The room was decorated lavishly with blue and silvery-golden items. Even the floor glinted with the reflections of mistletoe and holly, of icecicles and snowflakes that occassionally took a notion to sprinkle down on the head of an unsuspecting person who walked in amongst the throng of others who entered the hall. It was an absolutely beautiful hall, nothing too overdone, and it was cool, a blessing with the amount of body heat present; it was already too crowded, and he already regretted coming. He leaned against the wall, glaring at any and all who dared look at him. He hadn't bothered with a tuxedo; he was wearing a rather old, but good-as-new black outfit - shirt, shoes, suit, and tie. All of the males in the room had dress robes, those from different schools wearing different things. He saw Kingsley and McGonagall conversing in an air that definitely clashed with the high spirits the atmosphere provided for all others but Draco. But he kept his mouth shut.
"Not here yet?" asked Theodore, coming over to stand by him. Draco shook his head, and, noticing the flower in his friend's hand, asked him who he came with. "Padma Patil," was the answer, almost making Draco gag.
"Padma? That little gossip? The ugly one of the twins?"
Theodore sent him a look. "She's not ugly, she has a big nose. If you'd look, you'd see that Parvati had big ears."
Draco snorted. "So either way, you've got a bad date. Or will you dance with her sister too?"
Theo was angry. "Stop it," he snapped.
Draco sighed and knocked the back of his head against the wall. "Sorry. I don't want to be here."
Theo relaxed. "Neither does Astoria. Had to come with the Smith bloke. Everyone else was taken."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Zacharias Smith?"
"Yeah, that's the one."
"Poor Astoria - oh, look, here she comes."
At the top of the stairs appeared Tori, her dark hair plaited down the middle and twisted into a bun, wearing a dress that looked like an elegantly draped green silk towel. She didn't look happy, but upon seeing them, she broke into a wide grin, whispered into Smith's ear, watched as he scurried off, and rushed towards them, nearly tripping over her dress. Draco chortled when she had to grab his shoulder to keep from teetering over on her heels. "Shut up," she told him, "they were expensive."
He wasn't impressed. "What isn't?"
Tori laughed. "Hermione's dress. Wait till you see it, I can't believe she got it for only two hundred and thirteen dollars -"
"That little?" Draco exclaimed, wide-awake now. "What's she showing up in, rags?"
"There's Padma," said Theo, disappearing into the crowd.
Tori gave him a balefule look. "She dressed up nicer than you did," she said, looking at his suit. "You have a spot on it."
"What? Where?" he looked onto his clothes, searching for a speck of lighter or darker or maybe even brighter coloring, finally spitting it near one of the lower buttons. He groaned.
Tori raised her eyebrows. "For someone who doesn't want to be here, you're making a fuss over the rags you wore."
He immediately stopped trying to pick the tomato sauce off his suit. "My rags still look better than hers."
Tori shook her head before he was even done with the sentence. "Her dress is gorgeous, Draco. And doesn't have a single spot on it."
Draco looked around, choosing to change the subject. "Is everybody here?" he asked, realizing nobody was coming in anymore "Where is she? Did she stand me up?"
"No," said Tori lightly, pointing to the top of the stairs, where a head could be seen peeeking around the corner. "She's there."
And there she was. When she moved into view, Draco was thoroughly stunned, and he wasn't the only one - there was a collective gasp that echoed throughout the room by girls and boys alike, because she truly was gorgeous. Her normally bushy hair was been tamed, trimmed and elboately and yet simply curled, and at the top of her head sat a crown of white snow blossoms, circling her brow like a halo. Her dress was tight at the top, and strapless, fitting very well and sparkling with diamonds that looked very real though he knew they must be fake. It clung to her curves, but the waist on down flared out, layer on top of see-through layer, creating a pure white, shockingly white effect, and the waist was a spiderweb of elegant black lace, coming down like a cut lily pad to the general area of her knees. He couldn't see her shoes, as her dress reached the floor, but he knew they must be just as spectacular. And while her body and clothing made her stand out alone, it was the eyes that did it. Her eyes were a mixture of brown and gold, a tawny bronze color, a fiery delight in the ball and her appearance, anticipating the evening. Her skin glowed, her posture was perfect, and normally, every girl in the room would be jealous, green with envy - but this was Hermione, who everybody knew to be kind, and instead they took up a hint of her beauty and self-acceptance. In that moment, Hermione seemed to think she was just as beautiful as she was, which Draco knew to be a blindness of hers.
"Tori, make my suit into a tux," he ordered, not tearing his eyes from Hermione, who stood at the top of the stairs, scanning the room for him.
Tori did not question his motives, but did as she was told, and Draco found himself wearing a brand-new, state-of-the-art tuxedo that still looked ratty next to her dress. Tori smiled knowingly and gave him a shove toward Hermione. Draco caught her eye, and she smiled broadly, lighting up her already-beautiful face, and he could not help smiling back. He made his way through the crowd, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, everybody giving appreciative murmurs and cries as she descended one glorious step at a time. She reached the bottom, and he bowed deeply, holding out his hand. He felt a soft palm touch his own, a warm palm, and the touch got him excited about the ball, whether he wanted to be or not. Straightening, he heard somebody say to them, "Smile! For the Daily Prophet!"
They turned just in time to see a photographer snap their picture, Hermione smiling radiantly and Draco looking slightly cross someone had distracted him. As the photographer stuttered over how beautiful Hermione was and then bustled away, Draco heard the music start.
"Time to dance," she said, and even her voice was beautiful.
And then, moving onto the floor, Draco remembered who she was and who he was and that it was a cheap dress and that he didn't want to be here. And he frowned sullenly, fighting against the urge to forget all in his partner's beauty. As the first steps started, he was stiff and angry-looking; she noticed something was wrong, and she seemed to think it was with her. Noticing that behind her, Ron glared at him and then grabbed Lavender Brown and snogged her fiercely, he was startled enough to feel bad about an act he hadn't committed.
Suddenly wracked with a guilt he told himself he should not feel, he loosened up and smiled at her once again, whispering, "All pale in your presence tonight, Hermione."
She beamed at him so broadly he never wanted it to end; when it did, it was to be mischievously replaced by a sly grin, and she said, " 'I dream when it’s night' ..."
" 'I dream when it's day,' ..."
" 'I dream of what I once did,' ..."
" 'I dream of what I will say.' "
Their words blended perfectly into the movement, into the steps, and they danced fluidly in time with the poem. It wasn't long before they started trading lines and simply said them together.
" 'I dream of you,
I dream of me,
I dream we are together,
Together we are free.' "
He spun her around and caught her in a dip, bringing her back up, laughing with her.
" 'I dream of sailing,
Drifting on a cloud,
I dream we are floating,
And together we are proud.
We are proud of each other,
Of what we have done,
Proud of the children,
That haven’t begun.' "
Draco placed his hands on her hips and tossed her up, catching her again.
" 'Don’t wake me yet,
I want to keep dreaming,
Dreaming of a time,
When we were dreaming together.' "
The music ended, and Draco realized he was unwilling to let go of her waist.
And then the Kensworth Champion was tapping his shoulder. Draco reluctantly let go of his partner, and watched as she bowed to the blond, moving himself off the dance floor and back to his spot on the wall, watching as Potter and Weasley started to dance, and then Longbottom and Luna went spiralling onto the floor gracefully. He was prepared to stand the rest of the ball, but a girl tapped his shoulder. It was Virginia Bradley, a Hufflepuff in his year. "Care to dance?" she asked, her honey-colored stick-straight hair reaching her chin and then curling in on itself. She had a pixie-like appearance and body(though nothing on Hermione), and he nodded, moving onto the floor with her, dancing awkwardly but discovering it woudn't kill him to have fun.
His eyes opened and he found himself staring at the face of Virginia, her hair slightly stringy, her skin flushed and her body completely nude. Looking at himself, he realized he was naked, as well. And looking at how their bodies were entwined...
"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, rolling over onto his back, noticing that they were right outside the prefect bath tub - not bathroom, bath tub. The bubbles apparently from the previous night were slowly popping in the now-cold water and the air around them was scented heavily with perfumes from the very bubbles popping at his feet. The tile he lay on was cold, but his cheeks were warm, and he knew why, because there was a very familiar headache splitting open his scalp. He had a hangover, which meant he'd had drunk sex with a girl he barely knew.
He hadn't done that since fifth year.
Remembering, he smiled. Fifth year had beeen fun. When Pansy and he had had that fight, he'd retaliated by sleeping with a Ravenclaw he'd never met before after getting himself and her drunk. He'd enjoyed it so much, he'd made a hobby out of it - but when Pansy apologized, he'd dropped it right away, leaving behind a trail of angry mistresses who had calmed down and become ashamed of themselves in due course. He'd not slept with a woman since fifth year, caring too much for Pansy to spoil her like that before the marriage he proposed at the beginning of last year.
But waking up from this encounter, he found it wasn't that bad. In fact, he could remember Pansy's name without hurting now. And that was a huge improvement.
Virginia's eyes opened too, and she smiled, batting her eyelashes seductively again.
What the hell, he thought, leaning in to kiss her and get things started again.
But as soon as their lips met, the memory of kissing Hermione came back.
For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other.
He snarled, pulling away from the harlot he'd made the mistake of sleeping with. Surprised, she asked, "What's wrong?"
"Get out, get changed, and forget this ever happened," Draco growled between teeth he clenched so hard he thought his head might explode. He expected her to be angry, but apparently, she was used to that sentiment.
She laughed, but stood, looking around for her dress and seeing it in a heap with her other clothes and his tuxedo three or four feet away. "I'll never forget it," she said tauntingly. "That was fantastic, Draco. The best I've ever had. And that is saying something." He didn't respond, but stared up at the cieling until she'd gotten re-dressed and snuck out the door. He sighed, hearing her footsteps fade away, and looked out the stain-glass window, where the mermaid watched him quizzically, snubbingly pure. The window was dark, meaning it was either very late or very early. This was how it had been when Pansy -
Sweet Salazar, his heart was ripping in half!
He choked out the dryest sob he'd ever heard, rolling over on the tile, clutching his chest and trying to hold himself together, feeling as if there was a spear stabbing him through entirely, puncturing the very middle of his heart. He bled not blood, but tears, and the spear was splintering him with not wood, but memories. He let his insides tear him apart, wave after wave of grief drowning him with each sentence he ever remembered her saying, the most painful one being "Draco, you can replace me for a night, but that headache you get waking up is fate punishing you for ignoring the girl you know you love."