“Of course I do. Wouldn’t do for the Gryffindor Princess of the Golden Trio to express an emotional reaction other than gratitude. Or so I have been told,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.
They were at the Ministry Yule Ball. Hermione had left the dance floor a moment ago and Draco had been unable to resist the urge to follow her, hoping for a chance to speak to her without her ever-present guard Weasel.
They had both worked for the Ministry over the last eighteen months — separate departments, unfortunately —ever since graduating from Hogwarts after an emotionally exhausting 8th year. They had become something of study partners at school — on their way to becoming friends, he had thought.
But that fell apart after graduation. Her long-distance relationship was no longer long distance and his parents had insisted he settle the betrothal arrangement with the Greengrasses. He wasn’t going to have the life — or witch — he wanted anyway, so he acquiesced. But Draco wasn’t happy. And it looked like he might have some company in that.
“Sorry, Granger. I thought you were having a good time.”
“And I thought you could tell when I was faking a smile.”
So had he. Maybe he was losing the ability to read her. The ball had been opened by Harry and Ginny and Hermione and Ron dancing across the floor. The young heroes of the ultimately successful resistance — young and in love and a visual representation of a bright future ahead from their future unions — demonstrably putting all that nasty war business behind everyone. At least, that was what it looked like. It was definitely what Shaklebolt intended the people to see.
“I guess we all have our roles to play.”
She snorted, her expression falling away into an emotionless stare. “I came into the alcove so I could stop pretending for one bloody moment that I am happy or that I want this — any of it. I don’t want to be anyone’s symbol, full stop. I particularly don’t want to be their symbol to be used as they see fit. Ron’s so awed by the attention he doesn’t even think anything’s wrong — not with him, me — not with us. Just full steam ahead on a wedding I don’t want to a person who doesn’t like any of the things that make me me. Ron likes the idea of me being his wife a lot more than the actual me — not that he seems to realize it, of course.”
Draco’s eyes widened in the darkened alcove where he had found her. She wasn’t holding back — acting as though she had been biting her tongue for months. Which was probably exactly what had been happening.
Hermione scoffed. “Of course you are. Everyone’s sorry. No one’s going to do anything different, mind. I fought in and won a bloody war before I even had a chance to finish school and my reward is a scripted life I do not want. For the bloody greater good,” she said bitterly.
Draco swallowed roughly. That sounded so much like his father. “It’s for the good of the family, Draco,” he had sneered, when Draco asked why an arranged marriage was still necessary, even after the war was over.
“It would have been nice if either of us had been consulted about the trajectory of our lives, I suppose,” he said with a wry smile.
“Exactly! You get it.” She became pensive again, chewing her bottom lip as she thought. She cocked her head to her side as she looked at him. “What would you do if you could do whatever you wanted right now? Truly — whatever you wanted. No rules, no fear of the consequences, anything is possible.”
Time seemed to slow. Radical honesty wasn’t exactly Draco’s forte. But maybe it was time for him to try on some bravery. It wasn’t as though he had much to lose that he actually cared about.
“I’d leave this party for starters. Hopefully with the witch I actually wanted. Maybe run away and marry her before I’m forced to marry anyone else.”
“Even if you got disinherited for it?”
“Oh, fuck the Malfoy vaults. If I had her, none of that would matter.”
Hermione looked at him assessing, her trembling hands the only indicator of how affected she had been by his words. “I think I would do the same. With the wizard I actually want to be with.”
“You know, Theo has a flat in Paris. It’s a nice spot to elope to…” his voice trailed off as he looked at her — hoping against hope that he wasn’t wrong.
Hermione took a step closer. “And New Year’s Eve is just around the corner. That’s a good day for a wedding anniversary.”
Draco moved closer to her in turn. “It is. Want to get out of here, Granger?”
He had been wrong, as it happened.
She hadn’t been happy before.
Because now she practically glowed with how happy she looked, as she smiled up at him. He could see the difference.
“Draco, I thought you’d never ask.”
“For the love of Salazar, my bloody eyes!”
“You calm down! No one should be subjected to that much pale naked arse — especially without warning! I could have been blinded. Who do you have under there anyway? I know it’s not Astoria because your parents and the Greengrasses are looking for you. It’s not a particularly friendly search, by the way. Head’s up.”
“Hello Theo” came a timid voice from underneath a pile of bedding. “Thank you for letting us use your flat.”
Theo snorted. “Let might not be the right word.” He paused, recognizing that voice. “Is that Hermione Granger?” Theo turned his eyes on Draco, shocked. “Did you shag Granger?”
“Malfoy.” Draco said through gritted teeth.
Theo rolled his eyes. “Yes Draco, we’ve known each other since nappies. I know your name. Did you get hit with an oblivate? Because your parents might accept that as an excuse.”
“Not my name you prat — hers. This is Hermione Malfoy.”
The pile of expensive linens spoke again. “It’s Granger-Malfoy, actually.”
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