Chapter 21: Let’s Do This Thing
The week before the Yule Ball flew by in a rush of Witch Weekly fashion catalogues and wizarding records. Hermione found herself listening to album upon album with Luna to put together a soundtrack for the dance, as well as reassuring the Headmaster that the night would be a fun, innocent night for the upper years to blow off some steam during break. Using her busy schedule as an excuse, she was able to get out of the massive shopping outing to Hogsmeade for dresses, smiling apologetically to the hyper Bee and Rose when they invited her to go with them. She opted to spend a quiet night with Christine in the Heads’ common room, magicking up tamer albeit flattering dresses inspired by a massive stock of magazines her new friend had picked up over the years. Hermione and Christine were growing very close and were called the Dynamic Duo by most of Gryffindor house. She had always hated group nicknames, as she had been forced to endure the Golden Trio tagline that haunted her, Harry, and Ron for most of their time at Hogwarts, but she was fairly relieved that she had found such a good friend, especially when Ron and Harry were now fairly independent from her. The four of them, plus Ginny and on occasion, Neville and Lavender, formed their own loose clique at night in the Gryffindor common room.
On the surface, things were coming together for Hermione. The preparations for the Yule Ball were nearly complete, and she was finally comfortable with her friends. Alone, when the eyes of others were focused elsewhere, however, Hermione was frantic.
Draco had kept his distance after being rejected for breakfast, and Hermione was thankful. The peace his disappearance offered gave her time to worry about more important issues, and once planning was out of the way, she was able to figure out what she wanted to do to get him back. The first step was to figure out what she wanted, not an easy task. She settled on the idea that she would like a real relationship with him, a public one, where they didn’t have to sneak around and could openly show affection for one another. Next came the hard part, how to achieve such a thing. The answer was that she had to show she loved him and that anything else was secondary. The only way to do so would be to publicly, though subtly, show her feelings for him. Thus, going up to him in the middle of the Great Hall and snogging him was out of the question. She ended up deciding to make her move at the Yule Ball, meaning that this one night would decide everything. It would show whether she really was good enough for her position as Head Girl, and it would decide whether she would spend the rest of her year at Hogwarts embarrassed and alone.
The pressure was incredible.
The night before the ball was hard. She spent it alone in her bedroom, running over what she would have to do the next day.
“Dress?” she said aloud as she went over her mental checklist. Peering into her wardrobe, she made sure her transfigured dress was still on its hanger. It was. “Check.”
“Music?” She went over to her desk and picked up the large record that featured the music she had personally selected for tomorrow. It would be played amidst the other records that would be requested for karaoke. “Check.”
Hermione ran out of things to check, so she paced over to her mirror and studied her reflection self-consciously. Her fearful hazel eyes stared back at her, reflecting what she could hide from everyone but herself. She was scared beyond belief. What she was going to do tomorrow night was not safe, was not something she would ever do if she hadn’t met Draco. But turning back was no longer an option. The idea sent a thrill down her spine and she smiled at herself, the risk feeling just a little bit fantastic.
In the next room, Draco was doing something similar. He had laid out his outfit for the following evening; ‘relaxed fancy’ as Rose Barnett had so jauntily put it. He was going with dark gray slacks and a nice charcoal button-down shirt along with an understated black dress robe made of velvet and silk, unable to completely abandon his wizarding background. This year’s Yule Ball was going to completely different from the others, a fact Hermione was very proud of, and Draco couldn’t ignore the requested dress code of Muggle attire because it would disrespect Hermione’s brainchild. Besides, he knew he looked good in whatever he wore, and his ego played a direct role in the darker outfit he had chosen, seeing as darker clothing set off his lighter hair.
He had no grand plan for the next night, and had taken Hermione’s words to heart. Whether she had feelings left for him or not, she apparently wasn’t keen on the idea of a relationship, and there was no point in pursuing her. All that would do would scare her off, and that was the last thing he wanted. For now he would just wait for the ball to be over, and then there were six months left before graduation. He had all the time in the world.
Draco wasn’t very tired for some reason, so he went out into the common room and paced into the kitchenette. The candles were unlit, and the only source of light was the calmly lapping fire crackling in the grate across the room. Hermione was asleep, judging by the lack of light emerging from under her door, and Draco poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher resting on the kitchen counter, hoping she was sleeping calmly, free from nightmares. He worried about her more than he would like to admit, and secretly he was glad she was paying more attention to her diet. She was sleeping more now that planning for the ball was finished, and she spent more nights in their common room reading a book unrelated to school work, or with McKay or the Weaselette just relaxing and being a teenage girl. He stayed out of her way, not really avoiding her but just giving her the space they both needed.
He eased himself onto a sofa in front of the fire, settling in to watch the flames. He was happy for Hermione. It seemed like her life was coming together. She had friends, good friends who respected her and who looked out for her. She was spending much less time with Potter and Weasley, it seemed, and more with McKay, which was healthy. Weasley was an asshole, and Potter was… well Draco had to admit Potter was pretty nice, to Hermione at least. But Potter was oblivious and didn’t really understand her most of the time, not in the way that she needed to be understood. Not in the way I understand her, Draco found himself thinking.
Behind him Hermione’s door cracked open, and seconds later the Head Girl herself ventured on tip-toe out into the common room. Draco turned and watched her as she made her way over to the kitchenette and plucked a fresh glass off the shelf before turning around to fill it with water. She was wearing that tiny little red nightgown she had worn the first night they had shared a bed, and he heated up as he saw her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, relaxed, and he smiled slightly as she took a sip from her glass. Merlin, she was beautiful. He sighed.
She jolted, looking over in his direction to see him silhouetted by the red light of the fire. Blushing, she smoothed down the front of her nightdress, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Unsure of what to say, she told him simply, “I thought you were asleep.”
He nodded, still watching her over the back of the couch. “Same here.”
Neither really knew what to do, and Hermione fingered the rim of her glass.
“I-I should go back to sleep,” she said as she started to walk back to her doorway.
Draco knew he should say something to get her to stay, something serious and meaningful, but nothing came to mind. Instead he settled for small talk.
“You did a great job on the ball.” She paused in her doorway, leaning against the frame. He congratulated himself inwardly and moved in his seat to face her. “It’s going to be terrific, I’m sure of it.” Some of his hair tumbled into his eyes and he pushed it away with his free hand.
“Thank you,” she said softly, trying to figure out if she should stay. She wanted to. Perhaps if they started a conversation she would be allowed to sit down with him? “You’ve helped out a lot too.” There, good job Hermione! That’s a good comment.
Draco waved her off bashfully, but nonetheless smiled. She melted. “I didn’t do anything; this has been your success. Take pride in it.”
She blushed, though he couldn’t see in the darkness. He was complimenting her! “Are you kidding? No one listens to me. I organized, you got people to work.”
“You’d be surprised, actually. People respect you and look up to you. They’re just afraid of me.” She laughed at his joke, and he grinned. They were like a new couple, getting to know each other, instead of ex-enemies, ex-lovers. This was good.
“That doesn’t stop most of the girls in this school from worshipping you. Half the girls who pretend to hate you are actually members of the Draco Malfoy Fan club.” She was flirting! Score one for the Malfoy!
“Would that include you?” he teased. But he had gone too far. Hermione frowned, straightening her posture.
“I don’t do fan clubs, Malfoy,” she answered tightly. Without realizing it he had disrespected her. He winced. But her tone had softened when she added, “Goodnight.” She closed the door behind her.
The night had finally come. It was six o’clock and the ball would start in two hours. And Hermione was freaking out.
Well, not freaking out, per se, seeing as freaking out is normally accompanied by making a scene in public or screaming your head off. Perhaps for some it could mean crying uncontrollably. So, perhaps it is smarter to say that Hermione was doing some quiet panicking. And by that I mean that she sat on the edge of her bed wearing her lovely black halter dress, her hair curled up into a messy and sexy bun pinned casually at the back of her head with two black bobby pins, thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong that evening. And there was a lot that could possibly go wrong that evening.
He could laugh, she thought, fiddling her fingers together, her small nails reflecting little flecks of light onto the ceiling. She had spelled them black to match the dress, a choice that had amused Lavender and Parvati greatly when she had gone to borrow a glamour book from them that afternoon. But she was going for an effect, and if shocking nails would get her a response, then she would have shocking nails.
He could laugh at me. Or he could walk out. She didn’t like to think about it but she was thinking about it anyway. Rejection with a big, capital R. Hermione didn’t much fancy the word rejection. It was such a harsh word, brutal and almost mocking. She didn’t much fancy rejection, period, actually, and was hoping that she wouldn’t be rejected that night. Hermione rubbed the satiny fabric of her skirt between the pads of her thumb and index finger, looking down at the floor.
Or he could just not do anything and pretend he doesn’t care. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down, controlling her breath. She thought of the lake, sitting in the rowboat all alone with the rain falling slowly down in silence, blurring her vision until she could barely see. Just a grainy movie, a flickering of film. Solitude.
Stop thinking about peace, you need to get ready. And she did. She needed to put on her shoes and her necklace and go speak to Luna and-
Is Draco still next door? Hermione stood up and paced to her door before pressing her ear childishly against it. There was no sound coming from the common room. He hadn’t been in their dorms since noon, when he had left to go to lunch. Where he had gone after that, she didn’t know.
Put on your shoes and get your necklace, she reminded herself. You have a ball to host.
And she did.
Draco’s moment of brilliance had come earlier that morning when he had been lying in bed contemplating what would happen later that day. Staring at his canopy with an idle sense of loneliness, the Slytherin had wondered whether simply waiting for something to happen between him and Hermione was a very constructive use of his time. He had never actually tried to romantically seduce the Head Girl, and any relationship they had was a product of the circumstance they had been forced into by the Attraction. Had he ever asked her to be his girlfriend? No. Had they ever been on a date? No. Perhaps that was the problem, he had never pursued her. He had tried to start things up again when she was in the hospital wing, but did that really count? That had been hardly romantic. Girls loved romantic stuff. It was in their genetic makeup.
Hermione wasn’t like other girls, though. So maybe she wouldn’t like romance? Pah, of course she would. Just not as showy, as flashy as most guys would chose. No bouquets of roses, then. No serenading her at the ball. Well, that was reasonable. He didn’t quite want to sing. He could, but he just didn’t feel like it. What if she laughed? It didn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t going to sing.
What does Hermione want? He asked himself. What does she want to do? What was something personal, that she wouldn’t tell Potter or Weasley? Draco sighed and forced himself to get out of bed. It was getting late.
And then it came to him.
When Hermione arrived at the doors to the Great Hall a crowd was already forming. Students from the upper years milled around, greeting friends and checking out each other’s outfits. As she ascended the stairs, she examined the crowd, smiling as she noticed all of the variation of clothing. Most girls had opted for dresses varying in formality, as dresses were the common middle ground between wizarding robes and Muggle clothing. Several girls, most likely Muggle-born or half-blooded, were wearing miniskirts that would surely make McGonagall flinch when she saw them. Guys wore mainly trousers and button-down shirts, while a few clever dressers wore blazers over regular t-shirts. A scattered few wore simple wizarding robes over their clothing, and that included Draco, who was standing with a small clique of Slytherins on the outskirts of the crowd. She tried not to stare at him, not that she could see much from the distance and angle from where she was, and looked instead for her own friends.
Harry and Ron, along with Ginny, Lavender, Neville, Christine, Bee, and Rose, were where they usually were, in the center of the action. Bee, Rose, and Christine all wore what could only be described as club wear, mainly miniskirts of assorted colors and material, along with shiny strapless or halter tops. They had certainly taken liberties with their own term ‘relaxed fancy,’ with an emphasis on relaxed and a very different kind of fancy. Lavender had on a strapless pink cocktail dress that complemented her loose blond hair quite nicely, and Ginny stuck out in a bright blue party dress with a large bow on the front, looking very innocent and untouchable. Her innocently misleading appearance came from the curly ponytail her hair was in, where as her untouchability had a great deal to do with Harry’s arm around her waist. Harry and Ron both had on khakis and button-down shirts, and Ron had a dark blue robe slung over his shoulder, presumably for if he went outside and got cold.
All in all, everyone looked fantastic. Hermione beamed.
Ginny noticed her friend approaching first and started clapping immediately, smiling at the beautiful appearance of the Head Girl. Ginny had been worried about Hermione for a very long time, and the fact that the older girl had begun eating again was a relief. However it wasn’t until Hermione floated down the stairs in a beautiful dress, looking like a dark angel, that Ginny believed Hermione’s problem was solved. As applause spread from Ginny to Harry, and then from Harry to everyone else, the sixth year thought everything might be ok.
“You look bloody fantastic!” Ginny gasped as soon as Hermione was near enough to hear. Hermione was already grinning widely and could grin no further, fearing her face would split open if she attempted to. The redhead caught her in a hug, gripping her tightly. When the two split, Draco was already at her side. Ron snarled in disgust and quickly busied himself with talking to his girlfriend. Harry followed his lead and pulled Ginny away. Soon Draco and Hermione were alone as everyone paired off and left them in the center of the crowd.
Now that Draco was right in front of her, Hermione couldn’t resist the urge to gawk. He was wearing dark trousers and a button-down that was almost black, along with a black velvet robe that hung open. He thankfully hadn’t gelled his hair, and it lay loose around his face, straight and grease-free as usual. The glint in his eye and the nervous frown on his face made her heart flutter and for a second Hermione swore she could hear his breath quicken, but it was only her imagination. He was perfect.
“We need to open the doors, Granger,” he said quietly, his voice patient but strangely anxious. Was he nervous? Hermione’s grin had faded naturally and she smiled casually at him as she nodded. Perhaps picked up by her perkiness, he smiled quickly back before disguising his face in its normal smirk. “And I need to talk to you,” he added, his right hand slipping into his pants pocket. “When you get a chance, ok?” She nodded, figuring he needed to speak to her about decorations or something of the sort. Draco was satisfied by her answer and removed his hand from his pocket.
“Alright,” Hermione said devilishly. “Let’s do this thing.”
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