what I was looking for.
I confess I didn’t expect to be anointed in vodka, but I shall survive.”

“Let me get this straight. You attempted to seduce Hermione to see if
she would give in to temptation?” Draco asked.

“That’s the gist of it.”

He glared at his father and then at
his mother. “Why would you do these
things to Hermione? Don’t you trust my
judgment?”

“Of course, dear,” Narcissa cooed.

Lucius
was more reticent. “You did date that
Parkinson chit. She had air for brains.”

Hermione laughed out loud. She couldn’t agree more.

Draco and Hermione had left his parents in the sitting
room, where Narcissa was tending to Lucius’s bruise.

“I can’t believe
they did that to you,” Draco sighed. “I’m sorry.
You must have been so upset.”

“I should have
expected it. I’m just so relieved that
none of it was real.” She frowned. “On second thought…I forgot to ask if Daphne Greengrass was in on it, as well.”

“Daphne Greengrass? What did she say to you?”

“Oh, she just
said I didn’t deserve you, was worthless, called me a mudblood…”

“WHAT?” Draco shouted.

“It’s fine. Not like I haven’t heard it before. She was probably in on it, anyhow.”

Draco shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so. You see, I
was considering a marriage contract with her sister Astoria before I met you again. The Greengrasses
are…angry, to say the least.”

“Oh.” A smile curled across Hermione’s lips. Somehow, that made it better. She had won.
Daphne and Astoria Greengrass could be as
bitchy as they liked and try to seduce Draco until
they choked on their own garter belts, but she had already defeated them. Draco had already
chosen her.

“Steer clear of
them, yeah?” he advised.

“With pleasure.”

The party was
one of the most wonderful things Hermione had ever experienced. Everyone she would have invited if she had
thrown it herself was there. In
addition, all the people who had been carefully snubbing her earlier came out
of their shells and were overwhelmingly kind and encouraging. There were still a few sour faces in the
crowd, but they weren’t her concern.

It continued
late into the night. She had no idea
what time it was, but people were finally beginning to trickle out. The dance floor was becoming emptier after
each song. At last, only she and Draco and one other couple were left.

She leaned
against Draco’s chest. She was full of good food and even better
wine and the emotion of the evening had made her sleepy. Still, it felt so good to be in Draco’s arms, swaying gently to the music.

As they turned,
Hermione stole a glance at the other couple.
Lucius and Narcissa
were also enjoying one another’s company.
They were so absorbed in their dance that the people who were leaving
didn’t have the heart to interrupt them to say goodbye. As she watched, Lucius
placed a gentle kiss on his wife’s lips.
Narcissa wasn’t quite so demure; her hand
strayed down to his rear and squeezed.

They weren’t at
all what Hermione had expected. With a
slight shake of her head, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss her future husband’s
cheek and whispered, “Let’s go home.”
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