“May I have this dance?”
Hermione looked up from her seat, startled, at the hand extended towards her. The man leaned in towards her, his blonde hair spilling over onto his face. The slow song chirped through her ears as she cast a glance at Ron, who was trying to pointedly ignore her the entire evening. Sure, they had had a row a few days previously, but surely, Hermione thought, he would have gotten over it by the time his sister was to wed his best friend.
Guess not, Hermione thought, dropping her champagne glass onto the circular table at which she sat. Making her decision, she slipped her hand into the pale fingers of the man before her, saying “Sure!” quite loudly. The man’s blonde fringe of hair lifted for the briefest of seconds, revealing swirling silver eyes.
Silver? Hermione thought, something mysterious arising in her mind. She knew this man, of course she did. But what was his name? What was it?
A sinking sensation filled her as he pulled her closer, placing one hand on her waist, another intertwined with her hand. She looked into his eyes for a split second before he moved her away from his face, probably hoping she hadn’t recognized him. But she knew this man, oh yes, she definitely knew this man.
“Malfoy?”
***
Hermione managed to choke out the words in a bare whisper against the side of his face. He had pulled her close; her mouth was inches from his ear and neck. He slowly led her in the slow dance, swaying delicately, moving his feet along with the rhythm.
“I prefer to go by Draco, now,” he whispered back, trying to hide the smirk from his face. Onlookers who paid enough mind to them let their eyes linger on the strange couple. Draco ignored them, focusing on the task at hand - not stepping on Granger’s feet, and making sure she didn’t make him look like a fool by departing from him.
“Yes, well that’s all very nice and good, Draco,” Hermione quickly snapped, patience already growing thin. Draco wondered what he had done already to cause this snappy attitude as she spoke again. “But why in the name of Merlin are you here?”
“Calm down, Granger, I’m not gate crashing. Potter invited me.” This statement was met by silence. Draco smirked. “You know, my mother did save his life and everything. That night, at Hogwarts.” This seemed to call for an outburst.
“If you don’t recall, Harry saved your life twice the same night! He does not owe you anything, Malfoy, and don’t you dare imply that he does.” Draco raised an eyebrow and spun her with the music, then brought her back to his face with surprising elegance.
“I did not say that he owed me anything,” Draco shot back, just as sharply, his hushed tones slipping into her ear, “I simply stated that Potter invited me due to experiences in the past.”
“Your tone said it all.”
Draco smirked, having won the verbal match. He decided to turn the spot light away from him.
“As does yours, Granger. Don’t think I don’t know that you’d rather be tap dancing with a flamingo than dancing with me.” His grip on her hand firmed a little as he asked, “So, why are you still here?”
“Two reasons,” she whispered ferociously, “one, your grip on my hand is making it numb” “ he loosened his grip ever so slightly “ “and two, I do not fancy being made a fool, walking off the dance floor during the middle of a song.”
“Wow, Granger, and here I was thinking you actually liked dancing with me.” His tone was sarcastic, yet still had a twinge of civility and humor. Draco heard Hermione stifle a chuckle, and felt pleased that he could charm an audience who wanted to feed him to a Hippogriff.
"Don't get your hopes up," Hermione whispered back with a spark of humor.
"I'll try, but with each passing moment it seems as if your will to leave decreases."
"Oh, really?" Hermione shot at him. "Since you are perfectly aware that I do not favor this dance, why continue?"
"For the same reason as you, Granger. I do not feel the need to stalk off and surround myself with the other guests. Honestly, have you seen who I I have to share a table with?" he added in an undertone, with an inclination towards where his seat.
Hermione glanced at the table and chuckled slightly. Elderly Weasley relatives were conversating amongst themselves. Two points for Draco, he thought.
"Why come?" Hermione asked, calling him out of his musings.
"Why not?"
Hermione shot him a puzzled glance, but he took no notice.
“You’ve changed.” It was not a question, but a statement.
“Nice of you to notice,” Draco drawled, swaying and stepping in time.
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
Draco inwardly stiffened and resisted the urge to tighten his grip on her fingers, smothering them into oblivion. With great self control, he muttered, “You know what happened that night. I have no intention to explain myself, or the decisions of my family, to you.”
For a few moments, his dancing partner said nothing. He bet that the entire Trio had evaluated him after the night of Voldemort’s fall. Still, he thought, Potter invited me to his wedding. That has got to mean something resembling a shred of new opinions, followed by civility. If I’m lucky.
“Why did you ask me to dance?” Hermione asked, trying to remain angry with him. He could still hear the speck of curiosity in her voice.
“Because,” he drawled, thinking of a good enough reason as to why he asked her to dance, “I… like to dance.” He prevented her from answering immediately by giving her another spin, cocking an eyebrow at her while her vision was blurred. He saw a flash of disappointment fill her features as she turned. It was gone by the time he pulled her back to him.
“Besides, Granger, would you really prefer sitting there in your rickety chair, trying to avoid glaring at Weasley for his foolishness, while still hoping he’d apologize at the same time,” he felt her stiffen in his arms, “to this?”
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice quiet. Suddenly, she fell back onto the defense.
“What are you playing at, anyway? It’s not as if you care.” Her voice sliced with edge, and he was glad to hear he was right in his assumptions. “Why did you really ask me to dance? Is this a joke of some sort?”
“No joke, Granger, just dancing.”
“Oh, I’m so sure,” her voice flared with mock-amusement. “Because Malfoys never have ulterior motives.”
Suddenly, Draco paused his swaying, and pushed Hermione back. He brought her face to his, his eyes meeting hers. She looked fearful almost, though still challenging.
“Now, now, Granger,” Draco drawled, holding her in place before she squirmed out of reach. He felt the music slow down and dwindle as he told her, “I never said I didn’t have ulterior motives.”
She sent him a hard stare, which he returned with equal mysteriousness. The song ended with a sweet chord, and onlookers and dancers alike began to clap. Draco and Hermione took no notice, both still half-glaring, half-evaluating each other. Claps echoed in slow motion around them, amplifying yet dying away at the same time. Joyous laugher twirled with the clinking of glasses and silver wear; a true wedding reception. But still, they froze in the center of the dance floor, not willing to break the unsaid words passing between silver and brown eyes.
“And what might those motives be?” she questioned him, whispering, as if afraid someone would over hear.
“You’ll just have to figure it out by yourself, won’t you?”
Hermione was the first to break eye contact, first to stop the electricity sparking between silver and brown. Slowly, Draco removed his hand from her waist, and brought her other hand towards his lips, placing a ginger kiss. Then, he withdrew his hand and immediately felt the warmth leave him, but he did not show it; he bowed ever so slightly, and took a step back.
“Hermione,” he said, his head bent low, so that his hair covered his eyes. His brought one hand into his chest, and extended the other sideways. Draco smirked inwardly, going for the grand gesture.
“Draco,” she acknowledged, though Draco could tell she was still somewhat dazed. He could almost see the wheels in her mind spinning with curiosity. He smirked and walked off the dance floor, his head still bent somewhat as to not attract attention.
***
What in the world was that about? Hermione thought. ‘I never said I didn’t have ulterior motives.’ She tried to replay that in her mind as many times as she could, slowly blushing as she made her way off the deserted dance floor. Slipping into her seat, she picked up her previously discarded drink and sipped. Eyes bent low, she fought off the gaze Ron was sending her. He was mad; she could feel it.
She didn’t even spare him a glance. They weren’t going out at the moment, so why couldn’t she dance with other guys? Then again, she thought, swirling her yellow liquid in the glass cup, the man was Draco Malfoy.
The sound of a fork sharply tapping a glass brought her out of her thoughts. Ron was standing up, forcing a happy expression on his face. “I’d like to propose a toast!” he exclaimed, further ensuring that all eyes were on him, all mouths shushed. Typical, Hermione thought, he likes the attention on him.
“To my lovely sister and my best mate. All the happiness of the world to you both.” He inclined his drink towards the two blushing newlyweds. Their faces were flushed with happiness, and Hermione wondered how much more happiness was left in the world that they didn’t already have.
“To good health, to prosperity, and to love.” He raised his drink higher, mimicked by the crowd. “Here, here!”
He shot down the champagne in one go. Hermione silently let his words echo within her. To love.
She glanced at Ron, who was once again turned away from her, immature and foolish. Do I love him?
Without meaning to, she flickered her gaze towards the other end of the room. Draco raised his drink to her once again, a cloud of mysteriousness floating around him.
“To love,” he mouthed, smirking at her as if he knew a great secret she did not. She looked away abruptly, partly disgusted and partly flushed, and downed her drink in one gulp. To love, she thought, and dropped her glass onto the table.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of blonde hair walking towards the exit doors. She watched silently as he pushed the door open, turned his head for a moment, as if checking for something.
He found her gaze and looked smug. He smirked at her one more time, and walked out of the building.
You’ll just have to figure that out by yourself, won’t you? His teasing voice rang in her ears. She hated not knowing all the answers, and craved figuring out this puzzle he laid out for her. Yes, and I damn well will, she thought, standing up, and crossing the dance floor, making her way towards the exit.
She glanced back at the happy couples who sat together with goofy smiles, at Harry and Ginny who were dancing merrily, and finally at Ron, who looked at her with anger and curiosity etched across his face. She thought, ‘to love’, and went in pursuit of those ulterior motives.
Illusive Ambitions by Sarakime
Chapter Notes: A million thanks to KC/Sayiansirius for betaing this for me! Written for the Banner Challenge of Slytherin, to Suzie/crazy_purple_hp_freak's Illusive Ambitions banner. . .
(Also, this story isn't as dark as the summary may play it out to be; Sorry Suzie, if you were expecting darker...)